**The Price of Deceit: How a Filter Salesman Became a Water Sprite**
The door to the shabby flat in a quiet corner of Manchester creaked open almost at once—as though the old woman inside had been expecting him. On the threshold stood a wiry grandmother in her eighties, her sharp eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said politely, forcing a smile.
“Afternoon, love,” she nodded, stepping aside. “Come in, don’t linger in the draft. You from the council or some such?”
“No, ma’am. I represent a water purification company. We install the latest systems—turn tap water clean as a mountain spring, just like the old days when you could drink straight from the river.”
“Oho!” The old woman raised her brows. “So you’re a water sprite, then? Making the river pure again? Good on you. Come through.”
The man wiped his shoes on the worn-out mat and stepped inside.
“Mind if I don’t take them off?” he asked, eyeing the scuffed lino in the hall.
“Course not, pet. My daughter does the mopping these days. She’s young, and I’m an old relic. Can’t be bothered with scrubbing anymore.”
“Don’t say that! You’ve got a fine glow about you!” he lied smoothly. “Where’s the kitchen? Let me show you what I’ve got.”
“Flattery’ll get you nowhere, but I’ll take it,” she chuckled. “Haven’t seen a mirror in years—daughter hung them all too high for me to even catch a glimpse of my head. Come on, then, let’s see this miracle of yours.”
The kitchen was tiny but spotless. The kettle gleamed, and on the sill sat a pot of geraniums alongside a saucer of mint. The old woman settled into her chair while the man worked—unscrewing taps, twisting in components, pouring water into jars, and enthusiastically pointing out the difference between “filthy” and “purified.”
“I’ll have one of your filters,” the woman said suddenly. “But first, let’s have a cuppa. No fun drinking alone. With company, tea’s sweeter than honey. Five minutes—that’s all.”
The man hesitated but nodded. She boiled the filtered water with surprising ease and brewed a pot of tea—spiced, fragrant, with an odd, elusive note.
“Got a family, love?” she asked, pouring.
“No, not married.”
“Good. Too soon for little ones. Tea taste all right?”
“Brilliant. Where’d you get it?”
“Fairies bring it on my birthday,” she said lightly.
He smirked and played along. “Aren’t you scared, answering the door to strangers these days? Plenty of crooks about.”
“Scared?” She laughed. “I’ve lived through worse. At my age, it’s my turn to haunt *them*. Especially ones like you.”
Just then, a strange lightness filled his head—and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.
“Who even needs this rubbish? I buy these filters for a tenner and sell ’em for fifty. Sometimes I ‘enhance’ the water with a bit of dye—makes it look more convincing. Just trawling for gullible pensioners, really…”
He blinked, stunned by his own honesty.
“Ah, good,” the old woman said approvingly. “Told you—fairy tea. Can’t lie after drinking it.”
He shot to his feet. “What the—what did you do?!”
“Nothing much. You called yourself a water sprite—well, now you are one. Ours has been run off his feet, so you’ll be helping out—cleaning the streams, feeding the fish, minding the weeds. Ten years’ service, and I might turn you human again. Till then… welcome to the water.”
Before he could scream, he felt himself shrink—first to a droplet, then mist, then a wisp of silver that splashed into the copper basin with a tinkle.
“There we are,” the old woman murmured, tipping the water down the sink. “Another one settled. Dreams do come true. That bloke from the electric board? He directs lightning now. Works with the air. And you—you’re water. You’ll meet.”
She set the cups in the basin, humming under her breath. Then she caught sight of herself in the darkened glass of the kitchen cabinet.
*”Why don’t I reflect, why don’t I reflect…”* she mimicked her vanished guest.
“Because I’m older than any mirror in this house. Three hundred years, give or take. My girl knows—that’s why she hung them high. Some truths aren’t for mortals before breakfast.”
She shuffled to the window, glanced at the sky, and smiled.
“Justice must be done. Even if it has to steep in a teapot.”
