Page 3 of Perfectly Petite Shorts (Perfect Pixie)

The sprite cocked its head before offering a firm nod.

“It’s worth a look. Give me a minute.” The sprite didn’t wait for an answer before diving back into the box.

The chattering overwhelmed Nirgal’s ears and he was unable to parse out the individual comments.

Soon enough, the sprite shot out of the exit, and instead of landing on Nirgal’s offered hand, it nestled in his hair. “Show me,” the sprite demanded.

The sound filtering up through Nirgal’s chest was so foreign he hardly recognized it as mirth. “Come, little sprite, let me show you the wonders of our ancient and very well-protected woods.”

“You have a woods?” the sprite eagerly asked.

“A whole old growth forest.”

“And…no sprites?”

“Sadly, no.” Humans had hunted sprites to near extinction.

Capturing them and keeping them caged in a mockery of celebratory illumination.

Between human fascination and deforestation, sprite colonies were a rarity, and still, they were under threat.

Peaches’s own colony of sprites had been relocated to his orchard.

It looked like this small colony had been forced to seek the same.

“Were there ever sprites here?”

“Once, very long ago,” Nirgal lamented. He was uncertain what had happened to them. The years had gone by, and one day he noted there were none left.

The sprite sighed. “That is the way of things.”

Nirgal didn’t think it should be, but he could hardly argue.

Walking down the winding garden path, Nirgal headed toward the forest edge. His impromptu entourage included Gashan, Cassius, and LizAnne. Cradling the box presumably containing the remainder of the sprite colony, LizAnne kept a steady pace.

Stepping past the tree line, Nirgal spread his hands wide. “This, my little sprite, can all be yours.”

Nirgal heard the sprite inhale before it zipped from his head and headed into the forest. That buzz of light could be seen dashing this way and that, landing fleetingly before taking off again.

“Sir?” Cassius cautiously questioned. “Am I to assume King Moony has gifted you with a colony of sprites?” Cassius inclined his head toward the box in LizAnne’s hands.

“I believe so, should they agree to the move,” Nirgal answered.

“Why would they decline?” Gashan asked.

LizAnne spoke up. “Sprites require a healthy forest to thrive. They can revive a failing forest but cannot bring back one that has deteriorated too far. Sprites thrive on insects and need good trees from which to carve homes. In this day and age, they also require protected land.”

Cassius bristled. “Our forest is impeccable. I do not see how they can find fault.”

Nirgal’s amusement grew. “I suspect sprites have a much different opinion regarding what makes an impeccable forest than you or I.”

“Possibly,” Cassius reluctantly conceded.

“I have to say, I agree with Cassius,” LizAnne stated. “This forest appears to be perfect for them. I do not believe there will be any concerns.”

The sprite’s glow grew brighter until it hovered in front of Nirgal. “I need to speak with my colony.”

“Please do,” Nirgal answered.

A cacophony of sound erupted as soon as the sprite entered the box. Cassius and Gashan flinched while Cassius complained, “They are certainly a noisy group.”

Nirgal couldn’t fault his nestling and so remained silent as he eagerly awaited the verdict. He didn’t need to wait long. The sprite flew back out and this time alighted on Nirgal’s outstretched palm.

“Have you come to a decision?” Nirgal asked.

The little sprite crossed his arms and answered with a question. “The forest is yours?”

Nirgal nodded. “It is. ”

“And you protect it? No humans allowed?”

“No humans would dare,” Nirgal confidently answered.

The sprite’s face split into a wide grin, his wings buzzing with excitement. “Then we happily accept.”

With a high-pitched whistle, the sprite called to his colony and a flood of firefly lights dashed out of the opening.

They circled Nirgal’s head, flying higher and lighting the area with their joy.

Throwing his head back, Nirgal’s lips pulled away from his fangs, their ivory glint exposed for the world to see as he let loose a joyful laugh.

“King Moony and Peaches will be pleased their gift was accepted,” LizAnne said, her own smile lighting up her features. “They will be very pleased indeed.”

P eat

“We need to talk, Peat.”

Peat wondered if anything good had ever come from hearing those four words.

We need to talk never preceded anything favorable.

He should know. Peat had lost count of the number of times he’d heard them.

He’d also lost count of the times he’d seen the pitying smile plastered on Mr. Cunningham’s face.

