The Missing Pumpkin Spice Latte

By Zoe Anastasia

“I’d like one pixie-sized pumpkin spice latte, please.” I flash a smile, though my voice still flutters like broken wings. “Oh, and extra whipped cream.”

The barista accepts my coins and scribbles my order—the same one my sister and I used to share, before she left for college.

Has Willow really only been gone for two months?

The golden flecks that coat my fingertips cascade onto the coffee shop counter. I shove my hands into my dress pockets, but not before a nearby chai latte begins to float.

A nymph snatches it from midair. Her glare pierces me like rose thorns. “Keep your pixie dust to yourself, will you?”

I flinch. She storms out the door, her auburn hair swishing like falling leaves.

I try to make myself even smaller, as if that will staunch the flow of dust. Never anger a nymph before caffeine o’clock.

I sigh and flit to a windowsill, curling up in the pale sunlight. Willow’s favorite spot. Her last words drift back to me. “Promise you’ll come back here, okay? You need to leave the house sometimes.”

Easy for her to say. She thrives anywhere. But nostalgia has a way of dragging you places…

A couple of elven girls prance through the door, giggling. They plop into chairs beneath a real tree, woven into the wall with lights twinkling in the leaves. The way they huddle together, these girls look like they’ve been friends forever.

I hug myself. No one here is my size.

I need Willow.

“Hazel?” The barista’s voice drifts like a siren song through the shop. “Here’s your pumpkin spice latte!”

Oh good. I glide toward the counter, pixie dust swirling around me. My mouth waters in anticipation of the spices. It’s like warmth and friendship and autumn all bundled into a drink.

A waiting troll rolls his eyes. “Ugh, pixies and their pumpkin desserts.”

Trying to shake off the comment, I zip around him and land beside a miniature table to pick up my drink.

A broken piece of pinecone sits atop it.

No latte.

My dust fades. “Um, ma’am?” I call, but my voice is lost in the chatter. The barista shuffles to the coffee machine, balancing three cups. With the lengthening line, she’ll never notice me.

But where did my latte go?

A pile of newspapers rustles nearby. Something scampers around the corner and vanishes.

I dodge a satyr carrying his mocha Americano and peek around the counter. Splatters of orange-colored coffee trail across the floor like an out-of-place pumpkin patch, weaving its way through chair legs and into a hole in the wall.

A shadow darts through the opening.

The thief!

I slip to the edge, the top of the hole brushing my hair. Inside the darkness, something scrapes against the floor. Smells of spilled coffee and spoiled milk waft out—all signs this thievery has happened before. I wrinkle my nose. What kind of creature would hide here?

I glance down at the marmalade petals that make up my skirt. It’s far too nice of a dress to ruin for just a latte.

Willow’s mischievous voice pricks at the back of my mind. “It’s an adventure, Hazel. Maybe you’ll make a friend.”

Doubt it.

But maybe it’s better than staying in this suffocating coffee shop.

I tie my hair into a bun, place my hands on my hips, and stick my head into the darkness. “Hey, thief! Have you never heard the saying, ‘Don’t get in between a pixie and her latte?’”

Something squeaks.

I startle. Instinct tells me to bolt, but I straighten my shoulders, let dust fill my hands, and march inside. Something crunches beneath my high tops—dozens of maple leaves, several floating upward.

Something scurries deeper into the tunnel. A shaft of light from within beckons me. My pulse quickens. Before I can lose sight of the culprit, I tiptoe to the end.

A tiny alcove materializes before me. Dim light drifts from rusted lanterns.

A creature nudges my latte onto a table made of twigs and hides beneath it, shaking. Painted black eyes glow in the light of my pixie dust.

I stare at the creature. At his pinecone body, acorn head, and tiny leaf ears. He even has a twine tail.

I inhale. “A pinecone mouse!”

But I haven’t seen one in years… Another pixie must have formed him and dusted him with magic. A little mouse companion.

So why is this one all alone?

The mouse squeaks pitifully and tries to burrow deeper into the table’s shadow. His right leaf ear wobbles a bit. It needs to be reattached. His companion has been gone for a while.

I let my hands fall. The torrents of dust slow.

Taking a deep breath, I settle onto the dusty floor of this abandoned pixie hollow. The alcove is so much quieter than the bustling shop.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, reaching out to him and thinking of my sister. “I’m lonely, too.”

The mouse stills.

I tilt my head. “Did your pixie like pumpkin spice lattes?”

The pinecone mouse squeaks quietly. I’ll take that as a yes. He scooches closer, pawing at my golden flecks. I sprinkle more on his head. The magic lifts him. He perks up and bounds around the room, light as a windblown leaf. The sight brings a smile to my lips.

At least someone enjoys my pixie dust.

Sparkles pour from my palms, filling the crevices of the room with tiny glowing lights—like fireflies. They chase away the darkness and illuminate an array of furniture, each made with twigs and leaves and dried flowers. Golden veins spiral throughout the wood.

It really is the perfect place for a pixie.

And now I’m not the only small one in the coffee shop.

I grin. Willow was right about coming here. I guess older sisters do know a thing or two about friends.

I ruffle the mouse’s crinkly ears. “Next time, don’t steal my latte. I’ll share.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Zoe Anastasia grew up in an Army family, moved all over the country, and discovered along the way that whimsical fantasy stories feel like home. She writes to illuminate the darkest places and show the girl tucked in the corner that she is seen and belongs. When Zoe isn’t daydreaming about magical humpback whales and butterflies who can speak, she’s usually wandering through nature or making apple cider donuts at her local pumpkin farm.

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