Silver Hollow

by Jennifer Silverwood

  “Is Uncle back yet?” Amie scanned the hall, hoping Emrys wasn’t hiding in the shadows watching her. The last thing she wanted to do right now was see him. She was already unsettled from seeing Faye’s look-alike in town, not to mention the strange man Amie apparently knew but couldn’t remember.

  Underhill was lightly pushing her towards the grand staircase. “Please, milady! None of us can finish our work with you nosing about!”

  Laughing, Amie held up her hands and said, “Going! I’m going!” But she eyed the hall one last time and made a mental note to work a little magic after midnight.

  Picking up her skirts and checking for hidden eyes, Amie grinned and ran the rest of the way. The heels did not bother her like they once had and thanks to supernatural grace she didn’t trip once. Her room smelled like cinnamon and spices with a faint whiff of the roses that sprouted all around her bed each night. She eyed the thornless beauties with a grimace on her way to the wardrobe.

  Ever since Emrys awakened her magic Amie had been making things grow. It was part of the family gift and she had learned to control most of it. Her dreaming conscience had other plans apparently, however because every morning she woke up the flowers and their vines covered her bed posts, hung a thick curtain over the edge and draped all over the floor. So every morning she had to coax the Little Shop of Horrors back into submission and hope she didn’t wake up strangled the next time.

  Amie knew the dress she picked would annoy Underhill. It was too simple, probably a nightdress with its fluid skirts and faerie spiders’ silk marked in patterns over the blue material. For good measure she tugged on her house slippers and shook her hair from its pins.

  …

  Over the ages, mankind had sought to determine the truth behind that mysterious phenomenon called providence. Amie had no certain opinion on the matter, even after her drawn-out stint with college classes. But in this instant, Amie might have been convinced enough to become a believer. Because no sooner had she turned the corner from her lonesome hall near the West Wing and passed the Hall of Portraits than it happened.

  Morcant collided into her with the force some might compare to a battering ram, surprising for her size. Unfortunately for Amie, the one person she was looking to avoid had been very much looking for her. And somehow in the following seconds, it was Amie who ended up on her back and the little witch appeared, smiling over her with an outstretched hand.

  “Why, Jessamiene! What in blithering toadstools are you doing on the floor?” Her laughter set the younger woman’s nerves on edge instantly.

  Amie felt like she had been set up to dislike this woman, with everything she had heard about her. The icing on the cake was that Morcant was happy living up to other people’s expectations. “Oh, you know,” she said, “just can’t keep my feet on the ground. No thanks, I can help myself up.” Dusting off her skirts before remembering to hold onto Underhill’s “Lady” façade, she paused and glanced up to see if Morcant noticed.

  Her dark stained lips were curved into a permanently evil smile, dark eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “I see…well, perhaps a valuable and treasured Lady as yourself should better look what path she is headed towards.”

  Amie narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin, standing at her full height. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Morcant shrugged, twirling the many rings around her thin fingers. “Simply learn to discern whom your true friends and real enemies are, my dear Jessamiene.”

  Amie’s eyes widened, her temper spiking to dangerous proportions, so she had to fight to keep her nixy reined in. “Don’t think I don’t know what kind of a hold you have over my uncle, ma’am. I may be an American, but I’m not stupid, and I know what you’ve got planned for us.”

  Morcant’s sharp eyebrows rose, her eyes lighting with a sick pleasure in their dissension. “Oh, indeed? Well, holy wicklewashers, perhaps I have misjudged you, milady.”

  Her full smile was what ruined Amie’s good mood. She knew if she didn’t get out of there, fast, then she was about to do something they’d all regret. Clenching her fists, she took another step until she was in the little witch’s space. “Stay away from Uncle Henry. I swear if I ever find out you’ve hurt him, I’ll tear you to pieces myself.”

  “How marvelous!” Morcant exclaimed, pressing her hands together and clapping childishly. Turning back the way she came, then eyeing the ring on Amie’s finger, she added, “Aye, how positively ishilling! I believe thee shall do.” And then with liquid grace, she stepped around Amie and entered the little stair before the Hall of Portraits with a swish of her black skirts.

