(no subject)

[soulfulsin]

Fandom: Fairly Oddparents
Canon or AU: AU

Fic: Operation Timantha

A/N: I’m not caught up with A New Wish. Still. XD I’m aware of how the first season (fingers crossed, not the only season) ends. I’m gonna be foaming at the mouth if it gets canceled. I swear.

Anyway, my anti-fairy adaptation might have suffered because I’m rusty on them. Also, just as an odd fyi, I don’t ship Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda. I honestly only think they’re together because C/W are, not because Anti-Cosmo has much use for Anti-Wanda.

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Timantha hadn’t been in a safe place to mourn her lost sketchbooks, but she was now. Once she’d greeted her mother, who was clipping coupons at the kitchen table, and bypassed her father, who was complaining about something Dinkleberg had done, Timantha raced upstairs, curled up on the bed, and sobbed her heart out. Those notebooks were her life’s work; it made no sense for them to suddenly burst into flames.

She suspected something strange with Chloe, Tootie, and Trixie, but she didn’t think the first two were malicious. Timantha was so far beneath Trixie’s notice that she’d be shocked if the girl could pick her out of a line-up. It was hard for Timantha to believe, though, that Chloe and Tootie would’ve conspired to set her bag on fire, especially if they’d known what was in it.

Wracking sobs seized Timantha. Those notebooks had been like her only friends. To see them literally go up in smoke was devastating. She felt like she’d never draw again. Glancing at the large pile of Crimson Chin comic books in the corner, she punted them every which way. Weeping hysterically, she snatched a few up and tore whatever she could reach. Soon, her vision was too blurry to see what she was doing, and she collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

She hated all of this and resented her father for preferring the Dinklebergs’ son over his flesh and blood. No matter what Timantha tried, Curtis always one-upped her. Those sketches had kept her sane. Now, she had nothing.

She’d never been brought so low. While the identities of those pink and green objects nagged at her, she had more pressing concerns. It wasn’t like in one of those fairy tales where Cinderella’s fairy godmother would swoop in and save her. Real life wasn’t like that. Wishing did nothing. After all, Timantha had spent most of her life since she’d learned to talk wishing for a different life or family. No one ever listened.

It wasn’t fair, damn it. She huddled in a corner with her arms around her knees. Right now, she wanted to tear off her stupid girl clothes and dress like a tomboy. Maybe then her father would accept her. No, probably not. She wasn’t as perfect as Curtis Dinkleberg.

The Dinklebergs hadn’t wanted children, but they paraded Curtis around like a trophy. They were proud of their son, unlike Mr. Turner with his daughter. While that had upset Timantha to no end, her sketches had comforted her.

All she had left of those sketches were a handful of ashes.

Her tantrum was over, replaced by despair. She knew she wouldn’t recreate those sketches because she didn’t have it in her. Maybe she’d never draw again; she didn’t want to touch a pencil and doodle, much less reconstruct her fantasy world.

Someone knocked at her door, and Timantha looked up.

“Mom?” she called. Her father almost never visited unless it was to complain about Curtis achieving something that Timantha never could.

“Curtis is the fastest runner in his class. Why don’t you win more awards?”

“Curtis got the best grade on his science project. What happened to yours?”

She didn’t have anything to comfort her now that she’d torn through her comics and lost her sketches.

“I’m respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority as your mother by coming in anyway,” Mrs. Turner announced. Timantha sniffled; it wasn’t like the door was locked. Mrs. Turner entered and beheld her daughter in a miserable heap.

“Oh, honey, what happened? Did you have a bad day at school?” Mrs. Turner said. She frowned, nose wrinkling. “Do you really want to sit on the floor? When was the last time you cleaned your room?”

“I’m sorry,” Timantha mumbled. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

Mrs. Turner shook her head and sat beside her. Timantha was touched, especially because no adult she knew had an easy time standing from a sitting position on the floor. It seemed to be an old person thing; if they managed to stand without help, they moaned and groaned while doing it.

“Tell me what happened,” Mrs. Turner said and removed Timantha’s baseball cap so she could stroke her daughter’s hair. Mrs. Turner pulled Timantha into her lap.

“I can’t explain it…” Timantha said. The words dammed up inside of her, and she realized, oddly, that she didn’t want to explain it. It almost felt like she’d be betraying someone’s confidence, which was ridiculous. No one had told her anything particularly sensitive, and even if they had, she didn’t owe anyone loyalty. Not even Chloe and Tootie for walking her home once.

“Why don’t you try?” Mrs. Turner offered; she was such a good mom when she tried. Timantha was ashamed when her mouth ran ahead of her brain.

“Why are you still with Dad?” Timantha blurted. “He’s obsessed with Sheldon Dinkleberg like he’s in an enemies-to-lovers rom-com.”

Mrs. Turner flushed. “That’s not quite…right.”

Her faltering, however, told Timantha that she’d hit the bullseye, especially when her mother looked away.

“Why don’t I help you clean up your room, and we can talk while we clean?” Mrs. Turner proposed. She groaned when she used the bedposts to stand, and Timantha rolled her eyes. Old people, man. Timantha vowed she’d never get old. 37 years old was practically ancient.

“Okay…” Timantha said though she couldn’t help but feel her mother was dodging the subject.

They gathered brooms, dustpans, a mop, and a bucket with soap and water. Timantha cast a critical eye over the mess she’d made. A small part of her regretted throwing that tantrum; a larger part just wanted her sketchbooks back. Tears slid down her cheeks. Why did her bag have to combust? Why couldn’t it have been a jerk like Francis? Why did it feel like all the world’s bad luck landed on her doorstep?

