Laura Schlitz - The Night Fairy

“You should keep away from that garbage,” Flory warned him. “Last time you ate yourself sick.”

“Oh, dear, yes,” sighed Skuggle, “how good that was!” He glanced back at the water tube. “Why do you want to know about that tube? That’s not for us. It’s for hummingbirds. They like to suck on the fake flowers.”

“Do they?” asked Flory. “In that case, I want to go there — to the oak tree.”

“I thought you didn’t like that tree late in the day. There’s bats in that tree,” Skuggle reminded her. “You’re frightened of bats.”

Flory knew it. A colony of bats nestled in the hollow at the top of the tree. Often she heard them squeaking in the garden after dark. She stuffed her ears with cobwebs in order to block out the sound, but she had bad dreams all the same. “The bats won’t be out till dusk,” she said. “Anyway, I’m not frightened of them. I just happen to hate them. It’s not the same thing.”

Skuggle looked sly. “You hate them because you’re afraid of them,” he said. He lowered his voice and sang a little song. “Fraidy-cat,” he sang softly. “Fraidy-cat! Flory-dory fraidy-cat!”

“If you don’t stop that, I’ll sting you,” Flory said coldly.

Skuggle shut his mouth and looked meek.

“Turn around so I can climb on your tail. I want to go to the oak tree.”

“Why?” demanded Skuggle.

“So that I can talk to the hummingbirds. Take me there now, and I’ll spear some suet for you later.”

“Why don’t you give it to me now?”

“Because I won’t. I’ll feed you later, but not now.”

Skuggle turned his tail in her direction. “I don’t see what you want with hummingbirds. They’re nasty birds,” he warned her. “I went to rob a nest once, and the mother nearly pecked my eye out. And the eggs were tiny,” he added petulantly. “Not much bigger than peas. Hardly worth eating.”

Flory paid no attention. She climbed onto the squirrel’s tail and waited for him to flick her onto his ear. In another moment, Skuggle leaped from the cherry tree to the oak tree. He stopped by the tube with the metal flowers. Flory slid off. “You can go now,” she said, and Skuggle dashed off again.

Flory waited for a long time. As she waited, she imagined the hummingbird again: the magic of his feathers in the light, the rapid double circles he made with his wings. She tried to imagine what it must be like to fly with wings like that. She lifted her arms, muscles tight, and fluttered the edges of her fingers. She imagined wings quivering, drumming on the air.

All at once the drumming sound was real. The hummingbird hovered beside the water tube. He was so close that Flory could feel the wind of his flight. His feathers rippled like green water; his wings were shadow and speed. “Hummingbird!” cried Flory. “I want you!”

The hummingbird dug his beak into the metal flower. After sucking at the water tube, he darted backward and rose straight into the air. He did not pay one bit of attention to Flory.

“Hummingbird, come back!” shouted Flory.

But he did not come back until he was thirsty again. Flory began to visit the feeder every day, waiting for him to appear. She soon found out that there were four hummingbirds that used the feeder: three males and a female. They drank the sugar water fiercely, as if they had a raging thirst. They were fierce, too, in the way they fought over the feeder, stabbing with their sharp beaks like swordsmen. Flory liked their fierceness. She would not have liked them half as much if they had been tame. She liked the males best, because of the ruby-colored patch on their throats, but she would have happily taken a female bird for her mount. Male or female, the hummingbirds had one thing in common: they ignored Flory as if she were invisible. Again and again she called out to them. Not one of them bothered to look her way.

“Nasty things,” Flory said, echoing Skuggle. But she didn’t mean it. She still wanted a hummingbird of her own — wanted one dreadfully — and when she dreamed at night, it was of sitting astride that jewel-green back, floating over a wilderness of flowers.

Midsummer came, a season of blinding-hot days and evening thunderstorms. Flory disliked the heat of the sun, but she enjoyed the storms, especially when they came at night. She liked to think of the bats getting wet.

Flory was growing up. She was as tall as two acorns now, and her curls brushed her shoulders. She could climb as nimbly as an insect, and leap from twig to twig as recklessly as Skuggle himself. Her little house was full of things she had made: a lily-leaf hammock, a quilt of woven grass, and a score of airy gowns crafted from poppies and rose petals. She had food saved for the winter: a mound of sunflower seeds and three snapdragon flowers stuffed with pollen.

She spent a week harvesting cherries, hacking them apart with her dagger, cutting out the pits, and drying them with a magic spell. Every day she learned new spells. They came into her head like songs.

She was half-asleep beside the hummingbird feeder one afternoon when she heard a blue jay squawking. At first she ignored him, because she knew how much blue jays enjoy making noise. They like to take a scrap of song or a piece of news and repeat it over and over, just for the thrill of screaming. But though they shriek for the fun of it, they often tell the truth about what is going on. And this blue jay was shrieking “hummingbird” and “spiderweb” and “trapped!”

Flory sat bolt upright. She peered around the garden without seeing either the hummingbird or the spiderweb. She opened her mouth to shout for Skuggle, and then shut it. Skuggle had been known to eat baby birds. If the hummingbird was caught in a spiderweb, Skuggle might eat him.

An idea took shape in her mind. She shut her eyes and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyelids. She half hissed, half prayed, “Let me see the hummingbird!”

It was a new magic, one she had never tried. At first she saw only the reddish glow of her inner eyelids. Then she saw the spiderweb. It belonged to the black-and-yellow spider that patrolled the juniper bush by the side gate. The sticky threads had snared the hummingbird’s wings. The more the bird struggled, the more it was held fast.

“I’ll come,” Flory said breathlessly. “Don’t be afraid, hummingbird! I’ll save you!”

She looked down, saw a twig below her, and leaped for it. Once she caught hold, she looked below for another. It was a haphazard, dangerous way to get to the ground, but she had no time to waste. She flung herself from twig to twig until she reached the bottom branch. Then she shinnied down the trunk.

Blades of grass rustled like cornstalks over her head. Flory wished she had thought to bring her dagger so that she could cut her way through the tangles. The idea crossed her mind that she had no idea how she was going to save the bird. Still, she had her magic, and her mind was made up. It would have to be enough.

She thrashed through the grass, breaking into a run when she came to the open space of the patio. By the time she reached the side gate, she was out of breath. She saw the spiderweb above her — a great silver network covering most of the juniper bush. The trapped bird was less than a foot from the ground.

“I’m coming!” shouted Flory. “Don’t be frightened! I’m coming to save you, hummingbird!”