Authors: Irene Radford

Thistle Down (37 page)

BOOK: Thistle Down

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“Stars above and earth below, you’re Milkweed’s brother!”

“Guilty as charged.” He bowed again, laughing. But his mirth sounded harsh and gravelly, not at all bright and chiming like most Pixies.

“You! You’re behind the logging,” she accused.

“Not me. I signed nothing. Everything is in Phelma Jo’s name.”

“She hasn’t the imagination to think this up. She couldn’t see Pixies as a child. She thought we were all dragonflies.” So did Chase, but he was learning that life grew beyond logic and the limits of practical explanations.

“The mayor and the lawyers won’t believe that,” Hay smirked.

“You’re from the valley. I bet you learned all about computers and bending rules from the boys you befriended. But how can you get close to anything digital? They go all static . . .” Oh, my. A fiery aura, compatibility with computers, pointy teeth.

He was no ordinary Pixie. She’d bet her wings that he was only half Pixie. Dusty had it right. Half Pixie and half Faery gave him control over all four elements and which ones dominated.

That was why she couldn’t get close to him. His Faery blood repelled her, like . . . like magnets or something.

She backed up two steps in fear.

“My boys do love their video games. They learned to like blowing things up from their games. And they love hacking, just to see how far they can get inside other people’s computers. I am their faithful friend, learning as much from them as they do from me. Tonight they’ll succeed at both their hobbies by taking control over all the computerized carnival rides and then blowing up the Ferris wheel.” He almost glowed with pride. Or was that just Faery fire?

“Doesn’t it bother you that besides destroying our oldest and grandest tradition, you will break Dusty’s heart? You lied to her from the beginning. You said you loved her and then you kissed her. That shreds the first law of Pixie, never to hurt a friend.” Thistle clenched her fists. She wanted to hit him, knock him over the cliff, send him back to his traitorous forebears.

But she needed to find Chase, or Dusty, or Dick, someone who could stop the boys from hurting people at the carnival.

“Dusty is my only regret,” Hay sighed. “I had not intended to fall in love with her. She is so cute and innocent. Still very much a child in many ways. She tugs at my heartstrings in ways that my betrothed never could. But my engagement to Rosie was negotiated long ago. I will not violate that treaty.”

“You truly love Dusty?” Emotions surged and ebbed within Thistle. She didn’t know what to think.

“Yes, I love her. I have not lied to her. I do not regret the destruction of your tribe and the Patriarch Oak. I have my orders. Pixies must give way to the greater power of Faeries. Murdering humans are about to destroy our hill in their need to build and expand. A cell phone tower and a
discount store
. It is just too humiliating. They can’t even dignify the destruction of our home with a palace or a grand courthouse or something.” His face turned ugly with angry distortions, his ears pointing, chin lengthening, eyes extending into an elongated and distorted slant.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, and the alien visage dissolved. “We need a new place to live. Pixies overrun our chosen spot, The Ten Acre Wood. They must go. But I do regret that I must hurt Dusty.”

“You lying cheat!” Phelma Jo screamed from the end of the pavement half a block from where they stood.

“It’s not like that at all, PJ. She tricked me,” Hay protested.

“Don’t call me PJ. I hate that.”

“He can’t be trusted, Phelma Jo,” Thistle called and started toward her. Haywood’s repulsion sent her into the yard of one of the neighbors. Trespass. She had no permission to walk here. She kept going, doing her best to get closer to Phelma Jo, reason with her. Make her an ally.

Phelma Jo wheeled around and began running.

Hay loosed a long arc of Pixie dust that twinkled and floated.

Thistle caught the brunt of the magic. It rooted her feet to the dirt and gravel, almost as deeply as if she was just another plant.

Only a few flakes touched Phelma Jo. She slowed her hasty retreat, but did not stop.

“Don’t make me come after you, PJ.”

“Too late,” Thistle mocked. “You lied to her. And now she knows about it. You’ll never gain her trust again. You’re a lousy half-breed without logic. How can your Faery friends make The Ten Acre Wood their new home if you destroy it? Perhaps Alder threw up that force field to keep Faeries out instead of his queen in.”

Haywood Wheatland turned and marched away in the opposite direction, back straight, muttering to himself in words Thistle couldn’t understand, but a language she recognized.

Faery. He spoke a Faery spell.

Phelma Jo flung open the door to her office suite. “Out. Everyone go home. I’m giving you the rest of the day off, just get out of here right now.”

“But I’m in the middle of closing a deal,” her best real estate agent protested.

“Finish it on your cell phone in your car.” She couldn’t bear to lose money, even to satisfy her own immediate agenda. “Just get out!” she screamed at the woman. Twenty years of experience; she should know how to close a deal elsewhere.

The staff of six scrambled to stuff papers into desk drawers, close down computers, and hasten away from Phelma Jo’s temper tantrum.

“Lying, thieving, son of a bitch. Delusional, too.” She slammed the door to her private office with a satisfying crash. The glass in the upper half rattled.

She didn’t care. The bastard was going to be out on his ear. She pulled up the paperwork on the computer for termination of employment before she even sat down. She started typing as soon as the page finished loading.