  …

  On the island mound where Underhill first showed Amie how to plant her bulbs she at last found peace of mind. Her confrontation with Lady Hogswillow had her blood boiling. Without her even being aware, she answered the itch to return to the earth, where things made sense. It wasn’t a surprise, then, for her to find Uncle Henry already lying down and waiting for her. Morcant was reportedly taking a long luxurious bath and he was grateful for the break, he said. Autumnal winds blew over them, though evidence beyond the temperature had yet to touch the Hollow. Henry had already gone on and on about the leaves changing, how it was the most beautiful sight in the four lands.

  Wherever they are.

  She had never seen Henry loosen up like he did after a hefty dose of gooseberry juice.

  “Ah!” He leaned back into the empty bed, surrounded by indigo wildflowers. “Have you ever seen a more bamboozling sight than the stars, Jessamiene?”

  She lay beside him, unable to shake how this reminded her of nights like these with Drustan. “I can think of a few…” She smiled, thinking of the faeries descending over Periwinkle’s garden, and touched the fresh supplies hidden in her pouch.

  After he goes in I can’t forget to visit Puck.

  She’d named her faerie friend, taken to whispering to it much like she did to Feather. Alien as Puck seemed, he also seemed to understand her. At least she thought it was a “he”. Emrys hated that he couldn’t domineer her now Henry had returned, which meant if she wanted to visit the gardens after hours she could.

  “When all of this is over, remind me to take you to my absolute second favorite place in the four lands!” he said, twirling his hand to the stars for emphasis.

  “Got a space shuttle lying around somewhere?” she teased, nudged his arm with her elbow. The confusion on Henry’s face was so comical Amie burst into laughter.

  “Ah…now precisely how much space does this shuttle occupy?” he asked with a smile, in spite of her laughter. “So have you thought much on your choice?”

  A smile still tugged her cheeks, and she asked, “Hmm? What choice?”

  “Oh, never mind. Now I have something fresh planned tomorrow morning, Jessamiene, and do not groan about waking up before hours!”

  She groaned and sank into the soft flowers. “Oh cripes, what is it this time?”

  “Lessons, of course,” he said, “quite different from any you’ve received thus far.”

  “If they’re anything like his idea of lessons then you can count me out!” She propped onto her elbow to glare over at him.

  Henry laughed. “Oh, nothing so horrid! They happen to be very old friends of our family. Be ready at the stair after breakfast. I shall let you sleep in a bit longer, have Underhill bring you a tray…”

  He was already planning things, Amie could tell by how quickly his eyes darted everywhere but her face. She couldn’t help the fondness she felt for the young-looking old coot. “What about Morcant? Is she coming too?” She tried to ask this as politely as possible.

  Henry’s lips thinned before he replied, “No, lass. Matters must be attended to outside of our watch. She shall return for the ball.”

  Amie watched him in her peripheral vision. She could tell there was more on his mind, more woes and cares she wanted to pry apart and ease. Being a person used to keeping to herself, she decided to change tactics. “So, a carriage ride, hu
h? Bet Slaine has been itching for this ever since you told him.”

  Henry looked at her as though startled, then waved the thought away. “What? Oh, dash it all to curtains! We shan’t be riding in anything! You have any idea how insulted the horses would be should we deny them the visit? They have friends at Xcalibure Castle too, ye know!”

  Amie’s laughter made Periwinkle, the old garden gnome smile as he snipped the last weeds of the day away and continued to keep his vigil over his masters. It would never do for them to be smuggled underground to the flobbergidit colony, now would it? Thus he was determined to keep watch.

  Henry turned in, needing his hours dawdling in his study he claimed. He bid Amie goodnight and with a wink and kiss on her forehead, said, “Try not to bury yourself under too much mischief.”

  Amie believed she had an X on her back somewhere, some sign hovering overhead betraying her. It screamed loudly to all locals, “Over here: gullible and naïve American!” Thus she waited for all possible mistakes she could potentially make to pass, staring at the stars and contemplating the patch of clouds and smell of rain in the wind. Hopefully it wouldn’t ruin her plans.

