The Tree Shepherd's Daughter (7 page)

"Hey, Raven. Who you got there, girl?"

"This is my young friend Keelie."

Keelie waved at the greetings that rose around her, hating Raven for calling her young. She took her cloak off
and put it in the pile of wet garments by the front door.

A smiling pirate with Johnny Depp eyeliner patted the
carpet next to him. "Sweet Keelie, bide here a while."

She slipped out of the boots as Raven had done.

"Sit over there by Aviva," Raven said, pointing toward
a dark-haired girl in a belly-dancing outfit.

The Johnny Depp lookalike grinned and patted the
pillow next to him. Flattered, Keelie lowered herself, only
to jump up again when his hand cupped her backside. She
glared at the pirate.

"Sorry, sweetling. I thought you had printed instructions on your booty."

"Ha, ha. No." She sat down and arranged her skirts
so that no handprints showed. She needed different garb,
pronto.

She listened to the conversation, sitting up, very aware
of the man next to her. He edged a little closer.

"You're shivering, lass. Snuggle up to Captain Randy
and I'll keep you warm."

How old was he? She didn't want to scoot away like
some scared child. If she were poolside at a friend's party
back home she'd know just what to do.

Raven had settled in across from her, leaning on the muscular chest of a wild-haired drummer, his drum abandoned at his feet. She seemed comfortable.

Keelie experimented with leaning back a little. The pirate put an arm next to her, allowing her to cuddle against
his shoulder. It felt warm and nice.

Her pirate took the bottle that was being passed around.
"Mead," he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her.
"Sweet as honey. Try it."

Keelie eyed the unlabeled bottle suspiciously. Not that
they'd be passing around antifreeze, but it didn't seem safe.
She rubbed the mouth of the bottle with her cloak, then
took a sip. It was good. Captain Randy laughed as she
took a long swallow.

"Warms your tummy, doesn't it?"

"It sure does."

He took the bottle from her and put his lips to it, not
bothering to clean it off. Apparently it didn't bother him
to share her germs. He winked at her as he drank, and her
heart fluttered.

She hoped he couldn't feel the little trembling that had
started up in her shoulders and neck. She couldn't figure
out if she was scared or excited or both.

His breath blew across her neck and she shivered. His
arm went around her waist, steadying her.

"Hey Raven, dance for us!" The cry was echoed by
others, and the drummer reached lazily for his drum and
started a heartbeat-like rhythm. Raven stood and moved
to the beat, belly dancing, her hips sliding side to side,
her back arched as her arms snaked sinuously. The beat
changed to a darker, faster pace and she shimmied, the muscles in her waist showing as her top lifted with her
movements.

Keelie stared, mesmerized, feeling detached from her
body. The smoke that filled the tent didn't bother her now
and she was feeling warm.

Raven's dance was very different from the fat lady at the
Moroccan restaurant. Raven's moves were assured and sensuous.

The partygoers were leaning forward now, avid eyes on
Raven's body. She smiled enigmatically, as if she was laughing at them. Keelie felt the pirate's hand on her waist, pulling her closer. She let herself be drawn against him.

This was the best party she'd ever been to in her entire
life.

The pirate's hand caressed Keelie's side, fingers moving
along her ribs and dipping inside of her bodice in rhythm
to the drums. Her breath came faster. If she looked at him,
he might take it as permission to go further. She looked up
at Raven, instead. Beautiful Raven, the life of the party.

She pivoted on one bare foot and her eyes met Keelie's
just as the pirate's fingers touched the bottom of her breast.
Keelie's breath stopped. What would he do next? And what
should she do? This was the place to let go, right?

Raven's eyes darkened, and her right hand made a cutting motion. Instantly, the drums ceased.

"Aw, Raven." Complaints rose from around the circle.

"Keelie's got to go to bed, folks. Let's continue this on
a drier night. Come on, Keelie."

