The Summer King by O.R. Melling

had arrived in one piece and would begin her quest tomorrow.
    She slipped her hand under her pillow where she had put a photograph of Honor.
    Good night, sis.
    It was much later when she woke. The room was dark, but she knew someone was there.

 
    t was the noise that woke her. Scuffles and snuffles and scampers across the floor. Along the base of the walls. Over the dresser. A clink as the water jug rattled in its bowl. Mice? Laurel was about to jump up and turn on the light when she heard the giggles. She caught her breath. Something strange was happening. There were more giggles and then whispers. They were moving swiftly around the room. She nearly screamed when something landed on the bed with a small thump. She bit her lip, willing herself to be still. There was no squeaking. Definitely not mice. More soft bodies landed on the bed. Now they ran up her back! It was the oddest sensation. Little feet like finger tips. Giddily she realized they were playing tag and using her as a springboard to leap off the bed. She was more curious than afraid. When she peeked through her eyelashes, she glimpsed flickers of color. The logical part of her brain offered explanations, including a vivid dream brought on by the mission and headlights from a passing car refracted through raindrops on the windowpane. She dismissed these as nonsense. Whatever was happening was much more exciting.
    Something stood close to her nose. She could sense it peering into her face. A sweet fragrance wafted toward her.
    “Ah, poor thing,” said a silvery voice. “She’s sad and lonely.”
    “Give her a kiss,” suggested another.
    This led to snickers. Other voices added their encouragement. Laurel felt the press of tiny lips on hers, and tried not to smile. A feather’s tickle. The taste of dewdrops.
    A crowd had gathered at the edge of her pillow. Their game was suspended as they discussed her.
    “Moon-colored hair and a face like a pearl.”
    “I wish we could steal her.”
    “Don’t be silly. You know she is in league with the Gentry.”
    “Her family has always sided with the Court.”
    “More’s the pity!”
    A stroke as gentle as thistledown brushed her cheek.
    Laurel couldn’t help herself.
    She sneezed.
    In the cacophony of screeches that followed, her eyes flitted open. She had to swallow a cry. Oh the wonder of it! She was surrounded by whorls and tinsels of light—glittering golds and greens, frilly pinks and blues. A burst of miniature fireworks! And inside the lights flashed limbs, veined wings, and streaming tresses. But it was all too much. Too weird and unearthly. Terrified, she clenched her eyes shut again. She was fairy-struck .
    Yet with the terror came a thrill of delight. Woven through the fear of the supernatural was the thread of enchantment. The faint shimmer of a promise in the dark of night. If such things are possible, then dreams may come true.
    She didn’t want them to leave. She pretended to snore so they would settle.
    They dropped out of the air and back onto the bed, like a shower of petals. The giggles started up again. A daring imp climbed onto Laurel’s head.
    “I’m giving her elf-locks for the fright she gave us.”
    “Mind you don’t wake her!”
    “She can’t be woken. A pisreog was put on the biscuits and all have been eaten.”
    “They’ll come for her soon,” someone said with a sigh.
    “What a shame!” cried another. “Will they harm her?”
    Laurel could feel the little fingers making knots in her hair. She fought the urge to scratch. Alert now, she stopped snoring to listen. What were they talking about? It didn’t sound good.
    “I want to warn her!” one of them burst out.
    “You can’t! It’s forbidden! Tá sí sa leabhar ag an bhfiach dubh, ” came a lugubrious voice. When the others gasped in unison, it persisted. “The Fir-Fia-Caw claim her as foe.”
    “We must wake her then!” argued her defender. Now she recognized the voice. He was the one who had kissed