“You can’t tell me Dad’s not obsessed with Sheldon Dinkleberg,” Timantha said, desperate not to think about what she’d lost.

“No, I can’t,” Mrs. Turner admitted reluctantly. “I don’t know if it’s quite that level of intensity.”

“Mom,” Timantha said flatly, “he talks about Dinkleberg more at the dinner table than he does about us. Like I said, he’s obsessed with him. The only fictional character I know who’s more obsessed with his nemesis is the Joker with Batman. Or Lex Luther with Superman.

“You don’t see this as a problem?”

“You read too many comics,” Mrs. Turner chided. “Not everything is black and white.”

“You know comics are in color and have been for decades, right?” Timantha said, rolling her eyes. “And that villains have been shades of gray for decades, too?”

“Mr. Dinkleberg isn’t a villain,” Mrs. Turner corrected absently, sweeping scraps from one of Timantha’s destroyed comics into a dustpan. Timantha was supposed to be helping out, but realizing she might be right had wrecked her mood further.

If thinking about your parents being romantically involved was gross, thinking about your father in a liaison with the next-door neighbor was ten times worse.

“I didn’t say I was talking about Dinkleberg,” Timantha said darkly. Mrs. Turner, startled, bumped into Timantha’s bedside table. The lamp swayed dangerously, and Mrs. Turner dropped the broom to catch the lamp before it shattered.

“Do you have such a low opinion of your father?” Mrs. Turner chided, resuming her sweeping.

“Seriously?” Timantha snapped. “Dad’s been treating me like an afterthought my whole life. I sometimes wish I’d been born a boy so he’d care about me once in a while!”

As always, she felt a strange portent of power when she said the words “I wish.” No matter when she said those two words aloud, she shivered as if someone had run their fingers down her spine. It was eerie, and she had no one to tell. No one would take her seriously, anyway. They wouldn’t have listened to her about the words “I wish”, the flammable bag, or those pink and green objects. To say nothing of the pink and green dust sparkles…

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not true,” Mrs. Turner said and embraced her daughter. “Your father cares deeply about you.”

Timantha snorted. “He’d only care about me if I woke up one morning and found out I was Timmy Turner, not ‘Timanatha Turner.’”

As she said the words, she shivered, though she hadn’t said “I wish.” It felt like she was tempting fate to say the name “Timmy Turner,” as if she’d had familiarity with it in another universe.

Mrs. Turner frowned. “He loves you. I know he always wanted a son, but you’re just as good.”

“No,” Timantha said flatly. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

She made a token effort to sweep something under the bed by brandishing the broom and hoping it’d get the hint. The shredded comic book barely budged.

“Not to him, I’m not,” Timantha said. She’d always known that was the truth, but it was depressing to admit aloud. Her shoulders slumped. She’d always be second-rate. Slowest runner in the class, lowest grades in Crocker’s class, social outcast without the one thing that had kept her going…

Timantha rubbed her eyes as tears formed. Thankfully, her mother wasn’t paying her any mind. She was attacking a dust bunny. Mrs. Turner wielded her broom like a baseball bat, and Timantha thought she might’ve been battering it as a substitute for someone downstairs.

After this continued for another minute or two, Timantha asked, “Mom, are you trying to clean the dust bunny or kill it?”

“Oh, sorry,” her mother said, sheepish. She looked up and saw the burn marks on Timanatha’s backpack, which was sitting on the floor next to the bedpost. “What on earth happened?”

“Something spontaneously combusted,” Timantha said. The how and why of it was another matter. Timantha couldn’t begin to explain that.

“Your backpack spontaneously combusted?” Mrs. Turner repeated, baffled.

“All my sketches are gone,” Timantha said. It was her turn to attack dust with a disproportionate amount of strength. “All of the school notebooks are fine.”

The lattermost, she said bitterly. She’d have rather lost her notes and homework than those sketches and comics.

Mrs. Turner shook her head. “It sounds like a localized fire.”

“You have no idea,” Timantha said darkly. She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together, remembering the pink and green dust sparkles. For once, she wished she could spy on Chloe and Tootie. There had to be something Timantha was missing. There was a common element, and Chloe was especially bad at hiding it. It’d make sense to approach her first.

“Strange things have been happening a lot at your school lately,” her mother opined. “And that Mr. Crocker--I don’t know why he hasn’t been fired for stalking students.”

“Tenure,” Timantha said, disgusted. “Until the police take him away in handcuffs, the school district is going to ignore him.”

About Mr. Crocker, too, Timantha was justifiably bitter. That man creeped her out.

Her mother patted her on the head. “Cheer up. It can’t be all bad.”

Timantha glared. The oversimplification and dismissal of her problems irritated her almost more than her earlier losses. It was like people thought children couldn’t have legitimate concerns until they became adults, that everything kids went through could be magically waved aside.

“Mom,” Timantha said and then hesitated. She’d never shown her artwork to anyone. That green pencil and pink eraser were the closest thing she’d had to an audience, which was pathetic. As far as Timantha knew, they weren’t sentient.

Timantha was starting to wonder how much she knew; reality might not be the way she thought it was.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“I draw--used to draw, I guess--Crimson Chin comics,” she admitted. “That spontaneous combustion destroyed them.”

She didn’t mention that they were all she had to show for her otherwise pitiful life. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and her mother stopped cleaning to hug her. Timantha trembled; she wanted to be angry instead of confused. At least, if she were angry, she’d be able to blame someone and have an outlet for her misery.

“I’m so sorry,” her mother said, sounding sincere. “You didn’t scan them into the computer or take pictures, did you?”

“I didn’t think anyone else would want to see them,” Timantha said, hanging her head.

