Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles (11 page)

“T
HISTLE, CAN WE TALK?” Dick asked over his cell phone. He sat in his car across the street from Mabel Gardiner’s driveway, the convertible roof pulled up to guard against the nighttime chill and drizzle.

“Why, Dick?” Thistle replied.

Through the windows, with the blinds open, he watched her move from the living room to the kitchen, carrying the old-fashioned rotary dial phone with her, tangling her feet in the long cord. Cell phones, computers, and remote controls went haywire when she was around. But she could manage the old-fashioned analog devices.

She’d explained it once. Pixies were bound to Earth and Water. Modern digital technology was aligned with Air. Faeries could manipulate them because they were bound to Air and Fire.

Half-breed mutants like Haywood Wheatland had access to all four elements. That was how he’d recruited a gang of computer gamers and gotten them addicted to Fire and blowing things up, like carnival rides and cell phone towers.

Dick shuddered with dread at the thought that Haywood Wheatland had come back into town.

“Thistle, please, I’ve had an awful day helping with the accident on the freeway and I need to tell you some things. Some important things.”

“Okay. You can come in. The front door is unlocked.”

“You shouldn’t do that, Thistle. It’s not safe to leave blinds up after dark and doors unlocked,” he said as he got
out of his car and hit the remote lock. When he heard the satisfying beep and click and saw the single flash of the headlights, he sprinted across the street.

Thistle hung up before he reached the front walkway. But she was there, opening the front door, backlit by the hall light with an aura of gold. He closed his eyes a moment, wanting to fix the image in his mind before reality intruded and robbed him of this magical moment. His Thistle waiting for him at the end of the day.

His Thistle.

“That’s not safe either,” he said, not as sternly as he should. “Opening the door before you know it’s me waiting for you and not some thug.”

“I knew it was you. You just called me. Besides, I always know when you are near.”

“How…?”

“I just know. It’s part of who you are and what I am.”

“Like we’re bound together by magic?” he asked, stepping close, not quite daring to cross the threshold.

“Something like that.” She looked up at him with those gorgeous violet eyes set deeply in her pale face, surrounded by a cloud of hair so dark it held purple highlights.

“Thistle, I…”

“Come in out of the chill,” she said, stepping back and looking at the dusty All Hallows decorations she’d piled in the hallway; resin grave markers, requisite scarecrows, a flying witch, and face pieces to tack onto a tree. She’d need help setting up the battery-operated movements of the mouth and eyebrows, and the motion sensor that triggered recorded spooky sentences. He almost laughed at how the sentences always seemed appropriate to the age of the trick-or-treaters who passed by the tree. Tots and grade schoolers got Mabel’s gentlest voice: “Do you want to play in my garden? Come and meet my Pixies. Pixies love to play tricks.” A semi-spooky chuckle followed that. Older kids got invitations to follow the ghosts into the grave and beware the vampire hiding among the roses.

The moment Thistle firmly closed the door and flipped the deadbolt, he gave in to temptation and gathered her
into his arms. His fingers dug into her back with desperation as he claimed her mouth with his own.

She readily melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck and keeping him close.

Electric tingles coursed through his blood. Behind his closed eyes, sparkling purple lights burst into fireworks. He wanted nothing more than to continue kissing her, exploring her mouth, her cheek, her ear, and her nape with his tongue.

The tingle of gossamer wings across her back sent new vibrancy through him.

Gravity fell away. They drifted in a haze of light, warmth, comfort, and a merging of souls.

In the background he thought he heard the chiming of a dozen Pixies laughing and applauding them.

She pulled away from him abruptly.

Reality dropped him back to the ground like a plunge into ice water.

“What is that all about, Dick? This morning you rejected me because you were afraid of losing me.” She hung her head, letting the magnificent mass of hair fall forward, obscuring her face, robbing him of contact with her expressive eyes.

“Thistle, I…” He had to gulp back the emotions that choked him. “Thistle, I love you. You know that. Today I had to help untangle a massive accident on the freeway. I saw a lot of pain. Lives cut short, others altered irrevocably; all in a horrible moment of speed and loss of control. I realized the same thing could happen to me, or you, or Dusty, or anyone I care about without warning.”

“Life for humans is transitory. That’s why everything you do, or don’t do, is important. Because you have so little time, you have to live every moment to the fullest before you die.” She paused and looked up at him. The sharp angles of her face filled out a bit, the uptilt of her eyes faded to round, and the points at the tops of her ears smoothed. Any trace of her wing energy dissolved.

In that moment her humanity showed through more than ever.

“Pixies are reduced to games and pranks because we have nothing else to fill near eternity.”

A half-heard conversation at the accident scene flashed across Dick’s memory. He pushed it aside. The time was not right. He had to get something else off his chest first.

“Thistle, will you marry me?”

“Dick, are you sure? What if… what if…?”

“I know I will hurt for a very long time if your curse is lifted and you
choose
to go back to Pixie. But I would gladly trade a few years, or weeks, or even days, with you as my wife than to never have you beside me at all. Please, Thistle, will you make my world complete for as long as we are granted? Marry me?”

“Yes.”

Dusty watched Chase sleep. He’d drifted off in his recliner in mid-sentence. His even breathing fell into a comforting counterpoint to her heartbeat. Strain and worry lines on his face smoothed out. An endearing bit of thick blond hair flopped across his forehead. The ends fluttered ever so slightly with each breath.

