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Counting Fairies

By Victoria Dixon

 

Inside her carport, Janet Littleton turned off the bike’s grumbling engine and removed her pit bull’s goggles. Buddy wagged his tail until she unbuckled him from the sidecar. He bolted downhill toward the rock quarry.

Janet groaned, praying he didn’t go into the quarry. If she entered, there were too many rocks to count, and she’d never leave. Never be safe again. She whistled through her teeth. Buddy barked but did not return. He must have discovered yet another helpless creature to save. She took the dumplings they’d bought and entered her old clinic, walking across the foyer and through the doorway into her home’s adjoined kitchen. She stowed the dumplings in the fridge, her mouth watering at their greasy scent.

“So much for breakfast.”

Not that she minded her dog’s single-minded insistence on healing the injured. It was an obsession they shared. She did wish it was a less painful preoccupation.

Janet trudged after Buddy, wincing as her arthritic feet complained about the rough pavement. She passed the pines on her left without looking at them. That way, she didn’t feel the need to count the trees. They were every bit as dangerous as the quarry.

“Buddy?” He barked but didn’t come. She found him at the forest’s edge, fifty meters from where the rock quarry gouged out the earth. The October breeze gave her a whiff of the pit’s sulfur stink. She coughed at the lingering taste and refused to look in the hole.

Buddy had curled himself around two wounded fairies. He thumped his tail and whined at her, his wrinkled face worried.

Janet had retired and closed her old veterinary clinic months ago, but her dog didn’t care. He wouldn’t leave the fairies until Janet healed them. She knelt. “What’s the problem this time, Buddy boy?”

Blue blood covered the female’s long burgundy hair and smelled of copper. She had one wing torn off and Janet tensed against the uneven number.

Buddy whined, nudging Janet’s hand. Though not a trained service dog, he always knew when she needed distraction.

The female fairy stood up, her fists raised. She stood about as tall as a grapefruit and was equally intimidating. She spoke in a squeaky voice that Janet couldn’t hear.

Cursing, Janet repositioned the hearing aids in her ears. They squealed until she adjusted them. Getting old sucked.

Janet put her hand over her heart. “I offer you healing and hospitality.” Humans and fairies ignored one another, but Janet took healing seriously. It and Buddy were the only things that mattered. “Let me carry you back to my clinic, Tink.”

Blue droplets spattered the grass when the fairy shook her head. “You may call me Tulip. I will be fine. The bleeding has stopped. Please, carry my king.”

He had wavy black hair twinkling with hidden lights, a broken leg, and a haughty expression when he raised his palm. “No human shall touch our glorious self.”

“That’s fine, your gloryship,” Janet crossed her arms. “You can set that compound fracture yourself.”

He didn’t have wings, but Janet wished he could fly away.

Tulip at last convinced him to be carried. She declined the same privilege but lay on Buddy’s back and rode him inside the clinic.

Janet took a deep breath and avoided looking at Tulip’s wing. Instead, she placed the king on the cold exam table and clicked on the lights. She brushed her gray hair behind one ear and repeated the gesture on the other ear for the sake of symmetry.

One king. Nothing she could do about one missing wing or one ruler, but together, they were an even number. Problem solved. Kind of.

“This will hurt. I can give you a sedative.”

He shook his head. Janet shrugged, disinfected the wounds with iodine, and pulled the bone segments into place. The king paled, but refused to look where the bones had jutted through the skin.

Janet used two long-handled cotton swabs to splint the broken leg. The king rose with the help of a third cotton swab he used like a crutch. Janet offered him another, but he waved it away.

“You going to tell me who did this?” Janet asked. “Was it someone in the village?”

The king looked scornful at the idea. “This was a Fomorian, our mortal enemy. We have fought them for centuries in their caves and mountains. We chased them out of Faerie and now only one remains. He has killed many of us and laid hands upon our self. The Fairy Courts shall arrive by tonight and we shall hunt it and kill it.”

“Wait, what?” Janet backed away. “Nuh uh. No courts here. No crowds. No genocide. I’m done. You and your haters can meet in the forest.” She opened the examination room door, looking forward to brunch.