“Next time, try preserving them,” her mother said, and Timantha shook her head.

“There’s not going to be a next time,” Timantha said. “What’s the point if no one but me sees them, and then something mysteriously sets them on fire?”

“They were important to you, right?”

Reluctantly, Timantha nodded.

“Then you should preserve them next time,” she said, squeezing her shoulder. “I know you can’t bring them back, but that’s no reason to give up.”

“I wish I knew why my bag caught fire,” Timantha grumbled. Tears pricked her eyes.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Mrs. Turner said. Timantha smiled bitterly; she hadn’t expected it. For a while, they worked in silence, and Timantha considered pulling out her cell phone and demanding answers from Chloe or Tootie. Tootie would probably be cagier about it than Chloe, but it didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t have either of their numbers.

“Are you feeling any better?” Mrs. Turner asked after five silent minutes had passed. Timantha forced a smile and nodded. She didn’t feel like elaborating. At this point, she wanted to be left alone to brood.

“Good,” Mrs. Turner said. “Your father and I are going out on a date tonight, and Vicky’s coming over.”

Timantha’s jaw dropped. After the afternoon she’d had, she couldn’t imagine a worse evening than spending it with her arch-nemesis.

“Why do you have to go out on dates? You’re already married,” Timantha protested. She latched onto her waist. “Don’t leave me here with Vicky. She’s a monster.”

“Oh, you exaggerate,” Mrs. Turner said and smoothed back her hair. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be back before eleven, but you should be in bed by then.”

“Or saying my prayers,” Timantha muttered darkly.

“That’s the spirit,” Mrs. Turner said, missing her daughter’s sarcasm. “Be good for Vicky.”

Timantha glowered. “How come we never go out as a family? Or take family vacations? We only go somewhere if the Dinklebergs are doing it, too. Dad’s insanely competitive.”

“I know,” Mrs. Turner said, sighing. “That’s one of the things I hope to discuss with him over dinner tonight.”

Mrs. Turner tousled Timantha’s hair and pecked her on the forehead before bidding her goodbye. Timantha waited until her mother had descended the stairs and shut her door. It might be worth skipping dinner to avoid Vicky. Tears brimmed and spilled over. If Vicky found out about the combustible backpack and Timantha’s destroyed comics, her babysitter would have a field day. She’d never pass up a chance to increase Timantha’s misery.

Distantly, Timanatha heard her parents call goodbye. She flopped onto the bed and waited, counting on her fingers how long it would take Vicky to storm up the stairs and barge in. Five, four, three…

Vicky flung the door open with abandon. It slammed into the wall and cracked it. Scoffing, the sixteen-year-old menace shrugged and advanced on Timantha. Timantha was running on exhaust fumes; she had nothing left to fight Vicky or stand her ground. When you lose your life’s work, you tend to lose your motivation to do anything, too.

Perhaps Timantha’s hopelessness shone in her eyes because Vicky stopped and cackled. Timantha shivered and forced herself to meet Vicky’s malicious pink gaze.

“What do you want?” Timantha said sourly. “Lemme guess--the bathrooms need to be cleaned. The kitchen floor has to be scrubbed until you can see your face in the linoleum. You got blood on your new car, and you need me to wash it off before the cops show up.”

Vicky scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, twerpette. I wouldn’t be caught dead hitting someone with my car and driving around with the evidence.”

Unfortunately, Timantha had no problem imagining Vicky committing vehicular manslaughter. She just wouldn’t be foolish enough to reveal it. It also wasn’t hard for Timantha to imagine that there was a whole pile of bodies in bags somewhere near Dimmsdale’s piers.

Timantha hoped she was letting her imagination run away from her.

Then again, Vicky had had a brother and sister. No one knew what had become of her brother. Perhaps Vicky had “made him disappear” once she had no more use for him. Timantha shuddered.

Meanwhile, Vicky was in the middle of a long tirade about something. Timantha had tuned her out five minutes ago. It was hard to stay focused when Vicky’s rants were boring. Plus, Timantha was too drained to be intimidated.

“I heard about your backpack, twerpette,” Vicky said in an offhand manner. “I don’t know what was in it, but you were so upset. Love letters? Ha! As if anyone would be writing you a love letter.

“Crappy self-insert fics? I can see that. Only fictional characters would like you.”

She laughed viciously. “Sucks to be you.”

“Do you have spies in my middle school?” Timantha grumbled. She tried not to react to Vicky’s insults, but it was hard. Vicky always knew how to kick someone when they were down.

Vicky shrugged. “It’s good to stay informed.”

She poked Timantha in the cheek. “Chin up, twerpette. Your day is about to get a whole lot worse.”

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Wanda sighed, surveying the damage Chloe and Cosmo had caused. With her hands on her hips, she waved her wand and restored Chloe’s house before anyone noticed. She had no idea what had precipitated the wish, and frankly, she didn’t care. Cosmo’s cheer remained intact, but Wanda felt guilty. They needed to do something to help Timantha. It was their fault she’d lost her comics.

The girl had it bad enough, and she and Cosmo had made it worse. Wanda never wanted to do that, especially to a miserable child.

“What’s the matter?” Cosmo said. “You didn’t even try to talk me out of playing the not-study game with Chloe.”

“That’s because Chloe will always choose to do her homework over procrastination,” Wanda reminded him. She shook her head. “No, that’s not what’s bothering me. Doesn’t it bug you, hon, that we made Timantha’s life worse? Jorgen won’t give her fairies, and fairies that have nothing to do with her are destroying her precious artwork.”

