The Steward (43 page)

“Reminds me of Florida,”
h
e said
,
imitating
me.

“Honestly, I won’t mind it too much when it gets cooler
,” I said, unable to stop the flow of perspiration down my face.

“Not long. Three weeks I think,” he said
,
smiling broadly.

That figures—Fae doctors, Fae mechanics, Fae lawyers ... a Fae weatherman shouldn’t surprise me.
“I’m going to miss summer. It’s so beautiful here.”

“I think you’ll find Autumn even more beautiful.”

“I’ve heard—red, orange and yellow. I don’t know, it sounds like a limited palette of color, if you ask me.”

“Ahhh, but those are the best colors
—t
hey’re
my
colors.”
He smiled.

I thought about
his request
to produce purple up at the bluff and
it confused me
. Then what he said made sense.
“
O
h, Fire ... of course.”

* * *

By mid-August, the heat was stifling. It hadn’t rained in three weeks and the plants in the garden required constant attention—I started getting up at six o’clock in the morning to water.

I’d just finished rolling up the hose at about eight o’clock, when the silver Cadillac SUV came back down the drive. I wiped the sweat from my forehead—the temperature was already in the nineties and it was incredibly humid. The same men I’d seen before climbed out and made their way into the garden. They nodded at me, and the first man, a balding guy who looked to be in his sixties, asked if Dad was inside. I nodded and they filed past, all the while looking around and quietly talking with one another.

I was curious about the men and why they were here. With Danny’s help, Dad had sold his 67’ Mustang the day after I called him. It devastated Mitch when a man loaded the dark green fastback on a trailer and drove it away. I bought it of course, but I had to keep it quiet a while longer, at least until Dad couldn’t overrule me and force me to sell it like I knew he would.

I expected the men in the Cadillac to leave after Dad informed them that the Mustang was gone. Instead, they were in the library with him and Mom. I fought the urge to eavesdrop, even though my curiosity was piqued.

Instead, I went upstairs and took a long bath. When I finished, I heard the front door close and felt the Fae in the garden stir—it startled me. I looked out the window and watched the men walk halfway through the garden and pause. One of them pointed to the lake, and they laughed. One of the Fae took the form of a hummingbird. It hovered close to them, listening to their conversation. A strange feeling came over me, and I wished that I’d listened in after all.

The presence was in my room again. In many ways it felt like it had every other time I sensed it. This time, however, it didn’t make me feel calm. I felt agitated, and found myself worrying. Over what, I didn’t know.

TWENTY
-
SEVEN

INTERVENTION

I left my room after the men drove away, and noticed that Mom was gone. Mitch was gone too—he spent most his time with his friends after Dad sold the Mustang. Dad sat alone in the library just staring at a book. He didn’t say a word to me when I told him I was going to meet Candace and Rachel. He looked up and smiled, nodding his head. He appeared broken and I knew there was something wrong, but I also knew better than to ask.

I checked the studio to tell Mom where I was going. I also wanted to see if she would tell me what was going on with Dad. She wasn’t there.

Justice walked with me back through the garden, wagging his tail and nudging my hand with his cold nose—he missed Mitch. I would have taken him with me if I weren’t on my way to a restaurant. I rubbed his ears for a few seconds. He whimpered a little and sat down when I got in my car. Without moving anything but his head, he peered through the wrought iron gate and watched me drive out of view.

* * *

The last two weeks of summer passed and I’d started my junior year. I thought about how much everything had changed since we moved from Boca. Of course I missed Lizbeth and Megan, but I belonged here.

Mitch acted a little more like himself, but he noticed how distant Dad had become. It affected him more than me. They’d always been very close, like I was with Mom. Even as smart as he was, brilliant for his age, he didn’t understand what was happening. I did my best to put his mind at ease, and I encouraged him to keep trying—Dad would come around, I hoped.

Enormous dimples appeared on his face when we got to the elementary school and found his entourage waiting for him. He kissed me on the cheek and gave me his best smile before scurrying to them.