"I don't have a curfew. I'm having fun right here." Keelie
turned to Captain Randy for support.

"Let her stay, Raven. I'll escort our fair maiden back
when she's ready to go home. What reason do you have to
ruin her night?"

"I have two reasons." Raven put her fists on her hips.
"One, she's fifteen."

Randy's smile slipped a little, but then he looked at her
appreciatively. "Young minx."

"And she's Zekeliel Heartwood's daughter."

The hand left her waist. She turned, puzzled, and saw
him scooting farther away on the pillows. "What?"

He looked in her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her
cheek. "Good night, sweetling. I'll see you again."

Keelie floated out of the tent, loving the Faire, especially the Shire, but peeved at Raven. Who did she think
she was, her sister?

Outside, Raven handed Keelie her cloak. It had stopped
raining, and the moon shone thinly through the clouds.

"Have fun?"

"Oh, Raven, I didn't know you could dance like that.
It was awesome."

"Yeah. It's a party favorite. I'll teach you if you want."

"When? And can I get one of those little outfits with
bells?"

"Sure. They sell them here at the Shimmy Shack, Aviva's
shop." Raven walked briskly up the hill. "So, you and Captain Randy were all cozy."

"Is that his name?"

"Not exactly. That's his Faire name. His real name is
Donald Satterfield. Off-season he's a supermarket clerk in Denver. He lives in his mom's basement and plays computer games all day."

"No." She thought of her handsome pirate. Of his hand
on her breast. "Why is it okay to be felt up by a pirate, but
not a supermarket clerk?"

"Pirates choose to be criminals. You have to be a lazy
bastard to be a loser."

"He has a job." Supermarket clerk wasn't sexy, but it
was work.

"He's twenty-eight, Keelie."

"He doesn't look that old. So you quit dancing because
you saw him touch me?"

"Good eye."

They'd crossed the bridge and she didn't hear her name
this time. All she could think of was the feel of the pirate's
hand on her breast. Wait till Laurie heard about this.

As they climbed the hill toward Heartwood, she noticed
that the apartment above the shop was still dark. Zeke
wasn't home yet. Good thing, because she smelled like
mead and weed. Luckily, the walk had cleared her head.

"See you tomorrow, Keelie." Raven peeled off, heading
down the path toward the herb shop.

Upstairs, a loud yowl of protest split the silence as she
turned on the light. In her father's chair, Knot the cat
glared accusingly.

"Good thing you can't talk." She headed toward the
bath to erase her sins.

Keelie stretched her toes underneath the toasty warm
blanket. As she fingered the soft fleece and snuggled down
deeper, she thought about the pirate's warm body pressed
against hers.

Pirate?

Bolting upright, Keelie was suddenly wide awake, remembering the party the night before. Instead of pot
smoke, she smelled baking cookies. Mom didn't bake. She
always bought the little elf cookies from the supermarket.
A lump formed in her throat. Oh, Mom!

She remembered that Mom would never again buy
supermarket cookies. Mom would never hold her again.
Mom was dead. Keelie felt a little guilty about the fun
she'd had the night before. This place was a fairy tale from
hell, apart from the Shire. The Shire was fun.

Mom would've been horrified, especially if she knew
how Keelie had let the pirate cop a feel. Lifting her shirt
to her midriff, Keelie brushed her fingertips along her ribcage where the pirate had touched her. What if she ran
into him at the Faire?

Keelie didn't care what he did in the real world, but
she wasn't sure she wanted to repeat last night. Of course,
his seductive talk might have been part of his act. Had she
fallen for the personae instead of the person? What was
real here? She didn't want to embarrass herself by thinking
there was more to last night. She'd be cool, like Raven.