Chloe looked up from her laptop. They were gathered in her bedroom; her parents were running around madly, trying to collect things for their upcoming trip. Chloe wasn’t coming along since this was during the school year. Cosmo and Wanda would have to pull double duty as “babysitters.” It was either that or have Chloe stay with Tootie, which Chloe and Wanda thought was an awful idea. Tootie was afraid Vicky might come after Chloe, and Wanda knew Chloe’s relentless cheer could be grating, especially on people who were pure evil.

“We make a lot of people’s lives worse by accident,” Cosmo reminded Wanda. “It’s practically part of Da Rules!”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I feel terrible. I wish there was something we could do.”

“We could bring her comics back,” Cosmo suggested, and Wanda shook her head.

“That’s the problem, hon,” she said. “I don’t know how, but Timantha is onto us. It makes no sense. Crocker might recognize us subconsciously because we were his fairies. We were never Timantha’s godparents. At least, I don’t think so.

“Then again, until Tootie accidentally brought us back in time, we didn’t know we were Crocker’s godparents, either.”

Wanda groaned, facepalming. Cosmo exposing himself as a fairy hadn’t been what had lost Crocker his godparents. Tootie had tried to befriend Denzel Crocker as a ten-year-old, figuring that he might turn out differently if he’d had at least one friend in childhood.

Except Crocker wasn’t as innocent as she’d thought. When he’d seen Tootie using magic behind a bush, he’d accused her of trying to steal his fairies to gain more power. Tootie, aghast, had protested that she intended no such thing. Crocker had tried to out her as part fairy, only for Jorgen to come down hard on him. If Crocker couldn’t be trusted to know about half-fairies, then he couldn’t be trusted to have fairies.

Crocker’s feelings for them were based upon how much he could throw their magic around. Wanda felt sick remembering it, as well as how crestfallen Tootie had been. No good deed goes unpunished.

“I’d remember having Timantha as a goddaughter,” Cosmo said stubbornly, and Wanda facepalmed again.

“My point is that you wouldn’t. Neither of us would. When you played around with Jorgen’s mind wipe device, you erased our memories, too, you idiot. Who’s to say that didn’t happen twice?”

“Me! I’ll say it didn’t happen twice!” Cosmo said. Wanda buried her face in her hands.

“Never mind,” Wanda said. She turned to Chloe. “We can’t wish the comics restored, but perhaps we can bring her new artbooks. Actual artbooks, not the notebooks she was using instead.”

“Maybe…” Chloe said. She frowned thoughtfully. “Is that enough, though?”

Wanda frowned, too. She agreed--for their faux pas, they needed to think bigger. While she would have loved to restore what Timantha had lost, the girl was too suspicious for her own good. She’d probably run down the street toward Chloe or Tootie and confront them if her artwork suddenly reappeared.

Wanda groaned. “I’m going to check on Timantha and Tootie. I’ll be back in a bit, hon. Try not to make the roof explode this time, okay?”

Cosmo’s lower lip quivered.

“You’ll be fine for thirty minutes on your own, sugar,” Wanda said, refraining from rolling her eyes. “Trust me.”

“I don’t wanna be without you for thirty minutes!” Cosmo protested. “You might walk out on me!”

Chloe looked up from her math textbook, which was open beside her laptop.

“He can be overdramatic,” Wanda groaned. “Ignore him, sweetie.”

“I am not overdramatic!” Cosmo protested, latching onto her.

“I’m just going to be doing my homework,” Chloe said, shrugging. “It’s not like I’ll need him to grant wishes.”

“See? She doesn’t need me. You do!” Cosmo said triumphantly. Wanda faltered.

“I don’t really…”

“Need you, either,” were the next three words, but she knew Cosmo would take them amiss. She’d probably have to spend the next half hour calming him down. There were some severe disadvantages to marrying a manchild.

“Want to go without me?” Cosmo said, and Wanda groaned.

“Hon, your touching the diary’s lock was what caused it to catch fire in the first place,” she said, exasperated. “I’ll be okay on my own. I promise.”

Cosmo whimpered, and she sighed, pinching her nose bridge.

“I’ll bring you back churros,” she promised, feeling like she was bribing a child. Cosmo didn’t look mollified. She wasn’t sure what had triggered this sudden insecurity, and it simultaneously irritated and concerned her. Checking in on Timantha would be easier without Cosmo. Tootie, at least, knew who they were.

“Wanda…” Cosmo whined.

“I’ll be fine,” Chloe promised and beamed. “Go.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, raised her wand, and brought them into Timantha’s room. They disguised themselves as dust bunnies; it was the first thing that came to mind, and she felt they’d look out of place otherwise. Inching out from underneath the boxspring, Wanda levitated to the bed.

Cosmo joined her a second later, and they stared at Timantha. She’d flung herself dramatically onto the bed with her face down and buried in the pillow. Sobs shook her small frame, and Wanda felt worse than she had a minute ago. Cosmo glanced at her, and she saw the remorse echoed in his expression, too. They’d screwed this up. They needed to fix it somehow.

Unfortunately, it’d have to be different than their usual attempts because Timantha would be onto anything obviously magical. Wanda was out of practice with suspicious people, especially children.

It was odd, too, because children more readily believed in magic than adults. Wanda wondered whether Timantha’s problems with magic started because she and Cosmo had arrived or if there was something more to it. The only way she’d find out would be to ask the girl, and Wanda wasn’t about to reveal their existence to a strange human child.

After a couple of minutes, Timantha stopped crying, sniffled, and then sneezed. She rolled over onto her back, and her eyes narrowed.

She knows we’re here, somehow, Wanda thought, discomfited. That should have been impossible.

