Fairy Mythology for writers, gamers, and quilters

A wonderful adventure with plenty of magic and action. A chocolate making witch who is much more than she seems. - Tracy Holbrook

About - Being a chocolatier to the fairies had made Winfield a beloved member of the magical communities in Wiltshire, the land of Stonehenge.

In addition to the novel this book has a coloring pages in the back for the ultimate cozy experiance. Find it on Amazon

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Chapter 1

The storm clouds were barely visible in the distance beyond Hackpen Hill, but that didn’t stop gooseberry-sized drops of rain from pelting me as a sudden wind whipped my cloak.

The English weather could be unspeakable, but there was an upside. The smell of the rain mixed with the petrichor rose from the freshly plowed fields and mingled with the chocolate, raspberries, and elderflower truffles in my basket.

Half the joy of being a confectionary to the fey were the smells and flavors of Wiltshire, it was one of the reasons I put up with tramping through the mud. The other half were the stunning vistas most people didn’t see: the fairy castle on Hackpen Hill, where the king of the fey kingdom of the Fareesee dwelt, which was invisible to the thousands of tourists who passed through every year. They would never know of the many wondrous creatures who inhabited both fields and woods of this land.

“It’s gonna be a gloomy night,” Noreen complained as she tried to duck under the half-empty basket I carried in my arms, clearly hoping to use me as a shield against the rain. But Noreen, my pixie familiar in the form of a hedgehog, was frankly roly-poly and didn’t fit well under my basket. A golf ball-sized raindrop landed between her ears, causing her to sputter and curse.

“There’s no point complaining,” I said. “You were the one who spazzed out and smooshed a spider. This rain is on you.”

“It jumped into bed with me, what was I supposed to do?” she asked.

“Not kill it, obviously. Next time, breathe and think happy thoughts,” I teased.

Noreen groaned and rolled her eyes. “We were due some rain. I only wish it hadn’t come today.”

Noreen had a lot of power, and by extension, so did I. Because of this, things considered old wives’ tales sometimes actually worked for (or against) us, such as accidently making it rain. Of course, she was right about us being due rain, not that I’d tell her so. The truth was it had been a pleasantly warm spring. I’d been out early to pick the violets and elderflowers that my family used for cooking.

My name is Winifred Unity Gaveston, a witch and confectionary to the fairies. I do everything from mixing the cocoa with the flour and hand-making each step of the way, because feeding fairies and pixies wasn’t a straightforward task. Cocoa beans arrived from overseas, but the wheat came from local farmers and was ground in the old mill. Berries, fruits, and flowers were gathered wild, and I used local honey rather than sugar whenever we could.

As the baker and chocolatier, I only created confections and desserts, whereas my father cooked meals with a dozen helpers in his big kitchen. He was the true master, but I was happy to bring my own joy with truffles and scones. It wasn’t as prestigious, but it was the career I’d chosen. I didn’t want the limelight.

Three rainbows glowed, one above the other, as I turned and trudged up the hill. They shone over the Chalk Horse mural that adorned the far side of the Hackpen. The storm was bearing down upon us now, the wind pushing my cloak against my legs as I avoided the worst of the mud. The trees on the top of the hill began disappearing into the cloud, and soon, the cottages and fairy castle dotted along the hillside would be enshrouded in the fog as well. I walked faster, hoping to outpace the storm, at least long enough to deliver my goods. After all, no one would want a soggy scone.

“Car coming,” Noreen said as I climbed a stile over the wall that separated the field we’d crossed from the road.

I froze in the tall grass that lined the pavement and held my breath, making myself close to invisible. They could have seen me if they were looking hard enough, but most people are too unobservant for that. Not that it would matter much if they could see me, since people might not know (or even believe) that witches existed. They even saw us in our strange clothes all the time, but never commented. Hiding was just habit on my part.

“This rain is going to ruin Lady Raynott’s ball,” Noreen complained.

“Why? It’s not like her manor isn’t heated,” I said.

“How can you be so unconcerned? A hard rain could ruin the entire night.” She turned and shook her little hedgehog finger at me. “Where’s your empathy?”

