by Bebe Balocca
“Well, Mr Prescott, you should know us, then.” Margie chortled. “We work for the Morgan Group. They hired us to do a geological survey of the woods before the purchase is finalised.”
“Ah,” Calvin said. “It was my understanding that the inspection process was complete. There was an inspection done last month, was there not?”
“Well, yes,” Margie agreed, “and that’s why we’re here. Turns out the inspection raised some red flags upon further, ah, inspection. The Morgan Group wanted us to dig a little deeper.”
Sprawled on the dry grass before them, David Donaldson groaned in pain. “My ankle…” he complained. David’s face was deeply lined and speckled with brown age-spots. He raised one sinewy hand to his sparse ash-grey hair.
“Poor David.” Margie shook her head. “We were checking out some of your sinkholes and his foot fell right through. I had a devil of a time pulling him free and out here to your lawn. It appears to be broken. Frankly, I’m astonished that you attempted to have this land developed, Mr Prescott, what with the sinkholes.”
“What?” Calvin sputtered.
“Don’t forget the grey bat,” David moaned.
“And the grey bat. It’s endangered, of course, and Prescott Woods is one of its few remaining habitats.
“Grey bat?” Calvin shot back. “How on earth am I supposed to know about the grey bat?”
The cat hissed at Calvin and began to groom its back with long licks.
Margie cleared her throat and withdrew a binder from her backpack. “I see here, Mr Prescott, that you vouched that you had no knowledge of any land malformations in your woods that would hinder development. You stated that you had perused the entirety of the woods during your teenage years and that it was stable and pristine. ‘Ideal for a housing development,’ you said here.” Margie thrust a paper at him and pointed to his signature. “Mr Prescott, the sinkholes in the woods are hundreds of years old. The land surface of the woods is a thin crust atop a network of limestone caves. Had you, in fact, perused these woods in their entirety, you would have learnt that fact rather quickly.”
“I have no recollection of signing that document,” Calvin argued, “and I’ve never seen or heard of any sinkholes. I’m going to call Marvin Morgan right now to get to the bottom of this. He should have let me know you were coming to inspect.” Calvin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What about the grey bat?” insisted David. “You can’t just wipe out the grey bat, Mr Prescott! It’s endangered!”
Calvin jabbed his finger alternately at David and Margie. “I don’t give two shits about the grey bat,” he fumed. “As far as I’m concerned, there could be unicorns and albino flying monkeys in those woods. I’m selling it and packing my bags. I’m tired of living in this rickety old place by myself, and I’m sick of seclusion for the sake of some old family custom. If you’re genuinely from the Morgan Group, then submit your findings. Otherwise, get off of my property before the cops arrive. Forget Marvin Morgan—I’m calling the police immediately.”
The cat paused its bathing with one hind foot in the air and yowled.
Calvin began to march back to Prescott Manor. “Mr Prescott, houses built in the woods will crumble and people will be hurt, and it’ll all come back to haunt you!” Margie shouted after him. “You’re going to regret this!”
Without turning, Calvin waved them away with one hand and kept walking. Margie’s and David’s visages were replaced by those of Carmen and Brock. “What the hell are we going to do?” Carmen whispered.
“Cal, baby, is that you?” a sweet female voice called.
Calvin turned on his heel at once and his jaw dropped when she saw Paloma emerge from the woods. Instead of her homespun linen dress, however, she wore a fringed avocado-green miniskirt and a long-sleeved pink blouse knotted over her navel. Paloma’s fiery red curls framed her delicate face in a wild halo.
Calvin paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Paloma? Can it be?” He took a step towards her. “It’s been, what, over thirty years! You haven’t changed a bit,” he marvelled. “How I’ve missed you, Paloma!”
“You sent me away, remember?” Paloma snapped. “After I told you I loved you, and you swore that you loved me, you told me to leave you alone. You said that your parents forbade you to see me anymore, and that they were sending you off to boarding school and then to college.”
“But I came back and searched for you!” Calvin replied. “They were so adamant that I stay away from the woods, and so I did while they were alive. My mother was so sick, you know. Mother said it would break her heart if I ever set foot in that terrible place, and that there were horrible creatures within. Father let her have her say, although he told me I must always protect Prescott Woods.”
