Page 139 of Stealing Embers

With an aggravated huff I plop down on the mattress, causing the fur-ball to catapult a foot in the air.

“Is that the thanks I get for saving your heinie?”

“What are you—” The squirrel transforms into a flickering ball of light and starts to float in a circle around my head. Familiar sparks shoot off the flying sparkler before it descends to the bed and converts back into a gliding rodent.

“Tinker Bell?”

“That is not my name.”

“Then what is it?”

It tips its nose in the air. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. It’s a combination of sounds too advanced for your vocal cords.”

O-kay.

“You can call me Your Majesty.”

Ash and I exchange a look. The corners of her mouth twitch. “Yeah, no. We’re not calling you that.”

Its hands land on its hips.

“Why not?”

“It kinda reminds me of Sterling, right?”

Ash agrees. “Just what we need.”

“I’m gonna call you Tink,” I announce.

Putting its fist under its chin, the creature seems to be considering the suggestion. “No. I think I like Tinkle better.”

Ash slaps a hand over the lower part of her face to keep from laughing.

“You want me to call you . . . Tinkle?” I can’t keep the corners of my mouth flat to save my life right now.

“Yes. It’s a good, strong name. Dignified, like me.” Tinkle tilts its chin up and tries to look down its nose at me.

I deserve a medal for not busting out in laughter.

“Shall we shake on it?” I ask, extending an index finger in its direction.

“We shall.”

Reaching out its little paw, Tinkle grabs the tip of my finger and pumps its arm up and down. Ash rolls on the ground, no longer even trying to contain herself. Snorts intersperse throughout her snickers.

“Now,” Tinkle starts, flopping down on my pillow. “I’d like to discuss your extreme stupidity—both of you. I get whyyoudon’t know what I am, but that one over there,” Tinkle points a tiny finger in Ash’s direction, “has had proper schooling.”

Ash collects herself and sits upright, holding her hands in the air, palms up. “Yo, we do not get educated about glittery balls of shape-shifting—” She cuts herself off, crawls over to the bed, and plops down on it, pressing three fingers to her mouth.

“No, it can’t be,” she mumbles.

“I think I just saw a light bulb go off. Not used to exercising your brain very often, are you? Poor thing. Maybe she’s not completely useless.” Sniffing the air it turns to me and says, “Although I think I smell charred brain matter. I hope she hasn’t permanently injured herself. That would suck.”

“Are you a Celestial?” Ash asks in a whisper.

“In the flesh, sweetheart.”

“What’s a Celestial?”