Not his face, in particular, simply any and every living creature that had a face.

Peat didn’t bother asking what the problem was while he followed Mr. Cunningham down three flights of stairs and into a sitting room that had been transformed into an office.

The Dunleavy Estate and Botanical Gardens was a small, privately owned and financed acreage.

The original owner, Marcus Dunleavy, was long since deceased.

The estate had been passed down through the centuries until either Marcus ran out of heirs or those heirs ran out of money.

Peat wasn’t sure which and cared even less.

Over the years, the estate passed into disrepair until it was purchased by a human with more money than the Goddess herself.

The property was being rehabbed and altered to become an event location that would host weddings, reunions, corporate retreats—those kinds of things.

Renovations were nearing completion, and due to Peat’s hard work, the small castle was magnificent once more.

As a home-and-hearth pixie, he would have been ashamed if it were anything less than glorious after two years on the job.

No doubt, Petal, the nature pixie who’d been hired to care for the gardens felt the same.

Jerry Cunningham was the human who hired Peat.

He wasn’t the owner of the property. He was the manager.

Mr. Cunningham did the hiring and firing.

He put out fires and lit just as many under the workers’ asses.

Peat had grown to like the aging human, and if he read him correctly, Mr. Cunningham liked Peat too.

Mr. Cunningham often said Peat was the one employee he didn’t have to micromanage.

He’d said Peat was the best hire he’d made.

While the owners had deep pockets, they skimped where they could. That’s where Peat came in.

Mr. Cunningham slipped into a large chair nestled behind an even larger, ornate wooden desk. The modern computer sitting atop it appeared out of place.

Elbows propped on the desk, Mr. Cunningham leaned his chin on his folded hands, his eyes downcast. Peat was tempted to make this easier for him but couldn’t bring himself to do it. After all, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Peat wasn’t about to get axed.

Yeah, and maybe trolls would suddenly develop good dental hygiene.

Peat’s wings twittered, scattering magenta dust. Peat’s chair was far enough away from the desk that the dust didn’t reach the human’s sensitive nose.

With a deep sigh, Mr. Cunningham lifted his head, just enough for Peat to glimpse his sad, pale brown eyes.

“The estate is nearly finished,” he safely started.

“We’ve even got a couple of bookings lined up.

The first is a wedding. Big fancy to-do from what I’ve heard.

” Mr. Cunningham’s grin lacked any true mirth.

“The Dunleavy Estate and Botanical Gardens will be open for business soon. You’ve been a big part of making that happen, Peat.

You and Petal. I can’t stress that enough.

There’s no way the castle would be in the gorgeous state it’s currently in had it not been for you. ”

Any home-and-hearth pixie worth their salt could have done the same.

Still, Peat appreciated the gratitude. He’d put a lot of effort into the estate.

In truth, it was a labor of love. And that, more than anything, would be the absolute worst part about losing this job.

He’d hoped… Well, it was beyond foolish.

Peat learned that lesson a long time ago.

Pixies weren’t supposed to look like him.

They weren’t supposed to be so…damaged. Peat couldn’t even fly properly.

“I want you to know, that if it were up to me…” Mr. Cunningham’s words trickled into another deep sigh.

“The higher ups are concerned .” He cringed at the word.

“Stupidity, that’s what I call it. But at the end of the day, I’m just an employee too.

I don’t get the final say.” Peat could tell just how much that irked the human.

“It’s okay,” Peat said, and wondered if he truly meant it. Upon quick emotional inspection, Peat realized he did not mean it. Being fired wasn’t okay. It never was. But it wasn’t Mr. Cunningham’s fault, and he believed the human when he said this wasn’t his choice or decision.

“It’s not.” Mr. Cunningham adamantly shook his head.

The sparse bits of salt and pepper still clinging around the edges of his scalp barely moved.

“But it is what it is.” Waving his hand at the room, Mr. Cunningham said, “This place is built on beauty and delivering on fantasy. The boss doesn’t think you fit that profile.

He’s afraid the customers will be… Yeah, I’m not even going to repeat what he said. ”

Peat’s shoulders drooped as he rounded in on himself. His wings worked overtime, bent and deformed as they were. Deformed wings weren’t common. Most damaged pixie wings could be repaired, but not his. Peat had been born this way.