  And how brilliant do your plans ever turn out to be, Wenderdowne? Huh? ’Bout as clever as Scarlett O’Hara, that’s who you’re becoming. She made a dress out of curtains and look how her life turned out.

  Periwinkle’s craggy face appeared out of nowhere. Amie jumped and shouted, “Gah! You scared me.” She thought she saw the trace of a grin pull the corners of his beard just so. Over the past two weeks Periwinkle and the new Lady had grown used to one another. She always remembered the proper Gnome greetings and he responded in kind. Whether or not he really was a garden Gnome, she was uncertain. But he did have an uncanny way of popping in and out of places. And personally Amie had always found the pointy-hatted elves disturbing. Periwinkle was anything but your average garden gnome.

  His narrow, beaded eyes shifted this way and that, and he held a hand to his lips so as to cut them in halves.

  “Anyone listening in?” she breathed and he shook his head. When he began to walk into the hedge maze Amie followed with a spring in her step.

  Then again, Scarlett did what she wanted and had fun doing it. Why can’t I have a little fun before I nix some bad-guy arse?

  Periwinkle stood guard while she parted the vines blocking the way inside. With her newfound gift the vines parted willingly and plants curled towards her wherever she walked.

  Puck was dancing a jig by himself inside of his new home. In the faerie city the others mingled and dined together. Puck was a loner. He liked to wait for Amie most nights, when he wasn’t pinching babies and pulling out cat whiskers no doubt.

  Tonight his light brightened the moment she arrived. Before she could begin he was zipping around her head, pulling her curls until they tumbled loose over her shoulders, and displaying a row of sharp teeth.

  Amie swatted at him. “Hey, take it easy! I brought the goods, so you can just chillax, buddy.” She set up her gift in his home, the natural hollow of a silver-barked tree. Puck was pleased, she could tell because when their fingers met a zing of warmth shot up her arm.

  Emrys would have a fit if he knew about this.

  Puck was thinking the same thing, because one of the images that entered her mind was of the disapproving glare of the dark-eyed male. The faerie doubled over in hissing laughter until Amie poked him in his leaf-coated chest.

  “Okay, so where is it?” When Puck held out his hands and shrugged Amie narrowed her eyes. “Oh no, you don’t. You better show me that dress in the next two seconds or I’m never bringing you any more of Cook’s Turkish delight!” She wagged a finger at him so he knew she meant business. Puck stamped his foot at the air and nearly sent himself reeling into the clover bed. His wings perked at the last second and with a wave of his hands the package appeared between them and fell into Amie’s arms.

  “This is great, Puck. Thanks for hiding it for me.” She shook the garment out, because her book told her never to trust a faerie, and gasped in horror. “What did you do to it, Puck?” Puck was already dancing his jig, eating his latest sampling of Cook’s inventions and obviously ignoring her.

  Amie turned back to the dress, eyes trailing the elaborate silver thread stitching Puck had added to it. The dress was faerie-marked now, with Amie’s family crest to boot. Rolling her eyes, she huffed and marched out of the garden. She could hear Puck’s hissing laughter trailing her and did not stop until she was beyond the hedge and paused beside Periwinkle’s marigold patch.

  Forget the demented dragonfly for a second and focus, Wenderdowne! You’ve still got a job to do.

  For a long time she breathed in and out shallowly like he had taught her, and listened. She could still hear his words clearly in her head.

  “Let the stillness come from within ye first, till not even the beat of your heart sounds louder than what you listen for.”

  Amie heard the oddly capped workers singing as they finished their supper in the gooseberry fields. She could hear the songs of the faerie folk and rustlings of flobbergidits beneath her hands. Cook was washing his pots in the tub with Underhill’s help. Apparently she wanted in on his latest recipe again. A multitude of sounds swept with each push the wind gave to the trees. Somewhere in the castle Henry and Emrys were discussing matters Amie would rather not hear.

  Stupid Seelie super powers.

  Henry wearily interrupted, “You shall have to do it when the time comes. I am nay strong enough and far out of my depth.”

