While Mamá was distracted, I hurriedly collected the bag from the lilac bush then darted to my room. I set the bag on my dresser, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and ran my hair under the sink. Then I darted back to the kitchen where Michael gave me a plate of leftovers from the barbecue that I devoured ravenously.
Mamá didn’t let me off the hook. She heaped on the chores that afternoon. After cleaning the bathrooms, I vacuumed the entire house (twice), washed the windows, scrubbed the floor, and swept the driveway. I think if I hadn’t just mowed the lawn yesterday, I’d probably have done that too.
I know this sounds crazy, but I liked the chores. My brain had been going a billion miles per hour all day. Disappearing canes, flying islands, the whole Seer stuff, magic necklaces . . . it was a lot to take in. I clapped my mantle on and off a couple times when no one was looking, just to remind myself it was real.
Supposedly, Valentine would be giving me a lead tonight. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember how he said I’d be getting that. Was he going to show up on my doorstep? Would he send a letter? An email? A reel?
Luckily, the chores stopped briefly after dinner when Mamá and Michael went out to Home Depot. I watched an episode of Stranger Things with James, before Mamá got home and asked me to take out the trash and recycling. The garbage had just been collected two days earlier, so most of the bins were empty. The only exception was the mostly-full bag of trash in the kitchen, which I carried out to the side of the house.
It was still warm outside, and stars were beginning to appear against the deep blue sky. I still couldn’t believe there was an invisible flying island up there. Somewhere.
As I crossed the driveway toward the garbage bin, I started casually swinging the garbage up and down when something came careening out of the sky, punching a hole in the bag. I gasped and dropped the bag, jumping back. As it hit the ground, I heard a little yelp of pain.
“What the heck?!” I exclaimed, adrenaline pumping.
Whatever it was thrashed inside the bag. Feeling on edge, I grabbed a rake leaning against the side of the house and picked it up.
“Ew it reeks in here!” a voice spluttered.
“You can talk?” I asked, immediately feeling stupid. Obviously, it could talk.
A fairy emerged from the bag with a banana peel wrapped around one of his wings. I hastily pulled the peel off him.
“Are you OK, little guy?” I asked. He had curly brown hair and stood about seven inches tall. Like the fairies at City Hall, he wore a green, sleeveless tunic and pants, which I noticed had tons of pockets. A glob of applesauce was dripping down his shoulder.
I grimaced as the fairy coughed up a breadcrumb.
“What-” the fairy coughed again. “What in the name of all that is orderly were you thinking, throwing garbage bags around willy nilly like that?”
“Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to um, be flying there.”
The fairy fluttered its transparent wings for a moment, trying to inspect them over his shoulder, before turning up to me. “You don’t happen to have a moist rag on you, do you?”
“We probably have something like that inside,” I said.
“I’d have to go inside an Underlander dwelling?” the fairy asked, frowning. “I mean, I’m sure your fellow Underlanders are nothing but charming, lovable people but I don’t want to get electrocuted or atom bombed or something.”
I didn’t think there was much risk of either of those happening but ignored it. “You just wait here.”
I carefully heaved the trash bag into the garbage bin and ran inside. Once in the kitchen, I grabbed a paper towel and ran it under warm water. Then I had another idea and grabbed a Q-tip and wet one side of it.
“What are you doing?” Mamá asked, eyeing me as I exited the kitchen.
“One of the trash bags burst on the driveway,” I explained hurriedly.
“And you’re going to scrub down the cement with a wet paper towel and a Q-tip?”
I shrugged.
Mamá rolled her eyes as I darted back out to where the fairy was still trying to shake some gunk off his wings.
“I brought a wet paper towel but thought this might help,” I said, reaching down and handed him the Q-Tip. “Did Mr. Valentine send you?”
“Yes, Councilman Valentine sent me, that’s right,” the fairy said. He reached back with the Q-tip and scrubbed off a glob of banana.
“Do you have the lead on the necklace?”
“What is this?” the fairy asked, vigorously brushing his wing with the cotton tip.
“It’s a Q-tip.”
“It’s incredible,” the fairy enthused. “And you can use both ends?”
I nodded.
The fairy switched wings. “What’s it made of? Surely the finest magical materials were used from the lands of the elves.”
“Cotton and plastic I think,” I said, somewhat impatiently. “Um, you said you have information for me?”
“Yes yes yes. Information. Mr. Valentine told me to tell you that the council instructed him to have me give you his lead on the Pearls of Prescott.”
I nodded eagerly.
