Into the Wildewood by Gillian Summers

seemed to be stoking an inner fire, about to blast anyone near her.
    “Having our one animated character, our children’s favorite, drop the F-bomb is wrong!” Finch yelled. “Get out of the damn Plumpkin suit. You don’t deserve to wear it. From now on you’re working the Steak-on-a-Stake booth.” The windows rattled from her yells. Keelie could almost see the woman’s sweat turn to steam.
    She quickly slipped out of the Plumpkin costume, afraid that otherwise, Finch would turn her upside down and shake the suit until she fell out of it. She wondered if she’d subconsciously screwed up because she hated being Plumpkin. Whatever. Keelie was ecstatic. How bad could the Steak-on-a-Stake booth be? No more stinky old costume. But what had been inside the bottom of the foot? She reached down and pulled out a soft, yellow-streaked wad of black cloth, then shook it to see what it was. She screamed and dropped it.
    “Now what?” Finch shouted.
    Keelie pointed to the dingy, tiger-striped men’s briefs on the floor. A couple of the tiger stripes went in another direction, suspiciously like skid marks.
    Finch sighed. “Vernerd was looking for those.” She handed Keelie a bottle of hand sanitizer. “You might want to use this stuff twice.”
    Keelie accepted it, shuddering. This was worse than lice. Her foot had been on top of men’s underwear. Worse, Vernerd’s obviously used underwear.
    Finch sat back in her chair. “I might retire Plumpkin. I was thinking about maybe having fairies. Know anything about fairies?”
    Keelie grimaced. “More than you want to know.”
    Finch’s complexion was returning to a more human pink. “Good. Draw some pictures and give them to Mona. She’ll start on the costumes next week. Not like we don’t have other things to handle around here. If I have one more complaint from Princess Whine-A-Lot, I’ll personally sew her lips together.”
    Keelie was beginning to like Finch, despite her temper. At least one person didn’t think that Elia was perfect and beautiful. “I can’t draw.”
    “Can you draw a stick figure?”
    “I guess.” How much did Finch know about the bhata? The little fairies looked like sticks and leaves and bits of moss, but most humans couldn’t see them.
    Finch shrugged. “Come back later, and I’ll give you some crayons and computer paper and you can have at it.”
    There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Finch bellowed.
    Mona entered the room with a bundle under her arm. She seemed to have shed yesterday’s stress. Although her face was still creased and worried-looking, her shoulders weren’t hunched up. “Here’s the costume you asked for.”
    She held up a full red skirt and a black bodice printed with white cow spots, and, to top off the horror, a short black vampire cape with a tall, stiff collar.
    Keelie thought that this Count Von Bovine getup was almost worse than the old yellow Muck and Mire skirt, with the red handprints on the butt, that she’d had to wear when she’d first arrived at the High Mountain Faire. She cringed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
    “No. Get dressed and haul your ass to Steak-on-a-Stake. It’s just past noon.” Finch snapped her fingers several times in a row. “Lunchtime crowd. People are hungry. Move it.”
    “What about shoes?” Keelie wiggled her bare feet. The thought of steak was enticing. She hadn’t eaten all day.
    “Mona, get her some hose and boots.”
    “Follow me.” Mona pulled a pair of green tights from a shelf stacked high with them. “We’ve got lots in stock because of the Faire’s Robin Hood story line.” She gave Keelie an apologetic smile. “And these are the only shoes left in your size.”
    Keelie put on the hose, even though they seriously clashed with her costume. She looked like a used-up Christmas ornament.
    The shoes were something else. They didn’t just totally clash, they looked like something from a genie-reject pile: glittery gold booties with stuffed fabric