Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles (31 page)

Refugees. He had to remind himself that this might feel like home already to him, but he and Hope were both refugees. Refugees running away from one home to something better. She hadn’t accepted the concept of home yet. Until she did, she’d keep running and never find more than temporary sanctuaries.

Hesitantly, Dusty knocked on the door to Chase’s apartment. The time had come to make her own decisions and stop hiding what she truly wanted behind her shyness.

“Who’s there?” he mumbled around a yawn.

She sensed a shadow behind the spy hole as he peered out.

“Dusty? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

It took all of her courage to remain there and wait for him to undo deadbolts and security chains. Then he yanked the door open and gathered her into his arms, holding on to her as if his life depended on keeping her close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again.

She ran a glance over him, noting sleep-heavy eyes, jeans hastily donned, bare feet and chest, and tousled blond hair. “Nothing is wrong with me,” she whispered into his chest, letting the fine hairs tickle her cheek. His warmth after the chill night in The Ten Acre Wood, his presence after witnessing Dick’s loneliness, and her love for him banished her anxiety and fear. “I… I came to check on you. To stay with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

His hands clenched onto her arms as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “I’m okay. Woozy from the pain pills, still sore around the six stitches, depressed that I have that monster report to complete before I can go back to work, but my eyes are crossing and I can’t concentrate. Other than that, I’m okay. You don’t have to stay. I know you wanted to wait… But, God, it’s hard to let you go.”

“Then don’t let go.” She shuffled her feet, manipulating them backward into the apartment without letting go.

“Do you know what this means?”

“Yes.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. “But if you need sleep more than sex, I understand. I’m prepared to sleep in the recliner. But I need to watch over you as much as you need not to be alone.”

“I’ve felt so alone and lost. When I watched you fall after I fired my weapon, my heart nearly stopped with fear that I’d hurt you. I feel so guilty. I might have killed you.” He buried his face in her neck.

“You didn’t hurt anyone. You did your job trying to protect historical treasures that are really only piles of rotting lumber and not worth the trouble of housing.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I fired my weapon at civilians.”

“Hush, my love. I know. Neither one of us has to be
alone or lost anymore. Or if we are lost, we’ll be lost together.” She kicked the door closed. “As long as I have you, I can even put up with my mother’s wedding plans. Our marriage is more important than her dream wedding.”

Thistle shivered in the dawn light. Carefully she peeked out from beneath the leaf litter where she’d made her bed. “This will not do. I have to find a better place.”

Would nesting with the rest of the tribe be any better? Less lonely, and warmer certainly. But she’d have to put up with Alder.

Time to do something about that. She’d learned a few things last night when Dick and Dusty came to find her. But she hadn’t grown big again. There was something she had to do as a Pixie before she
could
go back.

She quenched her thirst on some raindrops caught in the cup of a lingering foxglove blossom. She even found a few grains of pollen left inside, overlooked by hummingbirds and Pixies alike.

A little closer to the wetlands around the pond she found a salal berry, translucent red, fully ripe, and delicious. Enough to feed her for the entire day.

The carefree life of a Pixie filled her with a hint of joy. If it weren’t so cold. But her mind kept whirling. She needed to do something about Alder. She needed to stop Snapdragon from bringing war to the tribes. She needed to send Milkweed home or make her flatten her wings for Alder.

That was something she could do before winter sleep overtook her. Hmmm, if she could get into the museum, Dusty would let her hide in the basket filled with yarn balls beside the electric fire in the upstairs parlor.

But first things first. Milkweed had to make a decision. Or have one made for her. Thistle knew how to get the poufy white-and-gold Pixie moving.

She whistled up her friend, the varied thrush. Unlike their cousins the robins, these brightly striped yellow-and-black birds hung around for the winter. The lady bird took a perch in a vine leaf maple at the edge of the clearing. The bright orange-and-yellow leaves made her look dull and
drab, unnoticeable to any cats lurking below the scrubby little tree.

Thistle smiled and stroked the bird’s soft neck feathers. “Why don’t you have a name?” she whispered.

The bird cocked her head and chirruped something about not needing a name.

True conversation didn’t work with birds. They’d earned the insult “birdbrained.” This one understood Thistle well enough and made her needs known. Other than that, they exchanged meaningless coos and shifts of body to indicate wants and approvals.

Thistle continued stroking the bird as she whispered her plan.

The bird trilled her agreement.

Thistle smiled and flitted off to find her tribe. A wisp of white tipped with gold wandering between the Patriarch Oak and the mist above the waterfall showed her precisely where the sort-of-queen of the tribe spent her morning. Only an idiot bathed in the frigid air when she should be looking to add more clothing to keep her warm and dry.

