Fairy Doctor Falls in Love: Fairy Doctor, #1

Chapter 1

Mexico City airport, terminal 1

LILLIA MOSER AND HER fiancé were stranded. They arrived at the MEX international airport late, well after midnight, and finally dragged their luggage to the pickup point. There was no car and no driver. Yesterday, Lillia couldn’t wait to see the heart of Mexico for the first time, but then the delayed flight, and now complete lack of sleep made her long for a bed with fluffy pillows.

That made it all the worse when the Cabras attacked.

She was not prepared to fight off goat-people, not at this hour. Or any hour, for that matter.

The goats dressed in blue work overalls and colorful kerchiefs rushed from the nearby terminal. They carried long pipes and rag mops above their heads and cried out with throaty bleats.

Lillia picked up her smaller carry-on and flung the bag at the closest one. The goat tripped, and the pipe flew along the ground. The Baron caught the pipe with his foot and kicked it up to his hand.

Lillia could handle a few tiny fairies on her own, since they always found her anyway, but goats walking on two-feet like some kind of cartoon? No, thank you.

What are they? Lillia shrieked, as she kicked her other pieces of luggage at the next goat to come at her.

The creatures had the head of a goat, and furry torso, and split hooves sticking out of the bell-bottom overalls. Embroidery on the front pocket looked like a flowery day-of-the-dead skull - completely out of season - since it was March.

The Baron used the pipe to smash a goat’s face. Stray teeth flew into the street. Good question, I have never encountered them - chupacabras, I have. Thankful they’re not.

A goat charged Lillia with a mop. She stumbled back from the wet-rag assault, but nearly lost her balance. As the goat tried to hit Lillia over the head with the mop, she grabbed it and twisted. This made the mop head smack into the goat’s face. Then Lillia shoved the rags into the goat’s mouth and let it chew with a strange look of contentment.

How can you tell they’re not chupacabras? Lillia demanded. She had heard of those mythical creatures, some kind of monster that threatened livestock.

The Baron grabbed Lilla’s arm and pulled her behind him. Too big. No vampire teeth. Or wings.

Oh god.

At this point other travelers had noticed the attack. A woman screamed. A taxi swerved and drove right through some flowers before crashing into a giant MX sign. People scrambled to get back inside the airport, but some pulled out their phones to record. Only about one in every twenty-thousand people had Sight; that unusual ability to see the invisible and supernatural. Even if someone managed to record this, most people would not SEE the creatures. Their brains would reinterpret it to something benign, like people in goat masks.

Why are they attacking us?

Not sure, the Baron told her, still ridiculously relaxed for their predicament. They’re a local gang, I believe. Las Cabras.

Great.

This was all his fault, or else his friends. She wanted someone to blame. They came to Mexico City after his valuable business partner invited them. He’s ally I cannot afford to insult, the Baron explained during the flight. That’s who left them stranded on the curbside, dealing with manic goats.

The Baron took down another Cabra, slamming the goat into the ground, while Lillia distracted a pair with a mop. They were so busy fighting over who got to munch on it that the Baron hit them from behind, knocking them both out. Then he smashed the pipe into their heads to make sure. The thump made her flinch. Lillia thought that was unnecessary, but didn’t say a word.

After a groggy day of travel, and now the goats, Lillia felt rather irritated at the man she’d agreed to marry, who stood on the curb in his utterly casual, albeit designer, workout clothes. He was hardly impressive wearing black cashmere jogging shorts and t-shirt. Did he even work out?

Well, now what? she asked. They had a pile of unconscious goats, and she wondered how the Baron would deal with that, because she wasn’t about to help clean up his mess.

The Baron wasn’t muscular, rather tall though and slinky like a musician, like a sexy saxophone player. His hair was a peppery brown which put him in his late 40s, or 50s, she actually had never asked his age. If pressed Lillia would admit they made a good enough couple. She was the youthful counterpart to his gentlemanly style: a dark-black brunette, only twenty-four years of age, casually dressed in California white wash jeans, blue high heel sandals and a loose cotton wrap-around blouse.

