* * *
The amazing man seemed to look right through the scrawny child in the tartan plaid skirt who stared at him—and then, silently as he had come, he folded into the scintillating fog from which he had emerged and was drawn back into the glowing bead. The light in the bead gleamed an instant longer, and then flickered and died.
"Gone," Amanda-Abbey said, wistfully. "I want him to come back." She thought. If I can figure out why he came here, maybe I can bring him back.
She inched over to where the bead hung. She blew on it once. Nothing happened. She walked around it, staring. It remained just a bead on a string. She pushed it once with a single index finger, and watched it swing in a few short arcs, then stop. Still, nothing happened. She closed her eyes and wished the magic back into the bead again, without luck. Tentatively, she reached out and broke off the fine strand of thread at the branch, then tied the makeshift bracelet around her wrist. Almost immediately, the single bead on its weathered thread sprang back into glowing life, and the mist spiraled forth once more.
The green-garbed man reappeared right in front of her and winked at her, then laughed soundlessly and hid behind the holly's trunk.
She walked around the tree, stooping under low branches and her dangling decorations. He was gone.
A flash of green light from behind her alerted her, and she turned to see him again, this time on the outside of her tree-fortress. He waved, and she waved back and watched him, but she did not follow him beyond the protective circle of the tree's branches.
Stranger's voice broke into her thoughts, making herself known. :Don't fear him, lass—'tis good luck to meet one of the Fey folk.:
:He isn't real, Stranger.:
There was gentle laughter in her head. :Of course not, child. 'Tis still good luck.:
Amanda-Abbey giggled at the apparent nonsense in that, and when the green-garbed elf vanished again, she rubbed the bead on her wrist, like a waif summoning a genie from a bottle.
The bead glowed again, and the elf reappeared in his gorgeous robes and glowing green cloud, but this time he settled cross-legged in front of the girl, floating an inch off the ground.
He smiled shyly.
Amanda-Abbey smiled back. "Can you talk?" she asked.
"Of course," he answered. "Can you?"
She giggled. "What a silly question. I just did."
"And so did I," he retorted, and winked.
"But you aren't real," she pointed out. "So I thought maybe you couldn't talk. Do you have a name?"
The elf pulled back his shoulders and in solemn tones, announced, "I am Prince Maclyn Arrydwyn, son of the fair Lady Dierdre Sherdeleth and of the Prince of Elfhame Outremer. I am rider of great metal steeds and horses of air and magic, guardian of the Twilight Lands, immortal walker among mortals." Maclyn bowed slightly from the waist. "And who are you?"
"Everyone calls me Amanda—but my name is really Abbey." Amanda-Abbey returned the bow gracefully.
The elf—Maclyn—nodded seriously. "I see. So then, shall I call you Amanda, as everyone else does, or shall I call you by your true name?"
The child grinned. "Call me by my true name. Nobody else but Stranger knows it."
"Very well." Once again he bowed, gracefully. "And who, by the way, is Stranger?"
Amanda-Abbey giggled. "If I knew that, she wouldn't be Stranger, now would she? Do you grant wishes, like in fairy tales?"
He considered her request. "Hmm. I do magic. Would that be good enough?"
"Magic isn't real," she insisted.
:Magic is wicked, wicked, wicked!: A voice screamed in Amanda-Abbey's head, but Amanda-Abbey refused to listen to it. Magic was just silliness and tricks with mirrors. Everyone knew that.
"Isn't it, now? Let me show you, and you be the judge." Maclyn touched the string that held the bead to Amanda's thin wrist, and it glowed softly. When he pulled his hand away, the bead was strung on a beautiful, intricate gold chain.
* * *
Yes-s-s! Amanda-Anne watched closely and whispered to herself. The elf pulled energy from somewhere, made it do things. I can . . . almost . . . see how—but . . . whe-e-e-re?
* * *
"Oh," Amanda-Abbey gasped. "How beautiful, and how wonderful. Do something else."
But Maclyn smiled and vanished.
"Wait!" Amanda-Abbey cried.
