by B. J. Smash
He threw his finished turkey leg in the garbage can, and we sped off. Around the bend were several Celtic jewelry shops with plenty of jewelry that I would have liked to own. A pottery shop, with plenty of items that Gran would like to have. And a wine shop—Aunt Cora’s favorite.
“They have oysters,” Lucian said, pointing at a shop.
“Oh no you don’t.” I pulled on his arm.
We found a freak show of sorts, with bottles filled with dead things like frogs and rats, eyeballs, and a three-headed snake. Right after that was a chintzy stall with hanging shrunken head dolls.
Glancing inside, I noticed there were little ceramic fairies and pixie dolls hanging down from a net that was spread across the ceiling. I stepped inside the stall to see that the dolls were hanging at face level and were easier to view. Some had plastic wings, some had fuzzy, feathery wings, but all had shocked expressions upon their faces.
I had a gut feeling that this was the spot.
A short man with a gray beard and prominent eyebrow bone structure stepped out from a curtained area in the back. His forehead reminded me of a monkey. He wore a long, blue wizard cape with gold stars and moons sewn into the fabric. As he stepped out, I could see that he had a limp, and he used his cane to get around.
“Hello, sir. I am looking for a Mr. Egbert Winemaker. Can you point me in his direction?”
Lucian stood close by, towering over the short, little man.
“Who wants to know?” the man said, looking up at Lucian. His voice was raspy, as though he’d smoked a pipe his whole life.
“I do, sir. A certain…Izadora sent me,” I said.
The little man’s eyes widened, and his hand went to his heart. “Oh, Egbert. He’s set up down a ways, down by the toilets.” He pointed down toward a group of blue port-o-potties.
Lucian and I slowly stepped out of the stall as the man started talking to himself and taking down his wares, packing them quickly into boxes. The little old man smiled at me. “It’s gonna storm.”
As we were walking off, I grabbed Lucian’s arm. “Let’s go back inside there for a minute.”
When we walked back into the stall, the little man said, “Oh you better go soon, miss—he’ll be leaving for the day.”
“Mr. Winemaker. I know it’s you.”
“What? What ye talking about, miss? My name is, uh…my name is Mr. Jones.”
“Mr. Winemaker…I see you have a peg leg. Izadora told me to tell you, she needs a pixie. If you refuse, she told me to remind you that she fixed your leg. I see that you have a peg leg, and so now I know that she was being sarcastic in a sadistic way.”
“Oh that bloody ol’ bat.” He waddled to the front of the store. “We used to play cards together. I’m a real wizard, in case you didn’t know. I just happened to cheat once in cards—not on purpose, of course—but I happened to be caught cheating. She turned me bloody leg into a peg!”
I sighed and shook my head implying that I understood where he was coming from. “Izadora can’t abide a cheat. How can I put it? It’s her pet peeve.” I thought back to when the Unseelie were cheating when we went to get my father back from them. She had her dogs rip out the Fae fighter’s throat. “Let’s just say, you got off easy.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” He waddled out back, holding the curtain open. “Follow me. I have one left.”
We made our way to the back, pushing aside the multicolored hanging figurines. I lifted the curtain, and Lucian followed.
“’Tis not my fault that it’s a redheaded pixie. ’Tis the only one I have with me. I couldn’t leave her behind with the others; she causes too much trouble.”
The black tented room was dark, but he lit a few candles. Wooden boards made into makeshift shelves lined the sloped wall. A bench with containers of clay and feathers sat before us. He pulled out a stool from beneath the bench and plunked his butt down. Rummaging through boxes and jars on the shelves, he hauled out a single jar. The glass was green and you couldn’t see inside, although something was smacking around in there.
Leaning back, he said, “You’re welcome to her. Like I said, she’s all I have, but she should do the trick.” He strained his arm to hold the glass bottle still when he held her out. Sweat had begun to bead up on his long forehead. “Take it.”
