Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  Seneca frowned again. “Purgatory?” God, he thought. Who was this strange girl, and why was she telling him such odd stories? More importantly, what was she doing here?

  “Purgatory’s where y’go afore y’git to heaven,” Peachy explained, casting another appreciative glance around the opulent room. “I ain’t rightly shore where it is, but I think it’s betwixt earth and heaven. There’s holy fire in Purgatory. You have to stand in them flames till all yore sins is burned offen yore soul. When you’ve done roasted half to death, you git to go to heaven. I—Ha! Did y’hear what I said about a-roastin’ half to death? Ain’t that funny? Yore already dead once yore in Purgatory! Wonder why I said sech a dumb thing?”

  Seneca didn’t know how to respond to such ludicrous conversation. It was the first time in his life that he’d felt so bewildered by a situation.

  “Well, looky there,” Peachy said, pointing to the wall behind a dark blue and burgundy striped sofa. “You got swords a-tacked over yore sofer. Ain’t you never afeared them swords’ll fall offen and cut yore head open? You know how to use them swords, feller?”

  Irritated over being called “fellow,” Seneca glanced at the ancient set of broadswords attached to the satin-covered wall. Though he never used those particular weapons, his skill with swords was well-known throughout Europe. Indeed, he was a master fencer.

  “Anyhow,” Peachy went on, giving him no time at all to answer, “I been a-wonderin’ how many years I’ll have to spend in Purgatory. I’m a sinner, y’know. Ever’body is, even you. Fer ever’ sin y’commit, y’git time added to yore stay in them Purgatorial flames. I didn’t used to be too worried about Purgatory till I larned I was so long in the neck, but I’m powerful worried now.” Nodding at her own words, she set her squirrel down on the floor.

  “I ain’t a-doin’ too good at not sinnin’, though,” she admitted sheepishly. “Cain’t seem to quit a-cussin’ to save my life, and when I come into this here room? Well, I was tickled clear down to the inside o’ my innards by the sight o’ yore nekkid chest. You and me ain’t married, so me a-lookin’ at you the way I done was a sin prob’ly worth at least seven thousand years in Purgatory. Tomorrer I’ll do some penance so’s I can git a few hunnerd years tuk offen my stay there. I’d do penance tonight, but I’m too gawdang tired to put up with any sufferin’ right now. Yeah, plumb pizzlesprung’s what I am.”

  Seneca was totally perplexed. Long in the neck? Pizzlesprung? The girl certainly used some odd expressions. He couldn’t help wondering what they meant.

  “Look, mister, I can see by that survigorous look on yore face that yore—”

  “You will cease speaking to me in such an incomprehensible fashion! If I do indeed have a... a survigorous look on my face, it would please me enormously if you would tell me exactly what kind of look that is!”

  “Survigorous? Well, it means vicious. Riled clear down to yore gizzard. You look jest about as sour as dog breath.” Satchel slung over her shoulder, arms folded across her chest, she stepped out of the shadows by the door, but remained a good distance away from the man, who appeared to be even more angry now than he had been before.

  “I know yore plumb agger-pervoked and that I ain’t yore favorite person in the world right now. Yore near about as nekkid as a parched peanut, so you was prob’ly a-fixin’ to go to bed when I come a-bustin’ in here. That, or you was a-waitin’ on some girl so’s you could squeeze in a little sweetheartin’ afore mornin’.”

  She saw him glower, but continued quickly. “I swear I’ll git outen here, but can I stay jest till all them guards quit a-huntin’ fer me? I’m in a real hurryment to find my beloved, but I know them hound dog soldiers is a-sniffin’ around the castle on account o’ that man o’ iron? Well, when he commenced a-fallin’, he maked more noise’n two skeletons a-makin’ love on a tin roof. So can I stay here with you fer jest a little while?”

  Seneca gasped softly. He’d never heard a girl use such language! “No, you may not—”

  “That a onyx on yore hand?” Peachy asked, staring at the black stone set in a heavy gold ring. “Ain’t nobody never tole you that onyx means inner troubles and deep down sorrer? You a sad man with problems inside you?”

  Unmitigated astonishment fell over him. God, could the strange girl see inside his very soul?

