Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles (29 page)

“Yes, and you have fought hard to overcome it. That doesn’t mean you’ve dealt with it,” Mabel replied, still plucking at the blanket.

Phelma Jo turned on her heel and left the craziness that surrounded everyone she talked to lately.

Dick ran his hands through his hair and tiredly leaned his elbows on the steering wheel. “Where are you hiding, Thistle?” he asked the air.

No answer. Of course she didn’t answer. Something had frightened her. Like any Pixie, she’d hide until she felt safe again.

What had done this to her? To them?

Snapdragon. But why?

One last house. He’d checked with all of the old folks Thistle visited twice a day to make sure they ate, took their medications, let the dogs out, had the heat or fans set at the right temperature. Sometimes she washed the dishes for them or cleaned up when they’d dropped things, or made messes of themselves. None of her elderly friends could continue to live alone without Thistle. The community paid her to do what came naturally to someone born in Pixie: to befriend those who needed them.

He dragged himself out of his car and up the walkway to Mrs. Spencer’s front door. Mrs. Spencer had taught his fourth grade class. Most everyone in town had had her for a teacher at some point. Now in her eighties, the entire town had a vested interest in keeping her happy, healthy, and safe. She’d been Thistle’s first client.

A white-muzzled mutt with floppy ears bounced against the front window beside the door. Horace barked enthusiastically to welcome him.

“Who needs a doorbell when you have a door dog?” He grinned and rang the bell.

“Yes?” asked a leggy brunette about his own age, wearing pressed designer jeans, a purple silk shirt, and a chunky necklace of gold and raw crystals about her neck. She opened the door as far as the security chain allowed. “Dick Carrick? Is that you?” She pushed the door closed just enough to release the chain, then flung it open again. In one deft movement she grabbed Horace’s collar and pulled up the hooked latch of the screen door. “Come on in. What brings you here?”

“Hannah Fleming?” Dick had to search his memory for the name of the woman he’d dated occasionally over the years. How long since he’d dug out his little black book and called her?

Not since Thistle came back into his life. Maybe not for a couple of months before that.

“Of course I’m Hannah. It’s only been six months since we went to that party to open the new wing at Mercy Hospital.”

Dick walked past her into the small front room made smaller by an eclectic collection of chairs, tables, and sofas from half a dozen decades in the past. “Mrs. Spencer?” he asked rather than pursue his checkered past.

“My grandmother. She’s in the back room napping. Do you need her for something special?”

“No, no, don’t disturb her. I was just wondering what time Thistle checked on her this morning.”

“Thistle? Oh, you mean the dark-haired girl. I don’t know that she came at all today. The dishes were still dirty and the laundry not done when I got here about noon. I wondered at the time if she’d been keeping the schedule we pay her for.”

Dick sniffed for any trace of Thistle’s unique perfume. She always smelled like fresh flowers. This room smelled of closed air and damp dog. The damp dog plopped his butt onto Dick’s shoe, wagging his tail expectantly. “What do you need, pup?” He bent to scratch the dog’s ears.

“Hmf, he’s hardly a pup. In dog years he’s older than Nanna,” Hannah said. “And he just went out, so he’s just playing you for more attention.”

“Is that so, Horace? Didn’t Thistle let you out this morning?”

Horace whined.

Dick couldn’t speak Dog as well as Thistle, but he got the distinct impression that Horace’s ears swiveled forward at mention of Thistle. “I miss her, too.” Dick crouched to Horace’s level. “Where is she, boy?”

Horace whined plaintively.

“I guess she never made it here today,” Dick sighed, standing again with one last ruffle of the dog’s ears.

“You’re worried about her, Dick,” Hannah said. “That’s a new one for you.” She plopped down into one of the overstuffed chairs that almost swallowed her. She crossed her legs at the knee, twitching her foot like a cat flicks its tail in agitation. “Actually, I’m surprised you remembered my name. But then you dated me a total of six times since
our junior year in high school. That makes me your longest and most regular relationship.” More twitching of her foot.

“Don’t remind me. I have a lot of past indiscretions to make up for. I guess I was just waiting for the right woman to come along. I haven’t wanted to date anyone but Thistle since the day I met her. We’re engaged, planning a Valentine’s Day wedding.” That should be long enough to get her paperwork in order.

If he could find her, talk to her, figure out what was going on.

Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Dick Carrick becoming faithful? Is hell freezing over?”

Dick cringed. “Yeah, well, we had a little disagreement, and now I can’t find her to explain.”

“I’m still in touch with Sandy Langford,” she said out of the blue.

“Sandy?” That was the second time today—or was it the third—that Sandy’s name had come up. Dick tried to picture a face to go with the name. All he came up with was the girl he’d found in Mabel’s house. “What’s she up to? I haven’t seen her at any of the class reunions.”

“She’s a dental hygienist in Seattle. You should contact her.”