I took the green jar and held it up to the candle so I could see inside. A pudgy face, the size of my thumb, was smashed up to the glass, with a tongue extended out of its mouth. Her hair was wild, sticking up straight all around. She banged from one side of the jar to the other, causing me to almost drop her.
“Don’t be dropping her—the glass will break. Here.” He grabbed a canvas grocery bag and held it out for me to drop the jar in.
“Thank you, Mr. Winemaker. I’m sure Izadora won’t forget that you helped her out.”
He winced at her name. “Yes. And tell her maybe I will stop by and she can fix up me leg proper.”
“I’m sure she would.” I smiled reassuringly, though not so sure that she would.
The bag seemed rather heavy with the pixie flailing about in the jar, and Lucian offered to carry it.
“Oh, and her name is Pladia. Although I tend to call her Trixie Pixie,” Egbert Winemaker said.
***
It was only a matter of time before the truth came out. At least some of it.
Lucian and I stopped at Gran’s house, so that I could change back into shorts and T-shirt. We intended to stay only briefly and continue on to Izadora’s.
The sky had darkened off in the east, and thick, gray clouds were moving in. The smell of rain and wet earth was in the air. The wind had picked up and flowers were tipping over in their pots, one tipping over completely and scattering dirt out on the steps.
Only Aunt Cora was home, still baking cakes. She was on her fourth one. “I just can’t get it right,” she said as we passed by. She had suddenly become obsessed with cakes, and I saw her dumping the latest in the garbage can.
Gran and Aunt Clover were probably closing up the café at that very moment, and when I asked where Granddad and GG Edmund were, Aunt Cora said, “Up at Ian’s.”
Lucian waited in the living area, holding tight to the canvas bag that held the pixie jar. Upstairs, I went about changing, deciding on long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Before I could put them on, Aunt Clover burst into my room.
“Where is the scarf, Ivy?”
I turned to see her, hands on hips, a forced, unpleasant smile on her pretty face.
I just so happened to have the scarf right before me, underneath my pillow. “You mean this one?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Sweetie, hand it over to me. I need to get rid of it.”
“Get rid of it? Izadora gave it to me.” How could she demand to have it, when it belonged to me now?
She cleared her throat and sat on my bed. “Let me hold it.”
I handed the scarf over to her; I had to see where this conversation was going.
She fumbled it through her hands, stopping at a tag that I had never noticed before. I couldn’t see it fully, but I could have sworn it was the symbol of water: an upside-down triangle. I knew that symbol well, as my sister had once had it tattooed to the inside of her wrist.
Magella’s symbol.
“I’m about to do something—and you just need to forget I did it.” She stood up and ran down the stairs, with me following right behind her. She went outside into the shed at the side of the house and grabbed a small can of kerosene. Lucian heard all the commotion and ran outside, down the porch steps, and stood beside me.
“What’s your aunt doing?” He scratched his head.
“I am not sure.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stood there watching.
Aunt Cora came out behind us and stood clutching the railing with one hand, a wine glass in the other. “What’s she in a fuss about?”
“She took my scarf,” I said.
“Oh, I see—the purple scarf from days gone by.” Aunt Cora sip
ped from the glass.
Aunt Clover proceeded to dowse the scarf in kerosene, throwing it to the ground. By this time, Gran had just pulled in, and Granddad was walking up the drive from Ian’s.
Gran hopped out of the car. “Clover!” she scolded. “Have you lost your mind?”
Aunt Clover heaved her chest up, reached into her pocket, and pulled out matches. The wind was downright blustery at this point, with only brief breaks from the wind. Cupping her hands, she attempted to light one right after another. After about the seventh try, she finally lit one, and all the while Gran stood by her car door with her mouth wide open. At this point, Granddad stood next to Gran, his mouth ajar, his eyes like headlights.
After dropping the match, Aunt Clover moved back as smoke rose up in spirals and the scarf burst into flames. The smell of kerosene drifted through the air, winding its way around and up into everyone’s nostrils.
“Go, Clover!” Aunt Cora yelled, laughing like a hyena, pausing only for a sip of her drink.
My father sat in the backseat of the car, staring at Clover.
