Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles

by Irene Radford

  No, they wouldn’t be right. Not for her or for the tribe.

  Deep inside herself, she found a bit of human resolve to push away his manipulation.

  “Milkweed has left The Ten Acre Wood. She has broken the marriage treaty,” he announced. “We must no longer have any dealings with her tribe in the valley. Her name will never again be mentioned by any of us.”

  “About time,” Thistle muttered.

  Obviously, the tribe agreed with her. They went back to storing their treasures inside a hollow tree north of the clearing.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Alder called, not at all pleased with the easy dismissal of his tribe.

  “I heard you,” Thistle said. Deliberately, she reclined against the rough bark of the oak.

  “But you already knew.”

  “So what do you want from them? Adoration?”

  “Acknowledgment that something has changed within the tribe.”

  “But nothing has changed. Milkweed was never their queen. She rejected you within hours of arriving. What did she do here besides take baths, steal webs from spiders, and look pretty?”

  Alder frowned, his brow creased in thought. Difficult thought from the depth of those furrows, deep enough to plant some mint in them if they filled with dirt.

  “Time to face reality, Alder.” Thistle heaved herself away from the comfort of the tree. “No one listens to you because you’ve made a lot of bad decisions. Milkweed was just one of them. Why listen to you, or obey you, when that only makes for more trouble? Pixies may not think ahead, or examine consequences, but they do learn if you hit them on the head often enough.”

  “But I have the magic to enthrall them. They have to obey me. I am their king.”

  “Are you? You aren’t fit to be king if you have to use magic to lead them.” She flew over to his rock and stood in front of him, mimicking his arrogant pose.

  “Who will lead this tribe if I do not? They haven’t had a true king the entire time the Old Faery presided in the Patriarch Oak. None of them know how to lead. I’ve been feeding them Faery mushrooms to make sure of it.”

  “That’s why your magic is so weak! It’s false magic, an illusion created by forbidden mushrooms. We all know that fungus is forbidden for a reason.”

  “But… but…”

  “Don’t worry, Alder. Someone will step into the vacancy once they’ve shit out the mushrooms. That’s the way of Pixies. Most of us flit from day-to-day without much thought. But when we have to do something for the tribe, someone always rises to the top.”

  “Like I did.”

  “No. The Old Faery, your grandsire, thrust you up there because of your blood, regardless of your ability or intelligence.”

  “My blood. Exactly. I was bred to lead.”

  “You were bred to repeat everything the old one said. He never taught you to think.”

  “Pixies don’t think. They don’t need to.”

  “And Faeries do? No, they run away. They’d rather hide in their hill and feel superior. Then, when their hill is threatened, they don’t know how to do anything but steal someone else’s home. Was that your next decision? To invite the Faeries to come live here?”

  “No.”

  Thistle glared at him, daring him to continue the lie. True Pixies couldn’t lie. That’s what Faeries did. And humans.

  She had lied when she wrote out the story of why she didn’t have a birth certificate. If she’d been a true Pixie, she wouldn’t have been able to sign her name to the document, even if she had only copied Dick’s words.

  Oh, Dick! What have I done? Her tummy ached so bad she needed to bend over and wail like a lost infant.

  Something kept her upright, despite her grief. Something like a human need to set wrong things right again.

  “Tell me the truth, Alder. When are the Faeries arriving?”

  He bit the insides of his cheeks to keep his words, and his lies inside.

  “I’m guessing All Hallows Eve, the turning of the year. The tribe huddles in the bower that day and night so the hundreds of people having fun in the haunted maze won’t disturb them, or step on them, or kill them. Then, in the morning, most Pixies consider winter has come and they hibernate. They won’t become aware of the outside world until spring. Plenty of time for the Faeries to come in and build a new hill for themselves, leaving no room for Pixies in the wood.”

  Alder’s eyes opened wide in wonder. “How did you know?”

  “Because I think!” Anger rose up in her, making her feel bigger, stronger, righteous. She grabbed Alder’s arm at the elbow and began to spin. Once around, he kept pace with her. She sped up. Twice around he stumbled. More speed. His feet left the ground, but his wings couldn’t keep up.