  “You orter wear emeralds, mister. They mean happiness, unnerstandin’, and love. Sapphires is good too. They hep y’be peaceful inside. Rubies is the worst y’can wear. They mean anger and cruelty and all sorts o’ cold feelin’s.”

  Instantly, Seneca pictured his father’s ring, a huge blood-red ruby that covered half his hand. Anger and cruelty and all sorts of cold feelings.

  “’Course I ain’t never weared nary a jewel in my life,” Peachy informed him, “but there’s rimptions o’ omens about ’em. All true, too. True as true could ever be truthfully true.”

  She was the most talkative person he’d ever met. Accustomed as he was to long periods without speaking at all, it was difficult to adjust to someone like her, a person who barely took a breath between sentences. “If you don’t tell me what you’re doing here, I’m going to call the very soldiers you fear and have you hauled away.”

  Peachy took a few more steps toward him. “To the dungeon? I heared all about them cold, wet, dark, smelly, rat-infested dungeons y’all got in castles. The thing is though, iffen you have me tuk to the dungeon, ole Seneca’ll jest come and git me outen.”

  Her last statement captured Seneca’s full attention. “Oh really? And why is that?”

  She gave him a smug smile. “On account o’ the gnat I swallered, the black rock, and the ‘S’-slimin’ snail. Oh, and the lilac leaves, too. My maw’s name was Tilly. I always loved that name. Maw’s gone now, and so’s Lulu, my baby sister. Anyhow, Maw was always a-sayin’ that iffen a girl eats five lilac leaves, she’ll marry whoever she wants to. Jest to be on the safe side, I et ten. Doubles my chances, y’see. Omens is powerful strong.”

  Her explanation was so bizarre, Seneca comprehended none of it. But for reasons he couldn’t fathom, the very outrageousness of her personality intrigued him. He didn’t, of course, condone her wild character, but it didn’t repulse him, either. His emotions fell somewhere in between, and he thought that very odd indeed.

  He still couldn’t see her face well, but he could see her attire. She wore some sort of fur cap on her head, its striped tail lying over her thick red curls. At first glance, Seneca thought the raccoon it was made from might still be alive. Beneath her long buckskin coat she wore a multi-patched skirt that looked to be homespun. Old, scuffed boots peeked out from beneath the skirt, and a long and lethal dagger gleamed at her waist.

  He looked back at her shadowed face. “You have five seconds to explain your presence here. Go a second over that time and—”

  “I know, you’ll have me throwed in the dungeon.” Noticing again his lack of a red robe and jeweled crown. Peachy smiled. The man definitely wasn’t royal, but his bossy attitude sure made him seem like one. She decided to stall for more time. “Five seconds, huh? Well, that ain’t enough time to tell you nothin’.”

  “You will, however, tell me.”

  “Yeah? Make me.”

  At her insolence, Seneca’s eyes widened.

  It looked to Peachy that they were about to fly out of his head. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you. ’Pears to me that iffen I don’t, you’ll work yoresef nigh into a frenzified frazzle. Prince Seneca’s why I’m here.”

  Seneca’s curiosity was too strong to squelch. “Why?”

  “On account o’ only a prince could make all my last earthly wishes come true. I got this ‘Must Do Afore I Die’ list, y’see, and most o’ the things on it have to do with a-livin’ one o’ them lifes o’ leisure. I been a-workin’ ever’ single day since I was old enough to be able to do it, and now all’s I want to do is nothin’ but fun things. And I always wanted to know what it’s like to wear a crown, too. Who else ‘sides a prince could do that sorter
stuff fer me? ’Course, I ain’t had no death-like symptoms yet, not nary a one, so I prob’ly got a while longer yet. But I ‘spect them symptoms’ll be a-showin’ up afore too much longer.”

  “Symptoms?”

  “Of tipinosis. That’s what’s gonna rid the ground o’ my shadder. S’what kilt my paw, too.”

  Tipinosis, Seneca repeated silently. He’d never heard of it. The girl certainly didn’t act sick. Indeed, she looked to be the epitome of health. Why, she didn’t even show signs of being upset! “You say you’re gravely ill,” he began, watching her closely, “yet you don’t seem distressed at the prospect of dying.”

