A Twisted Festival, Pixie Twist #6 ebook

“Cookie?” Yuri held his hand out, a chocolate chip cookie rising from a paper napkin between his thick thumb and forefinger.

I sighed. “You need to leave some cookies for the guests. Erin didn’t bake those for you.”

“That’s why I share. This one for you. You’re stressing.”

I glared at Yuri, about to proclaim that I wasn’t stressed. But he was right. Tonight was our big open house at the Faerock Building. Part of the kickoff for the St. Maurice Town Festival. Not us personally. Tonight was the night for our sector of downtown merchants to have our block party, so Yelena and I decided to do the grand opening reception of the Faerock Building this evening. Everything Yelena and I had been working toward the last few months was coming to fruition tonight. 

Instead of grumping, I took a deep breath with my eyes closed. The already sweet aroma coming from the cookie bar across the lobby had a tinge of chocolate, coconut, and… 

“This one has scutterbotch mixed in.” Yuri waved the cookie under my nose. 

I chuckled and accepted the cookie. “You mispronounce those English words just to make me smile, don’t you?”

“What? Is not scutterbotch? I asked for scutterbotch, and Miss Erin gave me this one. If word is wrong, then Erin is wrong. And she knows cookies, so she can’t be wrong.”

I laughed and took a bite of the cookie. The sugar perked me up. As did Yuri’s convoluted explanation, given with his quiet, innocent smile.

The drone of pixie wings hovering next to my ear made me turn. Lexi, in small form, wearing her tiny yet smartly tailored business pantsuit crossed her arms and stared at me. 

“Yuri’s right, you’re stressing. Go sit and leave the setup to the pros.”

“I’m just watching.” I took another bite of the cookie and shrugged.

Lexi uncrossed her arms and thrust an arm toward the front doors of the grand lobby. “Go. Outside, or in our offices. Let Yelena and her crew worry about the setup. She’s the event professional.”

“Yes, ma’am!” I said with a smart salute my father would have been proud of. Hanging out as daughter of the CO of the Pixie Air Wing for this sector, I had learned a thing or two about saluting. Dad wasn’t a severe disciplinarian, but for dress parade time, he required every one of his air pixies to be in top-notch uniform and at peak flying ability.

“If they’re sloppy on parade, they’ll be sloppy on mission,” Dad would tell me and whatever notable visitors were about. “We’re proud of our Air Wing and haven’t failed a mission yet.”

I let the memories of his past proclamations echo in my mind as I turned toward the front door. The food truck vendors were beginning to grab their spots at the curb. Yelena made sure to invite some of our favorite vendors to complement but not compete with our new cookie shop and the Italian restaurant Larissa Vohan and her chef were opening.

Pepper of Pixie Twirls Ice Cream stood out at the curb—actually, in the street—saving her food truck parking spot. I stepped out with my cane. 

“We finally get to see the new ice cream truck tonight?” I called, letting some skepticism sound in my voice. Ever since the fire gutted her building a month ago, Pepper and her family had been working on a new venture. They’d sold off their plot of land down by Poseidon Park rather than rebuild.

“Oh, here he comes!” Pepper pointed down the road. 

My eyes followed her outstretched hand. A bright pink, blue, green, and yellow food truck headed our way. A human-sized replica of a pixie was attached to the top of the truck, wings out, gliding along with the vehicle. It was definitely attention-getting, as people walking along the street pointed and smiled.

“I present Pixie Twirls Sweet Delights truck. One of two, anyway. We get the second one tomorrow.” Pepper grinned, then her eyes darted over my shoulder. “Girls. Behave. I told you to stay away from the roof. Go over to the park if you’re going to be chasing each other.”

“Yes, Mamma!” Two tiny voices matching two equally small pixie girls squeaked behind me. In a flash, their iridescent wings zipped them across the street, paralleling in reverse the route of Pepper’s new ice cream truck. The tiny pixies darted out above the road, one chasing the other. Their paths swerved and veered enough that my father would have commended them for their acrobatics. Whichever one of Pepper’s twins was leading ducked through the open window of the cab of the truck. Her sister had to veer up and over the vehicle to keep up.