“Didn’t you know? We invented roofs in the last 10,000 years. I’m pretty sure we’ll be snug and dry all evening,” I said while chuckling to myself.

The Fey tended toward dramatics, or perhaps they were just overly-emotional. Or maybe they were equally overly-emotional dramatics. Everything managed to get blown out proportion for them, and spending my days with an overly-dramatic pixie in the form of a hedgehog had given me a sharp edge of sarcasm as a defense.

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“The roof covers the boring part of the party, where polite things happen,” Noreen said. “I prefer to be outside in the gardens, where improper meet-ups happen. The rain makes that more difficult.”

“Consider it an added challenge to lure men into the gardens when it’s raining,” I said, trying to keep my smile under control. “But in a pinch, I’ve found that Lady Raynott’s library has several interesting nooks where one can be alone.”

“Which you probably discovered to literally be alone in a library,” Noreen said as she stuck her tongue out and hopped over some thistles.

I felt the telltale tingle as we went from the Pixies’ and Moors’ territory in the open fields to that of the Fareesee’s, who’d taken to hiding in the small patches of woods in Southern Wiltshire after the Pixies had conquered this land nearly a hundred years ago.

About a mile north, the situation reversed. The pixies hid in the trees, and the Fareesees ruled the open spaces. Since the war, this borderland between two fairy kingdoms had gone quiet, for the most part. There were still small raids and skirmishes between the two, but the larger body of witches and Fey Kingdoms of Britain (in which there were 27) did their best to ensure that the truce stayed in place.

The clouds caught up with us, and the sporadic plops of rain turned into a downpour. Noreen scowled at the clouds and ducked under the edge of my cape, which I’d hiked up to cover my basket. My legs were wet and cold, and I cursed my forgetfulness. Why hadn’t I brought my umbrella?

Noreen’s scowl vanished quickly at the sight of a Fareesee, Miss Bakelsdale, emerging from the ground. Her twenty plus cats hovered near the door of her den, unwilling to step out into the rain.

Noreen dared not be seen scowling in front of a Fareesee, for she was one of the only pixies allowed on Fareesee territory, only thanks to her being familiar with a chocolate-making witch (me).

My family were some of the few people that both sides of every conflict in the region trusted. Sweets don’t have that much power, but they had been bringing a semblance of peace to fairyland since a caveman was brave enough to snatch honeycomb from bees before running like hell. The Fey are even more addicted to sweets than humans, and they’ll come to blows over chocolate if provoked.

More importantly, there is magic in the way a human can prepare food that all the fey need at least a little of.

“Mrs. Bakelsdale,” I said, bending slightly and handing her a package of truffles and scones from my basket. In exchange, she gave me a small bottle of lightning. Mrs. Bakelsdale was one of the few fairies who could gather firebolts. I got one tiny bottle a month in

exchange for my chocolates, and I felt like I was getting the better deal. Being a chocolatier in the human world wouldn’t make me much more than a merchant, but among the Fey, it was important enough to make some of us us minor folk nobility. This was a fact my mother would never let me forget.

“There are a few samples of a new wine and pear truffle I’m trying,” I said. “Be sure to tell me what you think.”

I smiled and started to turn away, but her hand caught my sleeve.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, “but don’t run away.” She hit me with her smile, hearth fire warm and beaming. “My cats are nervous. The kind of agitated they get when dark creatures roam the woods. You haven’t sensed anything, have you, dear?” She plucked up a bilberry truffle and took a dainty nibble.

“No, Mrs. Bakelsdale, I haven’t. Just the normal boogies and werewolves.” I hadn’t even heard of a troll sighting lately, not that they would show themselves to me.

“This is lovely, dear,” she said, waving the uneaten morsel of the truffle in the air. “You should make more. And my cats are never wrong, so you be careful, you hear?”

“Nothing to be worried about today,” I said, the rain streaming off the end of my nose. “Nobody wants to be out in this.”

Mrs. Bakelsdale didn’t seem to notice the water dripping from the ropey strands of her greying blond hair, or the fact that Noreen was sheltering under a burdock leaf.