  “Yeah, well you shoulda seed me when I first heared about it. I was all broke up. Cried and carried on fer nigh on all afternoon and some o’ the night, too. Even after I larnt about Prince Seneca, my feelin’s was still fair whipped down. But afore I leaved the hills? Well, you prob’ly won’t believe this, but a ruby-throated hummin’-bird flied into my cabin.”

  He got the distinct idea that he was supposed to be impressed by her announcement. “A hummingbird. I see.”

  “Well, ever’body knows that’s one o’ the most rarest omens there is! It means that the purest and lastin’est kind o’ happiness is gonna fill yore days. So when I git to feelin’ dolesome-like over all my woes, I jest commence mem’ryin’ that sweet little ruby-throated hummin’bird. That omen ain’t never, ever been knowed to fail, so I’m shore and sartin that fer whatever time I got left, I’m gonna be happy.”

  God, Seneca thought. The girl had the wildest imagination he’d ever encountered. “What—”

  A sharp rap at the door cut him off.

  “Oh, Lord, I knowed it!” Peachy whispered hysterically. “They’re a-lookin’ fer me!” She understood she hadn’t killed anyone, but the fact remained she had broken into the palace and destroyed the empty steel man. Terrified that she’d be put in chains before having had the chance to find Seneca, she raced into the bedchambers.

  Seneca followed her. For a moment, he didn’t see her, but in the next instant he heard her behind him. He turned just as she threw herself into his arms. Caught off guard by her quick action, he careened backwards, the girl clinging to his neck, her legs dangling between his.

  “Don’t turn me in!” Peachy whispered into his ear. “Please don’t—”

  “Let go of my—”

  “I’ll do anything you say iffen you don’t—”

  “Release my—” He had no time to finish his command. His feet met with the bottom step of the dais that supported his bed and, in an effort to keep from falling to the floor, he stumbled up the steps and toppled to the mattress instead. The girl fell with him, landing directly on his chest. Her raccoon hat slipped off her head, its tail tickling his nose.

  “They’ll prob’ly chop my head offen!” Peachy moaned, her face pressed against his neck. “Or have horses pull my body to pieces! Or press me into a bed o’ iron stakes! Oh, God, don’t let ’em git me!”

  Her voice muffled in his shoulder, Seneca understood nothing of what she said. Hands curled around her waist, he started to lift her from his person.

  But a sudden movement by the side of his face stilled his actions. He saw her squirrel staring at him. The creature began sniffing his temple. Seneca wondered if the small, sharp-toothed beast was going to eat hes ear.

  This was truly the oddest experience of his entire life. With one smooth action, he successfully removed the girl. When she rolled to the mattress, he got to his feet and headed back into the sitting room. He knew full well that it was the castle guards who were knocking. They’d found the fallen suit of armor and had come to see to his safety. He intended to allow them to perform that service, for he’d had quite enough of the outlandish girl and her squirrel.

  “Please, mister! I’m on my knees a-beggin’ you to keep me safe! I’ll kiss yore ring! Yore feet! Hell, I’ll kiss yore ass iffen you’ll jest hide me!”

  At her shocking language, he rolled his eyes, halted beneath the archway of his bedroom, and cast a glance at her over his shoulder. He was unable to move, to breathe, to blink. An extraordinary feeling passed through him.

  He hadn’t seen her clearly before. He did now.

  She knelt before the flame-filled hearth, her hands folded, her arms outstretched in a pleading gesture. Soft firelight glowed all around her, making it seem as though she were bathing in a pool of liquid gold.

  She was lovely.

  Radiant.

  Like an angel.

  He heard the guards pound on the door again. “Leave me!” he shouted to them, his gaze still pinned to the girl’s. The profound feeling inside him intensified. As it deepened, a memory came to him. A barely-there kind of memory that floated on the edge of his consciousness, too far away to remember completely. The harder he tried to recall the whole of it, the faster it disappeared altogether.

  There was something about the girl...

  The gentle shine in her eyes beckoned to him. Slowly, he walked toward her, stopping when he was directly before her. He was struck anew. Her long red-gold hair seemed so familiar to him. He felt as though he’d admired its brilliant softness many times... that he’d always loved the way it curled sweetly about her heart-shaped face. Her skin... was like magnolia blossoms. He’d never seen such creamy, flawless skin. Or had he? He certainly felt as though he had.