Keelie flopped back down and looked up at the bedposts. They were twisted vines, the four posts entwined
overhead to form a knot from which flowed billowy white
gauze bed curtains that hung to the floor on both sides of the bed. Beautiful. If Mom were alive, if she were just
visiting her father, she'd be happy. Especially if he'd asked
her to come, and she would hang out with Raven and they
would be friends. Keelie could come visit him when she was
back in L.A. Living with Elizabeth wouldn't be like being
with Mom, but it would be familiar, and she and Elizabeth
could talk about Mom, who'd been her best friend, and
Keelie and her own best friend, Laurie, would be sisters. She
needed to talk to Laurie, to set their plan in motion. Keelie
could be back in L.A. before the end of the week.

Rolling over, she hugged the big down pillow tight to
her chest and pulled the blanket to her chin. She'd cried a
lot yesterday. Wouldn't that just be her luck. The one time
she tried to let them flow, they wouldn't.

She closed her eyes and willed herself back to that waking moment, when she thought she was home asleep in
her own bed and Mom was downstairs baking oatmeal
cookies.

An obnoxious licking noise interrupted her daydream.
Keelie opened her eyes and rolled over to discover Knot
eating something from a ceramic bowl on a wooden tray
by her bed. A glass of orange juice was beside the bowl,
along with a green card with something written on it in
elegant handwriting. She reached for it, risking a swipe of
kitty claws, and read `For you, Keelie."'

The cat lifted his head from the bowl, clumps of oatmeal hanging from his whiskers like grotesque boogers. A
glint of smug satisfaction glowed in his green eyes.

Keelie's stomach rumbled when she caught another whiff of the oatmeal, but seeing the grody cat made her
lose her appetite. So much for her father's breakfast.

Wow Someone had made breakfast for her. That was a
first. Mom had been big on self-sufficiency and independence.

She reached for her orange juice. Knot hissed and swatted at her with his paw. She hissed back, then snatched
the orange juice and drank it down without stopping.
She plunked the glass down on the wooden tray, where
it clinked against the bowl. The cat glared at her with his
weird green eyes.

Apparently, her father loved Knot, but not her. Anger
bubbled up in Keelie, flowing like hot lava. Knot turned
away from her and went back to eating her oatmeal.

She reached for the pillow on the bed and threw it at
the cat. The pillow missed him, but it hit the edge of the
tray, which toppled onto the floor. The bowl of oatmeal
crashed, and the almost-empty juice glass with it. Glass
shards and oatmeal globs in an orange juice puddle marred
the smooth hardwood floor.

The stupid cat jumped from the table onto the floor,
turned around, and glowered at Keelie. He swished his tail
as if saying, "Ha, ha, you missed." Then he sauntered off,
picking his way through the oatmeal and broken glass, not
a speck of oatmeal on his fur.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, then the door crashed
open. Her father pushed aside the curtain. He looked
scared. "Are you okay?"

Knot meowed piteously as her father rushed to the side
of the bed. "Keelie, are you okay? What happened?"

She wanted to scream, `No, I'm not okay. I want to go
home. " But she didn't.

She stared at the cat. "He did it."

Knot meowed, hunched down as if he were the injured
party.

"Knot, you rat," Zeke said mildly. He looked at the
mess on the floor. "Stay there. Don't get out of bed. You
could cut your feet."

He returned with a roll of paper towels printed with
unicorns and a wooden trash can.

He didn't seem to own anything that wasn't made from
a tree. He threw the big pieces from the broken glass and
bowl into the trash can.

Father handed Keelie her once-white Skechers, still
stained with mud.

She accepted them, and should've said thanks, but didn't.
Anger still percolated through her. Instead, she looked away
from father's gaze, "Why do you call him Knot?"

He smiled. "Why not?"

She didn't return his smile; instead, she gave him her
perfected teen glare. Mom called it her matador glare because if Keelie were ever to be in a bullring with a charging
bull, that look would send the bull running, tail tucked
between its legs.

His smile faded. "Your grandmother looks at me like
that whenever she's displeased with me."

"Past tense, Zeke. My Granny Josephine died two years
ago from a stroke."