When Timantha rolled over, Wanda and Cosmo turned into flies. Hopefully, they’d be small enough and far enough away that Timantha couldn’t find them.

“Who’s there?” Timantha demanded, scanning the room. “Come out.”

((Her spidey senses are tingling?)) Cosmo suggested. Wanda rolled her eyes, not dignifying that with a response.

“Come out, I said,” Timantha growled, balling her fists and springing to her feet. “I know you’re there. I can feel it.”

She sneezed again and then leaned over. Wanda’s heart clenched as Timantha rubbed pink and green sparkles between her fingers. It didn’t matter that Timantha shouldn’t be able to see the dust, much less interact with it. They’d only been dust bunnies on her bed for a minute; the amount of fairy dust they’d left had been negligible, usually invisible to the naked eye.

((We have to talk to her, but we can’t reveal ourselves,)) Wanda said. Interactive TV shows existed, but that usually meant a choose your own adventure storyline, not speaking directly with the people in the show.

Something blue caught Wanda’s attention, and she flew after it through the open window. Cosmo, naturally, gave chase.

“Hello, Wanda,” Anti-Cosmo said cheerfully once the four of them were out of Timantha’s line of sight. They floated above the house in fairy form.

Anti-Wanda, eating a sandwich with her feet, paid her husband no mind.

“What are you doing here?” Wanda said. “You’re not supposed to interact with normal humans.”

“We cause bad luck,” Anti-Cosmo reminded her.

“There must be a reason you’re here beyond that,” Wanda said, scowling. “Anti-fairies don’t normally take an interest in human children without godparents.”

“Especially not children that Jorgen has forbidden fairies,” Anti-Cosmo said. Wanda’s stomach and jaw dropped.

“You shouldn’t--how do you know that?” Wanda sputtered. “That’s Fairy World’s business, not yours.”

Anti-Cosmo grinned at Wanda’s dumbfounded look.

“We’ll be around,” he promised and blew her a kiss. Cosmo growled, raising his fist to snap at his counterpart, but the anti-fairies had vanished.

“That raised more questions than answers,” Wanda said, frowning. She didn’t know whether the anti-fairies’ involvement was why Jorgen had forbidden Timantha to have fairies or if there was something else going on, too. She groaned.

“Since when do anti-fairies care about normal human children?” she asked. She wasn’t expecting an answer--she was musing out loud.

“Uh, since never?” Cosmo said.

Wanda rolled her eyes, considered returning to Timantha’s room, and then hesitated. She was wary of attracting the girl’s attention again, though it was imperative, now more than ever, that they talk. Wanda also had to figure out how the anti-fairies had escaped Anti-Fairy World; Anti-Cosmo hadn’t been hanging around Timantha for kicks.

“Anti-fairies can’t have godchildren, only fairies can,” Wanda said. Maybe if she followed her train of thought aloud, she’d figure out where she was going with it.

“Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda should’ve been locked away. It can’t be a coincidence that Anti-Cosmo knows about Timantha and Jorgen’s decree.”

Cosmo glanced at her, and she shook her head.

“I’m trying to figure out how this all fits,” she said. “None of it makes any sense. Anti-Cosmo knows more than he’s saying.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I opened Pandora’s Box.”

“What box?” Cosmo said.

“Not a literal box,” she said. “It’s the mythical box from which all the world’s evils derive from Greek mythology. I smell something rotten in Dimmsdale.”

“Are you sure that’s not just Francis?” Cosmo said.

“The only way Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda could’ve been keeping tabs on Timantha is if they can shapeshift,” she said. “That would also make them the only anti-fairies I know who can.”

There was too much to chew on. She shifted into a hummingbird and glanced into Timantha’s bedroom. Cosmo, likewise disguised, hovered above her.

Timantha pulled out her diary, whose lock was scorched but otherwise remained intact. She opened it to a blank page and tapped it with her index finger. Her homework lay forgotten atop the computer desk. Wanda wasn’t surprised; Chloe was the only child she knew who did her homework as soon as she got home instead of unwinding first.

She raised her wand to transport them to Tootie’s bedroom when Cosmo grabbed Wanda’s arm. At first, Wanda had no idea what he wanted her to look at.

Timantha had flipped back to an earlier part of her diary, and the pages looked blank until she tapped her index finger at the top in Morse code. Her diary glowed blue, and words appeared out of nowhere. It was magic, performed without a wand, and Timantha had no supernatural aura.

Cosmo glanced at Wanda uneasily. She frowned.

“I’m confused, too, sweetie,” she murmured. “None of this adds up.”

They bounced to Tootie’s house. Wanda kept thinking about that diary. First, the lock had sparked when their wands touched it; like it was protected by a magical ward. Then they’d accidentally started a fire between their wands and the lock.

Wanda propped her head on her palm. Crocker disliked Timantha, but that was inconclusive when he hated everyone. Some people he hated more than others because he suspected magical involvement, but Wanda didn’t think Timantha was on that list. Then again, it wasn’t like they’d approached Crocker if they could help it.

She groaned. Their only lead would be following Anti-Cosmo, which was a double-edged blade. If Cosmo didn’t insist on accompanying her, he’d be alone with Chloe again. Wanda tried to avoid leaving Cosmo alone with godchildren whenever possible; she didn’t trust Cosmo not to put the world in jeopardy.

Anti-Cosmo would also be anticipating her. She’d only find him if he allowed it, and, judging by how cagey he’d been, he wanted her to pursue him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tootie said.

Wanda blinked; Tootie’s comment had jerked her out of her ruminating.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Wanda said with a pained smile. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Did you check on Timantha?” Tootie asked, and they nodded.