“Employee number?” She nearly screamed at the computer. It refused to advance to the next line until she filled in the box. Cursing, she opened another window with personnel files. “What do you mean you can’t find anyone by that name? I set you up to respond to my needs, stupid software.”

More curses escaped her as she rummaged in the file cabinet on the opposite wall. Every neatly labeled, redundant file folder bore a familiar name. All except the one she sought. “I know I had you fill out an application and tax forms.” Her fingers flew through the ten folders, hoping it had gotten misfiled. But it hadn’t. Nor was it stuck inside one of the others.

“Phelma Jo Nelson,” Chase Norton said from behind her.

She spun to face the doorway, feet braced for . . . something aggressive and violent. She didn’t know what yet, but the urge to slam her fist into a face, any face, nearly overwhelmed her.

Chase stood in the doorway to her office, too far away to slug, tall and blond and as handsome as ever. His air of calm authority doubled his attractiveness. Not to her. She needed control of her relationships.

He knew that. He looked just as disapproving and hostile as when she kicked him out of her bed and her life because he called her “Dusty” in the throes of wild hot monkey sex.

Passion without rules or limits, as only teenagers can truly indulge.

She was a high school senior then, he home from college for the summer. And he still loved the mousey little brat.

Dick Carrick wasn’t much better, still pining after some bimbo who left town when he was a pimple-faced adolescent with a cracking voice.

“What do you want?” she spat at Chase.

“I have here a court order putting a temporary halt to the logging of The Ten Acre Wood, a designated city park.”

“Let me see that.” She ripped the document out of his hands. He remained calm.

“So what? My work order is signed by the mayor. This minor judge can’t override that.” She flung the paper on the desk and assumed her chair, as if it were a throne.

“Yes, he can. And he has. If the work crews remove so much as a twig before this issue is resolved, I’ll haul them and you off to jail. So will any other officer under my command. Unlike some people, I can’t be bribed. And William Tremaine’s camera crews will record it all, report names, and dig deep into private files with and without permission.” He leaned his clenched fists on her desk and met her gaze with determination. It was the first emotion he’d shown since invading her private space without invitation.

“Fine. I’ll grant insignificant Miss Carrick her moment at the Ball in the park. But I will have those trees. The profit from selling the lumber to Japanese markets should fund my mayoral campaign.” She scanned the document.

“What’s this?” She placed her finger on a huge number with a dollar sign in front of it.

“I believe Judge Pepperidge has put your deposit on the purchase of the timber into an escrow account until the matter is fully investigated. If the city finds against Mayor Seth Johansen for unauthorized sale of the timber, the money will be refunded to you without penalty.”

“I know that, you idiot. I mean the amount. I never authorized that much. If I fork over that much, I’ll make no profit. I’ll end up in the hole.”

Chase blinked several times. “Let me see that.” He turned the paper so he could read it right side up. “That is a chunk of money. One of the reasons the City Council has second thoughts about this is that the money will rehire two teachers and fund the free clinic for another year.”

“But I only offered ten percent of that. What you are holding as a deposit was the full amount I offered—the salary of one teacher. Not two, let alone funding that stupid clinic for freeloaders, deadbeats, and welfare moms.” She lumped together all the people who might turn into her mother.

“That amount of money does sound more reasonable coming from you.” He scowled. “It appears that someone added an extra zero to the amounts you authorized. Any idea who? Your new assistant, perhaps?” He smiled, baring his teeth like a predatory animal.

“Who else? I’m in the middle of firing the thieving bastard except I can’t find his personnel file.”

“Makes you wonder who he truly is. And what else he’s stolen, besides his file.” Chase continued grinning. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was getting ready to humiliate her. Again.

“I can’t trust any man, it seems. Especially those who have had their hearts stolen by the likes of Dusty Carrick,” she grumbled.

“I’ll leave you with that thought. In the meantime, I’m going looking for Mr. Haywood Wheatland, if that truly is his name. Seems I’ve got a case for bringing him in for questioning. He’s altered official documents. Maybe embezzled. I’ll think of something appropriate.”

“Do that. Don’t let the door smack you in the butt on your way out.”

Fuming, Phelma Jo printed out the termination document and began filling in the blanks by hand. She wanted this official and legal, so the conniving thief of a con man couldn’t come back at her for anything.

“I wouldn’t sign that if I were you, Phelma Jo,” Hay said, quite suddenly appearing at her elbow, as if he’d secretly flown in on silent Pixie wings and grown to human size, unseen. God, she was starting to sound as delusional as Dusty Carrick. Or Haywood Wheatland.

“You can’t stop me.” She poised her pen over the line at the bottom of the page. The nib bounced up the instant she pressed it to paper. Then it slipped away, leaving a smudge on the pristine mahogany of her desktop.

“Oh, but I can.”

“Well, you won’t get away with cutting down The Ten Acre Wood.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. By now, our friend Sergeant Norton has served cease and desist papers to the work crew. So you are going to have to help me cut down the Patriarch Oak.”

“You are out of your freaking mind if you think I will do anything illegal. Underhanded and sneaky maybe. But not illegal.” She pushed harder trying to get the pen to follow her orders.

“We’ll see about that.” Brightly colored sparkles filled the room like a myriad shattering rainbows.

Thirty-one