By Betsy Miller

Fern stayed invisible, hovering in the shadow of the oak tree near the human pub, her pixie wings in constant motion. She wanted nothing more than to break that troublesome spell. The answer must be inside that building. She sensed a trace of pixie magic every time the door opened. She darted into the dimly lit room and zipped up to the rafters. 

Fern folded her wings, and perched on the least dusty beam, keeping an eye on the giants below. No magic here except that trace of pixie. That meant the enchantress wasn’t around. Fern breathed a sigh of relief. It was awfully noisy, what with a man in colorful clothes singing and strumming a lute to one side, and groups of humans talking with their too-loud voices. Fern squinted as she surveyed the room. Where could the pixie magic be coming from?

Just then, she spotted a large silver shape fluttering near a candle flame at a table below. Fern squinted and made out a pair of wings—and were those antennae? It must be a moth. This wouldn’t end well! The poor things were mesmerized by firelight. She zoomed over, pushed the moth from the flame, and blew out the candle. The moth swore, and beer foam sloshed over the edge of a pewter mug, spilling onto the human sitting at the table.  

Fern dodged the irate giant who was now swearing in turn. She sensed pixie magic again, stronger this time. She followed the fading trail up to the rafter and settled on the same beam. She made herself visible. “I’m Fern. Who are you?” she said, nudging the empty space next to her.

A pewter-colored pixie appeared, his grumpy face set in a scowl, his wings bedraggled. “I’m Bobbin, but how’d you know I was here? I’ve been practicing invisibility—got quite good at it if I do say so myself.”

“I sensed your magic. And you reek of hops,” said Fern, fanning her wings to help dry him off.

“Whose fault is that?” said Bobbin. “Besides, you reek of cluelessness!”

“What?” sputtered Fern.

“Blowing out candles, causing trouble…”

“I had to!” said Fern indignantly. “I couldn’t let that poor moth die in such a terrible way. I didn’t see where it went in all the confusion. It must have flown off…”

“What are you going on about, there was no moth! All I wanted was some beer at the end of a long day. And you ruined everything.”

Fern’s shoulders drooped. “I guess this isn’t the best time to ask for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” asked Bobbin suspiciously.

“Forget it,” said Fern. “I’ll find another way to break the spell someday.”

“A spell?”

“Yeah, I was flying through a forest glade a few weeks ago, and this entirely unreasonable enchantress zapped me and now during the day I’m a lizard.”

“Huh,” said Bobbin, scratching his head. “Do you miss flying when you’re a lizard?”

“Not really. I mostly have lizardy thoughts—warm rock, good hiding place, yummy bug. I’m not even sure which way home is at this point. I think I rode on the back of a wagon tucked into a bag of barley. It’s a little unclear in my mind. Changing back and forth can be disorienting.”

Fern sighed. “She said I should pay more attention to where I’m going.”

“Gee, I wonder where she got that idea?”

“Beats me. I’ve been trying to break the spell—drank from the magical spring, nothing. Danced all night under a blue moon to the music of frogs. Kissed a frog—nada. But I have a feeling that a kiss is involved.

“Why?”

“Well, she said a kiss would be involved.”

“And you’re only telling me now?”

“I didn’t want to seem too forward. And you didn’t exactly seem to be in a kissing mood. Plus, you seem to hate me. I can keep looking for another pixie.”

“Never said I hated you.” He shuffled his feet. “And I got nothing against kissing. Surprised you even asked me, seeing as the very same enchantress put a spell on me and now every night I’m stuck looking all silvery. I haven’t been out of this pub in ages. Don’t want to be mocked by other fairies. ’Course it’s clear you need glasses.”

“She got you too? Wait, what are glasses?”

“Things that humans invented to help you see better. I know a kobold could set you up with a pewter pair.”

“Maybe. I can see things fine up close. Silver or not, you don’t look so bad. Living as a lizard changes your perspective on these things.” Fern smiled. “Does this mean you don’t hate me, and you do want to kiss—that’s a yes?”

“Yes.” Bobbin moved closer.

Fern blushed. “You’re staring at me!”

“Just looking in your eyes. They’re acorn colored with flecks of gold.”

“They are?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I like your handlebar mustache quite a lot! It’s almost like antennae. Oh, my goodness, you’re the moth!”

“There was no moth,” said Bobbin softly.

Fern leaned a little closer. “Shut up and kiss me,” she whispered.  

Their lips met in the softest of kisses.

“Do you think it worked?” asked Fern.

“Absolutely,” said Bobbin.

“Our spells are broken?”

He took her hand. “Oh, that—I don’t know. We’ll have to wait until morning to be sure.”

“But what if I turn into a lizard?”

“Then we’ll have to keep trying to break that spell.”

“And if I don’t turn into a lizard?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” said Bobbin.