No one moved. The king still leaned on his crutch, unimpressed at her outburst, but Tulip wrung her hands. Buddy whined once and Janet cringed at the uneven number. She’d counted too much today. It gave her momentary relief, but it made everything worse in the long run.

“We will not heal for twenty-four hours, human,” the king said. “We . . . need your assistance for a day longer.”

Janet suspected he possessed no more humility.

Buddy put his paws on the examination table and licked the king once. Do it again, Buddy. Please. He sat instead, as if waiting for her to answer. Requiring her to overlook the asymmetry. Better for her, but much, much harder. His tail thumped once.

You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?

“Fine, but you and your court stay in the clinic.” Patients were never allowed in the house. She stalked past the clinic’s kiosk and unlocked the adjoining door to her home.

The king hobbled in behind her. “Your clinic does not befit our station.” Thanks to two Ficus trees, six books and two overstuffed chairs, the living room’s warmth welcomed. The king laughed. “This will have to suffice. Make a lounge and bower,” he said to Tulip.

The fairy gave a wobbly bow, and struggled to pull a pillow from a chair. Janet helped her, but Tulip waved off the offer of a second pillow. Instead, she plucked three Ficus branches. The uneven numbers threw off Janet more every minute.

Her brain wanted to explode.

Buddy found her amid the chaos, just like he’d found her years ago. Chain scars around his neck and bite marks across his body showed his history. As a vet, she’d healed him, but he treated her every day. Treated her now, leaning into her until she relaxed, petting him. He huffed once and pushed open his dog door, welcoming more unwanted fairies into the mobile home.

Janet counted aloud. “One, two . . .” Eleven fairies murmured and bowed to their king, who watched Janet with an odd expression. She turned away from him but couldn’t escape so many voices.

Creatures limped or flew back and forth between the clinic and her house, making counting harder. One gored unicorn and a leprechaun with missing fingers awaited treatment in the clinic. They smelled of cinnamon and honeysuckle. The unicorn, though lovely, had left three stinking clumps in his wake. Janet swept up the mess. How many uneven numbers this morning? Maybe they’ll add up to an even number?

She counted. They didn’t. Only for you, Buddy. And only for twenty-four hours.

Janet lathered and washed her hands twice before gathering gauze, tape, and disinfectant. She put on a pair of latex gloves before bandaging the unicorn’s muscled flank. It stamped a cloven hoof and snorted thanks.

Two vials of sedatives and syringes remained in her cabinet. She divided the supplies equally before stuffing them in her apron’s pockets. When she returned, the living room was so cramped, she couldn’t reach patients. She needed to count them.

“Anyone who needs medical attention, come here!”

They ignored her because the king spoke. He wore a garland of goldenrod in his hair like a crown and glittered as he gestured for them to sit. “We apologize for appearing in this unseemly condition and in such low environs . . . ”

Janet gritted her teeth. Arthritis made her hips and back ache, but the fairies left her nowhere to sit. Hundreds whizzed through her living room, but she couldn’t count fast enough. Fifteen courtiers murmured suggestions to the king. Forty fairies, three sprites, and one dryad took up both chairs. The room stank like a compost heap, and heat flashed through her body. Buddy pushed her away from the stressors and into the kitchen.

He worked his magic until her cheeks cooled and her breathing slowed. Buddy always made overwhelming numbers manageable. He also made loneliness bearable since her last sibling had died. What would she ever do without him? The dog leaned into her and slid to the floor, panting his bliss.

Lunch and dinner time had slipped past. She lowered her hearing aids and looked in the fridge for her bag of one hundred takeout dumplings. Her mouth watered, thinking of the pork, anise, and cloves. The dumplings were gone. The empty bag sat on the counter. Janet slammed the fridge shut. Thieving fairies. I am done with them. Promises forgotten in the face of hunger, she plowed through the crowd toward the king’s bower.

Facing the front door, Buddy rose from the ground as if pulled by a string. A growl rumbled in his throat and the room quieted. The hairs on his back stood and his ears flattened. He stared at the door and snarled.

