The Faery Keepers by Melinda Hellert

for her to question you. She has a more macabre way of getting through to people. If it hadn’t been for Lucas stopping me I would have made it in time. I cannot stress how sorry I am about that.”
                  He pauses to catch his breath for a second.  A thought occurs to me then.
                  “Why weren’t you poisoned?” I direct at Maggie for the first time in a while. She looks taken aback at the question but quickly recomposes herself.
                  “Well I would have been. But I, unlike you, did not trust the Faery food.”
                  “I didn’t either. Not completely.” I grimace. “Never again,” I vow.
                  This earns small, mirthless smiles from everyone in the room. I decide then that it wouldn’t kill me to sit down on the sofa. Strangely I’m still drained even though I’ve been sleeping for what seems like forever. Must be the after effects of the poison. Maggie punches me playfully on the shoulder.
                  “Why would you eat it, dork?”
                  “I was hungry,” I shrug as if it’s the simplest explanation in the world.
                  Maggie gives a derisive snort, “of course you were.”
                  “What?” I ask, staring at her.
                  “Oh, nothing,” she says evasively.
                  I decide to ignore the quip. Everyone seems to relax after that. Nyla bustles off through one of the wooden doors. From the sliver of what I see it appears to be a kitchen. Derek sits down on the far side of the couch since Maggie deliberately plops herself in the spot next to me. The put out expression on Derek’s face is absolutely comical. As the saying goes, losers weepers. A few minutes pass and Nyla returns carrying a tray laden with a silver teapot and four mix matched china cups. The one she hands me, full with steaming brown liquid, has tiny blue roses painted around its rim. I blow on it and take a sip, scalding my tongue anyways. It has a strong taste of mint and lemons, and a hint of apple. A good combination, I think. I warm my always freezing hands on the smooth outside of it, waiting for the contents to cool off more. Even in the middle of summer my hands always have a sort of chill to them. Maggie always jokes that I have “The Frosty Touch.” Like Frosty the Snowman. Ha-ha. Hilarious, Mags.
                  I give a start when I glance at the cup in Maggie’s hands. There’s an image of a fluffy pink cat painted on hers and I swear it just moved. Its miniscule mouth gaped open in a soundless meow , tail twitching to and fro. But when I look again, it’s still.               What the? I stare at it for good measure. Maybe it’ll do it again , I think.
                  “Katie, you’re biting your nails again.”
                  “Hm? Oh.” I drop my hand, not realizing that I’d even removed it from my own cup. Maggie has this quirk for yelling at me whenever I do that. I’ve tried kicking the habit, but it always happens no matter what I do. Any manicurist would hate me. 
                  “Why are you staring at me?”
                  “No reason.” I’m surer and surer that it was my imagination with each passing moment that the pink fuzz ball refuses to move. Huh.
                  To my dismay, Derek is smiling at me with much amusement.
                  I raise my eyebrows at him.
                  “You saw it move didn’t you?”
                  “The cat? Yeah.”
                  “The cat?” Maggie asks, confused. Catching a sight of her cup she lifts it to eye level and scrutinizes the picture. “Why would it move? It’s paint ,” she feels the need to point out.
                  “Nyla likes using her magic on day to day