Authors: Irene Radford
Thistle Down (40 page)
“I don’t know. We’ve never done things like that before . . .” Aster mused.
Thistle turned to talk to him directly. He seemed more capable of working his mind around new ideas than his brothers.
“Think about it! Think about ending the territory wars among Pixies. Think about kingship being more than privilege. We should all work together for the benefit of all. Build up our strength so that Faeries can’t exploit us any more than humans can. And our best bet for preserving the Patriarch Oak is to keep Dusty working at the museum and overseeing the welfare of The Ten Acre Wood.”
“Maybe that’s why Mabel is suddenly so fond of Dusty!” Delph added. “Mabel’s not sick at all, she’s just looking out for us.”
Chicory snorted at that. But he didn’t say anything to dash his brother’s hopes.
“Look, you guys are gardeners,” Thistle said, handing the whistle and hard hat to Aster. “You guys take charge and make sure these plants get help and the grass is repaired while the humans set up for the Ball. I’m going to go see what kind of help Dusty needs to make sure she continues as guardian of our tree.”
She turned and strode sprightly toward Dusty inside the museum, whistling her song. “
Dum dee dee do dum dum
.”
Dum dee dee do dum dum
.”
Thirty-three
“G
HOULS,” DUSTY MUTTERED, gazing out the front window of the museum at the crowd of watchers gathering along the edge of the grounds. They didn’t get in the way of the volunteers assembling the dance floor, setting up round tables and chairs, decorating with lights and garlands. But they watched every move, concentrating on the deconstruction equipment that still littered the street and grass.
HOULS,” DUSTY MUTTERED, gazing out the front window of the museum at the crowd of watchers gathering along the edge of the grounds. They didn’t get in the way of the volunteers assembling the dance floor, setting up round tables and chairs, decorating with lights and garlands. But they watched every move, concentrating on the deconstruction equipment that still littered the street and grass.
The sole cameraman from the TV station wasn’t much better.
And there was Chase, looking weary, rumpled, and worried as he ran his hands through his blond hair until it stood on end. Despite the care that weighed down his shoulders and tugged his mouth into a frown, he was still the most handsome man in town.
“How could I have been blinded by Haywood’s false beauty?” she asked herself.
“You were blinded because he needed you blind and cooperative. He bespelled you to ensure it,” Thistle said softly.
Dusty whirled around, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I didn’t intend for you to hear me. Or see me. So you couldn’t run away and hide.”
Dusty sighed. She halfheartedly flicked her feather duster over a display of cast iron pots and sadirons near the hearth.
“You were happier and more determined last night. What’s wrong, Dusty?” Thistle asked. She stepped over the velvet rope that separated visitors from the artifacts and came up beside her.
Dusty looked out the window again and saw Chase inspecting the intrusive CAT-track machine.
“I don’t have time right now, Thistle. We’ll talk later.” She threw the duster at her friend, then scooted around her and out the door as nimbly as a tabby kitten.
Chase bent over the controls of the machine from outside the cab, his back to her. The crowd thickened around him. Curiosity seekers wondering if there would be a repeat of yesterday’s violence.
“Chase,” Dusty said gently so as not to startle him. “I owe you an apology.”
He straightened without turning toward her, or saying anything.
“I never got a chance to properly thank you for fixing my music box. I’m very happy you did. That was very thoughtful. I’m sorry I neglected that. I’m sorry . . .”
He grunted something and bent over the machine again. “Anyone know where Phelma Jo is?” he called to the crowd from the depths of the gearshift and ignition. “She was supposed to get this stuff out of here last night.”
A murmur of questions ran through the crowd like a ripple of a breeze across a meadow.
“Chase . . . I . . .” Dusty wanted his attention but didn’t quite know what to say.
“Forget it, Dusty. Apology accepted. I hope you enjoy the music box,” he replied coldly and moved away from her with long strides. He hadn’t looked at her at all.
“Chase.” She darted forward and grasped his sleeve. “Please . . . can we talk?”
“Look, Dusty, I’ve had a very long and stressful day preceded by an even longer night. One of my men is on administrative leave for firing a weapon. I had to send the county police to the carnival on Thistle’s tip about explosives and mushrooms disguised in chocolate because we’re so shorthanded. They arrested five teens high on something we can’t identify. They tried to blow up a Ferris wheel full of people. Took the rescue squad three hours to get them down. I’ve got a gang of disgruntled timbermen claiming to be victims. One of them is still in the hospital with a gunshot wound. Thankfully, it was a through and through on his thigh. He’ll live with little or no damage. And now Phelma Jo has disappeared, leaving all this junk in the middle of the street making a traffic hazard. I haven’t got time for your fragile emotions. Go hide behind your brother, or your new boyfriend, Joe.”
Desperate to control herself and not do just that, Dusty swallowed her fears and made eye contact with him, willingly, deliberately. “I really came out here to apologize for turning my back on you yesterday. My only explanation is that I never realized how dangerous your job is until then. It scared me. I was afraid for you. Afraid I might lose you before . . .”
“Forget it. You find it hard to trust people. I get that. You find it hard to share yourself with people. Yeah, I get that too. But you don’t realize that trust and friendship is a two-way street. You have to prove that you can be a friend, be trustworthy to those who love you, or that love dies a dirty and disgusting death.”
