Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles (40 page)

“We have to set this in motion precisely at midnight,” Chicory said. Only a few more seconds to wait. “You’ll awake at dawn and the transformation will be in place. But
it will only last until sunset. If you haven’t convinced Thistle to come home by then, you won’t get a second chance.” Chicory certainly hoped Dick would be back to normal by sunset. Otherwise, he and his friend would be trapped inside each other’s bodies for all eternity, or until one or both of them died.

If the magic worked at all. His memory of the spell was sketchy and full of holes. He’d had to think hard about what to put into saucers.

“I understand. Tell me what to do.”

“Water. We need a big glass of water!” Chicory remembered the final ingredient. “The herbs are Earth. I’m Air. You’ll light the Fire. We just need Water to bind it all together.”

“Fine.” Dick reached behind him for the half-full glass on his night table.

Chicory scattered a few drops on each saucer.

“All you have to do now is strike the match, touch it to each candle, and drop it into this saucer at the west side of the circle when I say. Thistle is west of here. Better make that two matches to represent the Fire of your love, which is what this is all about.”

Dick nodded. Chicory flew a circle widdershins around and around Dick where he sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle. He wound the spiral tighter and tighter, starting low and working up. All the while he sang his own music,
Dum dum do do dee dee dum.
He made the rhythm as complex as the aromas coming from a garden of mixed flowers, tall and short, robust and delicate. He matched his wingbeats to Dick’s heartbeat.

“Now,” he shouted in the middle of a phrase and continued his music and his spiral downward. He heard the rasp of the matches striking the brown stripe on the box, watched the red-orange flame flare upward. The candle wicks glowed in succession around the circle, deosil starting at the west.

Dick released his fingers and two matches dropped head first.

The blast of magic combining with chili pepper threw Chicory across the room. Darkness reigned across all his senses.

“T
HAT WON’T WORK,” DUSTY SAID, staring at the assortment of equipment Chase had “borrowed” from the kitchen of his family’s diner.

“Why not?” He held up the circular spatula with straining holes in it. The streetlight on the corner sent slanting rays to glint off the shiny metal.

“That is fine for throwing the crushed ice at Pixies.” She tapped her mother’s large picnic cooler she’d filled with bags of cubes. “Ice is lethal to them. But the fry basket is metal.”

“It will trap a Pixie on the ground,” he protested.

“It’s stainless steel. Steel is made of iron. Even the most deranged Pixie will avoid it. They are hard enough to catch without driving them away with iron.”

“So what do you suggest?” Chase threw his box of supplies as well as the cooler into the back of his pickup.

Dusty looked up and down the street for inspiration. She tasted blood as she worried her lip with her teeth. A glimpse of an askew picket fence, much in need of painting caught her attention. Lights shone through the off-balance, broken mini-blinds. “We ask the town Eagle Scout for a butterfly net.”

“Huh?”

“Ian McEwen. If anyone in this town has a butterfly net, it will be him.” She marched across the street and through the sagging gate, pausing briefly out of habit, as if to ask any resident Pixies for permission to cross their territory.

But no Pixies lived here. The garden could surely use
their attention. The house showed signs of ongoing repairs: new wood on a window frame, a sturdy new door with shiny locks, glass had replaced cardboard in the small window above the door.

Dusty rang the bell, surprised when she heard an interior chime in response.

“Coming!” Half a minute later Ian flipped the deadbolt and opened the door a crack with the security chain still on. “What? Do you know what time it is, Miss Carrick?” He ran a callused hand through shower damp hair. Short strands tried to stand on end but didn’t have enough length to do more than look scattered, like a field of hay after someone walked through it.

“Sorry to disturb you so early, Ian, but we were wondering if you had a butterfly net we could borrow?” Dusty asked sweetly.

“What? I haven’t even had coffee yet. This is the wrong season to catch butterflies, or even the dragonflies that infest this city.” He made to close the door on them.

Chase jammed his booted toe into the crack. “Think back to your childhood, Ian. Think back to the summers we played together in The Ten Acre Wood.”

“So? We had some good times before… that last summer.”

“Think back to your aunt’s home,” Dusty continued, trying for a mesmerizing lilt in her voice.

Ian’s eyes glazed over a bit as he chased memories as fleeting as a Pixie.

“No.”

“It’s true, McEwen,” Chase growled. “Look, you don’t have to believe anymore, but if you have a net, could we borrow it?”

“I suppose. Give me a minute. I think it’s in the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet in the spare room.”

Five long and anxious minutes later he returned and shoved the net with a worn handle and warped frame through the crack in the doorway. “This whole city is crazy. Sometimes I think I should move back to Portland for my own sanity.”

“Maybe you should stay a little longer and find your sanity here,” Dusty whispered.

Hand in hand, she and Chase skipped back to the truck and headed for The Ten Acre Wood.

“Where’s Dick?” Chase asked as he unloaded the cooler. “He said he’d meet us here.”

Dawn had just begun to swell along the eastern horizon.