“And a fine job you’ve done of that,” interjected Brock. “Since when is selling a place equal to protecting it?”
“I make my own choices.” Calvin jutted his jaw. “I refuse to be a prisoner in this decrepit house any longer. It’s not fair.” He scowled at Brock and Carmen. “Who are you people, anyway? What happened to the guy with the hurt ankle and the woman with the thick glasses?”
“Not fair?” a deep voice bellowed. Gavin strode from the woods and crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “Am I right in hearing you complain about the unfairness of this situation?” he thundered.
“Oh, shit, here we go,” Carmen fretted.
“I am Gavin Rossi and all you see is mine. Your great-great-great-grandfather, Mack Prescott, owned a two-bit inn in a squalid village named Charade,” Gavin growled. “I made a deal with him two hundred years ago. I would have this house”—he waved a meaty hand towards Prescott Manor—“built for him on the sole condition that he and his descendants would forever protect the adjoining woods and keep all intruders away.” Gavin took three menacing steps towards Calvin, who swallowed noisily. “Your family was gifted with the finest home any mortals own in five states on one simple condition,” he bellowed, “and you dare speak to me of unfair!”
Calvin raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, sir,” he said. “My father did tell me to protect the woods, but he didn’t tell me anything about an ancient family obligation to do so. And my mother,” he continued, “was afraid of the place. I think she’d have left given any opportunity, but she didn’t want to leave my father and me.” He turned to Paloma. “I searched for you after Mother died and Father was killed in the car accident,” he said. “I walked through the woods calling for you, but you never answered. Every time I entered, I barely escaped with my life. I was chased by a bear and hounded by a hawk. I even fell into a nest of rattlesnakes. Once a badger that must have been rabid ran after me.” He shuddered. “After weeks of near-death scrapes in the woods with no response from you, I gave up, Paloma. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to my parents when it came to the woods and to us. I should have trusted myself and trusted you.”
Gavin turned his massive head to Paloma. “And you have something to answer for as well, daughter,” he said in a quiet voice. “You pledged your love to a mortal? I have permitted casual dalliances for you children, but they are not to go beyond that, for your own safety.”
Paloma raised her chin. “I did, Father, it’s true,” she admitted. “But only that once. I learnt then that people outside our family cannot be believed.” She glared at Calvin.
The sounds of Korbin’s and Lowell’s footsteps preceded them as they joined the group.
Gavin raised one hand for silence. “Calvin Prescott, perhaps I can shed light on a few things. I’ve walked this earth for two centuries, but I confess that I am at times a foolish man. Your mother was a beautiful and sweet woman. When your father brought her to Prescott Manor, she was just nineteen years old. She would walk in the back garden and even explore the woods a bit. She was an avid birdwatcher”—he chuckled—“and so I would cast a glamour so as to appear to be a rare bird of some sort or other. I lured her into the woods just so I could be near her. She brought
me happiness I hadn’t felt since my own Maria left us.” His mouth was set in a grim line. “It was wrong of me, I see now, but I thought I could convince her to leave your father and come away with me into the woods. One day I showed my true form to her and revealed some of the magic of Prescott Woods to her. Far from being enchanted, she was terrified. She ran from me and never set foot on the back lawn again. In my humiliation, I forbid all magic folk to come near the manor.”
Calvin whistled. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“In the generations prior to your parents’,” Gavin mused, “there existed a certain symbiosis between Prescott Manor, Prescott Woods, Castle Speranza and the town of Charade. We of the woods knew the mortals of Prescott Manor, and we enlisted the aid of the magic folk in the manor’s upkeep. Prescott Manor was not locked and guarded. Only the woods were off-limits to mortals. Townsfolk came to festivals and banquets at the Manor. It was the social centre of Charade. We of the woods traded our own elf-wrought goods with your store-bought clothes and foods.”
“And chicken eggs,” Paloma added.
“It seems to me that there exists an advantage in cooperation between those who abide in Prescott Woods, Prescott Manor, Castle Speranza and Charade. Would you agree, Calvin Prescott?”