He turned and forced his way through the crowd, thrusting people aside. They surged and formed a new wall between her and Chase.
Dusty hung her head and trudged back to the museum.
“You will pay for this, you miserable, selfish, conniving lump of testosterone!” Phelma Jo screamed as she struggled against the invisible bonds holding her arms glued to her sides and her legs locked at the knees. She sat crookedly against a pile of burlap and junk in a dark shed.
“Ah, I see you are awake,” Haywood Wheatland remarked, as if she hadn’t just insulted and threatened him.
“Untie me, you bastard.”
“Now, now, my mother would not appreciate that title. Though it does fit since she sneaked off with a true Faery the night before she mated with the king of the valley tribe.”
“Huh?”
“Haven’t you figured out that I am not what I pretend to be?” He looked bewildered and a little hurt. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“You’re a con man. You gave me a fake identity, résumé, and recommendations when I hired you. Of course you aren’t who you pretended to be,” she sneered. “And you will pay for your deceptions. I’ve already filed fraud and embezzlement charges against you for altering the numbers in my bid for the timber in The Ten Acre Wood.”
Hay threw back his head and laughed. “And a warrant will be issued for my arrest. Only I don’t exist. I’m not human. After tomorrow evening I will disappear back into Pixie, marry my betrothed Rosie, and become king of Mabel’s garden. I have plans for the giant sequoia in her backyard. I think it will make an admirable replacement for the Patriarch Oak. Alder will be left powerless, and Thistle will have no home to return to because my true father’s relatives will dispossess them. My sister will be vindicated for their betrayal.”
“Huh?”
“Is that all you can say?”
“I can say a lot. I can and will blister the air blue until you untie me. My mom may have been a worthless alcoholic, always dependent upon and submissive to the newest man in her life, but she taught me how to curse with imagination and enthusiasm.”
“Tut, tut. We don’t want you inadvertently bringing down the forces of darkness. I brought some duct tape to replace my magic bonds. They will begin to wear off soon. And it is quite wearying to maintain them. I’ll need all my strength tomorrow night, right after sunset, so it’s duct tape for you—and your mouth.”
“Huh?” Phelma Jo bent her head as much as possible and looked at herself in the dim light filtering between cracks in the wooden shed. She couldn’t see what force kept her immobile, not even a depression in her light linen tunic and slacks.
“Oh, that’s right. You were one of the children who never had enough imagination to see Pixies for what they are. You only saw dragonflies. Such a shame. If you’d learned to believe early on, you and I could have conquered this town and all of Pixie
and Faery
years ago.”
and Faery
years ago.”
“You are insane. There is no such thing as Pixies or Faeries or ghosties and ghoulies.”
The dirt floor beneath her began to vibrate. A persistent rumble built and rattled the shed.
A look of pure terror crossed Hay’s face, turning his clean features into a twisted mask.
“What’s the matter? Why does a train scare you so badly?” She knew where she was now. South of town above the falls in the abandoned lumber mill. The train tracks ran right beside it, with a spur backing into the main yard. Lots of odd little buildings falling in on themselves.
“All the iron.” He shuddered. “Iron burns us, robs us of our magic, makes us sick, twisted, and insane.”
The rumbling faded along with the shaking of the shed walls. Hay relaxed and pulled a fat roll of duct tape out of his inside jacket pocket.
How did he look so cool and calm in the rising heat and humidity? Everyone else went about in as few layers of clothing as possible, sweating profusely. Dark stains around the underarms and along the back had become so normal that few people noticed them anymore. He didn’t even have a gloss of perspiration on his face.
“If you are a Pixie, how’d you become so proficient with computers? I didn’t think imaginary creatures needed electronics.”
“Most Pixies and Faeries don’t. That’s why so many of us die young these days. The electronics. But Pixies must befriend those who need friends. It’s an instinct with us. And I have special powers.”
“No one ever befriended me when I needed one,” she grunted.
“By all accounts, Thistle tried. All you did was trap her in a jar with a wolf spider. Like I said, you never had the imagination to appreciate an offer of friendship.”
Phelma Jo snorted again. She remembered the incident. “It was just a dragonfly. And Dick Carrick spoiled my game. I was pretending the fly was my mother and the spider her abusive boyfriend.”
All the pain of those years came flooding back. Phelma Jo felt as helpless now, subject to the control of a man, as she did then.
“I’m stronger than that child. I will get out of this, just as I got out from under my mother’s curse. Her boyfriend is still in jail on a thirty-year sentence.” Her anger shot new adrenaline through her system. A little bit of mobility came back to her arms and knees.
“Oh, poor PJ.” Hay gave her a false pout.
She struggled and rolled again, loosening the bonds a tad more. In another minute she’d be able to jump up and punch him in the family jewels. That should incapacitate him long enough to get away.
“As I was saying, the boys I befriended were all gamers. They learned early on that hacking into another computer system to steal things was just another game. I showed them how to send themselves inside a computer game. They became addicted to the high of explosions. I strengthened their addiction with mushrooms.” He laughed and began unrolling the tape.
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