The elf reappeared in the woods a little way off. He beckoned, and the girl hurried out of her hiding place, heedless of the thorns and the briars. Her blouse snagged, and she got some pulls in her sweater, but the elf had vanished again and reappeared still farther off, and she couldn't take time to be worried about mere clothes.
She darted through the woods with the elf always appearing and disappearing in the dimming light just ahead of her. Suddenly Amanda-Abbey noticed that she was moving through fog that got thicker with every step she took, and that she didn't recognize anything about the part of the woods she was in. The trees were farther apart, and taller than any trees that she had ever seen, and incredibly beautiful. Leaves of silver and gold brushed against her and rang gently with every touch or puff of the faint breeze. Lights in soft greens and muted blues, gentle reds and bright yellows, flittered and danced through the branches high overhead, and the sound of a tiny waterfall somewhere nearby tinkled merrily in her ears. Voices whispered from above her, and at a distance, there were sounds of laughter, and dancing, and a jig played inhumanly fast by virtuoso performers.
:I know where this is,: Stranger told Amanda-Abbey with a satisfied voice.
Amanda-Abbey whispered, "Really? Where are we?" Suddenly she was no longer so certain that elves and magic were impossible. She was no longer certain of anything.
From right beside her, Maclyn said, "Welcome to Elfhame Outremer, Abbey. This is my home."
"It's beautiful," the child whispered, in a voice full of wonder.
* * *
Evil, evil, evil, thought Amanda-Alice. Only the devil does magic; that's what the Sunday-school teacher said. This green man is the devil, and this place must be hell. I'm telling Father about this. He will know how to punish the devil—I know he will.
* * *
Amanda-Abbey felt a vague sensation of disquiet. It seemed as if part of her mind wanted to rebel, to run away from the lovely haven in which she found herself.
"Yes, it is beautiful," Maclyn answered. "I thought a special girl like you would be able to appreciate such a magical place."
Amanda-Abbey raised her eyebrows. "Why me?"
He spread his hands wide. "Because of the magic you do," he said, and his words had a ring of sincerity about them.
She stared at him, puzzled. "I don't do magic. Magic isn't real."
He shook his head. "Wasn't it magic that kept the race car from hurting anyone at the track the other day? Wasn't it magic that sent all the erasers and papers in your classroom flying?"
Amanda-Abbey giggled; where had he gotten these stories? Race cars? Erasers? What was he talking about? She didn't remember anything like that. "I don't know what you mean."
* * *
Amanda-Anne, satisfied that she had figured out the elf's magic tricks, looked up and noticed the darkened, twilight sky. Fear gripped her. The Father would be furious—the Step-Mother would tell him that she was late. She shoved her way to the front, grabbed control of the body, and stood, rigid and trembling. Her eyes met those of the elf, and she shivered. "Home!" she wailed, suddenly terrified. Late! I'm . . . late! Home! She used the information she'd garnered from watching the elf to draw in the earth-energy that pulsed through Elfhame Outremer, and promptly removed herself to the safety of the holly tree hide-out.
* * *
Amanda-Abbey was back in control and back in familiar surroundings. She didn't even flinch. "Wow!" she whispered, crawling out of her nest in the muted sunlight of early afternoon, still impelled by a powerful urge to get home, "What a neat dream." She studiously avoided noticing the green bead on the gold filigreed chain that hugged her wrist,
or the dirt and snagged threads on her school clothes.
* * *
Amanda-Anne took over control as Amanda walked through the woods. She trotted home by a different route, alert for watchers of any kind.
* * *
Cethlenn had been aware of the elf's presence, but she had been unable to wrest control of the body away from the children long enough to beg for help. Now, hurrying back to the child's terrible home, she swore softly and wondered what she could do to save her child host.
* * *
Lianne drove up the long, winding lane past carefully tended fences and manicured pastures, well-maintained, picturesque old barns, and a riding ring set up for trail training, with jumps and bridges and barrels. Over to her right, a young man put one lean gray filly through her paces on a lunge line, while two hawk-faced men in tweed jackets and caps watched and commented.