  And still she spun him until he lay flat in the air.

  With a deep breath and picture in her mind she let go at the precise moment so he flew off, directly into the spray of the waterfall. Water that would destroy him if he got drenched.

  “Go back to the Faeries in their hill. Where you belong.”

  The sound of slow, sarcastic clapping brought her to a full halt. She turned cautiously to face the Patriarch Oak.

  Haywood Wheatland, now Snapdragon, stood on a middle level branch, his deformed wings and purplish red splotches weeping bloody pus clearly visible.

  “Very good, my dear. You’ve accomplished in one day what I’ve been trying to do for weeks. I now have no impediments to taking over and clearing The Ten Acre Wood of every last Pixie. Including you. Soldiers, attack!” He pulled a hawthorn spike from behind him. More of the poisonous bloody pus dripped from the wickedly sharp tip.

  Thirty-four

  CHICORY TWEAKED DICK’S NAPE where it peeked out beneath the pillow.

  Dick slapped at the annoyance.

  Chicory lifted the hem of his T-shirt and brushed past the back of Dick’s waist.

  “Go away!” Dick stuffed his head deeper beneath the pillow and reached to pull the sheet higher across his back.

  “My job is to wake you up,” Chicory whispered.

  “I’m awake.”

  “But you aren’t up. And you aren’t presentable, and you aren’t downstairs bonding with your daughter.” This time Chicory pulled hard on Dick’s hair.

  “Ow!”

  “You gonna get up?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because there are things to do and people to see and decisions to be made.”

  “Give me some privacy, will ya? I liked this house better when humans were the only ones living here.”

  “Was that before or after Thistle joined the household?”

  Dead silence.

  “Thistle. She’s your problem.”

  “Yeah, well, she ran away. I’m not sure why.”

  “I think you do know. She has a job to do that she can only do in Pixie. Hope just made it easier for her to go do it.”

  “Whatever. Go away and let me sulk in peace.”

  “You’ve sulked all day. I’d say you are sliding into depression.”

  “You aren’t my doctor. Besides, I’m entitled.”

  “No, you aren’t. You’ve had your sulk. Now it’s time to do something.”

  “Like what? Thistle is gone and she won’t ever come back. I don’t know if she can come back.” Dick rolled over and planted the pillow on his chest, hugging it tight as if it might replace his lost love.

  “She can come back if she wants to.” Chicory took a perch on the top of the lampshade on the nightstand.

  “She doesn’t want to.”

  “How do you know? Have you talked to her?”

  “Yes. She wouldn’t listen. She’s gone back to Pixie, where she belongs. I knew that would happen eventually. I just didn’t expect it so soon. I thought we had enough love between us to keep her here a bit longer.”

  Chicory’s thoughts flew to Daisy, his own love. Did they have true, lasting love? Pixie love? Or was it just convenience that had thrown them together? He hoped it was love. R
eally and truly hoped that he’d found his destined life-mate.

  “If she truly loved me, you’d think she’d listen to me.” Dick sat up, still hugging his pillow.

  “There is a way…” Chicory nearly choked on his audacity. He started shaking in fear. Did he have the right? Did he have the strength?

  He heard Daisy’s trilling laughter in the corridor beyond.

  “I’m king of my tribe, I have resources I didn’t have before,” he said, as much to reassure himself as well as Dick. He rubbed one petal of his gold-trimmed cap, the one Juliet had made especially for him. The love and care she put into each stitch gave him a tiny bit more magic.

  “Resources? Like what? I thought all you did was spread gossip and report rumors.”

  “We are the stuff of magic,” Chicory whispered.

  Dick didn’t look interested.

  “I can make you a Pixie for the span of one day, from sunrise to sunset.” Gulp. He hoped he could.

  Dick stilled. Chicory could almost see his ears twitch to hear more.

  “You could go to Thistle, explain to her, not let her run away from you because you could follow her.” All the way to the top of the Patriarch Oak if necessary.