“I would welcome both cooperation and company, Gavin Rossi,” Calvin stated. “I will halt all plans to sell and develop Prescott Woods with the understanding that you and the folk of the woods will provide me with help in the manor’s upkeep.” He cast hopeful eyes on Paloma. “And I’ll hope for friendly company as well.” Paloma’s face registered no emotion as she silently looked away.
Chapter Thirteen
Six months later…
Dora placed a last long blossom of green Bells of Ireland in the enormous arrangement and stepped back to admire it. Rich plum chrysanthemums, lime-green spider mums, purple salvia and delicate sweet lavender filled the deep glass pot. Dora had used fresh green acorns to fill the bottom of the pot, and the vibrant colour contrast was stunning.
“It looks fabulous, Dora,” Carmen praised. “I knew you’d come up with something gorgeous for the first annual Prescott Fall Festival.”
“Thanks, Carmen.” Dora smiled. “I guess I’ve learnt a thing or two in fifteen years of running Bohemian Rhapsody. My B&B guests appreciate fresh flower arrangements, you know. And speaking of fabulous—damnation, girl! You look like you’re ten years younger! I mean, you’ve always been beautiful, but you look amazing since you’ve been spending so much time out here. There must be something in the water here at Prescott Manor, huh?”
“Uh, I guess so.” Carmen flushed and made a mental note to put an aging glamour on herself when out with mortal friends. It wouldn’t do if she remained at the height of her youth and beauty while everyone around her continued to age.
Dora crossed her arms over her silk kimono robe and deepened the crevice of her already-impressive cleavage. “Thank you so much for making all this happen, Carmen. You’re a miracle worker, girl! You talked Old Man Prescott out of selling the woods and you even got him to open up the manor to the town, like in the old days.” She swept an admiring gaze over the fabulous décor of the entry room. “I mean, look at this place! I expected it to be amazing, but this goes beyond my wildest dreams!”
“It is spectacular, isn’t it, Dora?” Carmen agreed. Of course, Dora knew nothing about the countless hours of elven labour that had been required to bring Prescott Manor back to its former glory. The Prescott Woods elves had repaired, reupholstered, painted, buffed and decorated like mad during the last months. Their tireless work had been a marvel to behold, Carmen thought, although it was just as impressive to see gruff, authoritarian Gavin bend to one knee to thank each and every elf for his or her hard work. In the back gardens, replanted by the gnomes, dragonflies, butterflies, hummingbirds and bluebirds swooped among the blooms while chipmunks and squirrels darted among the stone statuary. Carmen was pleased to see the real forms of the glamoured creatures in shadowy outlines. It was only fitting that the gnomes, tree spirits and elves were here to enjoy the party, too. Carmen even caught a whiff of trolls in the air and knew that the shy, lumbering creatures were hanging back unseen in the woods.
“The biggest miracle of all, though, is that you now live on Prescott property. You still haven’t explained how that came about, Carmen,” Dora scolded. At the far end of the lawn, Carmen’s new cottage stood. It straddled the edge of the woods and the plush lawn of Prescott Manor. Like the Manor and Castle Speranza, the cottage had been built with troll, gnome, and elven hands and looked as though it had been there forever.
“Well, there’s really nothing to tell,” Carmen replied. “Calvin was more than willing to have a tenant to help him with legal odds and ends, as well as with upkeep of the manor. I sold my house to help fund the building of this new one, and here we are.”
Dora shook her head in disbelief. “Yes, but how—”
“Ladies! It’s time!” Beth burst into the room in a swirl of fuchsia silk and a tinkle of beads. Her auburn bangs fell over the colour-coordinated headband across her forehead. At her heels was Monica, her daughter, similarly clad in a matching, beaded bra, belt, and skirt set. Monica, however, had chosen royal blue to accent her honey-blonde hair and blue eyes. Bernice and Deb entered from the glass French doors that led to the lawn. Grey-haired Bernice, the Charade librarian, sparkled in lavender, while carrot-top Deb showed off her slender curves in a forest-green ensemble.