“Twins! Don’t ever have twins, Twiz.” Pepper shook her head, then glanced at the approaching truck again. “Whatever is he doing?”

The ice cream truck had stopped about fifty feet away from the spot. The setting sun over our shoulder was causing a glare on the windshield but really made the colors in the large pixie form on the roof shimmer.

“Your husband waiting for you to give directions?” I shrugged.

“No, he’s off on a business trip. Down in San Diego tonight. I’ve got our new employee driving.”

“Not one of your children?”

“Only two have their driver’s licenses, and they both have work tonight. No, we hired, umm…” She let that drift off and waved her arm in a sweeping motion that ended pointing down. “Right here, Dick. Park here.” 

She stepped into the road proper. Traffic behind the truck blared their horns. California drivers loved to hit their horns for the slightest reason.

“Umm.” I looked at Pepper, who stood glaring at the truck. “Did you hire Dick Gates?”

“Yeah. Sorry, Twiz. I should have told you.” Her hair highlights flared pink with embarrassment. “Judge Myrtle called in a favor. She said Dick was having trouble finding work. Without it, he’d have to go back to jail.”

More horns blared. Longer honks. I glanced behind me. “Drat. I wanted you to have the prime spot, but that isn’t going to work.”

“What? Why not?”

I blew out a breath and counted spaces. “Dick should have told you. After the issues at the beach last month, Dom suggested I get a restraining order against Dick Gates. He has to stay fifty feet away from me. Judge Myrtle cast the spell herself. He can’t move closer until I leave.”

“Oh dear. This would have been a prime spot for our debut. But with you in the lobby, we can’t get Dick far enough away to work the truck. And I can’t do it by myself. Sorry, Twiz, I’ll tell Dick to take the truck back to the garage.”

“No. Wait.” I pointed behind me. “I’ll have the taco truck back up here. If you take three spots down, that will be far enough away that Dick can work, and everyone can see your truck.”

“Thanks, Twiz!” Pepper popped pixie but hovered in front of me. “I’ll go tell Dick about the plan change.”

Once she darted away, I moved up and got the taco guy to back his truck up. Then I passed the change on to Yelena’s assistant with her clipboard. “Let me get back inside so Pepper can get her truck in here.”

At the door to the Faerock Building, I paused and waved toward the ice cream truck and gave it a thumbs-up. 

“I just reminded security to switch the windows to privacy mode,” Lexi said, flying next to me. She pointed. “A few folks are starting to hang around out front. Problems outside? You’re shuffling people and trucks around. I thought you wanted Pepper front and center.”

“I do. But you should go check out who’s driving the truck.” I winked at her with a devious smile forming on my face. 

“Driving the truck?” Lexi raised a tiny eyebrow and darted through the pixie transom we kept open over the main door. I headed back to the security guard’s desk. The glass door just to the left of it was opaque, with a dark film spell to keep prying eyes out. Letters in a large white script on the glass read Al’s dining club.

The door swung open, and a woman in chef whites stepped out with a tray of mini cannoli. 

“Here, Miss Twist!” She grabbed a paper napkin off the table set to the side of Al’s door, then pushed the tray toward me, handing me the napkin. “Please try one. Let me know if we’re ready for prime time here in St. Maurice.”

I chuckled and took the napkin and selected a cannoli. The small fried pastry filled with a sweetened cheese melted in my mouth. 

“Very good,” I mumbled past the napkin I held up to my mouth until I swallowed the bite. “Did you get the bar side finished in time?”

“A few more touches on the decor, but we can accept guests once the health inspector signs off on that side of the restaurant.” She grinned. “I got enough permits approved for the kitchen, so we’re starting delivery tonight. Already have a few orders in. I may have to take a run myself if we get any more. Erin has already been doing delivery runs for the past week. I feel so behind.”

