Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,88
bee.
In some ways it was a far stranger phenomenon that held her aloft: her legs and body were now entirely supported by the soft, furry thysolits.
But she was only vaguely aware of this.
WENDY! COME! Tinker Bell jingled anxiously.
The dazed girl had finally managed to get hold of the bee she wanted. It was warm and plummy in her hands, comforting, not at all dangerous or disobedient.
(A bit like that stupid little dog her parents had given her—but quieter and far more pleasant.)
The smell of honey filled the air, sweet and soothing. The cityscape of Paris in miniature was enchanting. Everything was lovely.
Eventually done gazing at the Eiffel Tower, Wendy looked up. She was a little surprised to see that she was in a sort of nest or cocoon made out of the bodies of hundreds of thysolits. They ignored their unwary passenger as they droned and flew to whatever their eventual nighttime destination was, taking her with them.
The frustrated jingles of Tinker Bell were soft and fading as the little fairy tried to force her way in from the outside.
“Ah, excuse me?” Wendy addressed the bees, leaning forward. Those making up her “seat” underneath shifted themselves obligingly to better support her new position. “I don’t mean to be rude, but my friend would like to come, too.…”
The thysolits in front of her turned themselves slightly so she could see all of their thoraxes—all of their moments—neatly lined up. Paris…the Shesbow twins…St. Petersburg…New York City! The bookseller’s nephew…Thorn…
The smell of honey grew stronger.
“Oh, look,” Wendy said. “Look at it all! It’s like a thousand little plays…just for me.…”
Every once in a while, as if somehow sensing she had finished watching a scene, a thysolit would gracefully exit its place and another would come to fill in with a new image or scene.
“How thoughtful of them…” Wendy said dreamily. “I can just sit here and watch…don’t have to lift a finger.…
“OUCH!”
Finally, having shoved her way through the wall of bees and apparently out of options, Tinker Bell had resorted to the last trick of fairies. She sank her sharp little teeth into Wendy’s arm, forcefully enough to summon bright drops of blood.
“Tinker Bell, you… !”
But the pain cleared her head; the smell of blood was stronger than honey. Wendy took a fresh look at the scene around her through slightly more wakeful eyes.
Thysolits. Everywhere. Completely caging her.
“I’m surrounded by a bunch of bees with pictures in their bottoms. And they’ve kidnapped me,” she said slowly.
Tinker Bell decided an extra little nip would drive the point home.
Wendy didn’t even really react, thoughtlessly scratching at both wounds.
“Yes, you told me so. I really could have sat here forever, trying to satisfy my curiosity. And they would have kept finding something else to pique my interest, to make me continue.…And I would have been lost. A subtle kind of poison indeed. They promise to show you the world but just sort of hypnotize you instead while life goes on without you. What would they have done with me ultimately, do you think?”
Tinker Bell shrugged. Something not good?
“As succinct and correct as always. Shall we?”
Concentrating on flying the normal way—Ha, normal! As if flying had been a normal thing a week ago!—Wendy tried to part the bees like a curtain. Tinker Bell didn’t bother with such niceties, kicking them in their rear ends and punching them in their eyes. Which actually seemed to be a better tactic, because the thysolits resisted Wendy’s efforts utterly, pushing back with a force she didn’t believe insects should have.
“Let me out!” she cried, finally also resorting to kicks.
The wall of bees opened—and then enveloped her leg, covering it with their combined weight. This threw her awkwardly off-balance; she flailed and swayed and swung her arms, trying to regain herself.
Concentrating and tipping only a little, she managed to draw her little dagger from its necklace sheath.
“Don’t make me use this!”
No reaction. She might as well have been talking to a bunch of…well, bees.
Feeling a little guilty about the violence, Wendy swept her arm out with the knife held diagonally, her thumb on its top, like she was sawing off a strip of old cloth. The blade slipped harmlessly in between the first thysolits, who moved slowly out of its way…and then caught and sank into the bodies of those who couldn’t or wouldn’t escape.
The result was immediate: a black and amber ichor began to pour out of the torn bee bodies. The smell of honey became overwhelming. And sickening.