Dragonfly Maid

by D D Croix

  She tilted her head. “We all have family. That’s a simple fact of life.” Then she turned and continued down the path.

  “I don’t remember them, so it hardly matters,” I called after her.

  “Wrong again,” she called back. “Tell me what you do remember.”

  I didn’t have to tell her anything. I could turn the other direction, toward the village, as I’d planned.

  So why was a voice inside telling me to follow her? Telling me she might have answers to questions I’d stopped asking long ago but had never forgotten? The farther she walked, the stronger that feeling tugged.

  Follow her.

  I looked to the east, toward the village.

  Follow her.

  I looked at Mrs. Crossey, making steady progress. The distance between us widened.

  Follow her.

  Hiking my bag up to my shoulder, I hurried down the slope.

  “Tell me the first thing you remember.” She didn’t look at me when I fell in step beside her or act the least bit surprised that I’d joined her, as if there had never been any question I would.

  “The day I arrived at Chadwick Hollow, I suppose.”

  Yes, I’d given in, but she hadn’t won. I was only playing along. I had my bag, and once I discovered what she knew—if anything—I’d still head for the village. She hadn’t changed my mind. Only delayed me a little.

  “It was my ninth birthday.” May tenth, 1850.

  I had replayed those hours in my mind so many times over the years, searching for clues to my past. I was sitting in Headmistress Trindle’s office, staring at her desk. She was speaking, but I was more interested in two boxes in front of me. One, polished mahogany with shiny brass fittings, and another, a dull wooden cube with the faded image of a girl lacquered to its lid.

  When the headmistress noticed my distraction, she told me the boxes were tea caddies. She’d received the newer one as a gift from grateful parents who’d just adopted one of my classmates. The other would be given to the charitable society, where all old but still useful things went.

  The memory then jumps to that night as I crawled into my cot and the headmistress caught me stuffing that old caddy into a crevice between my mattress and the wall. When she asked why I had it, I confessed I’d taken it from her desk and hidden it under my coat.

  “You can’t send the little girl away,” I’d said. “She’ll be all alone in the world. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  The headmistress mulled that for a moment then said, “No one is ever really alone in the world. And it seems you’re in luck. Since today is your birthday, you may keep it. Consider it a gift. But don’t let me catch you taking things that don’t belong to you again. Do you promise?”

  I’d nodded, and I kept that promise. I never stopped taking trinkets that caught my fancy, but she never caught me again.

  “Nine years old, and nine years ago,” Mrs. Crossey muttered to herself. She nibbled the tip of her thumb and counted to herself, “Forty-one? No, it couldn’t. Maybe?”

  “Why is it important?” It certainly wasn’t to me.

  She stopped and stared at me. “It’s important because your mother must have been a Fayte Guardian.”

  “A what?”

  “A member of the Order of the Fayte. Like me. Like many of us in the castle.”

  Was that a joke? A test? “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. We’re very careful about that.” She sniffed with pride. “The Fayte Guardians are servants in the truest sense of the word and have been for nearly two thousand years. We’re protectors, you see. Present yet unnoticed and always prepared to act.” She frowned. “At least we were. Before this blasted efficiency campaign.”

  Alarm bells clamored inside me like the bells of St. George’s Chapel on Sunday morning, and in my distraction, I stepped on a pebble, its sharp edge stabbing through the thin sole of my boots. I winced and limped and made more of the pain than was necessary because I didn’t know what to say to her madness.

  “You are a Guardian, too,” she said, watching my theatrics. “Just like your mother.”

  I stopped. There was that word again. Mother. “Do you know something about her?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Only that a gift such as yours passes from mother to daughter,” she said. “So, it stands to reason that your mother possessed it, which would make her one of us.”

  “A Guardian?”

  “A Fayte Guardian. Yes.” She straightened and looked pleased with herself, probably thinking I believed her.

