It wasn't a simple thing, cleaning a cottage in a wink while the humans slumbered. And to be honest, Feeyah MacGuire was not the most accomplished of brownies—as her boss, Biddy Porter, was even now pointing out.
"There's enough dust beneath the bed to fill a frying pan," Biddy said sternly. "The kettle isn't nearly polished enough, and I found a large spot of jam on the countertop. Feeyah, you're a disgrace to the profession."
Feeyah dropped her gaze to the pointed tips of her leather slippers. Shame and a tiny bit of anger mixed hotly in her blood.
"I didn't ask to be born a brownie," she said.
It didn't help matters that she was allergic to dust, and too much scrubbing made the skin of her hands red and itchy. She loathed the fact that she was compelled to rise well before sunup to scrub and sweep and polish and tidy, and her only reward was a sip of milk from a wooden bowl. She usually was the last brownie to finish her chores, and so got the last bit of milk—barely a mouthful. Sometimes less, if the others were greedy.
"Fix your hair and finish up," Biddy said, with a disapproving look at the wisps that had escaped from Feeyah's bun. "I'll be back to check your work, and this cottage had best be neat as a pin. Don't forget to tidy up the child's blocks."
Biddy glanced at the corner where the child slept, a scattering of wooden blocks on the slate floor around his bed.
"Yes'm," Feeyah said.
Truly, what else could she do?
Despite her complete ineptness at cleaning, she had the call in her blood. Oh, she'd tried to ignore the compulsion that woke her from her warm dreams into the cold wee hours of the night, but it was an itch that became a red-hot goad if she did not rise and join the other brownies at their work.
She had considered running away from the clan to seek a different life. Perhaps, once she left the Big People's house, fled from the hidden brownie dwellings and the company of her own kind, she would be free.
But a brownie alone was easy prey for foxes and other creatures. Without a safe haven to go to, she wouldn't last one night outside by herself. If the animals didn't eat her, there were other, darker folk who would find much sport in tormenting a mild-mannered brownie: the spriggans with their long, pointed nails, the redcap goblins who delighted in pain and mayhem, the malicious sprites who fed off of fear.
Despite her unhappiness, the clan would keep her safe.
Feeyah heaved a sigh, then took her broom and ducked under the bed. The dust made her sneeze, but brownie magic kept her from waking the humans who snored above her. More's the pity.
And yet... what if she tried to deliberately rouse them?
It was a daring, dreadful thought, but as she swept, the notion would not let her go. She finished her sweeping and magicked away the broom and dustpan. Heart pounding, she poked the loose strands of her plain brown hair back into her bun, then went to the foot of the bed and let herself rise up. Brownies could levitate themselves—how else could they dust the cobwebs from the rafters and reach the difficult corners behind the stove?
She wobbled a bit, and grabbed at the bedpost to steady herself in the air. It was one thing to use her magic for cleaning, and another altogether to attempt to meddle with mortal folk. Carefully, she landed on the wool blanket beside the wife's feet. The sleeping lumps of the humans rose before her like low hills.
Oh, but this was wicked of her. Brownies were not to be seen by mortal eyes. It was one of the most important points of the Brownie Code. But Feeyah was so bone-weary of her tasks, she was willing to break the code.
If the Big People saw her, what then?
She did not know—had only had heard dire whisperings and half-told tales. But certainly everything would change. It must, for she could not keep scraping along in misery.
Breath fluttering in her lungs, she crept alongside the sleeping wife until she stood beside the pillow. The woman's chest rose up and down in her dreaming, like the surface of the sea, and her face was smoothed of cares. Feeyah lifted her hand, and—
"Feeyah! Hist, away with you!" Biddy materialized beside her, wrapped her stout arms about Feeyah's waist, and pulled her to the floor.
They landed with a bump on the flagstones, and Feeyah pulled out of Biddy's grasp.
"Whatever were you thinking?" Biddy's gaze was hard as ice.
"I just… I wanted…" The words clogged in Feeyah's throat.
"You're perilously close to trouble, young miss," Biddy glanced over to the kitchen. "The kettle is still tarnished. If you don't get back to work, there'll be no milk left for you at all. Is that what you want?"
Feeyah shook her head, tears prickling hotly at the corners of her eyes.
"I'm not fit for the work," she said in a low voice.
"Of course you are." Biddy straightened her apron. "You're a brownie, after all. Now back at it."