“It will be a good year for the farms, and you watch, the spring flowers will be out in full force tomorrow,” she said, lifting her face to the downpour.

“I’m sorry, but my chocolates will get ruined if they get wet. I really must be moving on,” I said, taking a step backward.

“Oh, of course! How silly of me,” she said and held up a finger. “Wait, just a moment, dearie.”

She skipped through the herd of cats behind her and emerged a moment later, dragging a hot pink umbrella twice as long as she was tall and handed it to me.

I opened it and was glad of the reprieve, although a little miffed that she hadn't finished gossiping.

“Do you know little Susie Baker, the human girl in the village?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said, knowing I would shortly know more about her than I wanted to.

“Such a to-do,” Mrs. Bakelsdale said. “Her parents forbade her to keep seeing the boy that runs the petrol station, but she refused. They tried to ground her, but that just doesn’t work these days. They finally told her she’d have to give him up or move out of the house. But then he dropped her, and nothing came of it. And the rows that ensued- you could hear them up and down High Street. Young people these days don’t have any restraint!”

The fact that I was a young person with plenty of restraint didn’t seem to faze her. She’d probably say it was because I had so much responsibility or some such dreck, but I wasn’t going to point it out to her.

“And Rona Butler got into Cambridge. Such an honor, but she’s going to study literature. I don’t understand. If I got into Cambridge, I’d study physics or chemistry. Something difficult. Why waste a Cambridge education on literature? You can study books anywhere. You don’t even have to leave the house. Don’t you agree?” Mrs. Bakelsdale asked, eyeing me quizzically.

I nodded, although I’d lost the thread of the conversation by now. Noreen had a smile plastered on her face and was desperately trying to keep her eyes open. Mrs. B’s discussions tended to have a hypnotic effect on Noreen.

“Mrs. B,” I said, “I’d love to stay and chat with you, but I still have deliveries to do, and I must get home in time to be ready for the ball, or my mother will be unhappy.” I smiled apologetically.

“Of course, dear, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Mrs. B asked. “Off with you, and don’t forget your little pixie friend.”

I turned to go, still carrying her hot pink umbrella. If she didn’t ask for it now, I would bring it back with my next delivery.

“Spriggans,” Mrs. B said.

I turned back to her.

“Spriggans?” I asked.

“The last time my cats acted like this was when the Spriggans tried to steal my lighting,” Mrs. B said, waving at the cats waiting under her door roof.

That was disturbing. Were cats an accurate early warning system for Spriggans? Ghosts of giants who’d refused to leave the world were dangerous enough, but these were bandits, known to be ruthless. They mostly lived in Cornwall now. We hadn’t had a problem with them since Lord Humphrey had taken up his post as Reeve a hundred years ago. As much trouble as the sheriff gave me, at least he was good at keeping the peace.

“Be safe, Mrs. B,” I said, “and lock your doors at night.”

Noreen dropped an awkward curtsy, and we started on our way. A moment later, we started up the muddy bank of a stream, and she climbed up on my shoulder as the wind blew stray drops of rain under the umbrella. I knew that come tomorrow on this same route, I’d be up to my knees in mud. The amount of effort my parents spent lecturing me on propriety was ridiculous, considering the amount of time I spent covered in cocoa and mud. I may be nobility, but 90% of the time, I looked like a regular chocolate-maker.

Noreen and I disturbed a bullfrog sitting on the bank. He dove into the water and swam to the other side of the creek as fast as his little legs could kick. A school of pollywogs was frightened into hiding, and the minnows changed direction in a hurry. The scene made me smile. You’d never know that a few miles to the north, the industrial parks of Swindon had turned the rural countryside into a concrete wasteland.

Our next stop was a female fairy, a French margot, living under a hollow tree. She always left her payment, a small bottle of dragon’s blood, in the hollow of the trunk. I swapped my bag of chocolates for her bottle and slid it into my basket. How a fairy got something so valuable, I didn’t know and wouldn’t ask. It was none of my business, and I was happy to have it. I could buy a whole truckload of dark chocolate with a vial of dragon’s blood.