  I let it pass and instead stared at the misty hills and darkening clouds. I didn’t want to argue, not if she held some clue to my past.

  “Tell me,” she said, “do you remember anything about her? Your mother, I mean. Anything at all?”

  How many times had I tried to conjure something from my past? A face, a touch, a voice. I’d tried everything and failed. “Nothing.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Ida mentioned it. No matter. There are other ways.”

  “Other ways of what?”

  “Tracing the bloodline. The Fayte track such things. Births, unions, the emergence of gifts. There are records that could be consulted, should you wish it. Once this matter with the Queen is resolved.”

  It had been so long since I’d indulged the desire to know my parents. But here was a chance.

  I was tempted, to be sure. But only for a moment.

  The woman was clearly playing me for a fool. There were no Fayte Guardians or records. These were fantasies she’d probably invented to trick me. I didn’t know why she would concoct such insanity, but it hardly mattered. I couldn’t stay, and it should have been as clear to her as it was to me. I’d slammed the door on that possibility when I fled the House Steward’s office.

  Besides, it didn’t matter what she knew or didn’t about my family, did it? I was doing fine on my own. I shook my head. “That won’t be necessary. The past means nothing to me.”

  A question formed on her face, then faded. “Of course. This isn’t the time to drudge up the past. Not when you have your future to consider.”

  “My future?”

  “I can see you’re in a hurry. You must have something waiting for you. Or someone? A suitor, perhaps?”

  Was she mocking me now? She knew I had no money or status to recommend me, and I certainly wasn’t a beauty in any sense of the word. Not fat or thin, or tall or short. Plain brown hair and plain blue eyes. Simply average in all respects and altogether bland. I snorted. “I don’t need a suitor. I intend to make my own way, thank you.”

  “I see. Then you must have a destination in mind.”

  If finding a decent inn in the village constituted a destination, then yes, I had one. But I wasn’t about to share that plan with her.

  Instead, I watched the sky continue to darken as we neared the grove. The treetops and dense fog seemed to be swallowing what was left of the pale sunlight. I pulled my coat more tightly around myself and tried to fend off the chill as mist clung to my cheeks and dampened the hem of my skirt as it swished through the tall grasses. If I wasn’t mistaken, rain would be upon us soon.

  I hurried closer to the trees for protection. They were sturdy old oaks already thick with springtime leaves. I spied one just inside the thicket. A taller, wider, and lusher specimen that would surely keep us dry. But as I turned to tell Mrs. Crossey, something rustled beneath the underbrush of dead leaves and fallen twigs.

  A squirrel? A mouse?

  The hidden creature crept closer. I kicked the leaves in front of me to shoo it away. Then I saw it wasn’t an animal at all. It was a tree root thicker than my arm snaking toward me. It stopped not more than a foot from my boots and shot up to entwine itself around my right wrist. Once, twice, three times around.

  I tugged and pulled, but nothing helped.

  “Stop!” I cried, but to no avail.

  A black, burning fear speared through me.
My chest heaved, and I gulped the cold wet air as I fought to free myself.

  Still that serpent root held tight. Then a murky crimson mist rose from it and separated into tendrils that encircled my limb.

  Heart racing, I yanked harder again and again.

  The root’s grip only tightened, and when the misty shadows closed around me, they merged into inky, solid darkness.

  Somewhere in the distance, I heard someone scream.

  Or was it me? I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t know anything.

  Then, in an instant, my panic dissolved. Fear, pain, panic. Everything I saw, everything I felt, it all slipped into crimson light before vanishing altogether.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Someone slapped my cheek.

  I wanted to complain, but I couldn’t move.

  Another slap. Harder this time.

  My eyelids fluttered. My lips twitched.

  Where was I?

  “Jane! Wake up!”

  I recognized Mrs. Crossey’s voice, but she was so far away. And frightened.

  “Wake up, girl. Don’t slip away.”

  I opened my eyes. Gray forms emerged from the blackness, only shadows then dim, hazy colors.

