Weald Fae 02 - The Changeling Page 4

  “Of course, soon. I promise,” said the skink.

  Drevek had dark circles under his eyes, and he appeared to be losing weight. It was hard to look at him because I knew in my gut he was a surrogate displaying Mitch’s condition. After I sat with Drevek, who never opened his eyes, I found myself talking to Mitch. I begged him to have faith and promised him, again, that I’d find him. Unconsciously, I ran my finger though his hair. I recoiled as soon as I realized what I was doing, but then I relaxed and tucked the comforter around him. He wasn’t Mitch, but Drevek was the closest thing I had at the moment.

  It took me only a few moments to fall asleep when I returned to my room, but I awoke several times that night when I subconsciously detected Fae movement in the garden. For better or worse, my senses had expanded and I felt the Fae all the time.

  Ozara had brought three loyal Seelie, as she called them, to watch over the garden and the cottage. They, of course, did not reveal themselves in human form, happy instead to take turns as animals and Naeshura. Unlike the guards, these Seelie meandered about as they had done before the Fire trial. It was less ominous, I admitted, and so was having Cassandra at the Seoladán in the place of Chalen. She was just as dangerous, perhaps more for all I knew, but she didn’t try to compel fear and she wasn’t as repulsive to look at.

  Sometime around five o’clock in the morning, I woke up startled. My senses told me a dozen Fae had entered the garden and taken places around the cottage. Moving to the window, I felt where each was located and readied myself to defend the house. The Fae that had been there all night took positions as well. I panicked.

  “Billy, Sara,” I whispered.

  There was no response.

  I could sense them both downstairs in the basement. I threw up a blank sheet of paper in my mind and quickly scribbled “What’s going on? Why are there so many Fae in the garden?”

  Billy’s tender voice entered my head like a whisper. “Maggie, settle down. They’re Seelie.”

  I began to scribble again. “Why are they…”

  “I can hear you, Maggie.”

  “Okay, why are they here?” I whispered.

  “The Council has left the area, so they placed the guards here for protection until they return.”

  “Return? From where?”

  “Maggie, they’re only going to investigate the oil spill.”

  “What oil spill?”

  “The one in Alaska of course. Haven’t you seen the news?” he gently chided me.

  “No, I don’t watch the news—it’s too depressing.”

  “Being uninformed is depressing. There has been a major oil spill in a remote area of Alaska, near a place the Fae use as a retreat. The Council is going to see how bad it is and to determine whether to intervene.”

  I grew sick to my stomach. “Oh.”

  “Just relax, you’re safer now than you’ve ever been.”

  “Billy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are they listening in?”

  “To your part of the conversation, yes, very likely.”

  “I hate that.”

  He laughed. “Well, then go back to sleep.”

  His advice would have been great had my heart not been beating out of my chest. I took a deep breath to relax, but sleep wasn’t an option. Instead, I went to my Mac and pulled up CNN. There, on the front page, were several articles about the spill. The headline of one read Alaskan Oil Spill Feared Largest in History. Another read Wildlife Refuge Threatened by Tragic Spill. The amount of oil the experts projected had spilled was as mind boggling as the amount of damage they expected the spill to have to the environment. I closed my computer without reading another word. I knew how bad the Gulf spill had been a few years ago and, honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to read more.

  It was so bad the Council had gone to investigate, and I didn’t know whether that course of action was common practice during such events. While I hoped the Council could avert some of the damage projected in the article, any damage was a reminder of the Unseelie warnings, and it made me numb. The human race kept screwing up. Oh crap, that’s why I don’t read the news!

  I was downstairs making breakfast when Mom and Dad got up. They were puzzled when they saw me working away at the island, but simply smiled and went down to check on Drevek. Both of them tried to mask their concern for Mitch, but it did no good. We were all worried, though only I knew what the real danger was.