  “You could do that?” Dick swallowed. His throat apple bobbed as if his fears were an obstruction. He could get around them, but only with difficulty.

  “It will be dangerous.”

  “I’d walk through hell to get Thistle back.”

  “Okay. I need some time to prepare.” And master his own fears of wielding that much magic in one shot. It might deplete his powers all the way down to the source.

  “I’ll wait. A little while anyway.” Dick flopped back onto the bed.

  “All magic costs. I can only do this in return for a favor.” Chicory thought furiously, making it up as he went along.

  “How much? I’ve got money in the bank…”

  “Pixies don’t need money. We need friendship. Right now, Hope is my friend, and she needs her father.”

  Dick turned over, hiding under the pillow again.

  “I can only make you into a Pixie if you do this for me. And for Hope. Get yourself cleaned up and dressed and go spend the evening with your daughter.”

  “How long?”

  “When you wake up in the morning, all will be different.” Chicory hoped so anyway.

  Thistle glanced at the angle of the afternoon sun without taking her eyes off of Snapdragon. His eyes had taken on the same bloody purple hue as the pustules on his wings.

  At least two hours until sunset, when all Pixies, including the ugly mutant possessing the Patriarch Oak must sleep. How had the day gotten so late? She’d lost hours between eating that salal berry in the early morning, catching her first glimpse of Alder’s fiery aura, sending Milkweed home, and finally banishing Alder. And now this endless staring match with Snapdragon.

  What to do? What to do?

  “What would Dick do?” she whispered to herself.

  “Hide!” she screamed to her tribe. “Divert them, lead them astray. Don’t let them catch you.”

  “You’d have us desert our territory?” Foxglove, a younger version of the old Pixie who brewed concoctions and mothered the entire tribe, looked up from where she blended into the seed pods of her namesake plant.

  “Just for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll think of something else. Now lead the intruders astray and hide.” She suited her orders by whisking off the flat rock across the swollen pond, right under Snapdragon’s perch. He dove after her, hawthorn spike extended.

  She managed to stay ahead of him just barely, the poisoned thorn brushing her heels.

  Where to go?

  The waterfall had worked with banishing Alder. She aimed straight for the thundering water and the drifting spray. In and out. The cool water refreshed and chilled her at the same time.

  “You forget, Thistle Down, I am half Faery. I command all four elements!” Snapdragon sneered at her.

  Faery snot!

  Half Faery. Hmmmmm…

  Faeries lied all the time. Worse than humans. Pixies couldn’t lie.

  Thistle took a chance and dove into the tiny pool of still water behind a rock that sat in midstream. The currents tugged at her, right and left, trying to go around the obstacle. But she and this rock were old friends; she’d basked in a ray of sunlight on many an autumn day when the dark granite absorbed heat that couldn’t remain in the air. She knew every crevice and ledge on this rock. Snapdragon did not.

  Thistle crawled into a deep crack feet first. The tip of her nose stuck out, nothing more.

  “You can’t stay hidden forever, Thistle Down,” Snapdragon called from somewhere above her and toward the far bank.

  She risked a peek. Her enemy flew from grass to fern, to carriage barn, to sleepy knot garden, peering deep into every shadow. His discordant music ding dang chug shplach made her ears ring.

  “Gotta find fire. Need fire. Must burn,” he sort of sang, his words slurred as if he’d drunk a whole thimbleful of honey. He flew a wavering, incoherent path. His words were meaningless. He’d be lucky to stay awake long enough to find a sheltered bed before sunset.

  A giggle threatened to erupt. She was well and truly hidden. But she was also wet and cold.

  The amethyst-and-diamond ring weighed heavily on her hand. She clenched her fist to keep it from falling off.

  Was the ring trying to call her back to humanity and Dick? She hoped so. But she couldn’t go back yet. Not yet. She had to deal with Snapdragon once and for all. Then she’d find a way to be with Dick forever.

