Mira Morganstein: The Pink Lemonade Club 007

MMCoverThe old woman had lied.

The fairy doll shed glitter from her glossy pink ringlets like she had a pernicious case of sparkling dandruff. The glue holding the curls to the wooden head was already starting to pull away, and now that Mira was examining it closely, the fairy’s tutu was starting to shred along the edges.

“Bring me good luck?” Mira frowned at the doll lying limp as the dead in her hand. “Not likely.”

But still, there was something about the fairy’s face—two black dots for the eyes and a tiny rosebud mouth—that wouldn’t let her throw it away. A touch of whimsy that made up for peeling glue and clouds of glitter.

Besides, it had only cost her a favor and a quarter.

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Mira Morganstein: The Pink Lemonade Club 006

MMCoverRecipe for a See-Poppet

Hair of the one you wish to see

Pixie dust

Dryad heart

Seven Petals—flower for farseeing


Troll Mucus

A silver needle, bathed in moonlight

Three drops of blood


From one dryad’s heart, carve the body of the doll. The fresher the heart, the stronger the spell shall be. It must be a single, continuous piece, nothing missing, not even so much as a sliver.

Once the body has been carved, sew seven petals of the farseeing flower into the hem of the handkerchief.

With the needle, the caster of the spell must prick the finger carrying their own heart’s blood. Deep enough only to draw out three drops of blood which must be caught by the handkerchief. Fashion the handkerchief into clothing for the doll.

Procure a lock of hair of the one the caster wishes to see. Affix the hair to the doll by way of the troll mucus. Have goblin blood on hand in case the need to dissolve some of the mucus should arise.

Last of all, sprinkle the hair with pixie dust. A fresh pinch should do. Too much, and the spell runs the risk of forming a mind—and a will— of its own. Not enough, and the spell shall fall apart.

The doll must be in the possession of the one the caster wishes to see. It must be taken willingly, and for a price. The greater the price, the greater the binding.

As with all magic, the caster must be precise with regard to making the doll. Failure to do so, especially with the pixie dust, can result in a broken spell, magical backlash, and death. Proceed only if none of those are of particular concern.

With love, Mother.

. . .  TO BE CONTINUED . . .

© 2014 by Danyelle Leafty. All rights reserved. Originally published in Curiosities of the Moon.

There is something oddly touching about a mother’s love–especially if your mother happens to be the sort of faerie that tends not to be invited to important functions like christenings, balls, or any other function that requires actual interaction.

Come back next Wednesday to see if something can be salvaged from all this Pink Lemonade mess. After all, a person only becomes eleventy once in their lifetime. Usually. 😉

If this is your first visit here, be sure to read the first installment of this episode. And be sure to come back tomorrow to learn a few more secrets about the UnderWhere.

Mira Morganstein: The Pink Lemonade Club 005

MMCoverThe old woman grinned at her, and for a moment, she looked impossibly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Then the moment passed, and she was a harmless old woman once more.

Or maybe not.

The old woman wanted something from her, it was plain in the eager brightness of her eyes and the way she stood as though she was coiled and ready to spring forward. Mira glanced at the doll again, wondering if there was something wrong with it.

The cover of her book jabbed into her collarbone and ribcage, reminding her of other tales. Tales of princes or maidens meeting old women along the roads they traveled. Of what happened to the older brothers and the unkind sisters.

“I suppose I could come back with the money. How much is it?”

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Mira Morganstein: The Pink Lemonade Club 004

Old Woman

MMCoverMira hugged her book of fairy tales to her chest, willing herself to fall between the pages into a land where fairies were real and goose girls could become princesses. Where fifth graders could be out doing heroic and magical things instead of being forced to endure fractions, decimals, and figuring out where Timbuktu lived on a map.

“Deep in the forest,” she whispered to herself, “lived two sisters. One as fair as the morning, the other dark as night. They lived with their mother in a forest glen, these two sisters: Rose Red and Snow White.”

Her backpack bumped comfortably against her as her stride and the story weaving itself through her mind and across her tongue all fell into rhythm. Her favorite time of the day, besides that silver hour when the world held its breath in between day and night, was the walk home from school.

It was then when she could be any princess she chose to, fall into any fairy tale she fancied, with no one to look over her shoulder or eye her disapprovingly from the front of the classroom. There were no chores for her to do—not yet—and her homework could wait.

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Mira Morganstein: The Pink Lemonade Club 003

One Letter Delivered Via Sparrow

MMCoverGreetings, Moira dear.

I hope this letter finds you well and in good keeping.

As you know, the Autumn is fast approaching, and our annual gathering is nearly upon us once more. We all look forward to seeing Mira again. It is amazing how quickly mortal children grow. One moment they’re little more than a sprout with a bright light and heads bursting full of questions, and the next they’re growing up and coming into their own.

And speaking of coming into their own, as this is Mira’s eleventh year, this visit will be a special one. She truly stands between the thresholds of worlds, and while the binding has not yet been activated, let’s just say that eleven is a tricky year. As this is the case, you may expect all of us this afternoon instead of just me. I apologize for the short notice, but it couldn’t be helped.

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