Dusty waved the butterfly net around, testing the swish of the flexible mesh. Now all she needed was a Pixie to catch in it. “If Dick said he’d be here, then he’ll be here.”

“Hey, watch where you swing that thing, lady!” a tiny voice yelled at Dusty.

She looked around for the source.

“Over here. What are you? Blind as a Faery in sunlight?” A skinny yellow-and-green Pixie hovered in front of Dusty’s eyes.

“Oh, hello. Who are you?”

“I’m Dandelion Five and Chicory put me in charge of this campaign.” He puffed out his chest and threw back his shoulders with pride.

“Pleased to meet you, Dandelion Five.” Dusty dipped a curtsy to him, a little hard to accomplish wearing jeans, hiking boots, and a plaid flannel shirt. Then she spotted a dozen other dandelion Pixies looking identical to Five. “Mind if I call you Leo so I know you’re the leader?” she whispered.

“Leo, why Leo?” he spluttered.

“It’s short for Lion.”

“Oh, okay, then. Leo I am.”

“Where is Chicory, by the way?”

Leo shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. Just put me in charge. About time someone recognized how valuable dandelions are.”

“Why, of course, a dandelion is the perfect plant. The greens are good eating—cooked or raw—the flowers provide a lovely yellow dye…”

“And make dandelion wine,” Chase added.

“Wine, yes. How could I forget?” She grinned at her fiancé. “The roots can be roasted for either a vegetable or
dried and ground for a coffee substitute.” She grimaced at the remembered taste of one of her mother’s experiments.

“The seed pods make a perfect child’s toy,” she concluded.

“Don’t forget a bouquet of flowers to a loved one! And we are the only Pixies who can survive the winter no matter how cold it gets,” Leo chortled with pride. Then his face grew serious again. “Who are we here to fight?” He brandished his hawthorn spike as eloquently as the finest rapier.

“Snapdragon,” Chase said, butting in to the conversation.

“Oooooh, he’s evil. I’ve fought for him and against him,” Leo replied. He swished his thorn around in a complicated circle that was more flourish than weapon.

“But first we have to find him,” Chase muttered.

A flutter of red and gold in the elbow of a branch on the Patriarch Oak caught Dusty’s attention. “I don’t think finding Snapdragon will be the problem.”

The sound of big, human-sized voices woke Thistle. She shoved Pixie arms and legs out of her way to peer over the lip of the hollow log they’d made into a bower.

“Wake up, everyone, the cavalry has arrived!” she said as she kicked and pushed awake every Pixie within reach, which was most of the tribe. Her heart swelled that her friends had come, prepared to rescue her and her family from Snapdragon.

But the one person she wanted here had not come. She’d allow herself to cry away the ache—or make it deeper—later. Right now, she needed to be out there organizing the coming battle. If that trumped-up Dandelion Leo would let her.

Quickly she left the nest and tweaked Dusty’s hair by way of welcome. “Where’s your brother?” She dared not say his name or she’d let loose with all of her tears at once.

“I don’t know,” Dusty replied. “He said he’d be here.”

“And here I am!” Dick said a little breathlessly. His voice sounded different… shrunken.

Thistle scanned as she flew a tight circle around Dusty and Chase.

A scatter of Dandelions darted into view, clutching Dick by his hair and an oddly fashioned kilt of flower petals. He had indeed shrunk to Pixie size with wings and everything. “So why aren’t you flying?” she asked, amazed at the magic that enveloped him. She tasted Chicory in the air every time he twitched. This was indeed a potent spell. Big enough that Chicory was probably sound asleep and snoring for the rest of the day.

“Dick, you came,” Dusty said on a sigh of relief.

“Of course I came. And I can fly now,” he called the last to his escort.

Abruptly, they dropped him. He tumbled down three blossom lengths before he caught air and righted himself.

“You can fly?” Thistle asked.

“Yes, I can. I’m just not used to it and got a bit tired. It’s a long way here from our house.”

“We found him gasping for breath by the back gate. He barely made it out of the house,” one of the Dandelions sneered.

“Oh, Dick, I am so happy you came,” Thistle cried. She led her love to the flat rock overlooking the pond.

“I came for you. I need to take you back home with me, or stay a Pixie. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.” He kissed her.

“What about Hope? Are you prepared to leave her?” Thistle asked cautiously.

“I don’t want to. But if staying a Pixie is the only way I can have you, then I’ll have to trust my mother, and Dusty and Chase, and Chicory and his tribe to take care of Hope for me.” He kissed her nose. “Don’t we have some work to do first?”

Human-sized tears threatened to choke her. She could tell by his expression that he really did care. He wanted to be human, but he had to give her the choice.

“Thank you, Dick. I love you. You have to trust me that I will come back to you as a human. But I’ve learned from you and Dusty the importance of responsibility and commitment.
I have to take care of Snapdragon and find a leader for my tribe. I owe them.”

“Yes, you do. No more running away from the past for either of us. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’ve got your back, Thistle, my love. Now give me a sword and let’s go meet the enemy before he comes to meet us.”