Putting her paper bag and computer case down on the table by the door, she went back to the front step and fetched in the large lion-colored box that now had a dent in its side. The handwritten label was blurry as if the box had been out in the rain. Packages were supposed to be left in the manager's office, but it was rarely open and people complained about having to fetch their package, so the postman had taken to leaving things on the doorstep. There were no other markings on the box to say whether it had been delivered by the postman or UPS. Perhaps someone here in town had just left it for her.

Feeling suddenly cheerful and wondering who could be sending her a gift weeks before her birthday, Faith went into the kitchen to fetch a pair of scissors. Cutting carefully through the gold strapping tape, she pried open the cardboard flaps and then lifted out the sheets of antique gold tissue paper. Nestled inside was a satin bag in a delectable shade of seafoam green with gold embroidery.

She recognized the slip-sack. It was the kind that exclusive boutiques supplied for exotic purses or even more exotic shoes.

Heart pounding in anticipation, she lifted up the sack and opened it carefully.

"Oh my!" she said. And then: "Ooooooooh."

Faith removed the shoes one at a time. She recognized the pumps. She had looked at them last night at an online shoe store. The shoes were made of a pale green silk and adorned with cabbage leaf bows of the most delicate mauve pleated silk. The heel was high, a nearly transparent spire, a place where wood nymphs would stand in a garden bower and be adored by passing mortals.

"There's got to be some mistake," she said to Ambrose who was twining about her ankles. Carefully she set the shoes aside and looked at the box again. She had been right the first time. There was no return address and no invoice, just a card in the very bottom that read:

www.hiheelia.com
     Home of the Goddess Shoestra

The place where wishes come true.

She looked at the label again. It was blurry, but it was definitely her name and address on it. The shoes were also her size. But who on earth could be sending her pumps that cost more than her monthly living expenses?

Her breath caught. There it was, her omen, the sign from the gods. Hadn't she told her sister that she would go to the dance competition if she were sent a sign?

"But I can't. Can I?"

The shoes didn't answer. They simply stood, radiant, beckoning.

"I know they aren't really mine, but it wouldn't hurt to try them on, would it?" she asked Ambrose, but the cat remained silent.

Of course not. There was no harm in slipping into them and perhaps taking a walk across the thick pile of her carpet. That wouldn't leave any unsightly scuffs.

Faith went over to the table where the faerie shoes were waiting.