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Magick, Mischief, and Muffins

“Where the hell did I put that sage??” Myra said, sliding jars of flour and sugar across the counter. Her brow furrowed and she huffed. “I know I put it here yesterday!” She slumped down on a kitchen stool, puzzled. ‘Basil, oregano, plantain, rosemary, thyme,’ she rattled off in her head, visually checking off every herb hanging in the cupboard across the kitchen. ‘Everything is here but the sage!’ The bell on the front porch door chimed and Myra jumped up. “Coming!” she called to the person who had entered. She dusted the flour off of her apron and tucked an unruly strand of auburn hair behind her ear before heading into the foyer.
Standing just inside the door was diminutive woman, plump around the middle, with graying blonde hair that just reached her shoulders. Her deep blue crocheted shawl had started to slip so she pulled it around her a little tighter. “Good afternoon, Rose!” Myra called to the woman cheerfully. “Hello, Myra,” Rose said affectionately. In just the two months since she had opened her at-home bakery, Rose had visited Myra nearly every day. She was her best customer.
“How are you doing today?” Myra asked. “Oh, still above ground,” Rose replied with a chuckle. Myra shook her head and lead Rose toward the kitchen for her usual cup of afternoon tea. “I just pulled a fresh batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven. Would you like one with your tea? Free of charge!” Myra offered. Rose nodded, “Yes, please. That would be lovely.” She took a seat at the kitchen table and watched the younger woman scurry about.
Myra grabbed a plate from the cupboard and placed a steaming muffin onto it, setting in front of her guest. She then turned and lit the stove, warming the kettle for tea. With a small contented sigh, Myra turned back and sat across the bar from Rose. “So what can I do for you today, dear?” Her voice was gentle, enchanting. Rose hesitated to answer, her face filling with sadness. “Do you believe in spirits?” she asked tentatively.
Myra nodded. “Indeed I do.” Reflexively, she patted the pocket of her skirt, just beneath her apron, where her tarot cards were often kept. “I’ve had my fair share of experiences,” she shared, hoping to encourage Rose to continue. The kettle on the stove began to emit a low whistle and Myra went to the cupboard for cups. “My dear Charlie’s passed a year now,” Rose admitted. “But I swears I still hear him now and then.” Myra nodded and added a teabag to each cup. “That’s pretty common, actually,” she reassured Rose and the older woman sighed with silent relief.
Myra turned to the stove, the kettle now at a strong scream and turned it off. “Do you suppose...” Rose asked from behind her. “That there was a way to talk to them? The spirits, I mean. Could I talk to my Charlie again?” Rose’s voice was laced with hope. Myra’s rectangular red rimmed glasses fogged a bit as she poured the hot water over each teabag. “There is,” she confessed, placing the kettle back on the stove. “But it’s not something that can be taken lightly. There are consequences of every action.” She placed the teacups on the table and took her seat across from Rose, whose face showed determination despite her warning.
“If it means I’ll speak to my husband again, I’ll do anything.” Tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes and Rose quickly wiped them away, putting on her bravest face. Myra passed her a tissue. “In the circumstances of love, I doubt there’s much to be worried about.” Rose nodded in gratitude as she took what was offered and dabbed at her eyes. “Would you help me?” She asked outright and took Myra’s hands in hers.
Myra’s heart ached for Rose. Of course she would help her! A glimmer of magic shone across her eyes and a smile played at her lips. “Anything for love,” she said and tapped her cup to toast their partnership. Rose broke out in laughter and nearly dropped her tea. The younger generations had the strangest traditions. Myra had started to laugh along with her guest when the sound of bells caught her attention.
She peeked out at the front door but it still stood closed. Confused, she looked out the kitchen window at the wind chimes that hung beside the bird feeder but they remained motionless. Myra’s musings were interrupted when Rose set down her empty cup and stood to leave. “Thank you so much, Myra,” Rose said, choking back a sob. Myra wrapped the woman in her arms and gave her a gentle hug. “Thank you for believing in me,” she whispered back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word, Rose walked out the door, her heart a thousand times lighter than when she had arrived.
Myra smiled as she watched the older woman leave. This wasn’t the first time Rose had asked for her help. She’d asked for a concoction to combat a cold, a potion to help her sleep, and a spell to ease her worries. And each time, Myra swore her friend looked a little younger, a little healthier and a lot happier. She sighed contentedly, turning back to her pantry. It always made her feel good to help others. If only the rest of the town wasn’t so ignorant. Most people heard the term ‘witch’ and ran in the opposite direction.
“What the-??” Myra exclaimed aloud when she saw the sage hanging in the pantry. Her deep emerald green eyes darted around the room, searching for the person who had returned her lost herbs. “Who’s there?” she asked firmly, knowing that she couldn’t be alone. She had searched every nook and cranny of her house all morning for that sage. The pantry was the first place she had looked! And now it was back in its home like it had just been invisible this whole time. “Make yourself known,” she demanded again, keeping her composure.
