overnight.”
The cedars greeted her in unison — Hello!
Hello, trees, she answered politely.
It’s very nice to meet you. They sounded fresh and young.
When were you planted? Not that she didn’t trust the corn seller, but she wanted to be sure.
Last night. We were planted by the elves. Are you an elf? Elves don’t talk to us, except for the Tree Shepherd, but you’re different.
Keelie reeled inwardly. These new trees didn’t recognize her as a tree shepherd. The ground didn’t show any signs of the fire, and the area smelled like a Christmas tree farm. It was as if someone had taken a big eraser and wiped out any traces of the existence of Heartwood.
“Would you like to buy a hot buttered ear of corn? The faire gates aren’t open yet, so you get dibs.” The corn girl held out a buttery ear wrapped in aluminum foil.
“I might,” Keelie said numbly. She would never buy corn from the spot where her father’s shop had once stood, but the corn smelled yummy, and as she imagined hot butter dripping down the golden kernels, her stomach growled.
“I like your outfit.” She could say this honestly. The gathered skirt and billowy shirt with the corn cob hat were much cuter than the ridiculous Steak-on-a-Stake mock-cowhide dress she’d worn at the Wildewood Faire, or the green pants of her Pickle Girl days. Maybe Finch had relaxed her standards.
A howl interrupted their transaction, as breaking glass from Hobknocker’s was followed by a Santa Claus mask that flew out the door and landed on the porch. “I hate Christmas,” someone inside screamed. “Where is he? Where’s Toshi?”
Keelie recognized Hob’s voice. It was going to be an exciting day for her at the mask shop if he was already having a temper tantrum. Unfortunately, Keelie knew that Toshi had met an unpleasant end.
She turned back to the cedar trees.
What do you know of the mask maker?
He’s a strange fellow. He’s been upset about something called his Toshi, and he’s been screaming for it all night long. The elves who planted us laughed at the mask maker, and that made him even angrier.
Hob stormed out onto the porch of his shop and paced back and forth, weaving like a drunkard, clenching his fists tightly and mumbling to himself.
No, it wasn’t going to be a good day. Keelie reached for some loose soil on the ground and placed it in her pocket before strolling up to the mask shop. “Good morrow,” she said, in a Ren-Faire-standard faux English accent.
Hob stopped, startled to see Keelie. She cocked her head fifteen degrees. Earth magic flowed through her, and she focused on Hob.
Allow me to see truly. Thick slow ripples of true sight radiated from her in all directions; bright light expanded like a sunny pond, surrounding her. Keelie closed her eyes, then opened them. A shimmer glowed around Hob’s body, and then disappeared. She was getting the hang of this spell. But what did that shimmer mean?
Startled, she suddenly realized she was seeing everything truly. The Hot Tub wenches, despite all their makeup, looked like plain little girls. In the trees, balls of energy hung suspended like holiday lights. She realized she was seeing the bhata as they really were.
The spell had unintentional side effects that Finch should have mentioned. Keelie shivered, then turned to see that Hob was staring at her.
“Is everything okay?” Keelie asked, placing a foot on the first step to the porch of the mask shop. She ran into a skin-prickling wall of magic, which quickly faded.
Knot hopped onto the porch ahead of her and rubbed up against Hob’s leg.
Hob recoiled. “A cat! I hate cats!” His eyes turned bleary and his skin blotchy, as if just saying the word “cat” made him break out in an allergic reaction.
The illumination around Hob became brighter as Keelie felt Earth magic flow through her. He bent down, and she saw shadowy tendrils of magic twisting and turning like storm clouds around his face.
She bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to open the shop today.” Hob peered about the porch, wringing his hands together. “I need to find something.”
Keelie’s heart drummed against her rib cage, but she steadied herself, focusing on the magic. “What can I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do.” Hob turned toward her. The weak muscles in Keelie’s legs almost gave way when she saw Peascod’s contorted and wrinkled goblin face underneath the glamour that masked him as Hob.
Hob was Peascod. Peascod was Hob. Keelie’s first instinct was to run, but she remained calm. She had to act like she didn’t know. She would be in danger if he discovered that she knew his real identity. Just wait until Finch found out! Imagining the dragon flaming the wayward and murderous jester steeled Keelie’s resolve to see the morning through until she could think up an excuse to report back to the dragon.
“Look, Mommy. There’s a mask store,” a little boy yelled. “I bet there’s puppets!” He grinned at Keelie as he stomped up the steps to the porch and ran right through the front door.
“I guess the show must go on,” Hob muttered. “Shall we entertain our faire guests?” He lifted his mouth in a snarl, revealing jagged teeth.
“Sure.” A cold sensation wrapped itself around Keelie.
When Keelie entered the shop, she felt another ripple of magic that set her on edge. The shop had a warped Willy-Wonka-meets-the-circus vibe, and the unique atmosphere was given a creepy twist by the puppets that hung from the walls between the hundreds of masks. It was as if eyeless faces and little men were staring at her.
Keelie walked behind the wooden counter (alder, from Colorado) and touched the brass register; cold metal, hard to the touch. It was very different from Heartwood’s wooden register. Her heart seized with sadness as she peeked through the shop window, between shelves loaded with papier-mache carnival masks, and saw the newly planted cedars, and the corn-on-the-cob vendor talking happily with a group that had paused by her cart.
Keelie strolled over to look at the puppets and was struck by their sameness. As Finch had mentioned, each one was identical to the Toshi puppet; the only difference was that they wore different-colored versions of the jester’s costume. Hob’s special friend wasn’t so special if there were hundreds of him… why was he so upset? He could have grabbed one of these.
Their little faces leered at her. Keelie shivered.
“What do you want me to do?” Keelie asked, backing away from the disturbing Toshi display.
Before Hob could answer, families started streaming into the shop. Everyone seemed to love the creepy masks and puppets. After they had been working for two hours, Hob-or rather, Peascod-came to stand at her side. Keelie fought to act normally.
“I no longer need your services.” He eyed the door as if eager to leave.
“What about the afternoon? Your customers?” Keelie had to find out where he was headed.
“I have other plans. I’ll just close up.”
Once they were out of the shop, Hob closed the door and locked it.
“Do you want me to come back later?” Keelie asked. “Tomorrow?”
“Things have changed.” He fumbled with the keys.
At least this time, Finch wouldn’t go ballistic about Keelie tanking at a job in under a day. Of course, Keelie hadn’t messed this one up.
“I’ll leave your wages with Finch. I’ll pay you for a full day.” Hob stared at her, as if about to say something else, but instead turned the corner around Hobknocker’s and was gone.
He’d vanished.
Keelie wondered if she should try to track him through the trees, but Knot sat down on her foot.
“Meow. No. Not safe. Meow will go.”
“Fine. I’ll go and tell Finch.”
fourteen