Janet stopped, tirade forgotten. “Buddy?” He never did this. The dog welcomed everyone. A smell like ten murdered skunks wafted through the room. Janet gagged. Thank God she hadn’t eaten. Buddy bared his teeth.

Outside, running footsteps sounded like thunder.

“It’s the Fomorian,” the king said. He no longer looked regal. Terror and defiance flickered in his eyes. “He’s followed our scent!”

Outside, the Fomorian roared, and the house rattled. With a scream of protesting wood, the front door shook.

“Everyone outside!” Janet shouted. They pushed her against the wall as they stampeded through the clinic. She pulled a sedative vial from her pocket and filled the syringe with shaking hands.

The Fomorian shattered the front door. Janet gaped as a thick torso and head squeezed through the frame. When he straightened, the Fomorian touched the ten-foot ceiling. “Fairy lover,” he snarled.

She ran. It would be easier to dose him inside, but he’d smash her before she got close enough.

Outside, the fairies raised their hands, chanting. Their magic glowed with golden dust. The hillside glittered. Fairies zipped around the ogre, shouting cantrips that made mushrooms grow up his arms. The mushrooms exploded, and the Fomorian roared as blood droplets spattered the ground.

Janet used his distraction and stabbed the syringe into his thigh. One dose delivered. Even if she sedated him, how many fairies would she have to treat today? Add one Fomorian to her patient list.

He whirled on her, club descending.

Buddy knocked her down before the Fomorian kicked him away. Buddy yelped but rose.

“Buddy, no!”

The ogre crushed a fairy and Buddy bit the ogre’s ankles. The wounds looked like bug bites on the massive creature.

The ogre swung, but Buddy darted away.

She filled the next syringe and stabbed at his other thigh. The needle broke.

She staggered, struggling to think of a way to lure the Fomorian away. He’s so alone —  like me. I bet he misses his friends and family and home.

We fought them in their caves and mountains. The king’s words gave Janet an idea. “I want him to chase me!” she shouted to the king. “If he does, return to Faerie and stop killing your enemies.”

Janet sprinted toward the Fomorian. “Hey!” Janet bellowed.

The club fell, sending divots flying as Janet avoided it. She ran a few steps away. “Over here!”

The ogre’s club cracked the ground as he missed her again and again. Each time, Janet ran farther. Gasping for air now. Her feet and hips burned. What if I’m wrong? What if he’s just a murderous creature? He’ll kill me, Buddy, and the fairies, and then go after everyone in the village.

The ogre raised his club and Buddy darted to her defense. The ogre swatted the dog into a tree.

He lay still.

“Buddy!” Janet shrieked. The smell and taste of copper lingered. Buddy’s blood.

“Take care of Buddy!” she shouted to Tulip, who saluted.

Janet ran. She hated the Fomorian. Hated the fairies who’d brought him. Most of all, Janet hated herself for abandoning the one creature she loved. I’m not abandoning him. I’m placing myself between him and danger.

Every time the Fomorian lost sight of her in the dark, she shouted until he chased her. Is it just me, or is he getting slower? Maybe it’s the sedative.

Panting and aware of every aching joint, she stopped at the edge of the quarry. The moon gave little light, but lots of shadows. The boulders below looked like other ogres. Can’t be. They’re all dead and he’s alone.

She limped downhill, refusing to blink for fear of falling. Her eyes burned. Ignoring her scrapes, she made it to the bottom and called one last time. To her back, was the vast black hole that opened into the limestone hill. Meant to be developed as future storage, Janet could think of a better use. Come on, Stinky.

He stepped into the quarry. Dust clouds and a sulfurous stench rose in his wake.

Janet waited until he chuffed toward her like a locomotive.

“Why you help fairies?” His speech slurred and Janet wasn’t sure if he’d understand, but she wanted to try.

“I heal people. Fairies and Fomorians. You’re tired, aren’t you? Tired of fighting. Tired of being alone and homeless.” She patted the entry behind her. “Welcome home.”

The Fomorian stopped, limestone dust rising around him. A long minute passed before he stepped forward. “Home?”

