Fairy Thief

FAIRY THIEF

Book 2: The Fairy Circle Series

johanna Frappier

Edited by Donna L. Bobbs

COPYRIGHT 2011

To my editor Donna L Bobbs

I gave you rocks and you gave me diamonds

I’m so thankful we found each other.

:D

Chapter 1

I
t was ten minutes past midnight. He had called her over forty times. Maybe Saffron was ignoring him, but no, Markis was going with his gut. Something was wrong. He didn’t have the number to reach her mother and Derek. She had never given him that number, and it wasn’t listed. His foot caught on his hockey stick, which sent him hopping across a pile of dirty clothes and tripping out into the hall. His parents were in the living room, watching TV. Mrs. Bryant was sitting up as straight as a schoolgirl on the edge of the couch, carding alpaca fiber that she had bought from Saffron’s mother. His father was slumped in the La-Z-Boy, almost asleep.

“
Hey, I’m going to Saffron’s — something’s not right.”

His father grunted. His mother turned down the volume on the TV, and put the carders in a basket by her feet. “What do you mean? It’s past midnight, Markis….”

“
Yeah, I know…but, I don’t know.” He tugged his ear, looked at the door, and looked back at his mother.

“
Oh, Markis, maybe you shouldn’t do this anymore.…” His mother’s words and guarded voice brought him up short. She gathered her long, black hair in one hand, and fingered the pendant on her squash necklace with the other. The necklace had been in her family for over a hundred years, made by her own great-grandfather, Turtle Walker. “Maybe you should give Saffron some space.”

Markis looked down as the tips of his ears tinged redder than his father’s hair. Markis’ own hair was dark and curly, and it covered his burning ears.

His mother could tell he felt ashamed from the way he hung his head. “Markis, I don’t want to see you get hurt. She doesn’t return your phone calls….”

“
Yes, she does; it’s just today she hasn’t.”

“
When you came slamming in the door the other night, you said she ended the party early, then she went up to her room to get ready to go out…”

Markis rolled his eyes.
Why
had he confided in his mother about the other night? He had been so pissed when he got home from Saffron’s, after seeing her up there through her bedroom window, so obviously not going to bed. She was supposedly sick from her party — on champagne she never drank. He saw her there, sitting at her vanity table and doing her hair up as if she was about to go out! When he got home he was so mad — and his mother was there, and usually she didn’t say much about her opinion, and, well, he had told his mother.

“
You’ve become a different person with this girl.” She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees. Her hair swished with her. “It’s like you’re obsessed, Markis, and that’s not healthy.”

“
Oh, my God, Mom, are you kidding me?” Markis folded his arms across his chest and stared hard at a phone commercial on the TV. “We’re just friends. I’m concerned. That’s all. I’m going to check her out — I’m going to check the
situation
out.”

Mrs. Bryant stood and held up her hand to stop him from professing any more. She gathered a half-tipped bowl of salt and vinegar chips off her husband’s lap, and went to the kitchen.

Markis put on his motorcycle boots and went tromping out into the still, summer night. He rammed his helmet on his head, straddled his bike, and gunned the engine. It was cool that he and Saffron were friends. He was just going to make sure she was okay. There was nothing wrong with that. It’s what friends did for each other. He heeled the kickstand so hard the bike almost tipped over. He swore as he circled the thing around and sped out of his driveway. It wasn’t too far to Coco’s parents’ place. As he pulled onto their cobbled drive he saw the lights were on. All four floors of the Georgian-style mansion were lit up with the glow of recessed lighting. It poured out of every immaculate, maid-cleaned window. He hoped her parents weren’t having one of their all-snoot-review parties or a mine-is-bigger-than-yours benefit.

Coco’s father, Reginald Gabrielli, answered the door in his power-suit. He commonly worked nineteen-hour business days. He probably slept in his suit. “Good evening, Markis!” Mr. Gabrielli was a real-estate developer who often helicoptered home on weekends to his expensive-smelling wife, and little-black-lamb of a daughter. Or, he was a drug lord; Markis and Coco weren’t sure. Mr. Reginald Gabrielli felt everyone was a potential client and should be treated as such — even Coco’s friend who showed up frantic on his doorstep in torn jeans after midnight. Even toddlers, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and small dogs — Mr. Reggie Gabrielli orated at everyone with the same, I’m-greeting-you-with-respect/buy-something-from-me, voice.

With a sweep of his hand, Mr. Reggie ushered Markis over the threshold, then went strolling off to his office whistling a snappy tune. It didn’t matter that Markis looked stressed out. It didn’t matter that it was almost one in the morning.