  When they came back upstairs, Dad was carrying what he thought was his son, talking softly to him and kissing him on the forehead. Sara and Billy were close by—a moth fluttering overhead and a skink scurrying across the wall. Mom and Dad didn’t notice.

  Drevek stared at me and briefly smiled. I thought for a moment his expression was genuine. Justice, however, wasn’t convinced. He had stopped growling at Drevek weeks ago, but had kept his distance nonetheless. He continued to watch Drevek from across the room.

  “Have you seen the news?” I asked.

  Mom and Dad stared at me with bewildered looks.

  “The oil spill in Alaska? Hello?” Had I sprouted a second head?

  They exchanged looks and stared at me again.

  “What? It’s all over the news?”

  Dad had an awkward smile. “I know, I read about it.”

  “Umm, do I have something stuck to my face?”

  Dad laughed. “Honey, current events…you? Did hell freeze over last night?”

  “That’s so funny,” I said sarcastically. “I read the news.”

  “Honey,” Mom said, looking at Dad, “did you get that memo? I didn’t get that memo.” She grinned.

  “Seriously, it’s a tragic event—catastrophic really. It’s hard to believe in one hundred years we haven’t figured out a safer and more efficient way to provide for our energy needs than drilling for fossil fuel in environmentally sensitive areas.” I was completely serious and trying to engage in legitimate discourse on the subject.

  They were stunned, mouths agape. “Whoever you are, imposter, we want our daughter back, now.” Dad’s face was dead serious for a few seconds before he lost his battle with laughter.

  Worse yet, Drevek belted out a laugh. Mitch’s stolen dimples were in full force and his green eyes twinkled with genuine amusement. It was the first time he’d laughed, and it was so authentic I almost thought it was Mitch. The irony of the changeling laughing when my father called me a, well, changeling, made even me laugh, but it also angered me because they weren’t taking me seriously.

  “Honey, I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve never seemed interested in world events before…well…now. I like that you’re interested—it means you’re growing up.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just sad.”

  “The green in your thumb appears to have spread. Grandma Sophie will be so proud.” Mom said, grinning. “So am I.”

  “Well, you should be glad they’re drilling for oil since you now own, what, thirty old gas guzzlers. That pink T-Bird doesn’t run on air.”

  Dad was right about a lot of things, but he was wrong about my cars. Gavin, and then Sara and Billy, saw to it that my tank was never empty. They expanded the gasoline in the tank anytime it dropped below half full. Besides that, if I wanted, I could go everywhere with wind power.

  They chatted with me about the disaster over pancakes, but after breakfast, they drove Drevek to Fayetteville to see a new doctor. Sara went along, unseen. Sitting in my room, I watched them load the changeling into the Burgundy ’65 Thunderbird and drive up the hill. I considered just how desperate his situation was becoming. Despite Drevek’s smiles, he was losing weight and growing weaker by the day. I knew that Mitch was doing the same, with one powerful exception: Mitch hadn’t laughed this morning. He didn’t have the comfort of doting parents and nobody was taking him to the doctor this morning.

  Then my mind turned to what effect Alaska, yet one more human-made catastrophe, might have on the Fae. The Council would be livid over the spill and the Unseelie
would be worse. My role as Steward was certainly important, but what could I do to make a difference if I was destined to stay here on Beaver Lake looking after the Weald? There was nothing I could do, I concluded. None of the previous Stewards had made a difference in the world.

  Because of the Fae gag rule, no one outside of Eureka Springs even knew who we were. For that matter, even to the people who did know my family, the O’Shea’s were nothing more than friendly hill people who largely kept to themselves. It wasn’t like the townsfolk visited Aunt May seeking advice on larger matters.

  With Mitch’s life at risk and the certainty that I wasn’t going to impact the world from a storybook cottage in the Ozarks, I wrestled with the option of leaving the Weald and letting the Unseelie have their way. I could save Mitch, and while I didn’t know what I could do to change the world, I could at least be in the world to give it a try.

