Fairy Bad Day(80)

“What’s going on?” Curtis repeated. “Talk to me. Tell me what it’s doing. You’ve got to be my eyes.”

“I can’t do it, Curtis.” She shook her head and let the pain have its way with her. “It’s too strong. I don’t know how to fight it. No one does. Not Sir Francis. Not my mom—she used the Death Curse.” Emma started to sob. “It killed her and now it’s going to kill my dad. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed you. Your glasses are broken, which means—”

“No!” he screamed, his voice laced with steel. “You haven’t failed anyone. Now go fight this thing. You’re a fairy slayer and it’s a fairy.”

“Curtis, please, you know as well as I do that I just made up all that fairy-slaying stuff. I mean, who tries to kill things with hairspray?” Emma let defeat crawl through her like an old friend. It was just too hard. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. It’s all been for nothing.”

“Stop it. Just because it’s not in Sir Francis’s book doesn’t mean the darkhel can’t be killed. After all, it’s not in the book to touch a stupid statue on the face every time we pass it, but we all do it. You can’t give up.” Curtis’s face was racked with pain as he pulled himself up into a sitting position and blindly threw a single nail file at the darkhel.

Despite Curtis’s inability to see his target, the file embedded itself in the darkhel’s sinewy arm and the bowl fell to the ground with a clatter. From up by the ceiling Trevor, Rupert, and Gilbert let out a roar of approval.

However, Emma couldn’t share their excitement. All Curtis’s attack had bought them was an extra minute.

The darkhel glared at the three small fairies as it reached down and scooped up the bowl. “Laugh now, but the gate will be open soon and my true brothers will able to teach you some lessons in what it really means to be a fairy.”

“Well, if you’re so different than us, why does metal feel like a hot lance running through your bones?” Trevor retorted in a loud voice.

“Of course we use these nifty antimagnetic wrist straps,” Gilbert added, sounding more like infomercial than anything else. “They really help draw away the pain. Amazing, and cheap too. I guess we forgot to tell you about them.”

“Enough.” The darkhel howled as it took another step closer to the table where Emma’s father was lying. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, but I can see the burn mark the nail file left on your arm,” Rupert retorted. “You’re exactly like us. Just without the good taste in clothes. I mean, what’s with all the leather? And I swear that belt of yours has a skull and crossbones on it. Please, could you try any harder to be a cliché?”

“What did you just say?” Emma felt something tugging at the back of her mind and she looked up to the ceiling, where Rupert was still hovering in small rapid circles.

“Skull and crossbones? Cliché?” the fairy asked.

“No. Before that. You said the darkhel’s just like you.”

“No, I’m not,” the darkhel howled as it opened up its giant wings and spread them out. The room suddenly seemed tiny as they angrily beat the air until all the loose plastic that had been covering the benches lifted up as if in protest. Then, without another word, the creature held the bowl under Emma’s father’s neck and Emma screamed as she realized it was planning to slit her dad’s throat and drain the blood.

Finally, the lethargy and despair she had been feeling disappeared as an idea suddenly came to her.

“Curtis.” Emma ignored the pain in her ankle as she forced herself to stand up. Then she reached out and grasped his hand. It felt solid and warm in hers. “I know what to do but I need your help. The darkhel’s standing by the table. It’s just about to get to my dad. Can you please buy me some time? I know you can’t see it, but—”

“Emma, I’ve spent my life fighting things I can’t see. I’ve got your back,” Curtis assured her as he rose to his feet, grabbed one of his crutches, and limped his way over to near where the darkhel was standing, still beating its wings in a furious rhythm as it held a deadly talon up to Emma’s father’s neck. “What are you going to do?”

“I think I know why we have to touch Sir Francis’s head every time we pass the statue. It’s not for luck—it’s to remind us to think for ourselves. So I think I’m going to be a fairy slayer and break every rule there is.” The adrenaline started to surge through her.

He nodded, then, without preamble, he lifted one of his crutches high in the air and sent it smashing into the creature’s face, his aim true despite his lack of sight. The darkhel fell back away from the table and went tumbling to the ground, while high above them, Rupert and Trevor let out another gutsy cheer of appreciation.

Emma ignored them as she forced her injured foot to cover the distance between herself and her slaying kit. She emptied the entire bag onto the ground until she found the unused packets of Sour Skittles. Then, without wasting a second, she crushed them one by one with her fist before ripping them open. Skittle dust blew up in her face and clogged her nose, but she ignored it as she grabbed her mom’s favorite dagger. As she worked she noticed that Loni had managed to drag everyone else out of the room and was now making her way to the table where Emma’s dad still lay.