“Wow. That’s a good sign. Orders on your first night.” I smiled, then nodded toward the restaurant behind her. “Did you get your permits for the main dining room?” 

She nodded, setting the serving tray on the table in one of the few empty spots. “We got the kitchens and main dining permits this afternoon. You’ll come to our private pizza party on Thursday evening? It’s our soft opening. Just special guests. Not for the public.”

“You think I’d pass up Chicago-style pizza?” My mouth started to water. “Chaz is going to be so mad.”

“He is your husband? Of course, he’s invited too. Everyone can bring a guest.”

“Oh, we’re not married.” I felt my cheeks starting to burn.

Dalila dropped her chin and stared at me over her glasses. She wore bright red frames in a large roundish shape. They complemented her auburn hair, though she had that tied back for working in the kitchen. “You know we’re in the twenty-first century, right? You can ask him.”

“Well, I, uh…” Now my hair highlights were burning as brightly as my cheeks. “We just started living together a few months ago. And he can’t eat pizza.”

Dalila laughed. “I know how to make a pixie blush. Sorry. Didn’t mean to get into your private life. Allergies? Is that why he’ll not be eating my pizza?”

“Well, he’s allergic to the sun, and all food that isn’t red.”

Dalila nodded, a knowing smile forming. “Oh. Not a problem. We’ve already got our first beverage shipment in with the synthetic reds. Please invite him.”

“I will. And I forgot to ask, you’ve got a Midwestern accent but an Italian heritage?”

“We do. My father came over with Al Capone’s father. Fortunately, Papà was fae and didn’t get involved in the mob business. Still, our families were close. Al tried to date my sister. She wanted to see him. They snuck out a few times, but…” Dalila shrugged. 

“Probably a good thing to not date Al Capone,” I said with a nod at the door. “Why’d you pick Al’s as a name? I get the speakeasy gangster vibe. But if you actually knew Al Capone?”

“Oh, I named it after my papà. He was Alessandro. Capone was Alphonse. Early on, when they ran around together, they were the Two Als. But when Capone started to run with the Five Points Gang, my father and he drifted apart. Capone knew Papà was fae, but had a geas to never mention it. That is why Rosina was attracted to him. He knew we were fae. And Capone saw the benefit of having a fae bride as he climbed higher in the mob. Fortunately, Papà ended any dating chances with Rosina early.”

“I’m guessing your sister wasn’t happy,” I said and found another mini cannoli in my hand. I stared at it for a second, shrugged, then took a bite. “These are superb. I better stop eating them or you won’t have any left.”

Dalila smiled. “If I can please a pixie with them, I am happy. And yes, Rosina was heartbroken. As soon as she dates, she gives her entire heart to her partner. Then she is crushed when it ends. We try hard to keep her from falling in so deeply. Only a few men have gotten in as deep as Capone did with her. Every time her heart breaks, we have to watch her closely.”

My stomach flipped at how pale she went at the last statement. “Oh no. Suicidal?”

“She can be. Only twice has she tried following a breakup. Capone was the first. We barely saved her that time. I knew to watch her closely when she had her second major fall.”

“Twizzle, Dalila,” Yelena’s voice cut through our conversation. My co-host for the Faerock Building’s open house exited the restaurant, followed by someone I preferred not to spend time with.

“I hope you don’t mind me giving an impromptu tour of your restaurant, Dalila,” Yelena said, a pleasant but understanding smile for her intrusion on her face. “Ms. Sinclair requested a private tour of the building before we opened.”

Star Sinclair and a man I vaguely remembered seeing her with a month ago, Emil, followed Yelena through the open door. 

“Not at all. I’m delighted to share my restaurant with Ms. Sinclair.” Dalila reached out a hand to shake with Star, but her eyes shifted to the man behind Star. Her hand paused halfway out. Her eyes narrowed, and her smile vanished. 

“What are you doing here, Fedulov? I told you to never darken my doorstep again.”