They Also Shoot Fairies (Part 8 of 9)

[cllr...@concentric.net]

They Also Shoot Fairies
(Various portions Copyright 1996 by Mere, Mike and Dave. All rights
reserved.)

–8–

A genteel "bong!" sounds in the bathroom.
"Oh, dwat!" can be heard above one giggle, one hum, and the sound
of rushing water. The White Fairy partly slides open the door to the
shower and looks through the light fog to the very tall, actually
full-length, antique oval mirror with a very ornate gold frame
positioned directly across from the door. It has taken a lot of
training, but the mirror has finally gotten it right, and now follows
The White Fairy around the castle, adjusting its size as needed.
Except that the mirror is empty...other than for his
reflection...which of course is worthy of serious admiration.
The White Fairy starts to gesture, then yelps suddenly. The
giggle gets louder and so does the hum. The White Fairy swats behind
him and says, "Boyth, boyth. You thimply mutht behave yourthelfth!
Now be qwiet." He looks directly at the mirror and intones,
Thlave in the magic miwwow,
Come from the farthetht thpayth.
Through wind and darkneth I thummon thee.
Thpeak! Let me thee thy fayth!
The mirror seems to fill with silent raging winds, and shooting
flames, and suddenly there is a cavernous, mask-like face hanging in
the center. It says in sepulchral bass tones, "What wouldst thou
know, my queen?"
The White Fairy simpers before answering. Oh, how he loves this
mirror! Well, most of the time. "Miwwow, miwwow, on the wall, who
ith the fairetht...."
The mirror interrupts. "Look, T.W. Can we cut to the chase here?
I ain’t got all day, y’know. Now we both know I’m gonna say you’re
the fairest in the land. Ain’t got much choice, do I, seein’ as how
you gummed up my magic. So...what do you want?"
Slightly miffed, The White Fairy says, "Thomeone wang?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, who wath it?"
"How should I know?"
"You’re the thlave of the miwwow! You’re thuppozed to know theeth
thingth. And bethideth, you’re thuppozed to anther the miwwow when it
wingth!"
"Huh! Well, I’ve just been busy. And don’t you use that tone of
voice to me! I work very hard, I’ll have you know! And if you want
to know who ‘wang!’ just hit replay."
"We-pway?"
"We pray? What are we praying for?"
"No, no, idiot thlave. I thay-ed, Weeee...pwaaaay."
"Oh, no, we don’t. I ain’t playin’ with you. No way. I know the
kind of things you get into."
"Idiot! WITHEN!! Weee-pwaaaaay."
"Oh! ‘We-pway!’ Why didn’t you say so in the first place?" A
translucent hand drifts out of the mirror and pushes an ornate leaf
with an engraved "R" on it on the lower left side of the mirror frame.
"This button here." The face starts to fade as the mirror begins to
rewind. The voice says softly, "Don’t forget to press the gold re-set
button when you’re done."
"Wight."
"No, *gold*."
"I thay-ed, wight, idiot thlave!"
"And I said...oh, what’s the use?" The face disappears, to be
replaced by the image of Butch, who looks strangely un-Butch for a
moment in the low-cut, frilly negligee...that is, until The White
Fairy pays attention to her eyes, which are all business. "T.W. I
think you better get over here. We have a problem." The image snaps
out of existence.
"Oh, double dwat!" The White Fairy turns back into the shower,
where the giggling has subsided pretty much although the humming has
gotten a lot louder and considerably more creative. "Boyth, I’m
afwaid I’m going to have to...oh...well...yeth...oh, my...hmmm...ah,
yeth, I do bewieve...." There is a sharp intake of breath and The
White Fairy backs out of the shower. He pauses to look over his
shoulder at his image in the mirror. Hmmmm, not bad for an old fairy.
White wine always improves with age...and *this* white chocolate sure
did too...and after a couple of centuries, he hasn’t even hit his
peak.
A gently beckoning finger brings an extremely large, fluffy white
towel with Faerie Hilton embroidered in lavender along one edge, off
the rack to gently pat him dry, and softly fluff his hair. Another
gesture brings a gorgeous white silk robe rustling in from the next
room, to wrap itself around him and tie itself gently at his waist.