  “There you are. Oh, thank goodness.”

  The woman wrapped her fleshy arms around my shoulders and rocked me. I sank into the cushion of her lap.

  “What happened?” My words stuck like dry biscuit crumbs to my tongue.

  “Don’t worry about that now. You’re here. You’re well.”

  I let her words soak in. I was here. I was well.

  But where had I been? What had happened?

  The questions melted against her soft ministrations.

  I closed my eyes.

  “No, no, no. Don’t drift off. Tell me what happened.”

  I shook my head, or tried to. Images seeped back. “The tree.” My stomach clenched at the memory. “It grabbed me.” Even as I said the words, I didn’t believe them. It wasn’t possible.

  “What did you see?” she insisted. “Do you remember?”

  “A root. Wrapping…”

  Other memories returned. Streaks of red light tangled around my arm. And eyes. Fiery red eyes with thin, black pupils. Unnatural. Terrifying. I remembered falling, plunging into nothing, an endless descent.

  I cringed. I didn’t want to remember. I wanted the emptiness again. The nothing.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Crossey shook me gently.

  “I’m tired.”

  She shook me again until I opened my eyes. “We can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.”

  Where could I go? I couldn’t move.

  But Mrs. Crossey was already yanking me to my feet.

  Something glinted in her hand. Her magazine? No. It flashed gold with a glimmer of violet light before she shoved it and the cord on which it was attached back beneath her collar.

  “What was that?” I stared at her. An icy prickle skittered up my spine.

  “Nothing.” She brushed the dirt off her backside then brushed at my skirt, too. “Let’s get you back inside, shall we?”

  A new fear washed over me. “Where’s my bag?”

  “It’s here. Right here.”

  And so it was. Behind me, where I must have dropped it.

  But how could she act so calm? A tree root had attacked me. Attacked me. Wasn’t that cause for some alarm? Or had I imagined it? “Did you see it?” I asked.

  “See what, dear?”

  “The tree. The root.”

  I bent to grab my bag and nearly lost my balance.

  Mrs. Crossey threaded her arm around my waist. “There, there now.”

  When I was steady again, I shimmied out of her grasp. She had only touched my coat, but I had to be careful.

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling her arm back. Then she bent and picked up my bag with her other hand. “Let’s get you back to the castle now, shall we? Away from this…”

  Her voice trailed off, and I followed her gaze to the massive tree. Was it a shadow, or was its bark actually black?

  Maybe it was the fog or my raw nerves, but the ridges along its contours seemed to slip and slither, like pythons gliding over its surface. I closed my eyes but they were there again, those red, grimacing eyes and crimson tendrils like talons gripping my arm. My hands shot to my face. “I don’t want to go back.” I stumbled back and nearly fell.

  She caught me at the elbow. “I’m afraid that would be a mistake.”

  Her tone sent icicles through my veins.

  I stared at her. Directly into her eyes. “Why?”

  She didn’t want to answer. I could see that.

  “Then I’m leaving. Give me my bag.”

  “You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

  My legs were nearly steady. My mind clear. “I can manage.”

  “I’m sure you think you can, but there’s too much you don’t know. Not yet anyway.”

  Anger churned in my gut. “So tell me,” I said, and probably more harshly than I should, but I’d had my fill of her nonsense.

  “All right,” she relented. “I know you have questions, but I can’t answer them here. What I can say is I believe you’re in danger if you leave this castle. If you stay, I can protect you.”

  “From what?”

  She closed her eyes, but only for a moment. When she looked at me again, she was as somber as I had ever seen her.

  “I fear whatever attacked you will do so again. And that’s my fault. I should have prepared you. I’ve already wasted too much time.”

  “But how? I haven’t done anything.”

  Another crow screamed out across the Slopes, and then a dozen or more rose from the grove’s dense canopy. Mrs. Crossey watched them with obvious alarm. “We must go. You will be safer in the castle until we sort it out.”

