Free Diamonds and Toads: A Modern Fairy Tale by K.E. Saxon

What the hell was that? It
didn’t sound like anything he owned. Maybe it was a car alarm down
on the street, the sound somehow thrown so that it seemed
closer.
    A little dizzy and off balance from so little
rest the past few days, he rubbed the base of his palm into his
eye.
    The living room was dark and he stubbed his
toe on the edge of the sofa as he passed a smidge too close to it.
That woke him up. He cursed a blue streak, hopping on one foot and
rubbing the abused member until the sharp pain subsided enough to
stand on it again. The trilling had stopped in the midst of his
outburst, but he turned the light on anyway, curious to see what it
might have been.
    “What the hell?” He blinked. Then blinked
again. The image didn’t change. Perched on a lampshade, a yellow
cockatoo stared back at him. Chas took a step toward it and it
flapped its wings and hissed. “Okay, birdy, don’t have a tizzy.”
How in hell had the bird gotten in here anyway? He did a quick scan
of his door and windows. They were all shut tight. Crazy. Had it
been in here when he got home, maybe hiding somewhere? Maybe one of
the maids had left it here? It was a stretch, but they were the
only ones with access to his hi-rise. He’d have to talk to
management about it later in the day.
    The bird started singing. He recognized the
tune, but couldn’t understand the words at first. Then it came to
him: Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend. A trickle of fear
ran up his spine. That was just a little too coincidental and
creepy for comfort. A loud pop! sounded followed by a
pungently scented purple mist. He stumbled back, shouting, “Ohhh
shit!” The hairs on his arms and neck stood straight up. He
grabbed the first thing he could find to use for defense, a heavy
brass candlestick off one of the end tables, and fled toward the
door.
    “Ooh. No need for such”—an inhaled
breath—“dramatics, Chas daarling,” a familiar, sweet and smoky
voice said.
    He swung around. Marilyn Monroe?
    “Come sit beside me and we’ll…ooh…have a
little chat, shall we?” She dipped her lids and puckered her lips
at him. Lounging with one knee on his sofa, she was dressed in the
same billowy halter dress she’d worn in that movie where the breeze
from the subway lifted her skirts so high, it nearly gave fifties
moviegoers their first-ever famous celebrity beaver shot.
    This is not happening. He scrubbed his
eyes and opened them again, but she was still there. Okay, this
is a dream . I’m dreaming . Dreaming is good . His
heart rate calmed. This, I can handle.
    Now that he knew what was going on, he
decided to kick back and enjoy the ride. “Hey, Marilyn,” he said,
sauntering back to the end table and placing the candlestick there.
“What’s up?”
    She smiled and patted the sofa cushion next
to her.
    He shrugged and plopped down. This was
actually kind of fun. “Who was better in the sack, anyway, Robbie
or Johnny-boy?” Hey, it was his dream, might as well see what his
subconscious came up with. He twisted around and grabbed a pillow
for his back.
    “Listen close-ly, my fine gen-tle-man, I’ve
got some-thing impor-tant to tell you.”
    The voice had changed, become angry and
sinister. He swiveled his head to look. Okay, the dream was turning
weird. Now the Wicked Witch of the West sat next to him. Green
face, long crooked nose, ugly yellow teeth. He scooted over several
inches.
    “I’m giv-ing you a choice and what-ever
choice you make will de-cide your des-tiny.”
    That sounded ominous. This is just a
dream, remember. “Yeah, okay.”
    Before his eyes, the witch morphed into a
beautiful woman, a stranger to him, and one that was dressed in a
clothing style reminiscent of Shakespeare plays and fairy tales.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
    His heart pounded, his palms began to sweat.
Yes, he was afraid he did. “Delilah’s fairy?” His voice came out
higher pitched than normal.
    “Ahh, right on the—” she tapped his nose with
her