I quite like being a kind fairy.” She touched the small paper wings Ingrid had glued to the back of the wooden dowel. “Do I have magic powers?”
“Of course you do,” Ingrid told her. “So does the queen, of course. Everyone should know magic.”
Katherine’s sweet face clouded over, the flames making shadows dance on her button nose. “Good magic, right?”
“Of course,” Ingrid said. They’d heard Father talk about ridiculous rumors of witches who dabbled in the dark arts, but he swore it was all rubbish. And on this fact, Ingrid tended to agree with him. Magic didn’t exist. She was sure of it. If it did, she would have found a way to save Mother from her illness.
But Katherine was only ten. She should believe. At thirteen, Ingrid was older and wiser, or so she told herself, and in Mother’s absence, she tried to teach her sister all that their mother would have if she were still alive. That meant she tried to teach Katherine how to write and read, among other things. Father had stopped their schooling when Mother died.
“Your place is to keep house,” he told Ingrid. “Cook, clean, look pretty, keep your mouth shut, and be ready to serve me when I get home.”
Like he was a king. He wasn’t, that was for sure. Ingrid couldn’t stand the sight of him when he came home some nights—later than he’d say he’d be, smelling like the devil. Some evenings he wouldn’t even eat what she’d cooked. He’d just stumble into his bed and stay there till they woke him in the morning. Ingrid liked those evenings best. She and Katherine could eat without saving him the biggest portion, and they didn’t have to hear his belligerent mouth. He was so angry all the time, as if he hated them for living when Mother had died.
So, if Ingrid had to tell Katherine some white lies to keep her from hating their life the way Ingrid did, she would.
“Katherine is a good fairy, and good fairies and sprites have the best kind of magic,” Ingrid said, taking her sister’s wooden dowel and flying it above their heads like a bird.
They played for what felt like forever, and Ingrid finally allowed her shoulders to relax. Dinner was cooking in the fire—a stew that would feed them for days—and with any luck, Father wouldn’t be back till the sky was black as night.
So when they heard the door thunder open while the sun was still high, both girls jumped. Father had come home early.
Ingrid hated that she looked like the man. She wasn’t balding, of course, but she had his wiry brown hair, whereas Katherine’s was black like Mother’s had been. Ingrid had his eyes, too—black as coal—while Katherine had Mother’s brown ones. It seemed unfair that her sister should get to look like the parent they both loved fiercely, while she had to be reminded of the man they loathed.
“Why are you both sitting on the floor like dogs?” he bellowed, one hand gripping the doorframe.
“Sorry, Papa!” Katherine jumped up and one of the dowels began to roll away from her, coming to a stop at their father’s feet.
He bent down and peered at the dowel. It was Fairy Katherine. “Toys? You two were playing with toys?” He moved toward them quickly. Ingrid instinctively put her hand in front of Katherine to keep her out of Father’s way. “You are supposed to be doing chores! Cooking! Women don’t sit on the floor, Ingrid. You are too old to behave like this.”
“Supper is already on, Father,” Ingrid said calmly as he stomped around the room. “We weren’t expecting you for a few hours.”
“Got dismissed,” he muttered. “Docked a day’s wages for showing up with half a mind.”
He was unsteady on his feet. Why had he come home? Now they’d be stuck with him in as foul a temper as ever. Ingrid felt the walls closing in.
“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Ingrid suggested.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t need sleep! I need pay, stupid girl!” He raised his hand to strike and she moved out of his reach. He stumbled toward them again. “You two should be out there working instead of me. Earning your keep. Stop playing with toys!” He took the dowel and tossed it into the fire.
“No!” Katherine cried. She started to weep as Fairy Katherine crackled and vanished in front of her eyes.
“Stop crying! You hear me? Stop your crying this instant!” Father shouted.
Ingrid watched his hand wind up