Chapter 14: Twelve Years Later, the Epilog.
"Sky, what's this?" Fern asked, holding up a sheaf of papers, "I found this in the filing cabinet."
"Let me see," I said, putting the baby down. I had just succeeded in calming down little two-year-old Newt after his brother Perry had frightened him by turning into a peregrine falcon, the bird of prey for which he was named. Perry had perched himself on the rail of Newt's crib and spread his wings proudly, which terrified poor Newt.
Perry was just 7 years old, and he was a good kid, but he always got rambunctious after supper and needed an outlet to blow off his excess energy. He usually did that by turning himself into a falcon and flying around the house, knocking over bookshelves, lamps, pictures, and anything else that wasn't nailed down.
"You need a time out, mister," I said to the falcon as I placed his leather falcon hood over his head and tethered him to his perch before picking two-year-old Newt up and rocking him in my arms to calm him down.
Fern had been cleaning out an old filing cabinet while I watched the kids. I walked over to look at the sheets of papers she was holding up. The title at the top of the first page read:
Pixie Magic
Chapter 1: The Wounded Doe.
"I almost forgot about that," I said smiling, "I began writing that on the first fay I learned you were a pixie thinking it might make a good story someday. I was going to make some changes to disguise our identities and location."
"There's some pretty explicit material in here," Fern said, reading through the fourth page, "You'd better not let the kids see this at least until their 18 or older. Especially Fawn, she's already beginning to show a lot of interest in her body as it is."
At age ten, Fawn was our oldest and she looked a lot like her mother. But unlike Fern, she was shy and self-conscious, traits I thought were unusual for pixies until Fern explained that a lot of pixie girls start out that way.
"I had that story tucked away in a locked filing cabinet. Isn't that where you found it?" I asked.
"Yes," Fern replied, "But you left the key to the filing cabinet in the desk where any one of the kids could have taken it. You know you can't leave those things around for the kids to find."
"You're right as always," I said after a pause. I was tempted to start an argument for the sole purpose of enjoying the steamy make-up session afterwards. But because the kids were all up, there would be no time for that now, hence the hesitation.
"I'll keep the key to the filing cabinet on my key chain with the rest of the keys," I said, finishing the thought.
"We'll talk about this after you put the kids to bed," Fern replied, holding up the document, "and I get a chance to read more."
Fern gave me one of her sexy "I know exactly what you're thinking" looks. After 12 years as a pixie, I was almost as good as her in reading feelings. She must have sensed my temptation for an argument just to get the make-up session.
This ability to read each other's feelings came in handy and often resulted in putting the kids to bed 30 minutes ahead of their usual bedtimes. Fortunately, pixie girls don't develop that skill until their 19 or 20. Pixie boys develop that skill at a later age, usually around age 25 or 30 although some pixie boys don't ever seem to attain it.
Speaking of which, I checked in on Newt. He was curled up in his crib and fast asleep. I tucked him in with his favorite blanket before looking in on Perry.
I removed the hood over his eyes, and he blinked a couple of times to adjust to the light. "Do you want to sleep on your perch tonight or in your regular bed?" I asked him, removing the tether to his perch. Perry considered sleeping on his perch a treat. He enjoyed it in much the same way I used to enjoy sleeping in a tent in the backyard when I was his age. Giving him the option was my way of indicating that I wasn't upset with him, and no real harm was done.
He flew off the perch and glided down to the floor where he morphed into his 4-foot human form wearing his green frock. His brown hair and pointed facial features reminded me so much of his peregrine appearance.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," he said, "I didn't mean to scare Newt."
"I know that," I said, giving him a bear hug, "It's just fun to play animal changes, isn't it?"
He looked up at me and smiled, then he gave me a big yawn.
"I had so much fun with Uncle Hawke today," he said sleepily, "You should see what he can do with his talons."
"Oh, I've seen your Uncle Hawke in action with those talons," I said, "He once saved me and your mother with those talons of his."
"He saved your lives for real?" Perry asked excitedly.
"Ask him yourself during your next flying lesson," I said, smiling, "Now brush your teeth and get ready for bed and I'll tuck you in."
Hawke was a good uncle and besides showing Perry useful flying tips, he would keep a close eye out for eagles, the only predator I was concerned about when Perry was flying.
Perry adored his Uncle Hawke and I suspect the feeling was mutual. He had been flying with Hawke earlier in the day. Hawke had taken Perry under his wing (a pun expression Fern and I would share in private) and showed him how to find the thermal updrafts and air currents to patrol the skies using a minimal amount of energy, enabling him to stay aloft for longer periods of time.
I watched Perry turn and leave, but as he disappeared down the hall, a pretty little face peeked out from behind the doorway.
"Tuck me in too Daddy?" little Robin, aged six asked. She was in her pixie form but dressed in her pajamas and holding her favorite fairy princess doll.
"Yes, I'll tuck you in, too," I said smiling at the ginger-haired cherub with wings of brown, yellow, and red in a feathered pattern. "Where's your shadow? Isn't she with you?" I asked.
Robin giggled. "You're silly, Daddy. Wren's not my shadow, she's my puppy dog."
A small puppy peeked out from behind the six-year-old. It was happily smiling at me with its tongue hanging out and the back half of its body rocking back and forth from its tail wagging vigorously in the air.
Moving quickly, I scooped the puppy into my arms and sprinkled pixie dust over its head. The puppy morphed into a smiling four-year-old girl with brown hair and an angelic face.
"Sweetie, I know your sister Wren likes to follow you around like a puppy dog but remember what I told you about turning your sister into an real puppy dog," I said to the six-year-old.
"We were just playing, Daddy and Wren said it was okay with her," Robin said, looking up at me with innocent eyes.
"It was fun!" the happy four-year-old in my arms said, looking at me.
"I know its fun playing puppy," I said as calmly as I could to the two girls, "But next time
just pretend
to be a puppy and don't actually change your sister into a puppy. Do you understand?"
I looked directly at little Robin when I asked that question.
"Yes, Daddy," Robin said sincerely.
"You didn't pee on the living room rug again, did you?" I asked, looking at Wren in my arms.
"No Daddy," Wren said, smiling.
"Good girl," I said as I carried her towards the bathroom with Robin following me, "It's bedtime and time for you two to brush your teeth."