She noted the exquisitely kept ornamental gardens, the flawless landscaping, the elegant half-timbered home that bespoke good breeding and old money—and she shook her head in bewilderment. This Eden was more than she could ever hope to aspire to. In her whole life, she could never hope to live so well, to have so much. Where was the worm that gnawed away at Amanda? And how could it survive in such a place?
She parked her little yellow VW bug to one side of the house, clambered out of the car, and smoothed her skirt nervously. She felt suddenly shabby and plain—and on very shaky ground.
Stomach in knots, she strode up the walk and rang the bell. After a long wait, she heard the click of heels in the hall. The door swung open noiselessly, and Lianne pasted a confident smile on her face.
Merryl Kendrick gave her a cool, polite nod and said, "Won't you come in, Miss McCormick? Amanda is upstairs doing her homework—I can call her if you would like."
"Not just yet, please," Lianne answered, and found herself following Merryl through a long, perfectly kept maze of glossy mahogany halls and decorator-perfect rooms. She studied Mrs. Kendrick's back and winced. Merryl Kendrick would have been a good six inches taller than Lianne in flats. In heels, the other woman towered over her. Amanda's step-mother was casually dressed, the elegance understated—but every article of clothing spoke of more money than Lianne could put into her wardrobe in an entire year. She shouldn't let all that money have a psychological effect on her, Lianne knew, and knew at the same time that should was a meaningless word. All that money, all that power, did have an effect on her. It weakened her position, it weakened her credibility. As much as she would like to pretend otherwise, she was not an equal among peers in this world. And she would have to act as if she were, for Amanda's sake. Because whatever was wrong with Amanda was wrong in spite of all these evident advantages.
* * *
"Tea?" Merryl asked.
"Thank you." Lianne took the seat the other woman indicated and glanced around the sun-room. It seemed to her that she had seen it in a Better Homes and Gardens spread. With its Mexican tile floor, hand-adzed timber-framed beams, and walls of glass looking out over a scenic view of the estate and a lovely, wild patch of woods, it was breathtaking.
And sterile.
There were no family pictures, no knickknacks, no personal touches whatsoever to mar the carefully conceived vision of the designer. As she ran her memory back over what she had seen of the rest of the house, she realized it was all the same. The house was lovely, but it looked as if no one lived there, or ever had.
That's a middle-class prejudice, she told herself. Only the middle class insists that a bit of disorder is healthy.
Merryl returned and placed a heavy pottery teapot and a matching cup in front of Lianne.
"Thank you." The young teacher poured herself a cup of tea and sipped at it gratefully.
"Of course." Merryl Kendrick nodded gracefully. "Andrew will be home any time. In the meantime, we can drink our tea, or you can fill me in on what you perceive to be the problem."
What I perceive to be the problem. That's nicely put. The problem is no doubt going to be my perception, and not the problem. Ah, well, face it right out.
She decided on a frontal assault. "To the best of your knowledge, Mrs. Kendrick, is there any history of mental illness in Amanda's family?"
The other woman's lips curled in a faint smile over her own cup of tea, and one eyebrow raised slightly. She leaned back in the peach-and-mint wing-backed chair and crossed her legs. After a moment, she chuckled. "Well, that's certainly getting to the point." Merryl Kendrick sipped slowly at her tea. "Actually, yes—there is. Funny you should ask. Andrew's first wife had a long history of psychological problems—paranoia, delusions, depression, psychoses. She was hospitalized—Andrew obtained a divorce, but made sure she was well taken care of until her death."
At Lianne's startled expression, Amanda's step-mother nodded slowly.
"You see, she died about two years ago. Suicide. I understand these problems are sometimes . . ." Merryl picked delicately around the word ". . . hereditary."
Lianne held her breath, closed her eyes, and let it out again, slowly. "Sometimes," she agreed.
"Dana's parents—Amanda's natural grandparents—aren't quite normal, either. We've done the best we could for Amanda—limited her contacts with them ever since her mother's death. . . ." Merryl Kendrick seemed to be actually relishing this. "It doesn't seem to be helping, does it, Miss McCormick?"
