After leaving Crumpet's office, I set out to find my cabinmates. Maybe one of my friends will have an idea about how I can break the unbreakable fairy spell, or at least tell me what will happen if I try to walk through it. I hear them before I see them—explosions and familiar laughter emanating from the cafeteria.

I hurry across the meadow noting the new golden Cupid statue in the courtyard. The figure holds a bow and arrow poised and ready to fly at the statue of The Glorious Goddess Gaia that has always been in the courtyard. It's way better than the pastels we did in Life Drawing. Must've come from the advanced art class.

The minute I step inside the cafeteria, I have to duck to avoid being hit by a raw meatball that splats on the door to the gym across the hall. Inside it's chaos. Of course I've heard of food fights, but apparently at West Marin Heights, a food fight involves food directly in combat with other food, the students, walls, floor and even the ceiling, being collateral damage.

There are about thirty students inside. A group of gods is safely protected by some kind of magical barrier. The vampires, fairies and werewolves are hiding under the tables, laughing and pointing at the midair explosions of food, except for Pickles who in the middle of the room swirling her wand in the air and cursing in a way that I am fairly certain is prohibited by the F.G. Training Manual. A pile of raw meat (the werewolves love the stuff) forms itself into balls. The balls launch into the air where they meet fairy cupcakes, bottles of blood, kelp smoothies, hot dogs, pizza and goblets of ambrosia. The combatants collide and burst apart leaving frosting, cake, tiny sugared unicorns, meat and blood everywhere. It looks like a horrible crime has been committed.

I grab a tray from a cart near the door and use it to block the onslaught as I enter the room, yelling as loud as I can, "I wish the food would stop fighting!"

All at once the food stops midair and falls to the floor with horrible sounds of squelching and shattering. Everyone boos. It smells like the boardwalk at the end of a hot summer's day when the trashcans are overflowing with half-eaten hot dogs, food wrappers and flies.

"Thank you, Wave. I don't know how this happened," says Pickles. "All I was trying to do was make some special meat cupcakes for Thunder."

"That's okay, Pickles. "I wish this was all cleaned up."

Pickles waves her wand, and half the room is clean. She tries to clean the rest. Beads of sweat form on her forehead.

"What's up, Pickles?"

"I don't know. Something is wrong. Oh, no!"

"What? Pickles, what's wrong?"

"I might have the fairy flu." She sneezes sparkles of fairy dust. "Oh, sorry," she says, picking up an ambrosia-soaked napkin from the table.

Lily-Bella waves her wand; a clean white handkerchief appears. "Here you go, Hon."

"Thanks." Pickles blows her nose.

"What's the fairy flu?" I say.

"It's very rare, but it kind of makes sense," Pickles says. She glances at Fintan and then at her flip-flopped feet.

"How do you get the fairy flu, Pickles?" asks Fintan.

"Well ..."

"Maybe it's something embarrassing," I say. "Like a girl thing that she doesn't want to announce to half the school. I wish you didn't have the fairy flu."

"If only it were that easy," Pickles says, sneezing again, this time into the handkerchief. Fairy goddaughter magic, though strong, isn't enough to cure the fairy flu."

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