Wanda was about to mention Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda’s appearance, but she couldn’t recall whether she’d told Tootie about anti-fairies yet. Half-bloods didn’t have half-fairies, or, rather, they didn’t usually. Wanda hadn’t thought it’d be an issue with Tootie. She might have to revise her opinion.

“There’s definitely something going on that Jorgen isn’t telling us,” Wanda said, frowning.

“It’s above our pay grade,” Cosmo said brightly.

“Did you calm her down?” Tootie pressed.

“I don’t know how to approach her, especially since it seems she has attracted other supernatural creatures,” Wanda said, wincing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tootie said.

“We have no idea!” Cosmo said.

“We’ll figure it out,” Wanda promised. She glanced at Tootie’s unopened backpack, which she’d slung on her bedpost and then ignored once she’d gotten home. Wanda raised her eyebrows pointedly at Tootie.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do my homework,” Tootie complained.

“Or you could play the not-study game!” Cosmo suggested.

“How do you play?” Tootie asked.

“Oh, no! You’re not starting this with her, too!” Wanda objected.

“You’re already playing!” Cosmo announced, prompting Wanda to groan and facepalm. She wished she could switch gears that fast, but she was stuck on Timantha’s plight and how the anti-fairies figured into it. For once, she forewent the lecture and let Cosmo encourage Tootie to blow off her homework.

Wanda also cheated and didn’t announce where she was going before vanishing. That way, Cosmo wouldn’t know she was gone immediately. He’d probably assume she went to Chloe.

Instead, steeling herself for an unpleasant conversation, Wanda crossed her fingers that she was right about Anti-Cosmo’s whereabouts. Anti-Cosmo was the genius to Cosmo’s idiocy; he also liked to play with fire. Therefore, the most logical place for him to be, assuming he’d remained on Earth…

She poofed near Crocker’s bedroom window but out of sight of the cameras. Anti-Cosmo grinned wickedly, flashing his fangs. Anti-Wanda was eating a sofa cushion someone had thrown out at the curb. It smelled noxious, and Wanda’s nose wrinkled.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to arrive, my dear,” Anti-Cosmo trilled.

Wanda folded her arms across her chest.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Anti-Cosmo said. “I’m sure you’ll find this all quite…enlightening.”

Something about the way he said it sent chills down her spine. She consulted her wand to ensure Cosmo wasn’t en route (he was still playing a video game with Tootie) and confronted Anti-Cosmo. She raised her eyebrows.

“Is that so?” she said, highly suspicious.

“Oh, yes,” Anti-Cosmo assured her. “Far more interesting than Tootie’s backstory.”

Wanda choked. Tootie’s history was also classified by the Fairy World Council. Anti-Cosmo possessing this knowledge meant he couldn’t have escaped recently. It must’ve been some time ago. Someone was helping the anti-fairies, and even if Timantha wasn’t the primary target, she figured into it somehow.

Wanda was starting to wonder how deep this rabbit hole she’d fallen down was and if she’d end up in Wonderland at the end. Or somewhere far worse.

------------------------------------

Tootie whooped when she beat the final boss for this world. It had only taken her five tries; at least the cutscenes were skippable this time around. She’d lost herself in the game and hadn’t realized how much time had elapsed.

It was five-thirty. Cosmo was paging through one of her graphic novels, and he looked up at her whoop.

“Where’s Wanda?” Tootie said after a beat.

“She hasn’t been here this whole time?” Cosmo said.

Tootie grimaced. “I have no idea when she left. I wasn’t paying attention. Were you?”

“I never pay attention!” Cosmo said brightly. “What was the question?”

“Wanda. Focus,” she said, facepalming. “She totally ditched us.”

“Maybe she’s with Chloe?” Cosmo suggested.

“Can’t you usually sense her?” Tootie said, raising her eyebrows. “I thought you two were magically in sync.”

“We are, normally. Something’s partially blocking our magic. I have a general idea of where she is but not the specifics.”

“You can’t narrow it down any further?”

Cosmo shook his head. “Wanna go look?”

Tootie cast one last disdainful glance at her homework. That wasn’t getting completed any time soon. She tried to recall if Wanda had said anything before disappearing; she’d left to check on Timantha, but that was hours ago before she’d arrived at Tootie’s house.

Tootie’s magical senses weren’t as acute as Cosmo’s due to multiple factors. One, she was only a half-blood, so her detection skills were weaker. Two, she hadn’t learned how to hone what skills she had. Three, she wasn’t magically linked to Wanda the way Cosmo was. Four, Cosmo was right (for once.)

There was a strange invisible barrier occluding Tootie’s magical perceptions. She didn’t know what to do about it.

Wanda was neither with Chloe nor was she hovering around Timantha’s house. Tootie quickly bounced from Timantha’s house since Vicky was in rare form. That was not a battle Tootie wanted to pick, especially with only Cosmo as backup.

“Okay, so the block is out,” Tootie said. She shook her wand, and it rattled like it had loose springs inside. “We’ll have to expand our search. Uh…where else would Wanda go?”

“I don’t know,” Cosmo confessed, tear-stricken. “Why did she leave me?”

“She must’ve had a reason,” Tootie said, wincing. Cosmo was probably about to burst into loud sobs and then fling himself onto her. He could be such a drama queen. Plus, with him wailing and throwing a fit, she’d have a harder time using her magic. The last time he’d panicked, he’d hugged Tootie’s arms to her side, and she’d dropped her wand.

Maybe she could foist Cosmo onto Chloe. Chloe was better at de-escalating a conflict than Tootie was. Tootie preferred to avoid conflict and be a people-pleaser.