Milkweed shook herself dry and looked around. Morning sunlight slanting through the trees turned the mist into arcing rainbows. The delicate prisms caught in a perfectly symmetrical spiderweb strung between two slender alder trees. A big, spotted brown garden spider crouched in the middle, waiting to pounce on the first bug—or Pixie—to fall within the trap of the web.

Milkweed dove head first toward the web, wings tucked back, billowing white hair streaking behind her. Nothing but the best silk for that queen, Thistle mused.

She back-winged and watched the spider scuttle up the support strand as the Pixie stole her home out from under her.

Milkweed laughed as she draped the strands over her shoulders, and around her wing base. The individual threads twined together, looping and sticking in all the right places to form an elegant gown that trailed behind her.

It reminded Thistle of the beautiful wedding gown in the store window that Dusty so admired.

Thistle shook off the reminder. She didn’t want Milkweed
appearing the least bit bridal. She wanted her gone. For the health of the tribe, Milkweed had to go.

A bit of breeze pushed spray from the waterfall over Milkweed. Water droplets caught on the gossamer gown. A stray shaft of sunlight made them sparkle like the diamonds in Thistle’s ring. She stared at the gems a moment in wonder. Why hadn’t she lost it when she shrank to Pixie size? It should have stayed big and fallen off her finger. It should have abandoned her.

Instead, it reminded her quite painfully that a piece of her heart remained in the human world, a bit of her humanity glared at her.

She tugged at the gold band. It stuck on her slender finger, bonding with her skin, refusing to even turn.

“Oh, Dick, I will never be free of you and my love for you.” The import of Dick coming to look for her hit her. The ring carried Dick’s promise to love her forever. She’d accepted that promise along with the ring. Even if she remained a Pixie, Dick would still love her. Above all others.

He’d sought her out, not gone running to the mother of his child.

A flutter of movement brought her attention back to Milkweed. Thistle shook her head to clear her mind of bright images and memories of Dick holding her hand, kissing her, making her feel complete, cherished, no longer lonely. Her gaze fixed upon Alder hovering in front of his queen.

“Fly with me, Milky,” he whispered, reaching his arms around her in a tight embrace.

Milkweed laughed, high and shrill. “Thistle came back. You’ll be flying with her half a day after I flatten my wings for you. Think again.”

Before Thistle could shout a protest, the sunlight caught Alder’s aura. Bright red-and-orange flames spiked through his life energy.

“Fire!” Thistle gasped. “He’s not fully a Pixie. Fire repulses us. That is a Faery element. We are the stuff of Earth and Water.”

That explained a lot. But it also raised more questions.

D
USTY HUMMED CONTENTEDLY as she counted out the cash in the register drawer. The number of bills and coins matched the list perfectly. In the locked cubbyhole beneath the counter she found the bank deposit from yesterday’s receipts properly itemized and ready to go. She sighed and smiled inwardly. Meggie and M’Velle had done their jobs well.

Everything was right with the day. Chase was back at his desk diligently writing the lengthy report explaining why and how he’d fired his weapon. Her mother had cast an accusatory glance at her when she went home to shower and change early this morning, but miracle of miracles, she’d said nothing about being out all night.

Pixies scattered about the kitchen probably helped. And so did having a new obsession: Hope.

Thistle was still missing, and Dick hadn’t made an appearance yet. Dusty was almost glad she didn’t have to confront her brother and Hope together about the Missing Child poster Chase had shown her. That was something they needed to work out on their own.

Dusty wasn’t going to let any of that bother her today. She and Chase loved each other. Truly and completely. That was all that was important.

In the back of her mind she made a list of essentials she could leave at Chase’s apartment tonight…

The bells above the front door of the little house that acted as a gift shop and ticket sales, as well as an interesting part of the county history, jingled sweetly. She looked up to
find M’Velle yawning in the doorway. She wore a professional looking wool plaid skirt, blouse, and boat neck sweater.

“You’re here early,” Dusty said.

“Parent-teacher conferences. No school. I figured you’d need some help with the decorations and stuff for the flashlight tours this weekend.” She yawned again, shaking her head as if to clear it of morning cobwebs. The beads in her tightly braided black hair clanked together, adding a new layer of life music to the little door bells.

“Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate you and Meggie, and how well you do your jobs?” Dusty came around the counter and hugged the taller girl.

“Sometimes. And I really appreciate the glowing recommendation you gave me for my college app.” M’Velle hugged her back.

“And you do know that if you ever have a problem, get into trouble, or fight with your folks that you can come talk to me. You don’t have to run away.” A niggle of uncertainty crept into Dusty’s voice.

“Of course. We’re friends.” M’Velle frowned. “Though there was a time in middle school when I was almost ready to hit the road and seek my fortune away from this town and the bullies that hung around the convenience store across from the school.”

“I’m surprised Mr. Tyler didn’t run them off.”