Authors: Amy Bearce
Fairy Keeper
A Division of
Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com
© 2015
Amy Bearce
http://www.amybearce.com
Cover Art by
Amalia Chitulescu
http://ameliethe.deviantart.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at
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, or visit
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ISBN 978-1-62007-710-8 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-711-5 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-712-2 (hardcover)
To Julia and Keira
he last drops of fairy nectar clung to the edge of the jar fourteen-year-old Sierra Quinn held, poised above the vial containing that day’s harvest. One measly vial’s worth. The fairies were producing less and less these days. Her father, Jack, was not going to be pleased. He insisted nothing stand in the way of his elixir profits, especially not annoying, moody fairies.
Sierra gave the jar a little shake to loosen those stubborn drops, every bit of it precious. Fairy nectar kept Jack happy. When Jack was happy, he left Sierra and, more importantly, her little sister Phoebe, alone.
Setting aside the empty jar, Sierra squinted at the glowing nectar in the vial, estimating the pitiful amount. It seemed like so little to cost so much.
The ground growled beneath her feet, and she froze. She stood like a statue for a long moment, her hand above the vial. Dread swirled inside her like the golden syrup in the glass. The moment spun out, an elastic split-second in which dust motes floated in the air like gold flakes. The family’s ancient unicorn gave a rusty bellow; he always knew when things were about to go pear-shaped. When his cry scraped down Sierra’s spine, her paralysis shattered. She reached for the vial but was too late.
The workroom floor roared up to meet her with a human-like shriek, slamming her to her knees. Glass crashed nearby. Sierra’s head smacked against the scarred wooden table on her way down. The walls jittered and bounced, sending clods of dirt, thatch, and rocks skittering at her face. She blinked as the rumbling from the earthquake rattled her bones and filled her stomach with terror. During the big quake last year, she saw a two-story cabin crush an entire family. She still woke up screaming, sometimes. So did Phoebe.
Phoebe!
The thought of her sister sent Sierra scrambling, grabbing for the table leg to pull herself to her knees. Why wasn’t Phoebe calling?
The quake settled down to shivers, but Sierra stayed on her hands and knees. She crawled through the dust and debris in the kitchen and small living room until she reached their tiny shared bedroom. Jagged pebbles pressed into her palms, but she didn’t stop to brush them off as she staggered to her feet.
“Phoebe? Answer me!” Sierra cried.
Wild shadows danced on the bare wall as the lantern hanging from the ceiling swayed back and forth, creaking quietly. She scanned the room, heart beating like a rabbit’s, barely noticing the rubble littering the pallet on the floor. When she saw carrot-red hair peeking out from the patched covers, her breath rushed out with a loud sigh. Phoebe was okay. Her red head rose up, wild in disarray. Hair flipped over her right cheek from her adorable cowlick; wide brown eyes stared at Sierra.
“Is it over?” Phoebe said. In her ten short years, she’d already lived through countless quakes, but that didn’t make them any less terrifying.
“Yes, Bug, we’re fine.” Sierra sank to her knees, even though the floor had stopped its wicked dance, and relief rushed over her like a waterfall.
“Then what’s that stuff all down your leg? Are you bleeding?”
Sierra glanced down at her legs and touched the dark wet pants. Her hands came away sticky. A golden and glowing residue stained her fingertips. Cursing under her breath, she ran back to the workroom, Phoebe following like a shadow. The sweet smell of fairy nectar filled the air with the scents of honey and cinnamon.
“Jack’s going to kill me,” Sierra said, surveying the shattered glass and the spilled nectar across the floor. Their father called fairy nectar his goldmine for more than its color.
“Dad can’t blame you for another earthquake,” replied Phoebe, reaching up to stroke the long braid down Sierra’s back.
Sierra just raised her eyebrow. They both knew that was leagues away from the truth. Phoebe bit her lip and got out the mop, glancing back with eyes even wider than before.
Wanting to assure her, Sierra said, “I’ll get more before he gets home. Don’t worry, sweetie. He won’t even know. It’ll be okay.”
Sierra sighed again. She secretly hoped there’d be enough to collect. Another fairy run, this late in the afternoon, with the sun already touching the horizon?
Perfect. Just perfect
.
They cleaned the mess as quickly as possible and managed not to cut their hands on the glass. They couldn’t do anything about the remaining honeyed scent of nectar in the air, but it was a common smell in their house. Maybe Jack wouldn’t notice. Sierra stuffed her nectar-stained pants in the bottom of the wash bin and pulled on another pair she used when she collected. They were tough and rugged homespun, with pockets to hold whatever tools she needed.
Even wrapped in their coats and shawls, the girls were slapped hard by the air. Spring couldn’t arrive soon enough. They pushed through the wooden door of the back porch and took a few steps before turning to examine the house. It seemed to have withstood the quake fairly well. The grey mud and clay packed between the wood logs made it pretty sturdy. They kept repacking the mud mixture into any holes created by quakes. The house might not be pretty, but it kept the winter winds out, which was more than most could say about their homes on the far outskirts of Port Ostara. Their small village of Tuathail sat along the edge of the busy port, but Tuathail remained small and basic, set off in the forest as it was. The bubbled, thick glass in their few windows was rough but strong. Satisfied that their house wouldn’t collapse on them in the night, the two girls set off to the fairy meadow.
The empty woven bag and a glass jar hung heavy on Sierra’s hip, but she quickly adjusted her stride to their bulk. They crossed the tiny back yard to check on the unicorn, Old Sam, before they set off to the fairy hatch. His ragged neighs had not stopped with the quake. He’d yanked so hard on his rope that the ends hung frayed and mangled. His dark eyes followed Phoebe’s every move―they adored each other.
Sierra had a harder time loving the beast. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to take care of him. She could never leave a magical creature in pain or in need. But her skin crawled at the sight of that empty hole left behind every year when he dropped his horn. Jack made special arrow tips from it, small, but powerfully strong, so he loved when the winter chill ushered in horn-dropping season. Even though Sierra knew it would grow back in the spring, just looking at him hurt. She glanced at the sun’s position while Phoebe petted Old Sam’s knobby back. He’d been around since Sierra was four, right before Phoebe’s birth ten years ago.
Phoebe gave Sam a sugar plum that lifted his ears and thankfully stopped his fussing. His cries always sent chills creeping up and down Sierra’s skin. She had to smile as she watched Phoebe whisper loving endearments to the shaggy old beast. Her little sister was the sweetest girl in all of Aluvia―not like Sierra at all, but they were still close as could be. Sierra was thankful for Phoebe every day.
Sierra’s hand brushed against her empty jar, and her smile faded.
“Time to go,” she said, eyes tracking the dimming light. Jack would be finishing up his business soon and would ask questions if dinner wasn’t on time, earthquake or no earthquake.
They began the hike down the icy trail to the fairy hatch. As Phoebe often did on this walk, she sighed and said, “I wish I were a fairy keeper.”
