“I… um, Dusty, the occasion seemed a little more formal and special.” He engaged her glance with a sheepish grin.
Then she noted the dark circles under his eyes, the shadow of unshaven beard, and the wrinkles in his shirt. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
“Come in and have some tea and breakfast with Thistle and me.” She slid the chain off and opened the door wide in invitation.
“This needs to be said just to you. And if you want to throw me out afterward, that’s fine. If you aren’t furious with me, then a cup of coffee would be wonderful. But I need to do this now.” He stepped in beside her, hands held behind his back.
“What’s going on, Chase?” He frightened her a bit. Gone was her brother’s joking friend, the comfortable companion of her youth. Here was a strong man, all grown up, determined, and as solid as a brick wall.
“First off, I owe you a long overdue apology.”
“You do?”
“For breaking your music box.”
“Oh, that. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.” But she had. Every time she passed the bay window in the living room, she thought about the pink box with the twirling ballerina that danced no more and sat silent inside the window seat, hidden from the world but not from her memory.
“But you never quite forgave me for breaking it. You said you did, but I could see the pain in your eyes.”
“Oh.” So many of her emotions had changed and surged over the last week she didn’t know what she truly felt anymore.
“So, I sneaked in by the back door last night about midnight. You should lock that door by the way, Skene Falls isn’t the safe-haven small town it used to be.”
“Why did you sneak in after we were all in bed?” The fine hairs on her arms and nape bristled with a sense of violation. “You don’t live here, Chase. I don’t care how good a friend you are to Dick, this is not your home.”
“No, it’s not. And I’m sorry. But I felt this was important enough you might overlook me overstepping the bounds of politeness for the sake of friendship.” He shifted uncomfortably and brought out what he’d been hiding behind his back.
The childishly pink, broken music box.
“What?” She didn’t know what to think, how to react. Only that the sense of violation grew even stronger.
“I fixed it. Took me all night with a lot of help from Mabel’s friend. But I got it working again. And now you can dance and twirl to the strains of
Dusty took the box delicately from Chase. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it even more now that you fixed it just for me.” Dusty’s heart swelled, and a tiny crack in it healed. A tear of gratitude touched the corner of her eye.
He opened the lid while she held the sides and the little pink dancer began spinning in place on one leg.
Only the tune no longer chimed the notes of Beethoven. It played the sprightly
“What?” Chase looked at the box as if she held an alien being. “It played
Behind them, Thistle giggled. “That’s my song. It’s Pixie music. Pixie magic.”
Dusty held her breath. For a few moments, time seemed to stop, and her balance firmed up as if she’d teetered on the edge for a long time and only now found her center. With Chase close beside her, where he belonged.
“She really is a Pixie,” Dusty said in awe.
“Told you so,” Thistle sounded hurt.
“I’m sorry I ever doubted you, my friend.”
“Friends. Now we’re all friends again. Let’s eat.” Thistle bounced back into the kitchen, happy and light again.
“Friends,” Chase said as he bent and kissed Dusty’s cheek.
Twenty-six
DICK WANDERED DOWN TO THE KITCHEN; the smell of fresh coffee brewing enticed him to keep his eyes open.
On the last step he paused, unsure how to react to Chase being here so early-or was that late?-sitting next to Dusty. She had that stupid broken music box sitting right beside her bowl of oatmeal, one hand stroking the faded pink faux leather affectionately.
Then she opened the lid and let the little dancer spin. Music poured forth. Special music that Dick had begun to think of as Thistle’s song though he’d never heard it all the way through before; just snatches of half remembered phrases.
As the entrancing tune came to an end, Dusty looked up at Chase with adoring eyes.
“About time,” Dick muttered. “You’ve been in love with him like forever.”
But hadn’t she had a date with Haywood Wheatland last night? He wondered where Joe and his daughters fit into the puzzle. Did she even know how attractive she was?
He doubted it. Desdemona Carrick thought about little other than her artifacts and her grant writing to preserve her precious museum.
All that was on the brink of dissolving, so it was good she had Chase to soften the blow.
Chase finished regaling Dusty and Thistle with a story about seeing Thistle converse with a pink Pixie in Mabel’s rose garden.
“Confess, Thistle, Mabel’s tribe of Pixies are her spies. She gives them sanctuary in her garden in return for information,” Chase said. His voice sounded light, but his posture looked aggressive, as if he interrogated a suspect.
“Yes,” Thistle replied. “You have to understand that Pixie territories are fiercely defended. There aren’t a lot of them left. Possession of The Ten Acre Wood has been an object of jealousy for generations. That’s why until recently an old, old, Faery who lived in the Patriarch Oak ruled my tribe. In other tribes the kings always have to marry outside the tribe, to help preserve peace. I guess that’s why Alder chose Milkweed from a valley tribe as his queen.” She kept her gaze glued to the dregs of tea in her mug.
“Does that have anything to do with why you were exiled?” Dusty asked. She finally stopped her caress of the music box long enough to pat Thistle’s hand in comfort.
“Maybe. Sort of.” She still didn’t look up. But she firmed her chin.
“Don’t forget there’s another Pixie locking doors in City Hall.” Dick found himself saying without thinking. In the glorious aftermath of their kiss, he’d forgotten why Thistle had become so weak and vulnerable and so much more adorable than ever.
“What?” Chase sat up straighter. “What’s this about another Pixie in City Hall? That’s the same building as the police station and Mabel rarely goes home. She’s at the dispatch desk like fourteen hours a day. One of her Pixies could easily play tricks on people all through the warren of abandoned staircases, redundant heating vents, and odd alcoves.”
“Thistle, you know Mabel’s Pixies. Could one of them have locked the door?” Dick asked on a yawn.
“For Mabel to go out of her way to make sure her tribe will always have that garden is very important.” Thistle looked out the window, her eyes focusing on something far away. “Rosie’s tribe is one of the few that is really thriving. They have no reason to upset the balance of peace. They have their own territory. They don’t need to extend the boundaries to include City Hall.”
“Except the Patriarch Oak. They don’t have that,” Dusty whispered. “Which reminds me. I’ve got to call M’Velle
