Free Letters to Zell by Camille Griep Page A

Cecilia,” Figgy said, composing herself. “What is it that you’ve brought me?”
    “Half is a present and half is a payment for services to be rendered,” I said.
    “I see,” she said, taking a basket on each wing and setting them to the side. “Many thanks—”
    “And I brought you some ketchup to try with your meal,” Bianca added. Figgy shut one eye as she examined the bottle.
    “We’re here about Rory. Briar Rose,” I said. I didn’t want to spend any more time in her warm living room than we had to. A music box tinkled its melody into the room, making things seem even more cloying.
    “Briar Rose’s Pages are finished,” Figgy said, returning to her desk. “What could she possibly need from me?”
    Bianca glowered. “She needs your help, Figgy.”
    “But the birds have told me no such news. She has followed the path, my dear.”
    I can understand how Figgy was chosen to be the Keeper of the Pages. Solace welcomes new information as it streams through the portals, but Fairy Godmother Figueroa does things strictly by the book. And Grimm help us when there’s no book.
    “I’m sure you know she wants children,” I explained. “But things, they aren’t working.”
    “What things specifically?” asked Figgy.
    “Well, I—I’m not sure exactly,” I stammered. “But she’s not getting pregnant.”
    “How do you know what sort of assistance she needs, then?”
    “I don’t. I don’t know that.” I willed myself to stop blushing.
    Bianca rolled her eyes at me. “Are you saying you won’t help her?”
    Figgy sat back down at her desk, chuckling to herself. “Oh, no, my dears. I didn’t quite say that.”
    “Can’t you make a potion? Perhaps a fertility potion or an elixir of romance,” I suggested.
    “I can indeed. But a potion might not be the solution to her troubles.”
    “The spell Malice used when she put Rory to sleep—did it damage her, you know, insides?” I asked.
    “She has aged, my dears, but not so much so that she is unable to have children. Is this what has you in such a state? I have half a mind to tell the Post to cease delivery of all those fatuous magazines.”
    Bianca was holding her chin with one hand, and her other arm folded over her chest.
    “What?” I growled under my breath. “I can see your clockwork smoking from here.”
    “Maybe Figgy’s trying to tell us something.”
    “What is it, Figgy? Just tell us.” My voice went a little hoarse.
    Figgy looked into my eyes. “My dear, it takes two, does it not?”
    Bianca began to pace. “I knew it! I heard he’s been messing around with at least three of the Waltzing Wandas, and they aren’t pregnant, either.”
    “Who told you that? But they could have—” Figgy looked flustered. “Now girls, you know I never lay blame.”
    But she had implied it. I wondered if Rory had considered that the problem was Henry’s. Knowing her, she’d still find a way to blame herself.
    Bianca shrugged. “If he’s shooting blanks, then give us something for him instead.”
    “Is that wise, my dear,” said Figgy, “considering his, ah, indiscretions?”
    I flopped down in an overstuffed chair. “Shit.”
    “There, there,” said the old owl. She made a slight movement with her head, and two tiny canaries delivered me a handkerchief and a cup of tea. I tried to wave them off. “I don’t want any of this, Figgy.”
    “Come now, we’ve discussed our differences. You can’t continue to harbor ill feelings toward me. The birds and I merely helped you fulfill your Pages.”
    I couldn’t meet Figgy’s eyes, lest my surliness betray itself as actual sadness. Maybe we had been unrealistic to think Rory’s happiness lay in Henry’s attentions or even a child.
    “Pages. Horseshit,” said Bianca, refolding herself. “Don’t get me started.”
    I picked at the edge of the hanky. “Figgy, how come you’re so eager to help people who don’t want your help and then can’t be bothered to help those who