Satisfied, he uses one of his repertoire of Streisand gestures to
open the mirror, and steps through into Butch’s bedroom. Mere yelps
in surprise and dives under the covers.
"Oh, pweaze, my vewy dear. It’th not like I’m going to thee
thomething I want and twy to get it." On the way through the mirror,
The White Fairy has reconsidered and the silk robe has become a
stunning white silk business suit straight...umm, well *out of*
anyway...GayQ. Turning around to look at the mirror, which has
obediently followed through itself, The White Fairy carefully adjusts
his collar and his tie and the diamond stickpin.
He is starting on his cuffs, when Butch snaps, "T.W.!" Her eyes
are almost ice-age glacial and The White Fairy has the grace to look
somewhat abashed. The White Fairy looks around the room. "Whereth
the west of the gwoup?"
"T.W. Anyone home? You’re the faerie here. Remember?"
"Oh. Yeth. Well." The White Fairy stares intently at the mirror
and begins to intone the spell, but Butch cuts him off.
"Look, T.W., if I can tell that damned Book is spying on us, so
can you...or were you too *busy* to be paying attention? Regardless,
let’s just cut the crap and get the rest of them over here."
The White Fairy tries out Streisand No. 37. Nothing happens. He
mixes in a little Garland No. 12. Still nothing. Finally he throws
in a large Lupone No. 82. The mirror shivers all over, as its
elegantly curved and flowered frame melts into patterns reminding one
of people doing things they ought not to do in public, and the other
four people pop through. All four of them begin soaking the thick
carpet as water begins to run off their bodies. Two hums stopped
rather abruptly. "Goodneth, gwathouth, you people, don’t you think of
anything elth?" The White Fairy’s tone is a wee tad wistful, though,
but he eliminates the Lupone, swirls in a hint of Callas No. 3, and
all four are clothed again, as are Butch and Mere, who had untangled
herself from the satin sheets, and stood up to join the group.
With a sigh, The White Fairy gets down to business. "Okay, folks,
the Book of Pressed Fairies has been spying on us. So it knows none
of us are going to help it. *None* of us. Right?" He looks at Mere,
whose turn it is to look a wee tad wistful.
"Well, I know you’re right, but...the money is sure nice."
"My dear Mere," he grins, "have you met any of the partners at
Abaddon & Asrael, Ltd.?"
"Well, no."
"And have you seen any of their money?"
"Well, no."
"And what makes you think you ever would have?"
"But the Book sa...oh."
"Exactly. Now. Let’s find out what’s going on. Mirror!"
The sepulchral face appears in the center of the mirror and looks
around the room. Its eyes lit up with an eerie glow as it spots Butch
in a severely tailored business suit that does absolutely nothing to
hide her figure and her superb looks. "Welllll, helllloooooo, babe!"
The face glances over at The White Fairy, smiling hugely (which tends
to frighten horses and elderly sailors) and then leers at the other
three women. "It’s about time you got some broads around here, boss,
specially hot dames like these. I mean, all those men are okay...hey,
you know...diff’rent strokes ‘n all that, but...."
The voice breaks off abruptly as it realizes the edges of the
mirror have frozen solid and the ice is slowly moving toward the
center.
"Babe." Butch’s voice is colder than liquid nitrogen. The
atmosphere is beginning to freeze.
"Broads." Gymnastica and Amethyst bring the temperature down a
few more degrees and the air seems to solidify just a bit, as if it is
going to start falling to the ground in solid chunks.
"Dames." Mere puts all her Bardic Gift behind the undertones that
would have frozen guitar or lute strings and snapped them into shards
at the slightest touch, and a ragged hunk of air in the upper right
corner of the room thuds to the carpet.
The four women begin advancing on the mirror, and faint cracks
begin to appear in the ice around its edges, and in the mirror glass.
The mirror shrinks away from them, but can only get as far as the
wall. "Bosssssss!" it wails.
"That’s all." The White Fairy’s voice cuts through the cold,
through the tension, through the feminine concentration. Butch turns
her glare on her boss, who just stands up straight and stares right
back at her, hard silver cat-eyes cutting into and through granite
grey. "We need the mirror. Intact. Not in frozen splinters."