Before Cosmo had a chance to pin her arms again, she transported them to Chloe’s bedroom. Cosmo searched for Wanda, didn’t find her, whined, and threw himself onto Chloe’s bed. Chloe looked up from her laptop.

“Where’s Wanda?” Chloe said, frowning at the sobbing fairy. He buried his face in the pillows and wept like a child. Tootie facepalmed.

“We don’t know,” Tootie said. “Jeez, Cosmo, it’s not like she’s never left you before.”

Cosmo looked up and glared at her. “The last time we separated, it was for an afternoon, and we could still sense each other around town. Plus, we knew ahead of time.”

“I’m sure wherever she is, she’ll be back soon,” Tootie said, feeling guilty for what she was about to do. “Tag, you’re it, Chloe.”

“I’m it at what?” Chloe said.

“Have fun with Cosmo!” Tootie said and squeezed her wand.

“Wait, what do you mean--?” Chloe started, but Tootie didn’t hear the rest. She reappeared in her bedroom. Maybe she should start her homework. No one paid attention to her academics; she wasn’t important like Vicky in any way. It didn’t matter whether she sank or swam, but since she didn’t feel like being left back a grade, she put in a token effort.

Studying magic would’ve been much more fun, but she wasn’t allowed in Fairy World as a half-fairy. Not until she was fully trained and had control over her magic. Tootie understood the precautions, but it was aggravating, especially when she was tired of being on Earth.

Tootie dragged the backpack to her bed and unzipped it. She might as well get it over with.

-----------------------------------

Cosmo was still worried when Wanda didn’t return around eight p.m., which was around Chloe’s bedtime. It wasn’t her disappearance that concerned Chloe so much as the lack of word. Plus, while she wouldn’t admit it, she was annoyed with Tootie for dumping Cosmo on her. Technically, Cosmo and Wanda were Chloe’s fairies, and Tootie borrowed Wanda for studying. Cosmo shouldn’t have anything to do with Tootie. And yet…

Jorgen hadn’t wanted Cosmo and Tootie to interact because he feared what bad habits Tootie might adopt as a result of Cosmo’s poor spellcasting. Tootie and Chloe didn’t tell Jorgen, and normally, things were okay.

Wanda had been missing for four and a half hours. Cosmo said they’d never been separated for longer than several hours. The only place Chloe could think that Cosmo wouldn’t be able to readily search would be Fairy World. Chloe yawned, covering her mouth.

She was too tired to hunt her godmother down, but if Chloe didn’t accompany Cosmo, all hell would probably break loose. Chloe rubbed her eyes; at least her parents weren’t home. That was cold comfort when she wound up alone so often.

It wasn’t until they arrived in Fairy World that Chloe remembered Cosmo and Wanda’s magic was linked. Cosmo only had half his usual magic at his disposal, which meant…

“We’re trapped here until you find Wanda, aren’t we?” Chloe said flatly. She was dressed in her pajamas, and her eyelids fluttered closed. She would soon be a zombie, and Crocker was giving a test tomorrow.

“She’s not in Fairy World!” Cosmo protested. That woke Chloe up.

“Then…where is she?” Chloe said, frowning. “How many other worlds are out there?”

“There’s Dairy World, Anti-Fairy World, uh…Scary World…Hairy World…” Cosmo ticked them off on his fingers. Chloe snagged his wand. Humans never managed the spells quite as well as fairies, but she was in a hurry. She’d fix whatever she broke later.

Raising the wand, she squeezed it, crossed her fingers, and hoped for the best.

As Timmy Turner would’ve said in another dimension, “What could possibly go wrong?”

------------------------------

Anti-Fairy World

Wanda’s eyelids drooped, too. Anti-Fairy World was dreary enough without adding Anti-Cosmo’s interminable lecture. She knew she should’ve returned to Earth hours ago, but she was bored into a stupor. Some people just like to hear themselves talk.

Anti-Fairy World was depressing. Whereas Fairy World had things whole and beautiful, Anti-Fairy World prided itself on looking like a back alley where you’d get mugged. To begin with, Wanda hadn’t wanted to visit, but Anti-Cosmo had insisted. Whatever eateries Anti-Fairy World had probably wouldn’t pass a health inspection anywhere else. She’d seen magical cockroaches, too, and to blast them away before they got too close. Anti-Wanda had then eaten them.

“Can I go already?” Wanda complained. Anti-Cosmo had set up a projection screen and wirelessly connected a laptop to it. Wanda would’ve sat on the couch, except what Anti-Wanda hadn’t eaten was in lousy shape. Springs popped out, cushions were missing, and it reeked with an odor Wanda didn’t care to identify.

“Not without this, you can’t,” Anti-Cosmo announced and handed her a pencil and eraser set. She eyed it dubiously.

“What is this?” she said. By all appearances, it was a normal pencil and eraser. However, Anti-Cosmo must’ve had a purpose to it (probably one she’d tuned out a while ago.)

“Give it to her,” Anti-Cosmo said and grinned wickedly. “Trust me--she’ll know what to do with it.”

Wanda folded her arms across her chest. “How am I supposed to give it to her when, one, she isn’t supposed to know I exist, and two, you aren’t supposed to be anywhere near her, either?”

Anti-Cosmo snorted. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. I have the utmost faith in you.”

Anti-Cosmo was patronizing and a jerk. She wished she could say Cosmo was never like that; Wanda tried not to let Anti-Cosmo’s smugness get too far under her skin.

“If you’re done droning on and on, I have to get home before Cosmo realizes I’m gone,” Wanda said, raising her wand.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Anti-Cosmo said. Wanda lowered her wand warily.