  And her eyes... Two glistening chips of pale jade. He seemed to remember having been comforted by them a thousand times. He even felt as though he’d made wishes and whispered secrets into them. But where? When?

  She was the most incredibly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “I—Have I ever met you before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Tell me who you are,” he murmured, extending his hand.

  Peachy placed her fingers lightly in his palm.

  Immediately, Seneca was aware of her warmth. He helped her to rise and brought her closer to him, so near that he could see his own reflection in her eyes, her compelling eyes.

  “Who are you?” he whispered. Without realizing what he was doing, he drew her closer still. Desire slammed into him when he felt her lush breasts touch his chest. Astonishment melded with his passion. He’d never felt such deep and instant attraction for any woman. “Tell me your name,” he entreated.

  Spellbound by the tender glow in his eyes, the even softer caress of his whisper, Peachy could not immediately answer. “Peachy,” she finally said. “Peachy McGee.”

  He knew instantly that no other name in the world would suit her. “Peachy.”

  She felt his heartbeat between her breasts. He was staring into her eyes, peering so deeply into them that she wondered if he was reading her thoughts.

  Something inside her awakened. Something she’d never realized lay dormant. It sprang to life, igniting within her a feeling of intense yearning. For him. For this man she didn’t even know.

  Confused, she tried to step away. He wouldn’t let her, and held her as though she belonged to him. She thought to protest, but her body wouldn’t obey her mind’s commands. Stunned, she watched her own hand cup his cheek. Her fingers slid through the unruly black curls at the nape of his neck; her eyes never left his.

  A long moment passed before she realized what she was doing. “This... It ain’t right.” Quickly and forcefully, she wiggled out of his embrace. “You ain’t the man I’m gonna marry, and there I was a-rubbin’ up to you so close that it’s a gawdang miracle I didn’t raise a blister! God Almighty, that prob’ly got me another ten thousand years in Purgatory!”

  Flustered by her strong response to him, she turned and faced the fire. “I gotta go now.”

  He took note that she made no move to leave. “You’re going to marry?”

  “Look,” Peachy snapped, still staring into the blaze and trying to get hold of her wild emotions, “I been through hell a-tryin’ to git here, and I ain’t gonna mess ever’thing up jest on account o’ yore knee-weakin’ looks, hear? I been a-travelin’ fer
s’long I done losed count o’ how many days it’s been since I leaved Possom Holler.”

  “Where?”

  “Possum Holler. It’s a little place near the Blue Ridge in North Caroliner. Ain’t but about twenty folks who live there. From Possum Holler, I rided in a wagon to the port o’ Wilmin’ton. From Wilmin’ton I sailed in a big ship-boat that was a-headed fer Scotland. The captain-sailor was nice enough to drop me offen here. I paid fer passage with the little bag o’ gold dust Paw hanged onto fer s’many years. That little sack o’ dust was all the money me and Paw ever had, and now I done used up that, too.”

  She sensed he was still watching her in that intense way. Her tension increased. “Paw got the gold dust from our stream, but that ole crick don’t got nary a grain o’ gold in it no more,” she rambled nervously. “Ain’t got much water in it, neither. I can still git my drinkin’ water from it, but I do all my warshin’ in the Mackintoshes’ stream. They’re my neighbor-people.

  “Anyhow, I jest got here tonight. It’s a right fur piece up here from the seashore, y’know, but I walked it. Got here, then I had to fend offen all them varmint guards. They come at me like piss ants a-pourin’ outen a log. I swum that gawdang river twice, clum up a oak tree, and skint my knee. Then I near about busted my head wide open when I crashed into that blasted table in the other room. All’s I want to do now is git up with my dearest beloved.

  “He’s the onliest person in the whole world who matters to me now, y’see,” she said, trying to make him understand. “’Course I got a distant aunt and cousin in Elroy’s Corner, North Caroliner, but I ain’t never laid eyes on ’em afore. Orabelle and Bubba. Aunt Orabelle used to write to Paw, but all’s she ever wanted to know was how much gold we was a-gittin’ outen the crick. I writ to Aunt Orabelle and Cousin Bubba when Paw died, but they didn’t show up fer the funeralizin’.”