“Wait for me!” Colby called out. Her sleek blonde hair blew back from her face as she raced to join the group. Colby had chosen a rich shade of rose for her belly-dancing costume. Black-haired Dora whipped off her kimono to reveal her wine-red outfit. It magnificently accented her lush breasts and nipped her waist and full hips. Carmen wore her birthday gift from half a year ago—the lovely bronze belly-dancing attire that her friends had given her. Carmen did a mental count of her dancing troupe—Beth, Monica, Bernice, Deb, Dora and Colby. “We’re missing one. Come on, slowpoke!” she directed to the shuffling footsteps in the hall.
Paloma, her wild flame-red hair billowing over her bare shoulders, ran in breathlessly with mint-green chiffon trailing behind her. “Sorry,” she explained, blushing. “I…got caught up in something.”
From upstairs, Carmen heard a distinct crash, followed by Calvin’s unmistakable cursing. She glared at Paloma. “Honestly, haven’t you tormented that poor man enough?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carmen,” Paloma snickered. “And besides, can I help it if he’s clumsy?”
Calvin thumped down the winding staircase and into the foyer. “Damnedest thing,” he grumbled. “I’d swear I had put that vase on the table where it belonged, but there it was, right in front of my door, just waiting to get smashed.” He gave Paloma a curious look, but she tossed her coppery curls and looked away. “Anyway, I don’t want to miss the show, Carmen, so I’ll deal with the broken vase later. Break a leg, ladies.” Calvin went outside to join the seated gathering of mortal Charade residents and the fluttering and scampering glamoured audience of Prescott Woods inhabitants.
The Masked Charaders, a live band that specialised in belly-dance music, was seated to one side of the performers’ wooden dance floor. The band, although somewhat hastily assembled, had proven to be a vast improvement over Carmen’s Middle Eastern CD collection. Korbin had been thrilled to learn about the music and culture of the Middle East. He’d spent countless hours at the Charade library with Bernice, poring over the history and significance of various instruments before choosing his favourite. He played the Dumbek, a goblet-shaped drum that provided the rhythm to the songs. Marcus, Deb’s husband and co-owner of Tie-Dyed and Gone to Heaven, had played clarinet in college, so it had been relatively easy for him to master the Zumara, a type of double clarinet. Paul Treble, one-time bagboy at Bushel and a Peck and current officer of the Charade Police Force, was the biggest surprise. Paul had taken to the Kanoun—a stringed instrument
with a sound similar to a harp’s—like a duck to water. Carmen suspected that his interest in producing belly-dancing music stemmed largely from a desire to get closer to Monica, Beth’s daughter. Though Monica was now a freshman at Eastern Kentucky University, Carmen had seen her strolling with the earnest police officer during weekend visits home.
Korbin, Marcus, and Paul picked up their instruments and the sensual sounds of Middle Eastern music floated over Prescott Manor. Carmen and the rest of her troupe slid their fingers through the loops on their Zills and slithered out of the French doors one by one. They clapped their golden finger cymbals and rolled their hips in perfect, provocative rhythm.
Carmen spied Brock in the front row sitting next to Gavin. Lowell had an aisle seat on the other side of his father. She was relieved to see the three men beside each other, their past conflicts apparently resolved. Lowell kept one calloused hand on Dax’s golden coat as he watched the show. Carmen felt a pang of jealousy, but she knew that Dax and Lowell made a great partnership. The sweet, loyal Lab had softened Lowell’s thorny disposition somewhat, and Carmen had witnessed first-hand how much Dax enjoyed exploring the woods with him. Carmen also couldn’t help but notice how Lowell appeared transfixed by Dora’s curvaceous figure. He leant forwards in his seat and licked his lips as he watched Dora’s plump, smooth thighs wiggle and sway.
Carmen moved through the practiced steps easily and stole a glance at Gavin, the stern patriarch of the clan. Like Lowell, he’d seemed to soften a bit, but he was much harder for her to read. He seemed uncertain at times about his changing place in the woods, although she knew he’d never give voice to any insecurities. With the new influences and new connections to the outside world, perhaps Gavin felt threatened, Carmen mused. She shimmied in a watercolour wash of bronze silk and arched into a deep backbend.
