Free The Specter Key by Kaleb Nation

Before he even finished speaking the fairy leapt out of the box, darting through the air and over Bran’s shoulder. He spun around as she dashed across the room, like a very large fly. She knocked some papers off the table and jarred the hanging pulls of the lamps as she circled. Bran almost couldn’t keep his eyes on her.
    “What’s she doing?” Astara said, fearful of the noise. At that moment, the fairy dashed straight at Bran’s head. He didn’t have a second to move clear, but he felt her run into his face, grabbing hold of his nose: the impact was hardly stronger than a falling leaf.
    He blinked. Her face was so small that when she came close, he could see it clearly. She tilted her head, looking into his other eye. Bran was very still, unsure of what to do.
    “Hello again,” he said. “Who put you in that box?”
    She blinked at him, as if she couldn’t understand. There was a clicking noise that came as she folded her wings behind her back, almost like a cricket.
    “You can’t talk?” Astara said in a low voice, coming up beside Bran. The fairy shook her head somewhat remorsefully, putting one hand on her throat.
    “But you can understand us?” Bran tried.
    She nodded quickly.
    “That’s good,” he said, glancing at Astara. The fairy crawled a bit down his nose, getting a better look at his face.
    “You think she knows anything about who’s in this room?” Bran said in a whisper to Astara as the fairy studied his face.
    “She’s got to,” Astara said back. “He’s probably put her in there until he gets back. But I don’t understand why she—”
    Astara stopped because the fairy had started to crawl across Bran’s shirt, down to his hand, where she had bitten him. Bran stiffened as her feet and hands clattered across him, unsure of what to do, until she came to the wound. She circled the spot with the dried blood and then suddenly bit again.
    “Hey!” Bran hissed, knocking the fairy away.
    She leapt into the air, hissing at him through her teeth, leaping back at his hand and diving at the tiny droplet of blood. He swatted her away again.
    “What in the world are you doing?” Bran said, his finger stinging again. “That hurts!” he hissed angrily, but the fairy was furiously wiping her lips, licking up every bit of his blood she could get.
    “She’s hungry,” Astara realized. “She needs blood.”
    “But does it have to be mine?” Bran protested. The fairy darted around, shaking her head, and finally landing on his face again. He was about to hit her in case she was going for his nose this time, but she simply crawled up his cheek. She looked into his eyes again, as if they were mirrors. Bran was very tense, but he couldn’t bring himself to brush her off.
    “Don’t bite me again. Understand?” Bran said, lifting his finger. The bleeding had stopped, but it still throbbed slightly.
    “That hurts me,” he said. It felt pointless trying to communicate with the creature, but he thought he saw her face change to remorse.
    “You don’t have to worry now,” Astara said, looking closer. “A couple drops of blood could sustain her all week. Blood-fairies usually get it from animals, so she must be starving. I can’t believe there’s a fairy here, given how rare they are outside the woods.”
    “If she could talk, maybe she could tell us who’s been snapping the photos,” Bran pointed out.
    “Perhaps if she could write it—” Astara began, but then the fairy opened her tiny mouth.
    “Nim,” the fairy said suddenly, and it made Bran jump. It was such a tiny voice: soft as a whisper, but perfectly clear.
    “Nim?” Bran repeated.
    She nodded, scampering onto his nose again.
    “You can talk,” Bran said quickly. “C-can you say anything else?”
    “Nim,” she said again.
    “Is that who put you in the box?” Astara asked. The fairy shook her head.
    “Nim,” she insisted, looking at Bran and insisting with her eyes. Bran knew it then.
    “Is that your name: