Extraordinary October (16 page)

There was something on my right leg and when I tried to brush it off it wouldn't go away. I turned to the window and the fading sunlight and gasped. A tattoo, a beautiful and intricate tattoo started with a blooming flower above my ankle and continued with vines and leaves and smaller flowers twining around and up my leg. It was absolutely gorgeous, in rich, true colors I'd never seen on a tattoo before. And it started right where I'd been scratching the most, where the itch had been the worst.

I knew I had not gotten a tattoo. Never. No matter how crazy or out of it I'd been, I would remember the pain and the hours that took. And a tat this complicated would have cost a fortune, way more than I could spend.

That meant it wasn't all in my imagination. It couldn't be.

16.

Mom. I had to talk to her. She'd never been under Madame Gold's spell, she was far away at a conference. Even if I woke her up, she would have some answers. And sure enough, there was my cell phone on my desk as if I'd left it there that morning. As if Enoki had never thrown it in the river. Something was happening—had happened—and I had to find out what. I flicked it on and waited impatiently for it to warm up. I typed in “Mom” but she didn't come up. Same with Dad, and Luisa, and Walker and the main school number. My phone had been wiped clean. There were no numbers, no old texts, even my photos were gone. It was more proof I had not lost my mind or slipped into dreamland: I knew I had not erased everything on my phone. Someone did not want me getting in touch with any of those old contacts.

I knew my mom's number by heart and I called her. It rang once and went to voice mail. She had probably turned her phone off to sleep. I sent her a quick text, “I miss you. We need to talk.” I also sent a text to what I thought was Luisa's number, but it bounced back, “Undeliverable.”

Dad knocked on my door and almost scared me to death.

“Dinner's getting cold,” he said.

“Quick shower. I'll be right there.”

In the shower I decided that after dinner I would sneak out, take the car, and go to Luisa's house to talk to her mom or to the Chinese restaurant to talk to Mr. Bob. I needed some answers and I couldn't wait for Mom to get home. As I toweled off I admired my beautiful tattoo again. Then I noticed that my toes were in fact a little hairy and my feet definitely wider. Like smallish troll feet attached to skinny fairy legs. Gross. I ran my razor over my toes and the hair was wiry and uncooperative, but I finally managed to get rid of it. Hairy toes did not work for me.

I put on clean flannel pajama bottoms—as if I was going right to bed—and a tank top. I went downstairs and into the kitchen.

“This looks great,” I said to Dad and it did. He'd made veggie lasagna and a bright, colorful salad filled with all my favorites, spinach and mushrooms and tomatoes and cucumbers and yellow peppers. “Thanks for cooking.”

Whatever was going on, it was good to have this moment with Dad. He was not jovial, he didn't make a single bad joke, but he seemed more like himself. A much thinner self. His cheekbones were emerging and his eyes were bigger in his face. They'd returned to their usual bright blue—close to Walker's color and my heart gave a surprising wrench. I missed him and it hurt. Troll-hater, bossy, and opinionated as he was, I missed him. I thought about never seeing him again, about his life continuing without me in the Fairy Canopy, imagined him with his friends, a girlfriend who would make him laugh, and I slumped and pushed my plate away. I longed for him. Like in the old fashioned poems, I yearned. I had been a job to him and he had finished that job—or I had finished it for him—but he was much more than that to me. It was a new feeling and not a good one. Unrequited love sucks.

At least Dad didn't notice. I didn't want to try to explain anything.

After we ate—and I noticed my dad had some of everything, but normal sized portions—he pushed my presents toward me.

“They're not much,” he said. “I'm not working as you know, but I think you'll like them.”

“You didn't have to get me anything.” I knew money was tight and college was coming up.

He pointed at the largest box. “That one's from your Mom. Wish she was here.”

“Me too.”

I opened it and was really surprised. It was a soft, dark green sweater I had fallen in love with in a catalog. I didn't know she had paid any attention to me drooling over it. I held it up. It was better than in the picture.

The next was a book. I always got a book and this was one I had really wanted to read about a werewolf and his human girlfriend. Seemed pretty tame after what I'd been through.

The last was in a smaller box. The card was from my dad. It read, “Because you are special.” It was an odd, formal sentiment coming from him. I unwrapped the box and took the lid off revealing a smaller dark orange velvet box inside. I knew that color, like flame, like a pumpkin, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen it recently. Typical Dad to give me pumpkin-colored things. I opened the velvet box and froze. Inside was a necklace more exquisite and delicate than anything I'd ever seen. Incredible. My parents had never given me jewelry before. I didn't even have my ears pierced. I looked at Dad. “Where did this come from?”

Without hesitation he said he had bought it at the jewelry store in the mall. I knew that wasn't true. My dad did not go to the mall and this was higher quality and more unusual than anything that discount store offered. The pendant was my initial, “O,” in silver, but a kind of silver I had never seen; when it caught the light it changed color. There was some intricate etching on the surface too, almost like writing, but no words or letters I recognized. Even the chain was exceptional.

“I love it! It's amazing.” I hugged and kissed him.

He hugged me back. “Put it on. Now.”

“I'm going to bed,” I said. “I'll wear it tomorrow. I can't wait.”

“You can sleep in it,” he insisted. “It's made to be worn all the time. It's a special metal that gets better the more it's worn. Even sleeping. All the time.” He looked so serious for a moment, and then he kind of laughed. “I bought it for you. I want to see it.”

“Okay.” I actually couldn't wait to put it on. I was so taken with it I couldn't stop staring at it and nothing he said seemed weird to me. It was obviously a special kind of silver, and I thought it made sense that the oils from my skin would somehow make it more radiant. I clasped it around my neck. It was so light it was like wearing nothing, except the metal was oddly warm. The “O” rested snugly right between my collarbones. It was very warm. Any warmer and it would burn me.

“Perfect,” my dad said. “Just right.”

I ran to the hall mirror to look at it. It was gorgeous and subtle and as I moved it gave off little sparkles.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“Promise me you'll wear it always.”

“I will.”

“Time for dessert.”

Dad went to the fridge and took out an enormous homemade birthday cake, chocolate frosted, decorated with my name, and pre-spiked with eighteen candles. He grinned.

“Brand new recipe,” he said. “Let me light the candles.”

I didn't eat birthday cake. He knew that. I didn't think I liked birthday cake anymore, certainly didn't think I could choke this one down. I was shaking my head, but he ignored me.

“I have to sing to you.”

He sang to me, badly, and I made a bunch of silent wishes as I blew out the candles. I wished that I could talk to Walker. I wished for Trevor to be healed. I wished for my mom to come home soon. I wished for Luisa to be fine and for Madame Gold to go away forever. I had tears in my eyes from wishing so hard.

I anticipated the giant piece he'd cut for himself, but he cut a regular sized piece of cake for me and none for himself.

“You're really doing this diet thing.”

“Just not interested anymore.”

“That's great.”

“But you should try it. I worked hard.”

“Looks like it.” I took a bite just to be polite. The cake was incredible. I hadn't had cake in so long and I really did still like it. I liked this one. “Wow, Dad. This is fantastic.”

I ate and ate and ate. The piece of cake was never ending and I had never tasted anything so good. When I finally pushed my plate away I thought I might really, truly explode. My stomach hurt and I was dizzy from the sugar. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, everything was out of focus. The room blurred around me. Was it the food that had made me so sleepy? I was afraid I would pass out at the table. I tried to push my chair back and stand up, but my legs were like rubber.

“Bed. Need to go,” I managed.

“A good long sleep—all night—that's what you need.”

Dad smiled, but even in my haze his smile looked fake, his eyes were dull and serious.

“I can't think.” I couldn't help but slur my words. “What is…?” I couldn't concentrate long enough to remember my question.

Dad lifted me easily and carried me upstairs to my room. He tucked me into bed as if I was eight, not eighteen. I tried to protest, to tell him I needed to brush my teeth, I think I even said I needed to find Walker, but he shushed me and told me to
let it all go.

“I want you right here with me forever.”

I put my hand over my necklace, growing warmer against my skin, and sunk into the deepest sleep of my entire life.

17.

My alarm went off and I struggled to open my eyes. I was groggy and disoriented. I knew instantly that my dad had drugged me. He had put something in my birthday cake to knock me out and keep me home all night. Did he think I wouldn't notice? This was not normal parent behavior. He could have just asked me to stay home; it was a little extreme to slip a pill in my frosting. I felt like I was underwater, but I had to go to school and I was eager to get out of the house and away from him.

I pulled my phone off the bedside table. No messages. I called Mom again. No answer. This time not even voice mail. I texted her, “Where R U????” It said my text was not delivered. She was talking about the benefits of mushrooms at some conference out of cell phone reach and I needed her. At that moment, I hated those mushrooms of hers. Which made me think of Madame Gold forcing the fairies to dig in the dirt like truffle pigs. Whatever kind of mushroom Madame Gold was searching for seemed really important to her. Important enough to enslave all those fairies and turn fairyland's flowers and grass into mud.

I dragged myself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. I washed my face with cold water and that helped a little. As I brushed my teeth, I saw my necklace in the medicine chest mirror. I had forgotten it, but it really was perfect. It looked like it had been made for me. My eyes had flecks of gold in the morning sun. Those hadn't been there a week before. My hair was shiny and definitely more red than brown. I pulled up the leg of my pajamas and my tattoo was still there. Maybe I wasn't Queen, maybe I had no real powers, but I was not the same old me. Most importantly, I was not going crazy imagining things that hadn't happened.

I searched my closet and found a short, flirty skirt I had never worn. It still had the price tag on it. I'd bought it at an after Christmas sale hoping I'd have a reason to wear it. That morning the time had come. I cut off the tag and put it on. It was a little big around the waist and definitely shorter than when I'd tried it on in the store. Short, but not too short. I put on my brand new sweater and it fit perfectly. I slipped into my pretty little flats. Some mascara and a dash of lip gloss and I looked pretty good.

I came down the stairs into the kitchen hoping for a cup of tea to help wake me up and caught my dad sitting at the table, not eating, not reading the newspaper, just staring at the wall. Okay. That was flipping odd. On a regular day he was cooking while he was reading the paper and complaining about the bad news, the politicians, the state of the world. He jumped up as I came in and put on a smile—as if it was a mask from the Halloween store.

“Good morning, Pumpkin. Sleep well?”

“You know how I slept,” I said.

He ignored me and went to the stove where he stirred something in our biggest pot. Without looking at me he said, “You look nice.”

No line about how short it was. No terrible joke about my wrinkle-free skirt ironing out my problems. And nothing about my very obvious tattoo.

“Gotta go,” I said. “Don't want to miss the bus.”

“But I made oatmeal.” He turned from the stove and came toward me with a big bowl.

“No way!” I practically knocked it out of his hand. Then I backpedaled. “I mean, after all that food last night—I'm still full.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

I waited for him to finish by saying, ‘All day.' I waited for him to laugh, but he was completely serious. That was when I knew the creature in front of me either wasn't my dad or that my dad had been possessed by a demon. That stupid breakfast joke, he always said the whole thing. He had to.

“Really?” I hoped he was waiting for me to finish our joke.

“Delicious oatmeal with raisins.” He was not.

“I said I'm not hungry.” I started for the door.

He—whoever he was—frowned. “Why don't you I take you to school? I'll get my keys.” He put the bowl down. He'd lost even more weight overnight.

“I'm good.” I had the front door open. “See you later.”

I picked up my backpack and tried to look as if I was fine, happy, just rushing for the bus. I definitely did not want him to think I was running from him. What was going on? Madame Gold had not kept her promise. My father was not “back to normal” and I was no longer convinced that Mom was at a conference. She hadn't even called to wish me happy birthday.

I was sure Imposter Dad was watching me from the living room window, so I walked briskly down the sidewalk in the direction of the bus stop. As soon as I turned the corner and was out of sight, I took off running. I had to run. I had to get as far away from my house as possible as quickly as possible. I wanted my life and my family back the way they were before flowers started appearing on my skin and crows wanted to kill me. Everything was so completely and totally wrong. I couldn't reach my mom, but could I find Walker? He said he always knew where I was. Did he know at that minute that I was running down the street? Did he know I was scared that Madame Gold had not done anything I asked? Was Luisa fine? Was Trevor okay? Had she let the fairy prisoners go? Maybe I had given up being a queen, but I hoped I wasn't a fool.

I got angrier and angrier as I ran and the anger focused me. I could look for Walker at Henderson Park or I could—I shuddered—go back to the L.A. River. It seemed pointless to go to school. Trevor wouldn't be there, or Luisa, or… Green! Green would know how to find Walker. He had appeared in the club and guided me to him. He had fought the crows and he had kept me from kissing Trevor. He was somehow connected, involved and he was probably at school. I picked up my pace. I could have run all the way there, I wasn't even winded after twelve blocks and honestly, truly my feet seemed to leave the ground longer than humanly possible, but the bus was just stopping so I hopped on.

I waved my pass at the bus driver and headed for the back. There were only two other riders and in my suspicious mind they couldn't be who or what they appeared to be. A woman sat up front near the driver in nice go-to-work clothes. I saw her on the bus most mornings, but when she looked up and smiled hello I jumped away from her. The other passenger was a guy sitting in the middle. He wore a green windbreaker and a stocking cap and he was humming and rocking in the seat. He most definitely was not normal, but whether he was supernaturally abnormal or just your average crazy bus rider I could not determine. He stared at me from under bushy eyebrows. He could have been a troll with his dark skin and eyes. I tried to see his hands clasped in his lap, but I was afraid to look too hard. Whatever he was, I didn't want to encourage him. I sat down a few rows behind him where I could keep an eye on him.

I texted my mom again. Again it didn't go through.

At the next stop an old woman got on carrying three beat up and overflowing plastic shopping bags. I saw clothes, twigs and branches, and who knows what else in those bags. She wore a long, flowered dress over baggy red and yellow striped pants and two sweaters. She smiled at me. All my life, wherever I went, the homeless, whacko types loved me. Especially the old women. They always talked to me. I was not in the mood. I ignored her and looked out the window but even with all those other empty seats, of course she sat down next to me. She smelled like tomato soup and rusty metal. I didn't want to be rude, but I turned sideways to face the window, putting my back to her. She started pulling things out of her bags and talking to herself.

“There's the bunny. Cute little hopper. Where's your carrot? Ah here you go.”

I had to look. I was relieved to see it was a stuffed rabbit, pink and filthy, but a real carrot so old it was as limp as a cooked noodle. She pulled out a pair of impossibly long green tights.

“Dancing, dancing. I want to go dancing.” Her feet tapped on the floor as she waved the tights back and forth as if she were one of those ridiculous ribbon dancers in the Olympics. Another stuffed animal, without ears or eyes, so dirty and misshapen it was impossible to know what kind of animal it was supposed to be. Then she took out a big gray coat and shook it so that dust covered both of us. She laid it down across her lap—and mine.

That was it. I didn't want her disgusting stuff touching my new skirt. I spun around and spoke to her through clenched teeth.

“Excuse me. Do you mind?”

She was looking down in her bag, and turned to me slowly. She had surprisingly bright, blue eyes. Brilliant blue, as if she were wearing contacts.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Could you sit somewhere else? You'd have more room over there.”

In retrospect I guess I could have gotten up and moved. But I wanted her to move. Actually, I think I just wanted to yell at her. I wanted to yell at someone and she was handy and annoying. “Please go!” I practically shouted.

The guy in the stocking cap turned around to look at me. He didn't look friendly and for a moment I worried the blue-eyed bag lady was a friend of his and I had really pissed him off. But then he faced front again, obviously uninterested in the fight happening in the back of the bus.

“Why?” she said. “Why should I?”

“The whole bus is empty. Why do you have to sit here?”

I expected her to tell me I was in her usual seat and that she always sat in this row.