But it didn’t work if they both wore casual clothes. His clothes were wrong for a man known as the Baron. I prefer to go by Baron, he told her when they first met. It was a joke, she’d thought, but then never used his real name.

The Baron dusted himself off.

From the crowd of onlookers a chubby man stumbled out, face bloody and visible bite marks on his skin. Baron? Then he spoke in rapid fire Spanish, which Lillia couldn’t follow and the Baron didn’t translate either. The chubby man pointed, and that’s when a pink van covered in floral decorations pulled up to the curb. It was garish and outrageously bold. She felt sorry for whoever had to drive it.

The driver limped out, but he looked irritated rather than injured. He kicked at a goat on the ground.

Hey, Lillia snapped. Stop that. When he didn’t, she walked over and grabbed his arm.

He turned to glare at her with dark eyes. The air vibrated between them, electric and tangible. She forgot what she was doing and just stared at him.

His curly black hair flopped sideways. A bruise was forming over his left eye, and a bump swelling on his forehead. A shame, since it would ruin his good looks for a while. She’d never thought of Latino men as being handsome, not until she stood face to face with this one. He was dangerously close and barely in control. She could feel the muscles in his arm tense with anger, shaking from it.

He snarled something in Spanish. When he leaned his face towards hers it made her bend backward since he was taller than her by a good three or four inches. Too close, she thought. She could smell his cologne, bitter and biting. His lips curled at the corner in a sneer.

Lillia slid one foot back to keep her balance. I don’t know, how should I know, she replied to whatever he said. His Spanish was way too fast for her to follow.

With a flip of his head, he shrugged her hand off, and walked away saying something rude under his breath.

She might not know the words, but she got the nuance, and that made her temper crack like adding an extra shot of whiskey to an icy highball glass. The insult was too much. How dare he treat her like that?

As he turned his back, Lillia kicked him in the back of the knee. His leg bent and he fell to the pavement hard. His hands scraped the asphalt, and he ripped through his already torn jeans.

She felt a twinge of guilt, since that was the leg he’d been limping on moments ago, but she’d forgotten that too.

He growled: one fist on the ground, the other shaking. He scowled at her over his shoulder before getting to his feet.

What was she doing provoking him? She couldn’t defuse an anger like that. Ha. That’d be some kind of miracle. That kind of anger was the tiniest nudge away from exploding. Fine. Let him. She’d stand at ground zero and roast herself some goat kebabs in the firestorm. No wait, she didn’t want him hurting the defenseless goats that’s what started all this. Ah, what a pain. She hadn’t even eaten dinner. Airplane pretzels did not count, and the adrenaline was wearing off. Lillia felt her legs shaking. She regretted wearing these heels, but crossed her arms forcing herself not to move. She’d probably fall on her face and that kind of humiliation would be unbearable.

The standoff lasted twenty seconds though it felt longer to Lillia. He didn’t explode in anger, and in fact made no move to do anything to her. He only stood up, keeping his weight off his bad leg and kept glaring at her the entire time.

The Baron called to Lillia, pulling her attention. We can leave now, Lillia dear, they’ll take us to the villa. He gestured to the van for her to get inside.

This broke the moment, and Lillia sighed, half in relief and half in annoyance at the Baron’s tone. What about the luggage? she asked. They’d scattered everywhere. She headed toward a piece, but he came and stopped her.

They’ll bring it, in a moment. You’ll be safer in the van, he instructed, and she let him pull her over to it.

The driver turned at this point and glanced between Lillia and the Baron. He snorted and tried to cover his laugh with a hand. What did he think was so funny?

Chapter 2

Mexico City, second floor terrace of the Villa of Javier Rodriguez Redacted Redacted

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Lillia lay on a wicker lounge chair, underneath a lattice covered with leafy green vines and purple bougainvillea bursting out everywhere. A shrub nearby with caterpillar-like flowers made the air pungent with almonds and honey, like floral cookies baking in the warm afternoon.