Not too long after, the fire faded out. The scarf lay on the ground unscathed. Not a burn mark on it.
“What?” Aunt Clover kicked at it. “Why?” She picked it up and examined it, let a wail out of her that would scare the fleas from a dog, and threw it back to the ground. “No!” She ran to her motorcycle, fumbled with the keys, and jumped on and backed up like Cruella de Vil, knocking over Gran’s garden gnome, and even farther back running over the sprinkler—which was running at the time—and took off down the road.
“I thought I’d seen it all, but if that wasn’t a temper tantrum from hades, I don’t know what it was,” Granddad said.
“Well, I’ll be darned. She must not have liked that scarf,” Gran said.
Aunt Cora stated simply, “You can’t cover your sins, or burn them away. You can’t rid yourself of them until you confront them, and then you let them go.” That part of her speech made some sort of sense, but then she continued. “And if you can’t let them go, you step on them and crush them into the ground.” She ground her three-inch heel into the wooden stairs. “Spit on them. Take a swing at them.” She faked a punch at the air.
All eyes were on Aunt Cora now. Her eyes were not able to fully focus, and the wind whipped hair strands into her mouth. She furthered her speech. “And if you can’t hit them straight on, oh, you can try to ignore them for a while. But they’ll be back. And so you pour kerosene on them and light a match.” She waved at the untouched scarf in the driveway. “I tell ya, there is only one way to get rid of your raunchy, old sins of days gone by…” She held up her fist and shook it, and then she stopped talking.
Curious, Lucian asked, “How?”
Aunt Cora yawned and reached for the doorknob to let herself back in. “Huh? Oh.” She focused. “You trick them and beat them at their game.” She yawned again. “I need a nap.” She disappeared inside, the wind slamming the door shut behind her.
Shaking his head, Granddad said, “Never a moment’s peace. Let’s get inside, Eilish—storm’s about to hit.” He clasped Gran’s hand and moved on toward the front door. At this time, my father jumped out of the car, picked up the scarf, and walked by us with not a word and into the house.
“Come on in, you two need to get out of this wind,” Gran said.
“We’re just going up to Ian’s. I’ll be fine,” I said, leaving out the part that I also had to take a certain pixie to Izadora.
“I suppose so. Edmund is still up there, isn’t he?” Gran asked Granddad.
“Eeyup.”
“All right, go on then,” she said, stepping inside.
We high-tailed it out of there. I hadn’t gotten a chance to change my clothes, and it was getting chilly. I pulled Drumm’s cape around my body.
I could see his strong, handsome face in my mind, and I didn’t want to dillydally here any longer. He was about to leave for the land of the Elven. Without me.
Chapter Twelve
We didn’t waste any time and we were on Solstice within twenty minutes, riding off into the forest. The rain was pouring down and I could hardly see, but the horse knew exactly where to go. He galloped through mud, splashing it up on our legs and the hem of my white dress. Surprisingly, Drumm’s cape was only damp, and I didn’t feel anything on the parts of my skin that it covered.
Arriving, we ran past the dogs and up to Izadora’s. None of the Elven people were present, and it worried me.
Barging in, I said, “Izadora, where is Drumm?”
She sat at the kitchen table, sewing something into one of the Elven capes. Her eyes squinted up as she leaned in then back out. A fire burned in the fireplace, and not a single drop of rain fell through the opening in Izadora’s ceiling. “He’s just off in the forest a ways—he’ll be back.’
Lucian stood by the door, his sweatshirt dripping water, and looked up at the open ceiling. “Wow! How is it that the rain isn’t falling through?”
Izadora’s house had walls, but there wasn’t much of a ceiling. The tree ran right up through the center of the tree house, and she hung various bottles of potions on the limbs.
“The ceiling, Lucian, is protected by an invisible dome. A spell that I learned many years ago from my grandmother. I won’t get into details, but don’t worry—you won’t get any wetter than you already are. Now, tell me, did you get the pixie?” she asked. She turned to look at Lucian. I don’t know if she was surprised that he’d come along with me, and I couldn’t tell if she wanted him here or not.
