her waist.
“Another Pixie locked it.”
“Another Pixie?” Dick needed to sit again. The world spun crazily for a moment. Logic and preconceived notions crashed against her words like matter and antimatter in a supercollider.
“Another Pixie is working against us.”
“Who?” He looked around the stairwell half expecting to see a tiny being flitting about, laughing at their antics. He blushed that their kiss might have been observed.
“If I knew who, I’d know how to counter it. If I was still a Pixie.” She studied her fingers.
“I think you’re still a Pixie, just a little disoriented. That sparkling dust wasn’t normal.”
“It’s just a trick. Not real magic. Not like enticing clouds our way and tickling them until they spill rain like laughter.”
“You can do that?”
“Silly, not anymore. I’m human now. I have limits. But that other Pixie doesn’t. He’s got more power than a Pixie should have.” She paled again. “The magic tasted… hot like fire. Like Faery magic, not Pixie tricks.”
“Well we aren’t going to find out anything trapped in this stairwell. We need to get you outside and find you something to drink.” He dropped a kiss on her nose and gently led her downstairs and back into reality.
Twenty-two
“I DID IT, JOE. I READ THE ENTIRE statement you wrote, and I only stumbled once,” Dusty announced as she skidded into her boss’ office.
He looked up from the stacks of paperwork on his desk with bleak eyes, rimmed in red and shadowed with black smudges beneath. “Did it do any good?”
He didn’t sound hopeful.
“I don’t know. Everyone listened, but the mayor explained how the money from the sale of the timber would save the clinic and replace some of the teachers.”
“Crap.” Joe buried his hands in his face. “I just wish I knew who is behind this and why they are in such a damned hurry.”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. I almost think it’s a vendetta against the museum, trying to get us to cancel the Ball.”
“We need that fund-raiser. Grants are drying up, school field trips are getting fewer, so admission fees are down. We just don’t have enough income to keep this place running without the money from the Masque Ball.”
“The grant committee…?”
“Haven’t heard back from their inspection yet. Oh, Dusty, I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll figure it out, Joe. You always do.” She reached across the desk to clasp his hand. He returned her grip with a light squeeze as he rose and came around the desk without releasing her.
“Thanks. It would help if you’d marry me…” He stood too close, pressing his body against hers, lowering his head, ready to claim a kiss.
“No, Joe.” She stepped away from him. Alarm built pressure in her chest. He meant it this time. She was sure. All she felt was a sense of being trapped in this room with him. “You are just tired and alone, and lonely. Me marrying you won’t help this financial crisis.” She retreated toward the door, nearly tripping over a stack of books on the floor.
“But you’d help the lonely part. I’d cope better. The girls love you. The courts…” He followed her.
Her breathing became panicky. The room was too small. He left no space between them. “Joe, you and Monica are going to have to work out custody on your own. Outside of court. Talk to the social workers at child welfare. Monica deserted them when they were tiny and needed a mom most. She might be better able to cope now, but you are the only real parent they know. Talk to Monica and work out a fair visitation. When you’ve done that, you can talk to me again about marriage. Not before.”
Dusty held her head high and turned to go, masking the quivering fear in her belly. She had to face the real possibility that he might be serious and she had to examine her own feelings, her own need to hide from the emotional and physical intimacies of marriage.
For once she resisted the urge to run down to the basement and hide. Instead she took up residence behind her computer screen and started searching the Internet. She had to find an alternate venue for the Masque Ball. Now. The likelihood of stopping or delaying the logging of The Ten Acre Wood looked highly unlikely.
Half an hour later she slapped the desk beside the keyboard. “Dammit, we moved the Ball from all of these rental locations because they are too small and expensive!”
“Ms. Carrick?” Meggie asked from the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course, Meggie. I’m just upset.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before. Not even the time the four year old went potty on the upstairs carpet.”
“Oh.”
“I had an idea when I started filling out an application for the community college,” Meggie said hesitantly, almost as if embarrassed to let Dusty know she applied or that she might have an idea beyond makeup and fashion. “Maybe if we offered them a percentage of the take, they’d let us hold the Ball on campus. They’ve got a really nice arboretum and rose garden for the botany and forestry students to practice on. And I think there’s a cement circle there for the dancers.”
Dusty felt like smacking her head against the desk. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re stressed.” Meggie shrugged. “There’s another tour group gathering. I’ll take it while you make some phone calls.” She dashed off to the front of the museum.
Just as Dusty reached for the phone, it rang. She stared at it a moment as if an alien being interrupted her train of thought. Should she answer it or get Joe to call the college on the other line?
The insistent jangle stopped abruptly.
“Ms. Carrick, Mr. Wheatland wants to talk to you,” M’velle called from somewhere in the maze of rooms.
Dusty bit her lip in hesitation. So much easier to let social contacts slide around her than deal with life. Then she reached for the receiver, determined to break a lifetime of habits that led to greater and greater isolation.
“Good afternoon, Hay.” She smiled while she spoke, a trick a college professor encouraged her to try. It worked. She really was pleased to hear from him.
“I hate to do this, but I’m afraid I’ll be a little late picking you up this evening. I’m stuck at the office until seven. I’ll understand if you want to cancel our date.” He sounded anxious and sad.
Relief warred with disappointment. She really had enjoyed her date with Hay. They had a lot of common interests. Especially the history of the town.
“Seven is fine. Why not pick me up at home instead of the museum.”
“You trust me enough to give me your address?” His voice brightened with surprise and delight.
“Of course.” She rattled off the address and phone number. “What did you have in mind?”
“Hot dogs from a street vendor and a walk along the river promenade. I want to see some of the pioneer landmarks we talked about last time. Wear comfortable shoes.”
Hot Dogs? Nonorganic, processed meat from dubious sources? She remembered the smell of the grilling staple of the American diet and her mouth watered. She didn’t have to make a regular habit of eating them, but she should try them at least once. In the name of research, of course.
“If we start at seven, we only have about an hour of daylight.”
“Oh. Well, then, we’ll just have to finish off the tour another night. I really want to see you again. As often as you’ll put up with me.”
“I’d like that.”