As I turned to go, a hand emerged from the depths of the trunk and grabbed the chocolate dragging it into the depths. Good, it couldn’t go missing if she had her hands on it. Not that anyone in their right mind would steal from this particular Margot. There were some things you just didn’t do.

“What do you have there, Little Patches?” bellowed a low gravelly voice.

The voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the precious jar of dragon’s blood.

Reeve Humphry, a six-and-a-half-foot man, stepped out of a sapling far too small to hide a sparrow, much less a man his size… and yet, it had. He was grizzled, his dark green and blue wizard robes ragged with rough stitches to repair his encounters with fire spells and sword thrusts. Unlike most of the older wizards, Humphry had no beard, choosing to shave his face and head clean.

Sir Humphry, a knight during the worst of the magical wars, was now a reeve, responsible for ensuring that the witches, wizards, and Fey didn’t break the laws the treaties between them had established. Given my mother’s family’s background as moonrakers (or smugglers, as people from other regions of the world would call them), he was always sure I was up to something.

“My name is Winifred,” I reminded him, “or Lady Gaveston to you.” As much as I liked to ignore my rank, it did sometimes come in handy.

“Half a lady, maybe,” Reeve Humphry said as he held out his hand for the jar I’d held. I obliged. Unlike the mundane world, the magical world still lived by a mix of Celtic tribal customs, Saxon edicts, and Regency era rules of behavior. Sir Humphry could jolly well strip search me if he pleased, not that he would dare. Regency rules of conduct prevented him from doing that, but he had examined my kitchen three times this year.

“It’s just dragon’s blood,” I said, watching him examine the bottle.

He popped the cork and sniffed it, frowning. He recorked the bottle, and looked somewhat disappointed as he handed it back, obviously hoping today would be the day he’d catch me at something. He then reached for my bag of potion reagents I’d collected as payment for my confections. I handed it over. There was no point in resisting, for this was almost a ritual. I expected he would enjoy it more if I dug in my heels. He checked each bottle and paper twist carefully.

“Are you coming to the party for your new Knight Errant tonight?” I asked. “Perhaps you could find yourself a life mate? Or perhaps a fling?”

“Are you offering?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

I felt flush and cursed my inability to keep it from coloring my cheeks. He ignored me, examining the list of orders he’d pulled from my bag.

“With over sixty orders, you’ll be almost as busy as me,” he said. “I’m surprised you even have time to think about a ball.”

“I’m taking the night off,” I said a little defensively. “Everyone needs a night off.”

“Especially nobility of age to wed,” he said. “I assume your mother is anxious to be rid of you.”

My cheeks grew hotter, but I didn’t jump to the bait. It didn’t matter if I did marry. My mother would never be rid of me, as I would continue in the family business. However, it would be nice to have a confectionary in my own home, rather than sleeping over the bakery like a servant. That would take some ruminating over.

“I can’t believe you’re snubbing the new Knight Errant,” I said. “He’s supposed to hunt down monsters for you and you can’t even turn up to his welcoming party.”

“I don’t have time for parties, Lady Patches. I met the new Errant when I interviewed him for the job, that should be good enough,” Reeve Humphry continued. “I’m going to have myself a pleasant stroll around the lake. Perhaps I’ll even strike up a conversation with a moonraker or two. With luck, there will be someone I can throw in prison.”

“You need a social life,” I sniped.

“I’ve got to keep the fine ‘ladies’ such as yourself safe to dance and feast. You must be left unmolested as you vie for a mate.” Humphry gave the word “ladies” a satirical bite. “But don’t fret. Although very few of the people I hold in my cells make for good company, some do, like your Grandfather Elric.” He paused for a moment considering me. “Elric’s moonraker hat,” he said, pointing to the hat I was wearing. It had been my Grandfather’s, given to me when he’d been teaching me spells for stealth and illusions that it could help to channel, ones that were popular among the moonrakers.

I sighed and handed him the hat. “You never tire of taunting me with my Grandfather, do you? You know I don’t care what you arrested him for.”