She wanted to smooth it back away from his face, but was afraid she’d wake him. He needed rest.

There was something incredibly intimate about watching a man sleep; watching a
beloved
sleep. In some ways she imagined it was more intimate than sex. She’d wait until after the wedding to find out for certain. Did she have to? She loved Chase more than she thought possible when she’d had a teenage crush on him. More than she imagined when he kissed her the first time.

That first kiss had been fueled by anger and desperation on his part, fear and self-doubt on hers. He’d left her right after, both of them bewildered and needing more, but the time wasn’t right. When the time was right, she’d taken the bold leap to kiss him. In public. In front of all their friends and many acquaintances at the Old Mill Bar and Grill.

Her love grew with every passing day until she wondered why she needed months to prepare her mind for their wedding night. She felt ready now.

She chuckled. She was ready, but he was sound asleep.

Chase shifted and grumbled something in his sleep. The worry lines came back for a moment. He gripped his crossed arms fiercely, as if cold. She found an old quilt at the foot of his bed and brought it over to wrap around him. He clutched the binding and settled again, easier in his dreams now.

“There’s one more thing I need to do before I go home,” she whispered, almost wishing she still had something in the kitchen she could scrub first. Chase had not invested in a lot of furniture, and lived rather casually, but he wasn’t a slob. Thank goodness. He even cooked after a fashion. Dick, on the other hand, had a lot of improving to do before he settled down.

A few minutes on the Internet produced a phone number with a local exchange. Dusty dialed it using Chase’s landline, an unlisted number that showed anonymous on any caller ID. Part of being a cop, protecting his privacy and possibly his life when out of uniform.

“McEwen,” a man said in a distracted voice.

“Is this Ian McEwen, Mabel Gardiner’s nephew?” Dusty asked politely.

“Yes.” Hesitant now.

“This is Dusty Carrick, a friend of Mabel Gardiner. I’m sorry to inform you that your aunt, Mabel Gardiner has been admitted to Mercy General Hospital, the cardiac unit.” Dusty tried to keep her voice neutral, and dispassionate. Considering the terms of Mabel’s will, she didn’t want Mr. McEwen to think she had deliberately delayed informing him of Mabel’s condition.

“Who are you?” McEwen demanded.

“I’m a friend of your aunt’s. I just inquired about her condition and the nurses wouldn’t tell me anything because I’m not next of kin. I’ve been trying to track you down most of the day.” A lie. She hated blurring the truth. What would he think of her when he found out the truth?

Stop that!
she yelled at herself. She had to stop expecting other people to judge her. The opinion of strangers shouldn’t impact her life.

But this man wouldn’t be a stranger for long.

“The police department where she works did not have you listed in her emergency contact information,” she continued. That, at least, was the truth. “I had to get your name from her lawyer.” That, too, was sort of the truth. His name was on the papers Mabel’s lawyer had drawn up.

“What did you say your name was?” She heard a snap, like a seat belt releasing and the snick of a car door opening. His home phone must forward to his cell. “How bad is she?”

Then came the soft murmur of a feminine voice in the background. He wasn’t alone. Dusty realized she didn’t know if he was married or anything about him. What if he had children who needed to learn about Pixies by playing in their Great Aunt Mabel’s garden?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about Mabel’s condition. The hospital won’t tell me anything.” Dusty avoided giving her name again. He’d find out soon enough and be blisteringly angry. “I was with her this morning when she had a cardiac episode. At least that’s what the EMTs called it. I know she’ll want to see you.”

“I’m on my way to Mercy now. If she asks, who should I tell her called me?”

Dusty hung up.

T
HISTLE MELTED INTO DICK’S ARMS AGAIN, eager to explore this new and special relationship.

“This is it for me, Thistle,” Dick whispered while nibbling at her ear. “True Pixie love.”

“Um.” Thistle surrendered to his next kiss rather than correct him.

Pixies were fluid in their partnerships until a mating flight. That one experience of absolute trust signaled the beginning of a forever love. Of course Pixies lived in the moment, for the moment, rarely thinking ahead to consequences. Unlike Elves and Faeries who schemed and manipulated in endless games to ease the boredom of eternal life. For the past few months Faeries had manipulated Pixies to give up The Ten Acre Wood—protected and cherished by humans—because the Faery hill was threatened by new construction. Those manipulations, led by Haywood Wheatland and his fascination with Fire, had become dangerous to humans and Pixies. They couldn’t be allowed to continue.

She wished the Faeries would turn their attention to important things like mating flights. Unlikely. They’d never been interested in partners beyond a few moments of pleasure. Creating mayhem was more fun for them.

After a while, when Pixies grew bored with their mates, they could choose to end the relationship and find someone new and more exciting. Sort of like human marriages. Unless the mating flight consummated a treaty with another tribe.

She’d have no mating flight with Dick in these big wingless bodies.

Perhaps they could invent their own ritual of glorious gliding from a great height together; totally dependent upon each other for completion.

Maybe a wedding, like the one Dusty and her mother planned was the equivalent ritual.

Dick’s mobile mouth sent shivers of delight and expectation all through her in ways no Pixie had ever enticed her. She wouldn’t get bored with Dick, or need to seek a more exciting mate for a very, very long time.