“Alright, alright. Calm down,” came a small voice from the ivy plant that hung by the kitchen window. From beneath the leaves, a figure emerged and began to descend to the counter top below. He was only six inches tall and looked to be about 17 years old. Jade green wings shimmered, iridescent in the afternoon light that shone through the window. Landing with a slight hop onto the counter, the miniature man spread his arms dramatically. “Ta-da.” he said. “Now what?”
Myra blinked and the little man blinked back. “You’re a.. fairy,” she said incredulously, sitting down on the stool behind her but never taking her eyes off of him. “Yes,” he replied matter of factly. Myra shook her head. “I’ve never seen a fairy before.” “Of course you haven’t,” he scoffed. “No one can see us unless we want you too.” He pranced across the counter toward her. “Everyone knows that,” he said as he stopped to admire his reflection in the toaster. “Well I didn’t,” said Myra, feeling admonished.
The fairy stood upright, shuffling his fingers through his baby blonde hair. His blue eyes twinkled with curiosity. “Didn’t know?” he asked. Myra shook her head and he laughed, stepping off the edge of the counter and walking across thin air like a cartoon. He came to a stop about a foot from her face. “What rock have you been living under?” he asked earnestly, tilting his head to the right and staring at her. Myra chuckled and glanced around, gesturing at the kitchen that they were in. “Oh,” said the fairy, landing on the table beside her. “Right.”
“I’m Basil,” he said, extending his hand. Myra smiled and took his hand between two fingers and shook it gently. “I’m Myra.” “I know,” he said with a shrug, hopping up to sit on the rim of the empty tea cup that Rose had left. Myra raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” She sat back, dusted off her skirt, and crossed her arms with a cheeky grin.
“How so?” she asked.
Basil shrugged again, his wings slowly folding and unfolding behind him. “I’ve seen you around,” he admitted.
“Around where?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Around the house,” he practically whispered.
The pieces started to fall into place. “You’re the one who stole my sage,” Myra said, sitting up quickly. Her sudden movement startled Basil and he fell backwards into the cup, knocking it over. With a graceful roll, he was back on his feet and dusting his pants and vest off. “I didn’t steal it,” he said defensively but not looking her in the eye. “Then who did?” she asked, skeptically. “I only borrowed it,” he confessed.
Feeling her criticizing glare, the fairy looked up at the young woman, ready to defend himself. “You always burn it,” he complained, taking flight. “And it smells awful!”
“My house, my choice,” Myra retorted.
“My house, too!” argued Basil, sticking his tongue out.
“Since when?”
“Since I moved here four months ago.”
“Four months ago? I moved in six months ago. Consider this place taken.”
“But I’ve been here longer! I only just came inside two weeks ago...”

“Can’t we share”
“Why don’t you live with the other fairies?”
“They live outside. I don’t want to. A fairy who doesn’t want to be in nature isn’t natural.”
“So you chose to come inside instead?”
“I’ll stay out of your way! I don’t take up much space!”
“Fine, but you leave my sage alone.”

Myra sat up and rubbed her eyes. Morning light filtered through her curtains, illuminating her bedroom. With a stretch, she pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed. The plush white carpet muffled her steps as she made her way to the bathroom to wash her face and try to wake up. Although she was fond of the sun, mornings really weren’t her thing.
Myra turned on the sink faucet, careful not to make the water too warm, and ran a washcloth under it. She lathered up her citrus face wash and took in its sweet scent. Massaging it into her cheeks, the exfoliating beads reminded Myra of the beaches in Florida that she used to visit in the summer and how the sand felt against her skin after a long day of building sand castles. Lost in her recollection, she gently rinsed the soap from her face and jumped when she heard a voice from beside her.
“Watch it!” Basil scolded. Myra reached for a towel and dried her sopping face and neck. “What are you doing?” she shrieked, resisting the urge to squash him like an intrusive insect.
“I came to say good morning!” he said cheerfully and Myra scowled. “This room is off limits!” She pointed toward the door. “Out!” Basil pouted, confused, and fluttered through the open door. He came to a rest on her nightstand. “No, out!” she yelled again. “But I am out!” he objected, glancing around the room that clearly wasn’t the one she was occupying.
Myra huffed and crossed the threshold that divided the bathroom and her bedroom. “Out that way!” she demanded, pointing to her bedroom door. Basil gave an overly dramatic frown but did as he was told. His wings carried him gracefully out of the bedroom until Myra slammed the door behind him, causing a draft to knock him to the floor. Basil sat with his legs sprawled and crossed his arms. He hated being on the floor; it made him feel small.
A sudden knock to the side of his head sent Basil rolling across the floor and under the couch. Dazed and surrounded by dust, he coughed and peered out to see what had hit him. A black paw knocked him in the head again and he backed up further under the couch. “Damn cat!” he swore. Basil normally didn’t mind animals but once he became a play toy, all bets were off.