It was a perfect refuge for the afternoon siesta, but the peaceful silence didn’t last long. She heard voices through the open windows and they echoed around the terrace, sounding like noisy little sparrows. What were the maids gossiping about in their singsongy Spanish? Curiosity won out, and she had to know.

Apparently, the villa was in an uproar: can you believe the Baron had taken a wife. It was shocking to everyone who knew the man. Also, no one knew anything about his intended bride. She was a mystery.

At least that's what they're saying, I don't know if you should believe dem. You don't look mysterious to me.

Lillia laughed, trying not to lose all heart at the pronouncement of the little fairy who now floated in front of her. You're right. The Baron is way more mysterious. I mean what kind of name is the Baron. What is he the Baron of and why doesn’t he use his proper name?

Don’t look at me. The tiny creature shrugged. He was about three inches high with iridescent wings and a bizarrely shaped head two sizes too big for his body. His name was Leche Sweetooth because apparently he ate dulce de leche all the time and his clan all had sweet-sounding names. He wasn’t a local, and Lillia wasn't sure where the heck he came from. Irish-American? English-American? Disney-American? She could usually guess from the accent and visual clues. Leche was cute and cartoonish although his mask kept slipping.

Fairies embodied the atmosphere and culture of wherever they lived and often changed their appearance whenever they got emotional.

She wanted to tell him his eyelashes were growing a little too fast.

I don't know why, but he's the Baron and you're the Doctor.

Wrong. I'm not a doctor. Nor am I thee Doctor. The Doctor has a decidedly British accent and lives in a Tardis. Females are exceedingly rare. I am clearly female and do not have any knowledge of medicine or experience as a medical practitioner. Lillia hoped to overwhelm him with a firm, if illogical argument, but perhaps she went too far.

Leche looked half confused and half skeptical and half deranged since his eyelashes had grown so long now they could tickle his chin. Sometimes he looked like his stomach still hurt because he would wrap his arms around his tummy when he wasn’t gesturing.

That's from a TV show. Ninth Doctor was best, but he's not real, Leche declared flapping his arms.

Nope, the Eleventh Doctor was more my type.

Are you crazy! You need to rewatch the Empty Child. Sheesh. And Rose is best ever. Only a crazy person would disagree.

Perhaps his stomach ache was gone? Lillia hoped.

Besides, Leche continued. You're our Fairy Doctor. Oh that's right. Ahhgh. DOCTOR, my stomach's killing me. You gotta help. I'm going to burst.

Nope, he remembered. Her distraction technique had failed. She’d asked him to eavesdrop on the Mexican maids, because in part she’d wanted to know what they were gossiping about.

Although, she had only the most basic freshman-high-school-level understanding of Spanish, the fairies she encountered had no language barrier at all. They could understand everyone regardless of native tongue, and anyone who could see them could understand them too. Very convenient.

Lillia had also hoped to distract the fairy from his illness.

Just, one more thing. Did you overhear anything about goats? Like anything about the attack last night, and why las Cabras appeared at the airport? No one had said a word about it to Lillia, as if it didn’t involve her, and she didn’t like that kind of secrecy.

Goats! Leche sounded alarmed. No one said nothing about goats. They’re not here, are they? He looked around nervously.

No. I was just hoping to hear something.

No. No goats. I don’t like to talk about them. They’re dangerous, and scary. Especially las Cabras. He shivered.

Oh really?

He flew in closer to whisper urgently. They eat anything!

Fairies and goats do not mix, she noted.

Oh, my stomach.

It's because you ate too much dulce de leche.

Leche goggled at her, eyes popping out from behind his long eyelashes. Amazing. Doctor, how did you know?

You told me. When you found me ten minutes ago. ‘My stomach aches. I ate too much dulce de leche. Help me.’ Then I asked why and you told me your name and that you eat too much all the time - which is how you got your name. Maybe you should stop eating it.

Leche gasped like she'd suggested a Paleo diet from now on. I could never. Never, never, never...