“Never mind,” I said. “I'll move.” I grabbed my backpack and stood up, but she put one dirty hand on my arm. I pulled my arm—in my new sweater—away.

“I have something for you,” she whispered. “I can't let anyone else see.”

Just what I needed, a diseased, filthy stuffed animal or something. “Thanks,” I said. “But no thanks.”

I tried to squeeze past her but she yanked on my skirt, and wouldn't let me pass. “Where'd you get that necklace?” she asked.

“It was a gift.”

The old lady nodded. “They certainly make tracking devices pretty these days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, if you want someone to be able to follow your every move.”

She looked up at me with those blue eyes and smiled. Her skin was smooth and rosy between the wrinkles, as if she was a fresh peach that had been squished. She tucked her matted gray hair behind one ear and I saw the top of that ear was pointed. Like Walker. The bright blue eyes. The pointed ears. She was a fairy. My heart beat faster. Maybe Walker had sent her.

“I… Are you?” I started to ask, then stopped. I couldn't trust her; even my dad was not my dad. I felt as if I was encased in Plexiglas, a box separating me from both the human and the supernatural worlds. I belonged in neither. I was neither. I could not trust anyone. I sat back down and my eyes filled up with tears.

“Perfect,” I said out loud, meaning that the one day I'd chosen to wear mascara it was going to smear all over my face.

“Yes, you are perfect,” she said and patted my leg. “I would have known you anywhere. You are your mother's daughter. And your father's. Don't be sad. I do have a present for you.”

“I hope it's a Kleenex.” I sniffled and pressed my fingers to my eyes trying to keep the tears from spilling. “A new one.”

She dug around in her third bag. This bag seemed to be filled with shoes, single shoes. She handed them to me to hold. Not what I wanted to do, but the alternative was probably having her lay them in my lap on my skirt. In no time she had filled my arms. No two shoes were the same; she didn't have a pair in the bunch.

“Where are all the other shoes?” I couldn't help but ask.

“Oh, I don't know,” she sighed. “I don't care about them.”

“What good is one shoe?”

“You know how you always see one shoe on the side of the road?”

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. I saw a solitary shoe lying in the gutter or on the shoulder of the road all the time as I rode the bus or in the car. I always wondered how people could lose one shoe—so many people.

“I put them there,” she said. “I'm the shoe fairy.”

“Shoe fairy?”

She nodded. What possible use could there be for a shoe fairy? Tooth fairy, yes. Fairy godmother, of course. But a shoe fairy? Blue eyes and pointed ears notwithstanding, she probably was just a crazy old bag lady.

She pulled out more shoes, more and more, hundreds of shoes it seemed like, piling them on the floor around our feet, tossing them over her shoulder into the back. Her plastic bag was like Mary Poppins' carpetbag—more fit inside than seemed possible. Finally, she gave a little “ah ha!” and brought out a boot exactly like mine. It could have been mine, if I didn't know they were both home in my closet. She reached inside the boot all the way down to the toe and shook the shoe. I heard a faint, metallic tinkling.

“Got it,” she said. “Here.”

She pulled something out of the boot in her closed fist. She turned to me and opened her hand. I know my mouth fell open. In her open palm was a necklace exactly like my necklace. Exactly.

“Look familiar?” She cackled. “Let's trade.”

“No.” Hers had to be fake or something. It had come out of an old shoe.

“They're just the same.” She dropped hers into my palm. “See? Except yours means they know exactly where you are at every minute. Mine will protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Your dad thinks you're going to school, right?”

How did she know? I held up the other necklace. It looked just like the one I had around my neck, but the one in my hand was cool, and the one around my neck was warm and getting warmer.

The old lady tapped my shoulder. “Excuse me, your Highness. Look out the back window. Someone wants to keep track of where you're going.”

I ignored that she had called me ‘your Highness' and twisted around to look back. A large black crow was flying along behind us, not too close, but definitely following us. As I watched, another one swooped in beside it. And through the window I heard the crow in front saying, “Look! Shiny things!” and the one in back say, “Don't get distracted. Follow the necklace.” I looked at the bag lady, the shoe fairy, with alarm.