Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html Read Online Free PDF

like nobody's business. Drove her crazy. Gentlemen prefer blondes, as we used to say in the Highlands.'
    'You both dye your hair,' Dinnie pointed out, eyeing the crimson ends of Heather's blonde tresses with disapproval.
    'But mine always looked better,' chuckled Heather. 'Morag's is too dark to dye properly.'
    Dinnie stared glumly at the wall. If he had believed in fairies, he wouldn't have expected them to spend all their time bitching about each other's hairstyles.
    He eyed his violin. A defeated expression settled on his large pink face. It was too difficult for him. He would not make any progress. He did not even genuinely like the instrument any more, although when he had first seen it in the junk shop, lying under a pile of broken trumpets, it had seemed to mean something to him.
    At school he had learned to play for a short while before giving up. He had bought the violin and music book
    because they reminded him of school, which was the last time he had had any friends.
    'Pick it up,' instructed Heather.
    'No.'
    This was all very frustrating to Heather. If Dinnie did not learn the fiddle she would lose face in front of Morag.
    Heather had unwisely boasted to her that with her superior fiddling skills it would be no trouble to teach Dinnie to play.
    Now she realised that Morag had trapped her into this rash statement by deliberately laughing at the MacKintoshes.
    'When you can play well you'll earn money busking.'
    'Not soon enough to prevent me getting evicted,' grunted Dinnie. After the theft of his bike, busking was a sore subject.
    Heather ran her fingers through her golden hair, admired herself in the mirror, and thought desperately. She would die before admitting failure in front of Morag MacPherson.
    'Well how about this,' she suggested. 'I will try and teach you the fiddle. If you make progress, you will be pleased.
    If you fail to make progress, I promise to go away and leave you in peace. Then you will also be pleased.'
    The notion of Heather disappearing into the depths of Manhattan was indeed pleasing to Dinnie.
    'Okay,' he agreed, 'teach me something.'
    'I'll make you lick my snatch you filthy worm,' snarled a woman's voice. 'Phone 970 D—O—M—M now!'
    'Please turn off channel twenty-three,' said Heather. 'It is not conducive to fiddle teaching.'
    Dinnie laughed.
    'I might have known you fairies would be prudes.'
    'I am not a prude. In the Highlands I was widely regarded as the hottest lover since the great fairy piper Mavis MacKintosh, who once lay with eighteen men, twelve women and the chief of the MacAuly fairies in one night,
    leaving all of them pleased but exhausted. I just don't like phone domination. Kindly turn it off.'
    In Central Park, Brannoc was moodily eyeing Petal and Tulip who were holding hands under a bush. As they were brother and sister they had every right to hold hands, but it made Brannoc jealous. Brannoc had been infatuated with Petal since the day he arrived in Cornwall, a wandering minstrel from the cold, unknown shires of northern England.
    Maeve and Padraig were asking the squirrels where they might find a drop of Guinness.
    'In many bars,' one of the squirrels told them. 'This place is full of Irish people who love to drink Guinness and their bars have shamrocks outside them. But it would mean going on to the streets which are full of humans. And though you claim that back in Ireland any human would have been delighted to stop whatever they were doing and bring you some beer, here I am not so sure.'
    Maeve declared that she would go right that minute and find some because she was Maeve O'Brien from Galway
    and not afraid of humans or anything else, but Padraig was cautious and said they should wait.
    Petal and Tulip were lost in a dream. They frequently disappeared into the trance-like fairy dream state to forget about their father. They were the children of Tala the King and they knew he would never stop pursuing