Leche, she warned him.

. . . never, never give up the sweet gooey softness of the dulce. I must bathe in it, or I will die.

So, your stomach ache won’t kill you.

He groaned. It might.

Lillia sighed. This conversation has been going on for far too long. And it was slightly ridiculous arguing with a fairy, especially when the conversation involved the best Doctor in Doctor Who. Finally, she gave up and offered the fairy some advice. Made-up advice, like usual. Okay, go stick peppermint gum up your nose. Make sure it’s a stick gum, not the chiclet kind and you have to steal it out of a pocket of an old man walking down the street. That will make your ache all better.

Peppermint stick up my nose, got it. Thanks Doc. Leche saluted her as he flew off.

Stolen from an old man’s pocket, she called after him, figuring this would occupy the fairy for some time and keep him from harassing her anymore. Distractions didn’t always work, so a different strategy was often necessary, like a bluff; Lillia made them as awkward sounding as possible. The placebo effect was highly effective with fairies and other spirited creatures, who thought she could cure them.

She wondered where the fairies were coming from; three different Sweetooths came begging for help this morning. They weren’t Mexican fairies, for sure, too cartoony and silly. How did they find her? Where were they coming from? Did they infest the villa? No one had warned her about that kind of trouble. Or maybe someone was breeding them. The horror. It was a grand mystery, but not one she would pursue, not if she didn’t have to.

Instead, Lillia stretched out on the lounge chair.

She could siesta here all day if that was allowed. If there wasn’t the party tonight. Stupid party. Stupid engagement. Ah, but that was her own fault for accepting his proposal. She put it out of her mind and let herself drift off.

Her siesta lasted another two and half minutes.

She heard footsteps clattering up the steps to the second floor terrace before they ground to a sudden halt just nearby. She kept her eyes closed, and body still, hoping for a moment to hear the tippy-toes of whoever had just arrived now leaving. Shoo. Shoo. Napping was serious business, but then she remembered she was a guest of honor since she was the bride-to-be. Her eyes fluttered open.

The young Latino stood awkwardly looking down at her. He cleared his throat, and said Good day, in English, with little accent.

He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, or fifteen. He’d grown into a skinny young man, perhaps yesterday, and all at once by the look of it; all arms and legs in awkward angles, and a blue collared shirt that belonged to a much bigger man.

Hi, who’re you?

Kike.

What does that mean?

He squirmed and looked away.

Lillia looked at him pointedly until he answered.

Enrique.

Oh, just a nickname? Huh. Okay, well Kike - I was napping, but since you’ve kinda already interrupted my siesta - which is cool - no, it’s okay. What can I do for you? It’s not like she was hiding out here, trying to avoid all the fuss and family. Actually, she was, but the way Lillia figured, as long as she showed up for the engagement party, and the eventual wedding, as long as she did that then the Baron should have no complaints.

Kike switched to Spanish, which Lillia knew a little, meaning she got two words out of the entire question. . . . donde . . . aqui? Where and here?

Sorry, you’ll have to repeat that extremely slowly in Spanish, or else give me a decent translation - Google Translate hasn’t been working well for me. She’d also left her phone in her room to recharge.

He sighed. I was sent to find you, it’s about the party. They also wanted me to take you to the pool unless you remember where to go.

Lillia blanched. For the party? What? But it doesn’t start until eight, or was it six tonight? I should have a few more hours. I’m not ready, she thought frantically. Dinner and dancing, the Baron told her, a somewhat formal affair, but she hadn’t done a thing to get ready. Lillia spent the morning lazing around mostly, not studying her Chinese, and had considered a light workout before nixing that idea. Actually, now that she thought about it she’d been dealing with a lot of fairy harassment all morning.

They have questions about things, I think. Kike bent his head down, shrugged. I’m just a messenger.

Yeah, those aren’t party clothes. She’d panicked a little too quickly there.

He shook his head. Not invited.

What?

Adults only. He sounded rather