I parked my pink T-bird in the usual spot. The absence of the blue Maserati stung a little, but I forced a smile and headed for the door. All of my friends were at our new lockers, in the corridor where the juniors had been last year. My arrival set off a LAM Siren. I rather enjoyed this one.

Rhonda didn’t scream, of course. She didn’t even smile. She simply stared at me with the same intensity I had when I concentrated on creating lightning.
Good thing she isn’t Fire inclined.

I smiled and spoke to her as she turned to her locker, which was next to mine. Her scar was invisible, but she wore more foundation than usual. The only thing that annoyed her more than my presence, it seemed, were all the younger kids who’d moved up from junior high. They cut her a wide berth as they meandered around in the hall, looking lost.

The subject of Gavin came up. Everyone noticed the conspicuous absence of the best-looking guy in school. Rachel asked me if I’d heard from him, but before I could answer, Rhonda did. She pulled her water bottle from her lips just far enough to talk.

“If Maggie’s been to visit, you should look in his bathtub.”

An uneasy laughter followed, and all eyes turned to me—everyone caught her meaning. The nickname from last year, Bathtub Butcher, sounded off in my head. But I was in control, and Rhonda was an amateur. I flashed a smile, reached across the space with my mind, and found five tiny air bubbles in the bottom of the bottle. I expanded them to fill the void. The fountain of water hit her squarely in the face.

When she gasped and pushed back from her locker, I fought back a smile. Her shocked look was all I needed.

“Talk about your instant karma!” Candace said, laughing. Rhonda stormed down the hall, scattering freshman in her wake.

Ronnie shook his head. “I half expected her to melt. So much for that theory. Anyone have salt?”

After school, when I parked in the Toy Box, I noticed that all the covers had been removed from the cars. I’d never seen them all exposed before. An antique red car that looked somewhat similar to Gavin’s sat next to a sleek convertible Jaguar with wire wheels. It was red too, with tan leather seats. I saw what I guessed to be the notorious Duesenburg. With a massive chromed grill, big sweeping fenders, and a curving two-toned paint job, it was parked in the back next to a teal blue SUV-looking car that was wood from the front doors back. Two cars with trunks that tapered to points were parked next to it. The Packard Boattails, I assumed. Mitch seemed dejected, flopping back into the seat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bet Dad’s gonna sell them, too!”

“No, he isn’t. He can’t, Mitch, they’re not his to sell,” I said, mussing his hair. “He’s probably just cleaning them or something.”

Mitch shot me a dubious look and slowly walked to the gate. He cheered up when Justice came leaping through the garden toward him, bounding like a small deer with a perm. The sight of the garden made me sad, though. The summer flowers were all but gone. The mums we planted were about the only things still going strong, and they, at least, seemed to be getting more beautiful each day.

I snapped out of it and looked back at the cars one more time before I dropped by the studio to see Mom—she wasn’t there. She hadn’t been doing much work lately. Not since the men came last. I wanted to believe it was because the tourist season was coming to an end, but I suspected that wasn’t the reason.

I checked in the house, but only Dad was inside, doing something on the computer. He closed the screen and smiled when he saw me. It was an
I’m busy
smile, not a
come talk to me
smile. So I left him alone.

* * *

As Billy had predicted, the leaves in the Weald changed color. Autumn came slowly at first, with a few leaves on the maple trees turning color. Later there were several spots of color in the forest canopy. But two weeks ago everything changed—the Ozarks became a patchwork quilt of vibrant colors. The bright reds, deep crimsons, fiery oranges and brilliant yellows were simply stunning. The glowing orange maples were my favorite. Regardless of the tree, I studied the leaves and understood fall. I could sense the energy being drawn from the leaves back into the tree. When the leaves were their brightest, they were little more than colorful, lifeless shells—albeit stunning shells.