  “I would even if ye didn’t ask me, Iudicael.”

  “Aye, I know.”

  Ignoring the temptation to eavesdrop some more, she turned to the stables and grinned. Metal pounded into metal as Dearg refined his tools in the blacksmith’s shed. Clutching the bundle to her chest, Amie tipped her fingers to Periwinkle one last time. The old gnome drove his pick into a sneaking flobbergidit before it consumed his prize chrysanthemum.

  Slaine Cutterworthy was nowhere in sight Amie found once she crossed the path to the stables. Only the horses, sick sheep and cows were witness to her arrival. Rain heralded her coming once more, a light sprinkling of it to accompany ever-freezing seasonal winds.

  Once she made it through she found him pounding the horseshoe. He wore a blacksmith’s apron, the type of thing you would see in the Old West, Amie thought. His shirt underneath was coated in the same slick sweat which plastered his ginger hair to his cheeks and made the muscles in his arms gleam like every girl’s fantasy. Dearg was not very large, rather lanky and thin, but there was no doubt of his strength now.

  Naughty thoughts, chica! Do something!

  Avoiding a cow pie, Amie came to stand on the other side of the billows and shouted, “Dearg!”

  His eyes widened and he nearly hammered his hand rather than the shoe, jerked away from the billows and its steam.

  Fearing he had nailed himself, Amie ran to him and stopped short the moment their eyes met. “S-sorry,” she stammered.

  He shook his head, rubbed his hand over his face. White smoke escaped everywhere his fingers touched. His hands searched for things to do because he was still shaken by her presence. After taming the fire he snatched a nearby cloth to rub the rest of the grime away.

  “Here!” She shoved the folded dress into his hands, cringed as his fingers ran over the faerie’s needlework. “Sorry about the spiders’ silk. My faerie did that. I didn’t ask him to, but I couldn’t keep the darn thing in the house with Underhill sniffing through my things and you-know-who lurking around.”

  Dearg clutched the fabric with an affectionate squeeze and smiled. Without looking up he said, “She would have fancied it.” He watched as she bit her lip and tried not to reveal how much he unnerved her. “I canna remember the last time I saw spiders’ silk…Faerie do nay exactly favor my kind.”

  Amie barked a laugh, and replied, “Your kind…it would be nice if y’all came with labels for these kinds of things, maybe a T-shirt? I ca
n’t keep it straight.” She leaned against the nearby wooden post and shut her eyes, letting the rain drum through her clouded mind.

  Turning the dress over in his hands he seemed to be searching for the right words. He nodded in answer to her question before he spoke out loud. “Aye… You know, after living here a hundred years, nothing makes it easier to grasp.”

  “Well, I’m still waiting to find a book that betrays all of your secrets.”

  “Why are you here?” Dearg said. A goofy smile tilted her lips as she pointed to the object currently being held in his hands. “No, this is not why you have come. You could have given it to a blood-bound servant and they would have ne’er betrayed you.”

  Why indeed, Jessamiene? Come on, don’t just stutter like Rain Man.

  She squirmed under his gaze. “I—well, I didn’t want you to get in trouble—for helping me the other night.” The heat from the billows contrasted to the breeze blowing into the stables, made her shiver and sweat at once. “Because if you did, if they knew it was you…” She left the rest for him to make whatever he willed it to be. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth in case it mattered to him.

  He stared at the dress until the quiet rang loudly in her ears. “You should keep this. She would have wanted you to have it.” Each step he took to meet her was labored, as if he was Atlas carrying the weight of his world. After setting the garment back into Amie’s hands he traced the patters with his fingers and smoke escaped his touch.

  “She was my wife.” He spoke with thickening emotion. Dropping his hands abruptly, he turned back to the billows and began to shut his shop down for the night. He moved about as if he had only commented on the weather.

  Only her trained eye caught the twitch of his muscles when he fumbled with his tools. Or the pain in his eyes she photographed to memory when he chanced a glance. Some nights Amie had watched the stables through the kitchen window en route to a midnight snack. She knew he kept the fires going late most nights.

  “She died less than a year after our melding.”