This last part wasn’t correct. I was dying of curiosity, but no one told me much of anything about that half of my family’s checkered past. Not since my mother had married into my upstanding father’s family. And Reeve Humphry was careful not to spill the beans even as he harangued me. Given the troublesome politics of the region, though, I always imagined my Grandfather as something of a Robin Hood-like character. It was a belief aided by the fact that the Fareesee all seemed to adore him.

“Humphry,” a trio of deep voices mixed as Lord Wymond, a three-headed giant, stepped up from a door in the ground. I hadn’t known it was there until they opened it, but that wasn’t so unusual that it startled me. “Is Patches giving you trouble?”

I scowled at the Ettin. He was half Norse giant, descended from the group who’d fought the Norse Gods, and half English fairy. Officially, he was a duke, but in truth closer to being the king of the local Ettins and Bogles. He technically administered this land for the King of the Pixies, but he didn’t have to pay taxes on it or follow any of the King’s laws, which was something the royal family certainly hated.

Sir Humphry gave Lord Wymond a warm smile. “Just checking that she hasn’t gotten ahold of something she shouldn’t have,” he said.

Two of Lord Wymond’s heads grunted, and one laughed. It was disconcerting to talk to multi-headed giants. I tended to forget they were three distinct personalities and not just echoes of one person, likely because they all looked down on me.

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Wymond asked Humphry.

The Reeve nodded and handed me back my bags without a word, gesturing for the Ettin to follow him. He stepped back into the tree, vanishing from sight, the giant stepping in after him. A few moments later, the hairs they raised on the back of my neck lay back down as they vanished along one of the fairy paths into the other world.

Noreen came out from under my cloak, where she had been hiding, and spat on the ground where Humphry had been standing. “After ten years of accosting you, you’d think he’d be tired of it by now. Or at least tired of never finding a reason to detain you.”

“He’s stubborn. It’s what makes him a good Reeve,” I said. I didn’t like it, but knew it to be true.

“A good Reeve wouldn’t waste his time with you. You make chocolates, for pity’s sake.” She stomped her paw.

“Being a chocolatier could be a cover, and sometimes, I wish it was. Do you remember when I told my mother that since the Reeve was going to harass me anyway, I might as well do some actual smuggling? What was I, fourteen?”

“You were rather idiotic,” Noreen said, smiling.

“Aren’t all teenagers idiots?” I asked with a shrug.

“That was one of the times she grounded you, and we had to sneak out of the house, wasn’t it?” The rain had let up, and she was skipping ahead of me, as much as a round-bodied, four-pawed creature could skip. “I don’t remember the argument, though,” she said.

“Of course you don’t remember it. My mother would never scold me in front of a Fey,” I said. “She’d have to spend the rest of the day calming you before you tore the house to shreds.”

“We can’t help it if things affect us more than other folk,” Noreen huffed. “The people who make Hallmark movies are just cruel.”

Hallmark movies were one of Noreen’s pet peeves. She sobbed at every ending, as did most Fey. They tended to feel emotions more than most.

“How many times do I have to tell you- Hallmark movies always have happy endings. You never have to worry about it.”

“That’s what you think. The minute I let my guard down, that’s when they’ll hit me with a sad ending,” she huffed.

“You’d think they were sad endings, the way you flood the house with your tears,” I said.

“Humans are just unfeeling,” Noreen said. “You can’t understand.”

“Human’s aren’t unfeeling,” I said.

“Close enough,” she said. “You don’t cry at all.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “I’m an ugly crier.”

We stepped out of the woods and into pixie territory, and Noreen visibly relaxed. She was a countess among the pixies and generally felt much more comfortable in their land. I was of two minds about this.

On one hand, this was the land that Duke Wymond ruled over. On the other hand, my Grandfather Elric had some connection with the Fareesee that made him a hero to them, even if he was a criminal.

The connection between my parents was one of the things that made my family more essential to our society than our station might allow, and the reason I delivered much of my products myself. Delivery of confections was a way to get to know the Fey on both sides, in case I needed to help make peace between them. And it was the reason my parents had named me Winifred, meaning “blessed peacemaker,” to remind me of the importance of helping keep the different factions unified (or from fighting). My Mother had long speeches on the subject.

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