“Why?” she said suspiciously. “What have you done?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Anti-Cosmo said. He flashed his fangs. “I believe there’s an adage about not letting human children play with your wands.

“He’s not on Earth, and neither is your goddaughter.”

Wanda glowered; he was right, and if she’d paid more attention to her magical senses, she would’ve known that already. Even in Fairy World, where she’d be bombarded with magical signatures, she could hone in on Cosmo’s with no problem. Cosmo wasn’t in Fairy World, so far as she could tell. Anti-Fairy World had so much magical interference that it was impossible to tell.

“Then where are they?” Wanda snapped. “It’s almost nine p.m.”

“Getting old already? Soon, you’ll be having dinner at four-thirty,” Anti-Cosmo teased.

“Where. Are. They?” Wanda said through gritted teeth.

“Why don’t you find out?” Anti-Cosmo said. Wanda growled, opening her mouth to let him have it, when he cast her away. The next time she saw that twat, she was going to shake him so hard that his teeth would rattle.

She found herself on an abandoned playground. The swingsets, the slides, the see-saw, and everything else she saw was metal. It was also all corroding, and the smell of rain was thick in the air. Clouds overhead blocked out the sun, and Wanda figured there probably wasn’t much sun here normally, either.

Confused, she drifted through the fog and called for Cosmo and Chloe. The mists deepened until she could hardly see her wand in her right hand. Wanda whirled, trying not to let her nerves show.

“Cosmo? Chloe?” she called, and her voice was frail. Shivering, she conjured a jacket. With the mists increasing, the temperature had dropped precipitously.

Fairies had superior hearing, which might’ve been the only reason why she heard a thin, weak wail ahead of her. She floated toward it, and there was an open space near the carousel. To her profound relief, Cosmo and Chloe were sitting on the carousel. They hadn’t noticed her; their attention was caught by a small bundle in a blue blanket. Wanda cleared her throat, and they looked up.

“Wanda!” Cosmo cried, poofing to her side and squeezing the breath out of her. He held her at arm’s length. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve got a more important question,” Chloe said and turned the bundle toward Wanda. It was a small, sickly-looking human child. In modern times, children usually survived things that would’ve killed their immunocompromised ancestors. Then again, fairies didn’t interfere as much with Earth and humans in modern times. Adults didn’t believe in fairies, which meant the supernatural world should be safe from them.

Someone had breached that trust.

“Who’s kidnapping babies?” Chloe said.

Wanda conjured a bottle for the baby, whose cries grew weaker. Yet when they found the bottle, they started drinking. Wanda sighed, relieved.

“Why kidnap human kids?” Chloe asked. Cosmo was bawling into Wanda’s hair and demanding she never leave him again.

“Surely this is the only child here…” Wanda said uneasily.

Cosmo stopped crying so abruptly that Wanda fell off the carousel. He levitated her back up.

“It’s not,” Cosmo said. “That’s the weird part.”

“What do you mean, hon?” Wanda sensed she wasn’t going to like whatever he said next.

“There are others,” Chloe said. “We don’t know how they got here or who’s taking them.”

Wanda’s jaw stiffened. “I know who. I don’t know why or why it looks like the Council and Jorgen might be covering for it.”

Her expression softened. “How many others?”

“We don’t know,” Cosmo said. “It’s hard to find them.”

Wanda shot him a quizzical look, and he elaborated.

“They don’t want to be found,” Cosmo said. “Only the people who want to be found can be found here.”

“Where is here?” Chloe added.

“Anti-Fairy World. I think,” Wanda said. She was none too certain, especially with this latest turn of events.

She stroked her chin thoughtfully. “What on earth do the anti-fairies want with human children? They’re not allowed to be fairy godparents.”

The baby stopped drinking, yawned, and fell asleep. Wanda picked them up and then burped them before they made a tremendous mess. She had experience with human children, though not fairy children.

“Where did you go?” Cosmo repeated. Evidently, this mystery wasn’t holding his attention. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? Why were you gone for so long?”

Wanda grimaced. “I chased down Anti-Cosmo in Anti-Fairy World. I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of it, and I was stuck because Anti-Cosmo rambled.”

“Rambled about what?” Chloe said.

“I didn’t make a big deal out of it,” Cosmo huffed, lying through his teeth. Wanda glanced around them; the mists had swallowed their surroundings, and she shivered. If it weren’t for the carousel and the four of them, they might’ve been alone in the universe.

She was disturbed and wanted to return to Dimmsdale. Nonetheless, she couldn’t abandon an infant, and Chloe had said “children,” plural. Her stomach churned.

In Wanda’s pocket, the pencil and eraser burned a hole through. Wanda yelped, and Chloe scooped the items up. In her hands, they remained mundane. Only someone with magic could affect them.

Anti-Cosmo wanted her to give them to Timantha, which meant she had magic. Wanda groaned, facepalming. Somehow, she’d wound up with more questions than before, and she was no closer to figuring things out.

“Let’s go home,” Wanda said. Maybe the child was an orphan; she hoped they hadn’t been abducted from their guardian.

“But what about--” Chloe started.

Wanda shook her head. “Tomorrow. We should all get some rest.”

The mists parted briefly, and what sounded like hundreds of children wailed simultaneously. Chills went down her spine, and she and Cosmo latched onto each other tightly. The cries abated after twenty seconds; they’d be trapped in her mind for longer.

With that haunting cry, Wanda wasn’t sure sleep was in the picture. Cosmo shot her a concerned look, and she shrugged. Tomorrow would be soon enough to investigate this.

She yawned; they returned to Chloe’s bedroom, and Cosmo fell asleep immediately as a parrot. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the night that Wanda passed out, and those children echoed in her nightmares.