“Why?” He wanted answers and wanted them now.

“Just do it. I think she needs to hear from you.”

“Sorry. I’ve got enough on my plate right now. I have to find Thistle. Thanks for your time, Hannah, and please give my best wishes to your grandmother.” He let himself out. Horace tried to follow him, but Hannah grabbed the dog’s collar.

At the last second, Dick turned back. “If I can’t find her, can I borrow Horace to track her?”

“Wow, you do have it bad, Dick. Yeah, you can borrow Horace if she hasn’t come home by tomorrow. But call Sandy tonight. It’s important.”

As important as a missing daughter, perhaps?

“If Thistle doesn’t come home by tomorrow, I’m reporting her missing to the police.”

Which gave him a better idea. Chase knew how to trace
people who were lost or even those who didn’t want to be found. Chase had access to bloodhounds trained to track people.

But those anonymous tracking dogs didn’t love Thistle like Horace did.

“C
HASE, I’VE BEEN THINKING,” Dusty said softly, holding his hand as they waited for a clinic doctor to see him.

“Is that dangerous thinking or just Dusty being the smartest person in town thinking?” He rested his head in his hands, elbows on knees.

She rubbed his temples some more, the only relief from his headache he seemed to get. The aspirin hadn’t touched it.

“I’m thinking about Thistle and what happened between her and Dick.

Chase sat up. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He looked wounded. She wished the doctor would come soon and give him something for his pain.

“What about Thistle and Dick?” he asked.

“If he hasn’t found her yet, maybe she went… home.”

“Is that possible?” Chase dropped his head again.

“I don’t know. But I think I should take a look in The Ten Acre Wood when I go back to lock up the museum.”

“Not alone, Dusty. Please don’t go into a dark and abandoned forest after dark alone. I don’t care how important the errand, the place isn’t safe after dark.”

“This is The Ten Acre Wood we’re talking about. It’s a city park. Every kid in town plays there. The haunted maze is nearly set up for All Hallows. There are dozens of people in and out.”

“Not after dark. It may be a park, but only so we can protect it from developers. There are no streetlights, no police
patrols. But there are a lot of places for vagrants and petty criminals to hide. You’re vulnerable. Promise me you’ll wait until daylight, or take Dick with you, or wait for me.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll take Dick with me. If Thistle is there, she might listen to him.”

“What if she can’t come back?” he asked. “We don’t know how that… um…” he looked up at the receptionist behind her glass partition. “We don’t know anything about this transfer of power thing. What if she’s used up all her ability to shift in going back?”

“I don’t know. But I have to try. She’s my friend and she’s hurting. My brother is hurting. I have to help them.”

“So do I. She’s the solution to all these….” He pointed to his still seeping wound.

Just then the nurse opened the door to the examination rooms at the back of the building. “We’re ready for you, Chase. No more waiting.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” he muttered as he winced and levered himself upright.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” Dusty said. The moment the door closed behind him, she whipped out her cell phone and called her brother.

Thistle dropped onto a mushroom sticking out of a fir tree trunk. The cream base with pale-green-and-rust swirls through it looked familiar. She needed a bit of a nap. But it was so cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

Her fingertips brushed against the silky membrane of her wings.

She froze in uncertainty. Wings. She’d grown her wings again.

A hasty glance around, surveying the size of the trees, the breadth of the sword ferns, and the cushiony platform beneath her, sent new chills through her.

“I’m back in Pixie,” she whispered. The sinking feeling of watching Dick with his daughter, of their energy reaching toward each other, drained all emotion from her. In her blind, instinctive run from the truth, that Dick had always
loved Sandy Langford, had sired a daughter with her, leaving Thistle an inadequate stopgap, she must have shed her human form and her clothing. Now she had returned to her natural self.

And she was cold and alone. “No Pixie should sleep alone,” she whispered. “I’m home. But is this really home?”

“And about time you showed up,” Alder said, hovering in front of her. His leaf-shaped wings beat a rapid tattoo. He’d donned scraps of real leaves and bark to guard against the autumnal chill and dripping rain.

Thistle scooted back on her mushroom until her back rested against the rough bark, her wings spread out beside her.

“What? How?”

“If you don’t know that you finally figured out who you are and where you belong, then you are in sad shape. You might not come out of it until spring. We’re setting up a bower in a hollow log on the other side of the pond. A cat and a raccoon got into a fight last night and left plenty of fur behind to make it all nice and snug and warm for the winter,” Alder said. He looked longingly at Thistle’s mushroom. “May I join you?”

“No.” She continued to shrink against the tree but made sure she was in the middle of the resting place with no room for him on either side.

“Thistle, this is me, Alder. Your friend and your king. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I did last summer when you kicked me out of Pixie.” A surge of anger warmed her a bit. But her teeth still wanted to chatter in uncertainty. No, make that out-and-out dread. She didn’t want to be here.

But if she returned to her friends….