The club dropped to the ground, and he entered the cave. His voice echoed as he whispered, “Home. I’m home.”

“I’ll visit you tomorrow, ok? I’ll heal you and be your . . . friend.”

The word echoed inside the cave and the ogre rumbled a response.

Janet took a deep breath and finally took in the quarry before her. It was a mistake. There were three huge boulders in front of her. She needed a fourth. But it was a quarry. There’d be a fifth. A sixth. She trembled, facing her own trap.

She reached for silken ears and comforting strength. Buddy wasn’t there. He’s hurt! What am I doing here? He needs me.

How many times today had he forced her to confront uneven numbers? She’d lost count, but that proved she didn’t have to obey the compulsions. Buddy always saved her.

She’d contact the quarry owners and the police and warn them an ogre had moved into the quarry. The villagers were used to tiny magical creatures. Would they believe there was an ogre? Would they hurt him? Not on my watch. I’ll protect you, Stinky.

She left the uneven quarry and ignored the nagging sense of incompletion. When she reached the top of the hill, the shattered remains of her home came into view. Her business remained, though the sign pronouncing it the “Littleton Veterinary Clinic” hung askew. Janet longed to see Buddy limping toward her. The clinic’s door stood open, and light poured out.

“Buddy?” Inside, red droplets trailed into the exam room where she had treated Tulip.

The exam room was familiar with its posters and cotton balls. Buddy lay on the table, unmoving.

Janet was grateful the king had stayed. The goldenrod in his hair was gone, and he didn’t look glamorous or arrogant as he petted Buddy.

“We used our magic to carry the fallen warrior inside, but we can do no more here. Your dog is dying, human woman.” For once, he didn’t sound lofty, but sad.

The coppery stench was unbearable. Janet probed through Buddy’s fur, stiff with blood. She could fix the problems. Surgery, physical therapy . . .

Her dog’s spine was shattered. Janet stared. Not my Buddy.

“We can save your dog,” the king said. “In Faerie. We will honor you both. If you come, your pains and — excuse me — but your compulsions will vanish. However, I cannot risk the Fomorian following us. I must close the door.”

She and Buddy could heal. No more pain or anxiety. No more isolation to avoid counting everything and everyone. No more loneliness.

But thanks to Buddy, she knew she could deny the compulsions. All she’d ever wanted was to heal the creatures Buddy brought home, and Buddy himself. Now, Stinky needed her, and she’d promised to help him. And besides, if she lost the compulsions, she’d lose a part of herself.

She petted Buddy, and he whined and tried to sit. “You did it, Buddy. You saved me.” Janet put her face close to his. “I’m strong enough . . . to save you.” Janet’s voice broke. Buddy’s whine brought Janet to her senses. She nodded to the fairy king. “Please . . . ”

Beside the exam table, a door opened to a land of hyacinth and willow. Honeysuckle sweetness filled the room. The king waved his hands over Buddy. A golden weave of light surrounded the pit bull and lifted him off the exam table. Buddy passed the threshold into Faerie and he struggled until he sat up, magically healed.

“Stay, Buddy.” Because she needed to know how much the fairies would love him, she counted their flitting forms. One hundred and eighty-six fairies crowded around Buddy, caressing the ecstatic dog. His tail thumped once. Twice.

“Can he ever return?” she asked the king, fearing the answer, but hoping. His wounds looked old. He could sit up and move. Surely he’d live if he returned now . . .

“Would you want him to?”

She bit her lip. The honest answer was yes. She needed her Buddy. Was it right to ask him to return to a painful world?

Janet shook her head. “No. He’s earned his retirement. Can I come . . . later?” After I’ve helped your mortal enemy?

The king looked at her and she had the oddest feeling he knew her intentions. At last, he held out his hand and a silver whistle lay in it. It looked like an ornate dog whistle. “Finish your labors here and call us. We will come. You were right before,” he said, as he accepted her help off the exam table.

“About what?”

“You are strong.”

Her lips trembled as she stared at the king, grateful. She pocketed the whistle. “Thank you for taking care of my boy.” The door to Faerie vanished and Janet collapsed into misery. An hour passed. She stayed that way as daylight grew brighter. Buddy’s favorite time of day. Janet’s too.

