Author: Nila Patel

I am Storyfeather!

Thorn, Sword, and Teardrop

I was sitting in a corner of the tavern, indulging in a hot and rich meal, and a lusty drink, when someone—as happens once in a while—noticed something worthy of notice about the quiet stranger sitting in the corner. And as happens once in a while, this person was bold enough to approach.

I hadn’t decided how I would respond until she was but a footstep away from me.

“If you’re wanting a night of passion, lass, look elsewhere,” I said. I glanced directly at her eyes and gave a nod of respect to let her know I meant no offense, and wanted no trouble.

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The Stork That Drank the Stars

Romy climbed up the steps to the stage of the outdoor amphitheater, holding the megaphone in her right hand. The late afternoon was overcast but mild. She’d already checked to make sure that the snacks and drinks had been delivered, and the ice, and the t-shirts that read, “I Summoned the Stork with a Handstand.”

Her parents were there, one of them openly proud, the other one trying not to look terrified on Romy’s behalf. Her friends had all told her not to be nervous, or to focus on them if she got nervous, or to picture the audience in their underwear, or other advice that she appreciated but didn’t need.

Romy was not nervous.

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The Plentiful Powers of Pigeons

When Beth found him, he was pushing against a freestanding concrete wall. She watched him struggle a bit before she spoke.

“Last time I checked, pigeons don’t have super-strength,” she said.

Startled, Sam turned around. He immediately recovered himself, took the hands-on-hips pose, and said, “Hello, good citizen. What can I do for you?”

Sam was dressed in a pigeon costume.

Being that he was a pretty tall guy, he made for a very large pigeon.

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No Kings Among Rats

“The waters are rising,” said the god of corners. “Either your king will die. Or you will.”

Her many tails rippled behind her, vanishing first. The rainfall that soaked the rats scurrying about in preparation to save their king did not touch her gleaming black fur, or drip from her long silver whiskers.

Her head vanished last, lips still curled in a curious smile. She had not gone. She was only invisible.

She would stay and watch.

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The Ghost of the Fairy Prince

“If fairies don’t have souls, then what happens to them when they die?”

My nephew asked the question, and I turned to him to answer. But I stopped in the midst of taking a breath, for I saw that he was turned away from me, toward his grandfather, the storyteller.

I studied fairies for my profession. My nephew knew this. But he also knew that I had no spellbinding stories tell.

Except that this time, I did. For I had seen a fairy die once. A prince, he was. He glittered like a star.

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The Parasitic Fairy Worm

Two neighboring towns. One human. One fairy. An experiment in living openly and peaceably with each other after generations of legend and lore had taught caution and suspicion as well as curiosity and wonder. But something had gone wrong.

And it started with a paper cut in the human town.

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The Maximal Pixie

“I’m getting incident reports from all over the station now. Someone woke up this morning with half their head shaved. It’s not messing with any of the systems though, or equipment.”

“So, not a gremlin?”

“Apparently not.”

“Then what?”

The station’s security chief glanced down, as if she were looking at a document. “I’m trying to parse all the objective details from the reports to see if there’s a pattern, a profile.”

“And?”

“It…likes to play tricks?”

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