Thistle Down

show teeth was an act of serious aggression.

“Because that will be bad for the fund-raiser,” Thistle explained patiently, though she also wanted to grin at the idea of tripping up some of the extravagantly costumed guests tomorrow night. She could almost imagine ladies’ hoop skirts flying overhead revealing bloomers and gentlemen losing their top hats only to recover them later decorated by Pixies in bright feathers and flowers.

“If it helps Dusty, then we’ll do as you say,” a second man said on a shrug. He almost dropped his corner of the heavy floor section. His foot had already trampled a rhododendron she and Dusty had healed last night. She didn’t want to think about what he might have done to the silver herbs at the edge of the knot garden.

She didn’t know the name of the low plant; it wasn’t native.

The yellow monster machine still sat at the edge of the tree line. Its treads had carved long tracks in the lawn.

“Mabel said we have to obey you because it helps Dusty,” the second man said.

“Nice hat,” Dick whispered in her ear as he wandered past with a loop of Pixie lights strung over his shoulder. “I’m going to string these around the covered wagon, and maybe that CAT-decorate it if I can’t move it. Then I’ve got to go back to work. Will you keep an eye on Dusty? She didn’t look well this morning.”

“I noticed the circles under her eyes were as heavy and leaden as the air. I’ve seen storm-drenched rose blossoms stand taller,” Thistle replied. She worried about her friend. They’d laughed and played last night. But in the dark hours before dawn, Thistle had heard her crying.

“Maybe it’s just the weather. There’s a thunderhead growing in the southeast.” She paused to sniff the air. “I don’t think it will reach the valley anytime soon. The mountains will get rain tonight, though.”

“What’s wrong with Dusty?” Mabel’s three laborers asked in unison. They dropped the floor section, further damaging the gouged grass beside the broken rhodie.

“Mabel told us to help Dusty,” the leader said.

Something about his belligerent posture triggered a memory in Thistle. The directionless light cast no shadows or highlights to give her clues.

But…

“Chicory? Is that you?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Why are you and your brothers here?” Now that she put an identity to Chicory, she recognized Delph and Aster quite clearly. Their human disguises were good but, to Pixie senses, only a thin gloss of magic.

“We told you, Mabel said we had to help Dusty.”

“Why is Mabel suddenly so concerned about Dusty?”

Chicory shrugged. “Don’t know, but that’s the only reason we’re taking orders from the likes of you.”

“I don’t think Mabel is as healthy as she pretends,” Aster whispered shyly.

“She doesn’t have any children to help her with the garden,” Chicory remarked. “That’s why she gave our tribe safe haven there.”

“Her nephew wants her to sell the house and grounds to a developer who will break it up into smaller lots,” Delph added.

“We think Mabel’s decided to cultivate Dusty ’cause she knows Dusty won’t let anything bad happen to us and the garden.”

“Not like what’s happening to your tribe, Thistle,” Chicory snickered. “Falling apart because Alder got selfish about the Patriarch Oak.”

“Alder’s got a lot to answer for, I admit,” Thistle agreed. “Maybe not as much as you think.”

“Might as well cut it down, since he won’t let anyone use it but himself. And rumor has it he’s using it a lot, with every female except his chosen queen,” Delph added with a knowing glance at Thistle.

“Hmmm…” New thoughts circled around Thistle’s mind. They made her eyes ache in the glare of light in the thick air. Pixies weren’t supposed to think about the future, make plans, or see anything beyond the next trick. “How can rumors have any basis in truth when no Pixie can get in or out to verify them?”

“Ever since the night the policeman came over and asked our help in repairing an old music box, Mabel has been keen on Dusty,” Chicory changed the subject. His eyes crossed as if he had a headache from too much thinking.

“Music box! That’s it.”

Reluctantly, she pulled off the beloved hard hat and lifted the whistle lanyard over her head. “I think that since the Patriarch Oak belongs to all Pixies, not just Alder, we need to make sure no one tribe is responsible for the tree. No one king should have the right to close off the entire Ten Acre Wood to all Pixies.”

“Huh?” Chicory looked dumbfounded.

Good. Make him think. Pixies needed to think more in order to protect themselves and their territories from greedy and mind-blind humans.

And greedy, uppity, cowardly Faeries.

“What if my tribe moved to a smaller section of The Ten Acre Wood, leaving the Patriarch Oak open to all, and the responsibility of all? It needs to go back to being neutral territory.” She looked around at the men.

“I don’t know. We’ve never done things like that before…” Aster mused.

Thistle turned to talk to him directly. He seemed more capable of working his mind around new ideas than his brothers.

“Think about it! Think about ending the territory wars among Pixies. Think about kingship being more than privilege. We should all work together for the benefit of all. Build up our strength so that Faeries can’t exploit us any more than humans can. And our best bet for preserving the Patriarch Oak is to keep Dusty working at the museum and overseeing the welfare of The Ten Acre Wood.”

“Maybe that’s why Mabel is suddenly so fond of Dusty!” Delph added. “Mabel’s not sick at all, she’s just looking out for us.”

Chicory snorted at that. But he didn’t say anything to dash his brother’s hopes.

“Look, you guys are gardeners,” Thistle said, handing the whistle and hard hat to Aster. “You guys take charge and make sure these plants get help and the grass is repaired while the humans set up for the Ball. I’m going to go see what kind of help Dusty needs to make sure she continues as guardian of our tree.”

She turned and strode sprightly toward Dusty inside the museum, whistling her song. “Dum dee dee do dum dum.”

Thirty-three

“GHOULS,” DUSTY MUTTERED, gazing out the front window of the museum at the crowd of watchers gathering along the edge of the grounds. They didn’t get in the way of the volunteers assembling the dance floor, setting up round tables and chairs, decorating with lights and garlands. But they watched every move, concentrating on the deconstruction equipment that still littered the street and grass.

The sole cameraman from the TV station wasn’t much better.

And there was Chase, looking weary, rumpled, and worried as he ran his hands through his blond hair until it stood on end. Despite the care that weighed down his shoulders and tugged his mouth into a frown, he was still the most handsome man in town.

“How could I have been blinded by Haywood’s false beauty?” she asked herself.

“You were blinded because he needed you blind and cooperative. He bespelled you to ensure it,” Thistle said softly.

Dusty whirled around, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t intend for you to hear me. Or see me. So you couldn’t run away and hide.”

Dusty sighed. She halfheartedly flicked her feather duster over a display of cast iron pots and sadirons near the hearth.