Coco’s mother paid Markis more attention. She was sitting on a plush carpet that had to be at least thirty by fifty feet. There was a crate in front of her, and bits of dry, grassy, packing material at her bare feet. She asked Markis questions as she inspected the insides of the crate, and the objet d’art therein. She was a great collector, even had landscapes that Saffron’s mother, Audrey, had done years ago. Gabrielle Gabrielli had hit on Derek, the man that lived with Saffron and Audrey, and tried to collect him away from Audrey. GG still wouldn’t accept that she didn’t suit Derek’s tastes. No one knew that, but Gabrielle and Derek — and Audrey — because the whole thing was too hysterical for Derek not to repeat. He wanted Audrey to protect him; he was a little nervous of Gabrielle’s cat-like advances.

“
What are you doing here so late, Markis?”

“
Just came to get Coco.”

“
Need any money?”

Markis glanced at her sideways. “No, thanks.”

“
Could you hand me that trash bag, please? I’m going to get packing material all over the Aubusson.”

Markis brought her the trash bag, then trotted to the curving staircase. He took the steps two at a time, then ran down an impossibly long hallway covered in carpet so thick, he never made a sound. He rapped on Coco’s door. It was painted black and hanging a little crooked in the jamb — as if she hung on the top of it and swung like a monkey. She had painted the door herself — with nail polish.

“
What?” Coco hacked out.

“
It’s Markis.”

“
Yeah, come in.”

He opened the door. “Jesus Christ!” and swung it shut again. “Will you get some pants on?

“
You’re gonna see worse than a thong when I get my freaken’ job,” she yelled and didn’t move. She was on her stomach, her legs bent at the knee, her ankles crossed and swaying back and forth, slow as a slave-run palm fan. She flipped the page of her People magazine.

“
Coco,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “this is an emergency. You’re right. Something is wrong with Saffron.” He scratched at some of the bumpy, black paint on her door.

Coco turned her head and considered Markis behind the door. Her glossy, black hair, freshly-washed, hung like spider’s legs over her shoulders. “Oh, you gonna listen to me now?”

“
I was listening to you yesterday, Coco. I know she’s been freaky — I just didn’t know what to do about it.”

There was silence for several moments. Finally, Coco’s door flew open and Markis jumped back. She whisked by him — jeans on, socks on, and spray-painted hiking boots in hand.

Before they were out the front door, Coco’s mother swooped down on them. “Oh, Coco, have you made up your mind? Please, will you help me out at the brunch tomorrow?”

Coco looked out the door into the black and starless night. “I’m not wearing a dress or anything the color of babies, sunsets, or a warm spring day.”

Gabrielle fussed with the fuzzy hair of what looked like a shrunken head. “Of course not, dear!” She grabbed Coco’s shoulder and gave her an air kiss on each cheek while Coco looked heavenward.

Coco grunted as she hauled the great, oak, front-entry door shut behind her and Markis. “Ya know, I coulda done you on that hundred-thousand dollar rug — handmade by French dwarves — and the only thing she would’ve done about it would be to bring a towel so we wouldn’t stain.

“
Eeeew!” Markis winced. “Coco, you are really the grossest girl I’ve ever met.”

She punched him in the shoulder. “Then get out more. Lots of gross girls in the world. Besides, you love it.” And after a deep breath…“Let’s go rescue your fair and mental princess.”

When they arrived at Saffron’s house, the lights were on downstairs in the kitchen. Markis and Coco were met at the screened door by Audrey and Derek, who stood dumfounded and disheveled in their nightclothes.

“
What are you guys doing up?” Coco walked past them, and checked to see if there was any coffee left in the pot. Audrey put her chin down and frowned. Markis cleared his throat and walked away Coco occupied, trying to draw Audrey’s attention to himself. When Markis explained their concerns, Audrey, who was already crying, shot Derek a traumatized look.

“
But it’s not the full moon.” Audrey’s voice was weak.

Coco winced. She stopped sniffing the coffee pot and slowly placed it back on its burner. Her eyes snapped from Audrey to Derek to Markis. She looked like a much younger girl under her smudged, black eyeliner. “Wha’da’ya mean — ‘full moon’?”

Derek slapped his hands together, which made them all jump. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it, honey; you all just stay there, and I’ll go get Saffron.” He squeezed Audrey’s arm. “We need to talk to her anyway. She needs to know about your mum….”

“
Wha…?” Coco pulled a chair over to the table, sat down, and laid half her body across the surface — even though it was sprinkled with toast crumbs, empty envelopes and junk mail. “What’s up, Mrs. Keller?”

Audrey stared at the dishwasher and gave a bittersweet smile. “My mother died. We just found out. We called 911.” She shrugged. “They’re on their….” Her voice broke as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, as if she were trying to stop the noises that were slipping out.

Markis leaned back against the counter in front of the kitchen sink and stared open-mouthed at Mrs. Keller. He folded his arms across his chest, realized he was staring at her, and looked down to stare at his boots instead.

Coco bent her elbow and buried her face in the crook of her arm. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Keller.” Her voice was muffled.