"Back off," Matalina threatened, hovering beside me at head height. The harsh clatter of her more maneuverable dragonfly-like wings set the stray strands of my damp hair to tickle my face. She looked thinner than last winter, her childlike features severe. Determination showed in her eyes, and she held a drawn bow with an arrow at the string. Her daughter looked even more ominous, with a wood-handled sword of silver in her grip. She had possession of a small garden across the street and needed silver to protect it and herself since she had yet to take a husband.

"It's mine!" the fairy screamed in frustration. "Two women can't hold a garden!"

"I need only hold the ground I fly over," Matalina said resolutely. "Get out. Now."

He hesitated, and Matalina pulled the bow back farther, making a tiny creak.

"We'll only take it when you leave!" he cried, motioning for his clan to retreat.

"Then take it," she said. "But while I am here, you won't be."

I watched, awed, while a four-inch pixy stood down an entire clan of fairies. Such was Jenks's reputation, and such was the capabilities of pixies. They could rule the world by assassinations and blackmail if they wanted. But all they desired was a small plot of ground and the peace to tend it. "Thanks, Matalina," I whispered.

She didn't take her steely gaze off them as they retreated to the knee-high wall that divided the garden from the graveyard. "Thank me when I've watered seedlings with their blood," she muttered, shocking me. The pretty, silk-clad pixy looked all of eighteen, her usual tan pale from living with Jenks and her children in that Were's basement all winter. Her billowy green, lightweight dress swirled in the draft from her wings. They were a harsh red with anger, as were her daughter's.