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Rachel sat at the edge of the sparkling pond in the secluded glen that had taken her five years to find. The air smelled of roses and lavender and pine. Tiny white sparks, like fireflies, floated upward, almost as if they were watching her.

The fairy she had trapped sat on a flat stone at the edge of the pond, just out of arm’s reach. She was small, but not tiny, not like the sparks. Still, Rachel’s Siamese cat could have eaten the fairy, if Rachel’s cat had come along. She could almost imagine the fairy dangling out of the cat’s mouth, slender arms above her head, black hair flowing downward, wings crushed in the cat’s teeth, legs curved awkwardly.

Most people wouldn’t have even noticed the fairy, but Rachel had trained herself to do so. Just like she had trained herself to locate hidden glens filled with magic.

She was determined—or crazy, as her ex would have said.

She should be elated. She was on the cusp of making her third wish, and she knew what to ask for. She had planned out all three wishes years ago, when she started on this quest. She had even memorized decision trees—if the fairy couldn’t grant Wish A, then pivot to Wish K, and hope that Wish B was still possible.

Wish C was always, always, a wish for more wishes, just like in the fairy tales and the books and the movies. She actually thought it might work.

The fairy’s greenish-gold eyes had shadows underneath them. Her pointed chin wobbled, almost like she was holding back tears.

The fairy had been quite talkative in the beginning—after kicking and screaming and biting and demanding to be let go.

I can’t grant world peace, the fairy had said in a very dry voice. I can’t change timelines and make evil dictators disappear. I can’t even stop a massive drought. I don’t have the powers for that. I can grant personal wishes, things that are important to you, and that’s it.

Rachel almost argued—after all, wasn’t world peace personal? Who wanted to live in a war-torn country?—but she didn’t. She’d read all the books and manuals and theories that she could find, and they all warned about careless words, especially the use of the word “wish” casually, as in I wish you would change your mind. Even I hope was dangerous, because it might be misconstrued.

Fairies were tricky, after all.

So, Rachel made her first wish, the wish that had sent her on this quest. She wished that her little brother Ryan could walk again. She was the one who had shattered his spine when she was four and he was two. She had shoved him, and he rolled down a flight of stairs. They were lucky, the EMTs had said, that he hadn’t been killed. But he was never going to walk.

She got instant confirmation from her friend Candace, who was just outside the glen, near a dirt road in a Michigan backwater where they’d heard that fairies had been sighted. Candace texted !!! which meant not only could he walk, but that he was actually doing it.

The second wish was more nuanced. Rachel wished that his life would be as good or better than it had been before—not in riches or wealth, but in friends and love.

The fairy had looked at her then with a tiny frown, and said, You know your friend Candace can’t confirm this one. You’ll have to trust me.

Rachel had nodded.

And now, the all-important third wish. More wishes, more healing for friends and family, more improvements to the community. All things Rachel could do with unlimited wish power, provided she didn’t make a verbal mistake.

The fairy watched her, waiting, wings trembling. The fairy wasn’t saying anything, no warnings, nothing.

“You seem young,” Rachel said, and silently cursed herself. Talking was her problem, always being interested in others, figuring out what they needed. She shouldn’t do that here, but she couldn’t take her words back.

“We’re not supposed to get caught,” the fairy said. “The wishes are a punishment.”

“Punishment?” Rachel asked before she could stop herself.

“They drain our magic, take away a bit of our lives. It’s supposed to make us more cautious, and maybe that’ll work.” The fairy kept her chin raised, even as she sounded doubtful.

This was probably fairy manipulation, but it was good manipulation. It preyed on Rachel’s sense of innate fairness. After all, what had she done? She had captured someone and forced them to do her bidding. That made her the bad guy here.

Her breath caught. The fairy had already warned her that wishes couldn’t be reversed.

If Rachel made a wish for infinite wishes, would it kill the fairy and if so, would another fairy have to take over?

The air felt warmer, almost moist, and there seemed to be more tiny light things floating upward. Were they waiting to see what Rachel wished for? Or what would happen to the fairy before her?

Rachel sighed. Infinite wishes sounded wonderful, but she would always wonder what the toll had been on this fairy. Maybe that was why fairies were traveling in clumps, moving to unlikely places, always on the move. Because if they got caught . . .

Rachel couldn’t do it. She wasn’t the right kind of greedy.

“I wish . . .” she said, knowing that this was it, the choice that she had thought about since she was six and learned about wish magic. “. . . that no one punishes you for being captured. It’s not your fault. It’s mine, and you don’t deserve to suffer for keeping your end of a bad bargain.”

The fairy raised her tiny head. Her hair curled around her face, making her look impossibly old.

This was where the fairies in the fairy tales became something other—an ogre, a witch, a malevolent being. But this fairy smiled, and became the prettiest thing Rachel had ever seen.

The fairy rose and flew directly at Rachel’s face. Rachel didn’t flinch, even though she wanted to.

The fairy kissed Rachel’s forehead, and then flew backwards, wings curving inward.

“You’re a good soul,” the fairy said, her words visible, gold and sparkling. “May you be forever blessed.”

And then the fairy vanished, along with the glen.

Rachel was sitting near a puddle near a ditch at an intersection not far from what remained of the forest. Construction equipment was poised to do more damage, but no one manned it.

Candace sat on the bumper of her Volkswagen Bug, holding her phone, mouth agape.

“What happened to the glen?” she asked. She hadn’t been able to go inside—it wasn’t big enough for two humans, and she said she didn’t want to anyway—but she had seen it.

“I guess they moved it,” Rachel said.

She stood up. The air smelled of exhaust. The water in the puddle was covered in oil. She wiped her hands on her jeans, almost wishing—and then stopping herself from making it formal—for the smell of roses and lavender and pine.

“You’re sure Ryan’s walking?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Candace said. “Socials are calling it a miracle. He has an appointment with his doctor, and he’s going to get in immediately.”

“Another miracle,” Rachel said drily.

“What else did you wish for?” Candace asked.

Rachel shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“I figured,” Candace said. “You’re so courageous, going up against that kind of magic.”

Not courageous. Desperate. Her brother had been sickly all his life. Something had gone wrong in that fall, something serious. So even though his attitude was good, and he knew how to handle his chair and he’d become an advocate for folks like him, he wasn’t going to get the kind of full life most people got. Now, the docs said he only had a year or two left.

She hoped she had healed it all, and maybe expiated some of her own guilt. Maybe she could forgive her four-year-old self for being four and giggly, pushing at her little brother in play, not seeing the stairs.

Maybe.

But that guilt had gotten her here, maybe made things better, allowed her to see magic, if only for an afternoon.

“You all right?” Candace asked, frowning.

Rachel nodded, and stood up.

“You know you have a little gold star in the middle of your forehead,” Candace said.

Rachel put her hand up. She could feel the star right where the fairy had kissed her.

A gold star for being good. Something her four-year-old self could appreciate.

She giggled, sounding almost childlike.

Candace raised her eyebrows. She had clearly never heard Rachel do that before.

“Mission accomplished, I guess,” Rachel said, feeling a tiny bubble of joy rise inside her.

Just enough to make her feel better. To make her feel like she could hold on to a little bit of magic, for the rest of her life.