“We did. She’s right in here.” I pointed to the canvas bag.
“Good. How was Egbert? Any trouble finding him?”
“It took us a while, but we finally found him. And he’s fine. He’s hoping that you’ll turn his peg leg back into his real leg, someday.”
She laughed quietly, her shoulders moving a little. “We’ll see,” she said. “But I won’t be playing cards with him again. The cheat.” She stopped sewing and bit the thread. In the inner side of the cape was what looked like a triangle with a line through the top.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Protection symbol.” She tied the thread and tossed the cape aside. “Hand over the pixie,” she said. It had to be the symbol of air—her symbol.
For now, I wouldn’t bring up the scarf and the symbol I saw. I wouldn’t tell her my aunt’s reaction when she burned the scarf. I’d wait until after she checked out the pixie, even though it was burning me up to ask her about it. For now my curiosity would have to wait.
Lucian handed over the canvas bag. “Here she is.”
“Have a seat.” She pointed at the chairs on the other side of the table. Pulling out the green glass jar, she shook it a little. “Oh yes, there is a pixie in there.”
Both of us leaned forward as she unscrewed the golden lid. She popped off the top, and out flew a ball of red hair with a short body. Her figure was mostly legs, and she had beautiful silver wings. Wasting no time, Izadora snatched the pixie from midair. “Ouch!” Izadora said. “She bit me. And she has red hair. You brought me a redheaded pixie?” Her face grimaced as she scolded us. “If Egbert thinks he’s getting his leg back, he can think again. I might peg the other one, too.”
“She’s the only one he had with him,” I said, trying to smooth things over.
“I don’t believe that. Why I ought to—”
“Really, it’s the only one he had. What’s so bad about a red-haired pixie?” I said.
“For one, they have bad tempers. Two, they are trickier than most, and three—” The pixie began rambling on, but her words weren’t audible. “They never shut up.”
The pixie sounded like the air being let out of a balloon.
Lucian leaned back in his chair and chuckled.
“You’ll think it’s funny when I send her home with you,” Izadora said, silencing him.
The pixie wriggled around in Izadora’s hand, causing little specks of shimmering silver dus
t to fall to the floor. Muffled words continually spewed out of her mouth.
“What’s she saying?” Lucian asked.
“She’s telling me to set her free or I’ll be sorry,” Izadora said, squinting her eyes and leaning back to get a better look. “Well, she’s no prize but she’ll do. Ouch! She bit me again.”
“What are you going to do with her?” I asked.
“Go into my bedroom, get me the cage that sits on my nightstand,” she said, ignoring my question.
I’d never set foot inside her bedroom before and was quite surprised to find that it was more of a storage shed, although everything was neatly in its place. Her bed was set in the cove of some branches, suspended in the air to the far right. A large, cozy feather pillow was the mattress, and a soft, white down comforter lay atop. Two fluffy lavender pillows lay at the head. To me, it looked like the ultimate bed. At the foot of it was a large bird’s nest. I had to believe that was also her bed, perhaps when she shape-shifted into a bird.
Along the walls were shelves filled with books upon books, something that looked like a kaleidoscope, and several different crystal clusters, and different-colored rocks were spread out across the tops. Not a single speck of dust lay anywhere, and everything smelled of lavender. The most striking gem piece in the room sat in the corner. The amethyst geode was as tall as me and reminded me of a doorway. Reaching out, I touched some purple shards, lighting them up as I scanned my hand across. I stepped back, realizing that she would probably know that I touched it. Looking around for the cage that she spoke of, I spotted a desk with paints and brushes. In front of the desk along the wall was a black curtain. She must be painting something. I was about to pull the curtain aside, when I heard her yell, “What’s taking so long?”
Dropping the curtain, I glanced around to find a gold dome cage sitting on the floor next to a broom. Picking it up, I turned and left the room. I wouldn’t mind returning sometime just to see what else a witch of her caliber had stashed away in there. Talk about nosy—my interest was piqued.