“Ollie, what are you doing?” Myra’s voice floated down to Basil in his hiding place under the couch. “What are you looking for?” she asked, picking up her fluffy black cat. Basil inched his way out of hiding. “He was gonna eat me,” he said resentfully, taking flight. Myra raised a brow and looked between the pair. “Maybe he should have,” she teased and set the cat back down on the floor.
Basil’s eyes went wide. Was she serious? She couldn’t be. Myra piled her hair on top of her head and pinned it up so it was out of her face. She looked over at Basil who was hovering in one spot, a look of terror on his face. Holding back a laugh, she headed into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, a smile playing at her lips.
“You wouldn’t do that,” Basil finally said, following her into the kitchen. He sounded almost certain.
“I wouldn’t?” Myra asked.
Basil landed on the counter beside her coffee cup and shook his head. “Nope, you wouldn’t,” he said confidently.
“Why not? Ollie has to eat too, you know,” Myra teased, sitting down at the kitchen table with her drink. She took a sip and peered over the edge of her cup to watch the array of emotions play across Basil’s cherubic face.
Appalled at the thought of being eaten, Basil’s face went pale before turning red with embarrassment. “Now you’re just messing with me,” he said dejectedly. “That wasn’t very nice.” He pouted and sat down on the edge of the counter facing Myra.
This time she couldn’t help it; Myra chuckled and set down her coffee. “I won’t feed you to the cat,” she promised. “I don’t think Ollie likes the taste of fairies anyway.” She leaned back in her chair, setting it up on just two legs, and reached for the plastic tupperware that was on the counter. Basil looked on curiously. Getting a firm hold on it, Myra leaned forward again and settled all four chair legs on the floor with a heavy thud. She set the container on the table in front of her and began to pry open the lid. Basil lifted off of the counter on the other side of the kitchen and joined her.
Myra withdrew a plump golden muffin, speckled with deep blue berries, and set it on a napkin in front of her. Basil’s mouth watered. “What is that?” he asked, entranced.
“Blueberry muffin,” she answered simply. “Made them yesterday.” She picked a small piece off of the top and popped it into her mouth. Muffins were Myra’s specialty. Not many people visited her bakery, though she was sure the muffins would have them coming back often if they’d only give her the chance. She sighed, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe she should have opened a shop in town, rather than from her home.
Basil leaned across Myra’s hand, drawn in by the muffin’s intoxicating aroma. “Mmmm… I’ve never had a blueberry muffin before,” he said dreamily. Myra smiled and took pity on him. She pulled a second muffin from the tupperware and placed it on a separate napkin for her winged friend. Basil’s eyes watered with joy and he dove right in, stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk.
A chorus of satisfied groans came from within the muffin and Basil rolled back, landing on his butt with a tiny thump. His eyes closed with delight, he rubbed his swollen stomach contentedly, knocking crumbs onto the table around him. Myra giggled, helping herself to another small piece of her own muffin. “You alright?” she asked, amused. Basil nodded and mumbled, “Mmm.. Muffins...” He collapsed backwards and sprawled out.
Myra took another sip of her coffee and leaned on her elbows, watching this curious little man. She had heard fairy tales growing up and knew from studies that they were unpredictable creatures but she had never met one in person. “I’m guessing you liked that,” she teased and Basil’s eyes opened, glazed over with happiness. He sat up on his elbows and looked over to her with a grin. “Fairies don’t have muffins like that.” Myra chuckled and shook her head. “I obviously have a lot to learn about Fairies.”
Excited to be able to share his knowledge with Myra, Basil sat up quickly and crossed his legs like an eager kindergartner, ready to tell a story. His wings quivered behind him with glee. “What would you like to know?” he asked. His blue eyes shimmered like ice and his shaggy blonde hair framed his youthful face. Myra shrugged and cradled her coffee. “I guess,” she mused, watching the creamy sweet brown elixir swirl around in her cup. “Where did you come from? Like,” she hesitated, trying to find the correct phrasing. “How did you end up in my house?”
Basil blushed, knowing that she was referring to their first meeting the day before. Although she had taken it with more acceptance than he had anticipated, Basil knew that she still was not happy to have a roommate. “I used to live outside, in the garden,” he answered, pointing to the two glass doors in the living room that lead outside. “But it didn’t work out.”
Myra looked at Basil curiously and the fairy stood up with a sigh. “I’m not like the other fairies,” he began. “I don’t like being outside.” He grimaced, waiting for her to laugh at him. “Why not?” she asked and Basil blinked, perplexed. “Why don’t you like being outside?”
“O-oh.. um,” Basil stuttered, realizing she genuinely wanted to know. “I uh.. It’s too dangerous.” He shrugged and began to pry a blueberry as big as his head from his muffin. “The birds, and bugs, and cats,” he rambled, throwing a final glare at Ollie who had found a place to nap on the back of the couch.