The fairy scrunched his narrow face as though concentrating. He hummed, making a hand gesture as though counting something off. “Hmm, yes I have that for you. Not like last time. . . .” the fairy was still energetically scrubbing his wing.
“I think your wing looks clean now,” I said.
“Oh right thanks,” the fairy said, blushing. He dropped the Q-Tip, seemed to reconsider, then picked it up and stuffed it between his shirt and his back like a sword.
“That still has some banana gunk on it,” I said, eyeing the Q-Tip with distaste. “I can get you a new one if you like.”
“Really?” the fairy seemed stunned. “That would be very most unusually kind, sir!”
“I’m Santiago, by the way.”
“I’m Corbyn, sir.”
I cringed. “You can call me Santiago. You look like you’re my age. So what’s the message?”
“He wanted me to tell you two things.” Corbyn said. “No wait, it was three things.”
“Great,” I said, massaging my thighs.
Corbyn leapt into the air and began fluttering in circles. “You need to go to pop shop.”
“Pop shop?” I repeated. “Do they sell drinks?”
“Drinks? No, it’s the pop shop because it exploded.”
“Exploded? When?”
“200 years ago, sir–I mean Santiago. One day it just went POP!” the fairy said, making a funny sound with his mouth.
“Great. It’s safe to go in now though, right?”
“Oh yes. It’s perfectly safe. Well, I guess not perfectly. It’s done exploding though.”
I decided to take that as a yes. “How do I get there?”
“Bess will take you Monday,” Corbyn said, grinning.
“Thanks,” I said. “Were there two other things then?”
Corbyn blushed. “Sorry sir, I forget. I forget a lot of things. They were probably not important, but I’ll remember by Monday.”
“Maybe you could try going back and writing it down?”
“That’s a good idea. If I can read my handwriting,” he gave a nervous laugh. “Well I better be going.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to be as sincere. “I appreciate your help.”
“Really? You’re welcome, Sir Santiago!”
“Hang on, wait there,” I said, then ran back into the house to the bathroom.
I grabbed a few more Q-Tips from the box, then spun on my heels only to find Mamá staring at me once again, looking from my face, down to the Q-Tips in my hand then back up to my face.
“Biiig mess out there,” I said.
Mamá walked away muttering, “Cada día ese muchacho se vuelve más loco.”
I ran outside again.
“FIVE?!” Corbyn was thrilled. “Thank you, sir Santiago! I will show these to all my family. They won’t call me good-for-nothing ever again once they see. . . .”
I wasn’t sure whether to feel elated or sorry for him. “Have a good night!”
“Oh I will. You too!” He flew off, making it about to the flagpole at the Miller’s house, then turned around and flew back.
“I just remembered the third thing. The third thing is very important.”
“What is it?”
“Monday morning—wait, do Underlanders have the same days we do? Or are you in a different time zone than we are?”
“I think we have the same days. It’s Saturday here.”
“Is it?” Corbyn asked. His hands started diving into pocket after pocket, pulling out small objects including several sets of tiny keys, scraps of paper, and a gemstone before finally pulling two identical pocket watches out.
“That’s a lot of pockets,” I said.
“A good fairy can’t stay organized without pockets!” Corbyn mumbled. He peered at one of the pocket watches, then at the other, his face twisting in concentration. “So it is Saturday here too. And what time is it here?”
“About 8:45,” I said, glancing at my phone.
“Then the times are the same,” he said, with the air of someone making a great discovery. “Very well then. On the morning of tomorrow’s tomorrow at 9:30, which we call Monday, his honor the councilman Valentine will meet you at the Pop Shop.”
Great. Well, that seemed to me more like part of the first thing than its own separate thing, but at least he’d remembered. Still, it made me a lot more anxious about whatever the second thing was supposed to be.
“Thanks, Corbyn.”
“Sure as sure!” Corbyn said.
“Good night,” I said.
“Same to you!” He flew off.
I was about to go in, but then Corbyn appeared again.
“I remembered the second thing!” he said excitedly. “Wear clothes to the Pop Shop.”
I blinked. “Wear clothes? I’ll, um, try to remember that.”
And with that, Corbyn buzzed up and disappeared into the darkening sky. Wear clothes? That should be easy enough.
I gazed up in the sky after him for a few minutes. I noticed several of the stars seemed to be twinkling differently. Was that where the flyland was? Or was I just making things up?
My Monday morning was filling up. First Bess at 9, then Valentine at 9:30 at the Pop Shop. All to track down a necklace that may or may not exist anymore. Crazy. Maybe Bess could give me a map.