The day started out like any other. We woke up at the crack of dawn to be ready for school, and out the door by the time Loney woke from his drunken stupor. We were mostly quiet on our five mile walk to the local high school; our cars were sold by Loney for even more booze money. School was the same as always, it was just another day as the new kids. And just like every other day, Loney was gone when we got back to the trailer. But everything changed when Loney came back from the bar early.

Loney wasn't a happy drunk. Actually, he was far from it. He was downright violent and abusive. And this time, he wasn't content with a few cheap shots at Cole.

When we finally escaped to our shared bedroom, we lock the dead-bolt we spent our small collective funds on. We were both battered, bruised, and black and blue all over. And as the sun began to set, we fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

I woke with a start, and then I immediately regretted it, as my whole entire body felt as if i had been run over by a semi-truck. I laid there until the pain subsided slightly, and it was then that i realized that what had woke me up was the sound of someone crying. I looked up, and a boy about the age of 17 was sitting on the floor at the end of my bed.

“Boy, why are you crying?” I asked as I sat up in bed, wearing a tank top and a pair of baggy flannel pajama pants. He didn't even jump. He just looked up at me, then back at his right foot, which was bleeding profusely. “Oh, no,” I groaned as I realized that I had left one of my daggers on the floor at the foot of my bed.

I crawled out of bed, and came to sit next to him on the floor. “What is your name?” I questioned as I pulled the things I would need for a healing out from under my bed: A red candle, a blue candle, a green candle, and a yellow candle, a small dish, a bottle of spring water, and a small container of salt.

“Peter. Peter Pan,” he had said through clenched teeth. He looked as if he would be as tall as Cole if he were standing, Peter ha shaggy, sandy brown hair, sun-lightened to blonde in streaks. He was dressed in clothes made of leaves, and when i spotted these details, I felt a flicker of recognition.

I knew this boy. Not personally, of course, but i knew of him. He was the star of many bedtime stories from our childhood, and the main character in quite a few movies and books. He was the child that never grew up. Yet, here he was, not the 12-year-old boy he once was, but a 17-year-old man.

I stood, and walked over to my brother's bed. “Cole, wake up. I need your help,” I hissed. I was good at healing, but the cut was deep, too deep to be confident in my abilities.

“Five more minutes, Paige,” Cole mumbled. I sighed, and looked behind me at Peter. I held up a single finger, indicating that this would only take a moment. With an evil smirk, I created a tiny fireball about the size of a dime, and shot it at Cole's rear end. I hit my target squarely, and he leaped out of bed, yelping like a wounded puppy. “What the Hell, Paige?!” Cole whispered.

I simply gestured toward Peter and said, “I need some help.” We worked our Magick on Peter's foot, and when we finished, all that was left was a shiny white scar.

“Now, I'm going back to bed. Goodnight, Demon Sister,” Cole yawned as he stood. When he turned, though, there was a smoking hole in the seat of his pants. He was almost to his bed when he heard Peter and I laughing. He spun around and saw me pointing at him.

“Pants… You… Smoke… Fire… Hole…” I managed as I laughed uncontrollably. After Cole had safely put on some non-charred pants, we finally introduced ourselves. “I’m Paige, and the idiot with the hole in his pants is my brother, Cole.

“I’m Peter Pan, like I said before,” he said, sounding slightly impatient.

“If your Peter Pan, why don’t you look twelve?” I asked, honestly curious. A look flashed across his face.

“I don’t know really, ever since… Wendy… left, I’ve been noticing that the tree house was getting a bit small,” he said. At last, I placed the look I had seen flash across his features. Pain, sorrow, anger, and abandonment.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” I apologized. All of a sudden, my hand dashed out and snatched something off of the floor. Neither Peter nor Cole noticed. When I opened my hand, a tiny faerie was standing in front of my face.

It wasn’t Tinkerbell; I would have recognized her immediately. It was a faerie I had never seen before. She was almost as tall as a new pencil, and she had long chestnut hair flowing about her. She was garbed in clothing from flowers and leaves, yet she looked as if she had just walked out of a miniature version of Hollister. As I was finishing my observations, she started chattering.

She was obviously talking to me, but all I heard were the sounds of hundreds of tiny frantic bells. Then she said one word that I would have recognized in any language. “Oops!” She then leaned forward and touched the end of my nose with one small, dainty finger. A shower of gold dust emanated from the point where her finger still made contact with my face.

“Check, 1, 2. Testing, testing. Is this thing on?” She said in her high, trilling soprano. I nodded, slightly bewildered at what had just taken place. I glanced toward the boys, and, of course, they were still completely oblivious. My attention was drawn back to the tiny figure standing on my palm.

“My name is Joslyn, what’s yours?” She asked. She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, looking overly eager for something. The boys finally noticed that I was no longer part of their conversation, and looked over to see what was going on.

“Paige. My name’s Paige.”

“Well, Paige, I have some good news,” Joslyn said, suddenly sobering. “The Faerie Council assigned me to be your faerie, and ya’ll better start packing. We leave tomorrow at dusk.”