  I held my ground. “But I can’t go back, even if I wanted to. Not after what happened. Mr. MacDougall must be furious. He won’t take me back.”

  She scoffed and shook her head. “Never mind about Mr. MacDougall. It’s not for him to decide.”

  ~ ~ ~

  At my bedroom door, I listened before turning the knob and gave thanks for the silence within. No voices, no footfalls, nothing to indicate Marlie lurked within.

  If she’d finished her errand, she was probably back in the kitchen, and for that I was relieved. Questions were the last thing I wanted to face just now. About Mr. MacDougall’s summons, about my absence from the kitchen, and certainly about the carpet bag on my arm that was holding every one of my few worldly possessions.

  I just wanted to be alone.

  After closing the door behind me, I hung my coat from a peg and dropped my bag into the wardrobe Marlie and I shared. I fell onto my bed in an exhausted and bewildered heap, still at a loss to explain what had happened beyond the castle wall.

  A fairy tale about secret protectors in the castle? Guardians disguised as servants? It was utter madness.

  Then to be attacked by a tree? I wouldn’t—couldn’t—have believed it if I hadn’t awakened from that swoon with dirty streaks along my skirt and the smudges along my sleeves and gloves where the root had coiled around me like a snake.

  I would have thought it a bad vision, but I’d never seen anything like those eyes in a vision before. Not a face, not a body—just piercing reptilian eyes that not only saw me but seemed to see all of me. My thoughts, my feelings, my fears. Everything.

  I know you.

  Had I imagined those words or had someone spoken them? I couldn’t remember.

  And what of Mrs. Crossey? Nearly as terrifying as those eyes was seeing genuine fear on her face. I might have suspected it was a ruse if I hadn’t known, even in all that confusion, that she had been the one to free me from whatever that was.

  What had she used? A golden charm? A talisman of some sort? My wits were so muddled it was impossible to know for sure.

  Maybe I didn’t know anything for sure.

  Yet here I was. Back in the castle. Bac
k in this stark, little room with two narrow beds, one plain wardrobe, and a slender window that looked out over the outside world. My safety had seemed to be Mrs. Crossey’s primary concern, but it couldn’t be her only one. She had intended to stop me from leaving and here I was.

  I punched my pillow and threw it against the wall. Perhaps it was a mistake to return. But even now, despite the doubts and regrets, a part of me believed her.

  She had said I would be protected within these walls. But from what?

  More images flooded back. Red tendrils twisting around my wrist, my elbow, my shoulder. My whole arm trapped by a powerful… not heat or cold, but both at once. A feeling like a thousand angry ants marching along my limb. I’d watched, frozen and afraid, as those smoky tendrils devoured my arm. Unable to move. Unable to do anything.

  Grabbing the pillow again, I pressed it to my face, closed my eyes, and screamed.

  I opened my eyes and the vision faded. But it returned the instant I closed them again. Feral, snakelike eyes closing in.

  My heart thundered in my chest.

  Mrs. Crossey had said I could lose control of my visions. Was this what she meant?

  I jumped from my bed and dashed to my carpet bag. I plunged my hand down between the folded frocks and petticoats until I felt it: my memory box.

  I dropped to the floor and balanced the old tea caddy on my lap. After tugging off one glove, I trailed my fingertips over the smooth edges, the faded image of the curly haired girl. Then I raised the hinged lid, revealing the treasures inside.

  Hard, determined footsteps rattled the corridor and stopped me. I shut the box and shoved it back into my bag before the room’s door flew open.

  “What happened? Are you leaving?”

  It was Marlie, breathless and confused as she stared at me, her eyes darting around the room for some evidence. Finding none, she pushed back a few blond strands that had come loose from her kitchen bonnet. Her flour-caked fingers left a powdery streak across her cheek.

  “Of course not. Why would you think so?” I shoved the bag into the wardrobe and closed the door. “Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”