  Thirty-five

  “WHY’D YOU LET HIM COME WITH YOU?” Mabel asked. Her face flushed with temper. The monitor beside her hospital bed beeped faster.

  “I brought your nephew because he is your only family and he deserves to know that you are healing,” Dusty said matter-of-factly. Gently, she smoothed the sheet, and refolded the top over the light blanket that covered Mabel to the waist. Then she hit the bed control to raise the head.

  “Put that back down. I’m not comfortable sitting up yet,” Mabel insisted, more angry than ill. Her face remained flushed. But her gaze strayed to Ian, drinking in the sight of him. “Has your mother bankrupted you yet?” she finally asked.

  “Not quite,” Ian chuckled and pulled up a straight chair to sit beside his aunt.

  “What about the drugs? I caught you with kids that were headed down the wrong path and a known drug dealer.”

  “I learned my lesson. Haven’t seen Bryon and Luis since I was eleven. Now I don’t even take an aspirin unless the doctor holds me down and forces it down my throat.”

  “You can’t have my house. I’ve got it protected as an historic building that has to be preserved.” She crossed her arms and humphed. “Dusty, have you and Chase moved in yet?”

  “After the wedding, if you are still unable to care for yourself. The house is still yours until you decide it’s time you need assistance and move to something easier to care for.” Dusty reassured the old woman.

  Old. When had Mabel become so old? And irascible? So weak and vulnerable?

  “I don’t want your house, Aunt Mabel,” Ian said softly. “I bought the Goddard House across the street from the Carricks and I’m intending to fix it up, maybe add on to the back or open the attic, if I ever need more room.”

  “You want my land…”

  “That is my mother’s idea, not mine. She thinks it’s valuable. It’s not.”

  “What do you mean it’s not valuable?” Mabel speared him with the glare that had subdued noisy drunks, irate thieves, and frustrated police officers for decades.

  Ian, bless him, did not back down. “I mean that there is no access to the long strip behind your house unless you bulldoze one of the houses.”

  “The old Corbett place next door is up for sale. It’s such a mess it will have to be bulldozed.”

  “I think the Corbett House—your house used to be the gatekeepers’ cottage and carriage house for it�
��is also on the historic registry,” Dusty mused, thankful that she’d done her homework when she first read Mabel’s will and trust documents. “Whoever buys it will have to restore it. It’s a bank-owned rental at the moment and has been for sale for nearly four years. I’ve read three petitions from the bank to remove the historic designation so they can pull down the structure and try to develop the strip—if they could buy it from you.”

  “That strip running between the backyards on your block would make an excellent pocket park or community garden,” Ian said. “If we move your side fence in about three feet, and borrow another three from the Corbett land, we’d have enough for a public path. If we go with the community garden route, we could even put in a locked gate. Only those with rented plots would have access,” Ian continued.

  “Lots of new condos and apartments are springing up as the town grows and we attract commuters. Wouldn’t surprise me if the residents jumped at the chance to have a bit of garden for vegetables, and roses and such,” Dusty added.

  Mabel’s expression softened a bit. Then her eyes narrowed in speculation. “Dusty, would you and Chase agree to making the back lot a community garden? I know you won’t live there long, once you start a family, but your interests are primary.”

  “Mabel, Chase and I…” Dusty gulped and swallowed a few tears. “Since the chemo, I can’t have children. Chase and I have discussed adoption, but it’s so expensive, we’ll have to wait several years.” She turned her head away at the one great sadness in her relationship with Chase.

  “You and I, and Chase too, will have a long discussion about that very shortly. In the meantime, living in my house without paying rent or a mortgage should help.”

  “We appreciate that. Thank you for entrusting your home to us.”

  “More than the house.” Mabel fixed Dusty with that glare of hers until Dusty had to look up. An instant of understanding passed between them. “I expect you to tend my roses as well.”

  “Of course. Rosie… your roses are in good hands. Now about the adoption business…”

  “Later. Now, Ian, tell me about your plans for the Goddard House, and how did you save enough for a down payment with my no-good sister spending every dime she can get her hands on?”