Bird song snuck through the glass door. Sunlight lit the dew beads on the grass as Janet left the clinic. She passed the battlefield’s torn earth. A breeze whistled and Janet brushed her gray hair behind an ear and denied the demands of symmetry. Shattered trees lay in pieces. She refused to count them.

Buddy wants me to save others. Even the ogre. Only for you, Buddy. I will stand between Stinky and every villager if I have to.

One by one.

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Host Commentary

…aaaaand welcome back. That was “Counting Fairies” by Victoria L. Dixon, and if you enjoyed that then I found one other story linked from her website—”Cold Heart”, free to read online at Dreamforge Magazine—and I hope that in time there’ll be others you can find there too, at victorialeadixon.com

Victoria sent us this note on Counting Fairies: “Both the obsessive compulsive behavior depicted here and the scenes in the clinic are based on reality. Because of that, this story is for Cavall. Sadly, I made up the ogre and the fairies.”

Thank you, Victoria, for the context and the story, though frankly I’m kind of glad the fairies are made up cos they seem pretty… well, I’m trying to swear less these days cos I’m giving my kids bad habits, so I think you know where I was headed there. The ogre can stay, though. He just needs someone to listen to him, and we can all relate to that, I warrant.

In our house we are, as things stand, a dog house; three years ago we were a cat house but, well, that’s how things shake out, sometimes, you don’t get to choose how long you keep ’em for, in the end, do you? So right now it’s two cavapoos and a miniature dachshund, and that mix of breeds was very particularly and especially chosen, as it happens: the two cavapoos are for the two kids, because they’re one of the best breeds for autistic kids and helping with their anxiety, and I have to say they do have an astonishing level of patience for fuss that errs on the… heavier-handed side of things, as well as an uncanny knack for knowing when they’re needed to just lay on a lap and cheer someone up. And the miniature dachshund, well, if you’ve ever known one for five minutes or more then you know what a stubborn, demanding, ridiculous pain in the arse they are, with a personality that you’d think would need an Alsatian size body to fit in: which is to say, perfect for my mum-in-law in the annex to keep her company.

Because science has proven, and we all knew anyway but it is good to have the science to back it—and I am not one of those “why do scientists waste their time on obvious things” kind of people, because it’s amazing how often what seems obvious isn’t, big fan of the Ignobel Prizes every year—but in this case, yes, being with your pets does reduce cortisol and increase oxytocin, which is to say reduces stress and increases happiness. The dogs will get you through, and the cats, and the rabbits and guinea pigs and horses and whatever your preferred flavour of pet is, both on the sensory level—having a head rest on your lap, and a slow-rising furry chest to rest your hand on—but also that unconditional love and trust. Well, maybe not the latter for cats, but that always felt like it meant more then, y’know? You were a bastard to everyone, Lizzie, but you still chose to sleep on my lap as often as you could, and that meant a lot, and I miss you.

Unfortunately the bill for all that comes due one day, and we go into these things knowing that we will outlive near any pet we could get, unless parrots or tortoises are your thing, and that all the happiness and support we had from them will be balanced out by the grief and loss when we have to say goodbye. It is one of the hardest things, because death always is; and because pets mean as much to us as people; and going on without them seems impossible. The choice when a pet needs putting down is awful, because you feel like you’re having them killed because they’re such a burden now, and that’s so impossibly selfish! But the truth is that by that point, it’s likely that keeping them alive is the selfish act, and they’re past ready to go, and it’s only our love and care and attention repaid to them that’s kept them going this long at all. It’s not killing them, no matter how much your pre-emptive grief wields that phrase against you like a weapon: it’s releasing them, it’s letting them rest, it’s giving them the gift of going without suffering, of repaying all the pain they saved you. It’s a kindness I wish we were allowed to show each other, frankly, and I’m heartened to see the UK make progress in this one area, at least, with assisted dying bills.

Anyway. It’s going to start getting hard to talk past the lump in my throat, so I think I should say only one thing more, on Eleanor’s behalf: good boy, Bruno.