Page 1 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf
Chapter 1
Maeve
“I’mbleeding,NurseMaeve!”
Tommy Fangsworth looks up at me with watery eyes, his shoulders heaving as he tries, unsuccessfully, to repress a sob. His chubby little hand points to his right knee, where a shining wound contrasts with his soft brown fur.
As the school nurse for Saltford Bay Elementary, skinned knees and tummy aches are my bread and butter. And kindergarteners with boundless energy like Tommy are my most frequentvisitors.
“My poor little friend!” I exclaim, taking him by the hand and guiding him inside my office.
He doesn’t wait to be told to hop onto the chair by the window, his little legs pumping.
"Did the dinosaur you were chasing bite back, or was it the monkey bars this time?"
I turn around to grab the cotton wipes to clean his skinned knee. It’s all a show, of course. Werewolves heal rapidly and by the time I turn back to him to clean his wound, it’s already closed and covered in fur.
"It was a dragon," Tommy corrects with all the seriousness his seven-year-old self can muster, fangs peeking out as he grins. "Dragons are way scarier than dinosaurs, Nurse Maeve. Everyone knows that."
His cherub face lights up and he flashes me a gap-toothed grin, exposing the small hole where his fang would soon grow.
Werewolf children are adorable, even when they fall and skin their knees on purpose just to get a lollipop.
"Well, next time you battle a dragon, maybe wear the kneepads your mom packed? Dragons play dirty."
He chuckles and wiggles excitedly on the chair as I offer him a purple lollipop. His favorite.
“Thank you, Nurse Maeve!”
I'm halfway through escorting him back out of my office when the unmistakable smell of singed hair wafts through my office door.
Ugh. Not again.
I watch Tommy walk through the hallway in progressively faster steps until he breaks into a run, then open my mouth to tell him to slow down, but the words don’t make it out of my mouth as thesmell of burnt hair grows stronger and a frantic shout comes from the opposite direction.
"Coming!" I call, already reaching for the special shampoo I keep for this particular recurring emergency.
Two figures turn the corner, walking in my direction as fast as their legs can take them. Ms. Grimsby, Harriet to me, with young Zinnia Sparkletoes clinging to her skirt. Zinnia, a pixie kindergartener with iridescent wings and a penchant for pyrotechnics, has managed to set her own pigtails on fire. Again.
"Third time this month," Harriet says dryly, ushering the sniffling child forward. "We talked about practicing illumination spells during art time, Zinnia darling."
I crouch down to Zinnia's eye level, taking in the uneven, charred ends of her once-pink hair. "Well, hello there, my little matchstick. Let's get you fixed up, shall we?"
"Miss Maeve." Zinnia hiccups, a tiny tendril of smoke still coming from the tip of one pigtail. "I was just trying to make my drawing extra pretty."
"I know, sweetheart." I guide her to the sink in the corner of my office. "And I bet it was the most beautiful drawing in the class. But what's our rule about practicing spells in school?"
"It’s not allowed until fifth grade," she mumbles, her little wings drooping.
I nod, working the special fire-retardant shampoo into her singed hair. "That's right. Because even though magic is wonderful, it can sometimes be unpredictable. Like your lovely hair."
Harriet leans against the doorframe, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'll make sure she sits away from the art supplies for the rest of the week."
"Probably for the best." I rinse Zinnia's hair, now extinguished and smelling faintly of charcoal and peppermint. "There we go. All better. And look, you've got a new hairstyle!"
I spin her around to face the small mirror mounted on the wall, where she can see her newly shortened bob. It's a bit uneven, but nothing a proper haircut won't fix. Zinnia's face brightens, her wings perking up and sending little sparkles into the air.
"I look like a fairy warrior!" she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.