Butch realizes he is right. She doesn’t have to like it, but he
*is* right. Damn him. "Ladies." Her voice is southern-soft again.
"After all, it *is* only a mirror...and *merely* male...and it
certainly can’t *do* anything...."
"Hey! Whadda ya mean?" The mirror voice is all wounded macho.
"I can, too...."
"Mirror."
The face turns to look at The White Fairy, and very, very quickly
shuts up.
"Connect me to FairyNet, and then vanish for a while."
"Uh, yeah, good idea, boss."
"Get me Griselda, please." There is a pause, and then a nasal
voice says, "One ringie-dingie. Two ringie-dingies. Three
ringie-dingies."
In the middle of the fourth ringie-dingie, a booming bass voice
says, "Hello?" Briar and Ken both, on the far side of the room and
away from the mirror, brighten considerably, standing up a little
straighter, kind of *strutting* in place. The White Fairy quickly
takes in Griselda’s surroundings and says, "We need you here, Griz.
You okay with that?"
"SURE, BOSS!" Ken begins breathing a little heavier as the
subsonic tones begin to get to him, and Briar is sort of...wriggling.
The four women are just barely able to control their laughter.
"Okay, but leave the rest of the pool cue there, and scrape that
woman off your boots, first." The White Fairy *reaches* through the
mirror this time, gives Griselda his hand, and with surprising
strength, pulls her through. The mirror groans, but manages.
It is not that he has anything against women...although he
certainly doesn’t want anything *against* women, at least not of
his...but Briar is more than a little nervous being crowded into a
room with five women, all of *that* persuasion, and one of them as big
and butch as Ken. Hell, the blonde woman is as butch as Ken. Maybe
even more so. He quickly begins running the Hustler’s Code through
his mind. Maybe there is something that can get him out of....
"Okay. Everybody just find a place to sit so you can watch." The
group does so, and The White Fairy stands at one side. "I want to see
the Book of Pressed Fairies, please," he says to the mirror.
A new nasal voice says, "What country, please?"
The White Fairy resists the temptation to stroke the frame,
especially the part closest to him, and thumps it instead. A third
nasal voice says, "An information call is eighty-five cents in mortal
money, or three ounces of fairy gold. Please insert the proper amount
as this mirror does not give change."
The White Fairy thumps the mirror a second time, harder. The
nasal voice hardens, too. "Abuse of a duly-licensed FairyNet mirror
can lead to...." The voice stops abruptly, as The White Fairy stares
at the mirror with that tone of look that stops mortal tanks at fifty
paces and leaves only tiny, tiny, tiny curled pieces of scrap metal.
The mirror fogs and then clears and the group quietly observes the
Book’s seduction of Pyri and Shalla.
"Okay. That’th it. I’ve had it with that Book. Theduction of
thtrait faireeth indeed. Boyth and girlth, I think we better jutht go
over there and bath the Book over the...title page or thumthing, and
get thith over with. Only, uh...." The White Fairy turned his most
winning grin toward Briar and Ken, and...well...*wriggled.* Ken and
Briar gulped.
"Thinth you two are the only mortalth here who haven’t been
thedoothed by the Book, and thinth you’re mortal and not
faireeth...well, not *that* kind, anyway...one of you ith going to
have to pounth on the Book."
There is no real question. Ken is Marine-like enough to volunteer
immediately. Briar tells himself he would have done it if necessary,
but with a hunk like Ken around, well, why not put him to use?
Deciding they’d all better go for moral, immoral, illegal,
fattening or other support, The White Fairy does his own peculiar
(puhleeze!) mixture of a Garland 4, Lupone 62, Streisand 9, and just a
hint of Manilow 42, and the mirror stretches...not without
accompanying complaints...to accommodate all of them. In moments they
are through, and in the aisle of the theatre.
Of course, with this group, no entrance is ever silent or
anonymous. The Book is instantly aware that all its enemies have
gathered together. Straightening its spine, it vows to defend to the
death its right to splat.
Ken decides on a simple, gaily-forward approach. Walk up to the
damned book, pounce on it, hold tight...and then let The White Fairy
decide what to do with it. With an adoring look at The White Fairy,
Ken walks up the side steps and onto the stage.