By late October, the plants in the garden were spent, even the mums, and I worked with Mitch and Mom to clear them out just like Aunt May had shown us. Even Mitch remembered what to cut and what to leave. We planted bulbs for next year, and I was careful to measure and record where each one went in the journal Aunt May had given me.

We were ready for winter, I thought, except for the leaves that kept falling. By then, keeping up with them was a losing battle. There were still more in the trees than on the ground, and honestly I loved them on the ground. It made everything surreal. They glowed against the driveway and they looked like confetti in the garden. They were especially beautiful in the early morning mist.

It wasn’t just in the Weald—the bright, bold colors of fall were everywhere. In town there were more colorful trees than in the woods—Eureka was full of glowing balls of foliage.

Halloween was just a few days away. When I came down the drive after school, I saw the silver Cadillac parked by the garden gate. I drove past it and parked in the Toy Box. I was glad Mitch had gone to Scotty’s house—it meant I was alone, and could do what I should have done weeks ago.

When I crossed the garden, I noticed that the Fae had moved. Two were just outside the Library window, and I sensed one of them inside the house. When I concentrated, I knew it was in the library. I rushed to the front door and quietly opened it. This time I would eavesdrop.

Everyone was in the Library and the door was closed again. Nonetheless, I could hear everything said. While I listened, Dad told the men that Aunt May’s Will would be through probate on November third—six days from then. Dad talked about signing a contract on the fourth and scheduling a closing in January. The words didn’t make sense to me—I didn’t know what
closing
meant, and I had no idea why any of it pertained to Aunt May’s Will.

I heard one of the men say, “That sounds great. We’ll get the contracts prepared. Of course, you don’t mind if we have it surveyed before we go under contract?”

“I don’t see why not,” Dad said. “I have two boats you can use to survey the islands—I’ll let them convey if you want to keep them.”

As the meaning of the words sank in, I fought against what they meant. He was talking about the Weald, about selling it. “No, no way,” I said to myself, as I began to shake. My temper flared and I fought to keep it under control. It was a losing battle.

Heat flashed through my chest, up my neck, and filled my face. My heart beat faster than if I’d just swum a mile, and the anger I felt fueled tears that poured down my cheeks. My fear welled, too. The Fae in the room—probably in the form of a fly or something—transformed back into Naeshura and left. Then the others moved away.
My god, Dad, what have you done?

Throwing out caution and common sense, I flung the door of the library open. It banged against the wall. I was sobbing. I said, “No!” Actually, I screamed it, despite trying not to. I stared at Dad.

Tears instantly welled up in Mom’s eyes, too. She came over to me, trying to hug me, but I pushed her arms away and focused on Dad.

“You can’t do this!” I yelled again.

“Maggie!” he said, raising his voice. It was the first time he’d ever done so.

The men in the room looked at me before staring at the floor.

“Umm, I think we have everything we need for now, so I’ll talk to you soon, Mr. O’Shea,” the older bald man said.

Dad nodded and shook their hands—my sobs came a little harder when he did. The word
traitor
echoed in my mind, and I fought for control. Mom tried to hug me again, but I wouldn’t let her. She cried, and glared at Dad before turning back to me.

“Oh, Maggie, please…” she pleaded with me.

When the front door closed, Dad looked at me angrily.

“Young lady, don’t you raise your…”

Again I screamed, “Stop! You can’t be angry with me! You’re selling this place without asking me.”

He turned red. It was the most emotion I’d seen in his face since the police came after Aunt May’s funeral.

“I don’t need to ask you!” he barked.

“It’s my house! Not yours. Aunt May gave it to me, and now we know why—god, I’m glad she’s gone. She’d hate you for this!”

His anger was joined briefly by a look of pain as my words registered—he knew I was right. He looked down and took a deep breath.

“Your aunt did what she thought was best by leaving this place to you, and I’m doing the same. In January we’re moving back to Florida. You’ll be closer to your friends and your grandparents,” he said. His tone was even, but I could sense his anger just under the surface. The vein in his neck bulged, too.