Lianne blinked, choosing her words with care. "Amanda is having serious problems in school this year, behavioral as well as academic. I'm not the only teacher that has noticed this. It's in her records, if you'd care to see them." There. So much for "my perception." "I can't say that her problems stem from her mother, or her mother's death, or heredity, or anything else. All I can say is that she needs help, and I don't know that I am able to give her the help she needs."
There were thundering feet on a stairway, and Amanda burst into the room. Her sweet, blue-eyed face lit up when she saw her teacher, and she ran over and hugged her vigorously. "I didn't know you were coming over tonight, Miss McCormick. Don't you like my house?" The child turned to face her step-mother, still smiling. "I got all of my homework finished, Mother. May I go outside for a while?"
"Not now, Amanda," Merryl said. "I'm expecting your father home any minute."
"As well you should, darling," Andrew Kendrick said from the doorway, slipping a cigarette pack into his crisp breast-pocket. "I'm sorry I'm late—one of my clients was quite distraught and needed a bit of extra time."
Lianne had been watching Amanda, bemused by the girl's cheerful countenance and normal manner—so she didn't miss the change. Amanda's face turned from her step-mother to her father, and a series of unreadable expressions flashed across her features. Her mouth fell slightly open, giving her a dull, witless look.
And her pale, pale green eyes stared at the man in the doorway with a cross between canny hatred and stupefied terror.
The flesh stood up on Lianne's arms, and chills raced up and down her spine.
There was a crash from another room. Andrew and Merryl looked at each other, and Merryl cleared her throat. "You evidently let one of the cats in with you again, Andrew."
His eyes focused on his child. "No doubt," he agreed. "Amanda, I see you've been playing in your school clothes again. You've soiled them and ruined the fabric. Please go upstairs and change into your stable clothes, then go clean your pony's stall. I'll be out to check on your work when your mother and I have finished speaking with your teacher."
"Yes-s-s . . . Father," the child said. Her voice grated; low, animal-like. She was as much a different child as if Amanda had been picked up and physically replaced.
Lianne felt her pulse begin to race. Wrong, her mind screamed at her. This is wrong! It's weird! It's awful! It took every bit of control for her to keep her seat, to keep smiling while Andrew Kendrick crossed the room, took a seat next to his wife, and smiled at her and said, "Well, ladies, what solutions have you reached?"
His voice was cheerful, his eyes bright and
kind and concerned—so why did every nerve in Lianne's body insist that some invisible force was dragging monstrous talons across a giant blackboard?
"Miss McCormick deduced Dana's problem from Amanda's classroom behavior." Merryl looked into her husband's face. Her body posture and gestures indicated sincere concern. "She says she isn't the only teacher to have seen problems with Amanda."
Her husband dropped his eyes. "Dana," he said, and Lianne would have sworn she could hear real anguish in those two labored syllables. Her instincts told her that, no matter what she saw, or thought she saw, Andrew Kendrick was a phony. Merryl was the perfect foil for him, and the two of them had snowed her from the beginning—would have kept her convinced that the problem was in other directions. But Lianne knew kids. She'd been well acquainted with thousands of them in her eight years of teaching, and she'd seen that unguarded expression of Amanda's before. The look in her eyes, the little girl's actions, the abrupt change in her attitude—those things had given Lianne a name for the sick feeling that weighted her down and dragged on her every breath.
Child abuse.
She needed to get out of the house, get help—but first, she needed one more tiny reassurance that she'd really seen what she thought she'd seen.
"I think Mrs. Kendrick and I have stumbled across the problem. And I think I may have thought of a solution." She had to have parental permission for this first step. Unless the child revealed something on her own, or there were physical evidences, there wasn't anything that could be done that Andrew Kendrick with his money and influences couldn't counter. "I can't promise anything, but I'd like your permission anyway. I'd like for Amanda to be seen by one of our counselors. I think there are a great many things troubling her, probably related to her mother's death, and I think that having some time with the counselor, starting on Monday, would give her a chance to talk those problems out. It would at least give us an idea of what we're dealing with."
Lianne waited. She watched concern crawl across Merryl's features like a spider, watched Andrew's eyes harden, watched them glance at each other—we have to keep our secret expressions that gave the teacher her answer.
The Otherworld Page 46
