Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles

by Irene Radford

“I think turning the prom into a community celebration of the reopening of the high school front wing is a marvelous idea,” Dusty said. “It will be something for this town to look forward to since we lost big chunks of the All Hallows Festival.”

  “But not the most important part of it. The maze,” Chase reminded her. He wore his pioneer sheriff’s costume. The big silver star on his chest and the modern gun on his hip served as reminders to one and all that he was back on duty. He’d accept some pranks; it was Halloween after all, but nothing outrageously stupid or dangerous.

  “Aunt Dusty!” Hope whined. “You really need to tour the maze. Now. While you can still see… things.”

  “Oh, all right.” She stepped onto the gravel path lighted by a string of white LED bulbs.

  “Can I come, too, or is this a girl thing?” Chase asked, capturing her hand.

  “You are always welcome.” Dusty reached for his hand.

  “I understand there are a lot of private little nooks and dead ends where couples can step aside,” Dick said, looking longingly into Thistle’s eyes.

  “Go find a tree,” Chase muttered.

  “Maybe we should, too,” Dusty giggled.

  “Later,” Chase said, raising his eyebrows in speculation.

  “This way. Come quickly,” Hope beckoned them from the first shadows of the tree canopy. She stayed a few yards ahead of them as she wound through the trees along the barely lighted path.

  “Hey, Dick!” Judge John called from his station behind a replica gallows. His ghost makeup made his eyes seem to burn in the fading light. He represented the first judge in town who was well known for convicting men and women to hang on the barest of evidence.

  “What’s up?” Dick replied.

  The entire group paused, even the anxious Hope.

  “I got your paperwork late last night. Looks like the Bureau of Vital Statistics has approved Thistle’s petition. You’ll be getting a birth certificate in the mail within the week.”

  “That is wonderful. We won’t have to wait much longer to get married.” Dick shook the judge’s hand.

  Thistle snuggled close to Dick and nibbled on his ear. “But we’re already married,” she said softly.

  At least that’s what Dusty thought she said. A clamor of voices at the beginning of the path distorted the words.

  “Are you coming or not?” Hope called at the next bend in the path. “We’re running out of time.”

  “What is so important… Oh.” Dusty paused, hand to her heart. A long white blob drifted from a hanger within a huge cedar tree. In the ghostly light it looked like the headless spirit of a long lost bride.

  But it wasn’t.

  “My wedding dress!” she gasped, realizing that the gown she had longed for, the bias-cut silk that draped and swirled so beautifully on the store mannequin now drifted within the haunted maze, taunting her with its unobtainable beauty.

  “Look, there’s a note,” Hope chortled, holding up a slip of paper hanging from the folds of heavy white silk.

  “To Desdemona, from your mother.”

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to all those who believe in magic;

  whether in the miracle of a baby’s smile or modern

  medicine that saves lives every day. May you

  find Pixies in the park or in your attic

  or in the eyes of the ones you love.