  I felt small when I considered all that needed to change. What could I really do? I was just one person. I was rich, sure, but I knew I didn’t have enough money to influence politicians. This sucks.

  Just as despair began to set in, I felt the familiar presence return to my room. It was stronger than ever. Concentrating only on the area inside my room, I struggled to pinpoint where it was, but even with my heightened senses I still couldn’t tell. I felt a sense of hope for the first time in weeks, and the problems I was just wrestling with didn’t seem so insurmountable. It occurred to me that the presence was responding to my mood, even though I kept it well hidden. If the presence could read me, it wasn’t Fae.

  As I sat there staring out at the gray January sky, I vaguely felt something being impressed on me, like a message or an image. The meaning wasn’t clear, but it felt like the presence was trying to tell me something, desperately fighting with the foggy veil that stood between us. Whatever was in the room with me, it was stronger than it had ever been in the past. Out of nowhere, I remembered Aunt May making me tea a year ago. I recalled her methodically going through each step, the sound of the water boiling, the smell of the tealeaves, and the steam gently wafting above the cups as she poured it.

  “Patience,” I said aloud.

  The feeling in the room changed to happiness and the feeling of hope grew stronger. My eyes misted. “Aunt May?”

  There was no change in the room.

  FIVE

  A CRESCENT MOON

  Even though the February sky was clear and blue, the morning air was bitterly cold as I headed to school. The day before, Dad had installed the pink hardtop with porthole windows on my T-Bird. He said it was better insulated than the canvas top, and would help keep me a little warmer. That was good, as temperatures plunged into the ‘teens and threatened to stay there for the near future. Still, the heater whirred under the dash, blowing cold air in a futile attempt to raise the temperature. My teeth were chattering by the time I was halfway up the driveway, and the windshield was beginning to fog up. Apparently, there was no such thing as a heated seat in 1957. Before I got to the gate, it occurred to me that I could generate more heat than the car could. It took only a moment of concentration before warm air from the fan began caressing my numb toes.

  Sara, completely unaffected by the frigid temperature, snickered in the seat next to mine. She started going back to school the Monday after Ozara posted the additional guards at the Weald. Billy stayed behind and looked after Drevek, though it was hardly necessary. His condition had only grown worse during the two weeks since he’d visited the specialist in Fayetteville. He was languid and unresponsive at the best of times, delirious and confrontational at others.

  The doctors couldn’t diagnose Drevek’s condition. No surprise since he was Fae. While Sara assured me he was in a genuine state of decline, a side effect of having Aether lodged in his chest, the doctors didn’t know what Aether was, and even if they had, they’d be powerless to detect it or treat him. They’d prescribed a few things, but wanted him to return in a few days for another evaluation. My parents were worried, although they were doing their best to hide it.

  After class, Sara and I drove to the Crescent Hotel, the one Aunt May had shown us on that first drive into town more than a year ago. Pulling into the parking lot under the shadow of the imposing stone building, I could hear her in my head telling Mitch about the ghosts. As it turned out, the people who ran the Crescent embraced the stories and offered guided ghost tours. I snapped out of the bittersweet memory when I opened the door to a face full of cold air. We quickly walked past the large crescent moon statue in front of the hotel entrance, and I fought to control my chattering teeth as we made a beeline for the front doors.

  We met Candace, Ronnie, Rachel, and the rest of the prom committee in the Crystal Dining Room. Occupying the north end of the hotel’s main floor, the dining room was a large, rather elegant space, with tall ceilings, walnut-paneled walls, and crystal chandeliers.

  We met there because Rhonda wanted to rent it for the prom, and she wanted to show off. She said her dad was willing to pay for it. If my suspicions were correct, she was trying to reassert herself as the rich girl. The poorly kept secret that I had inherited a monstrous fortune from Aunt May seemed to grate on her nerves almost as much as all the unwanted attention I got from the guys in school. She was being shallow and I refused to engage in one-upmanship, so I joined in with the others and thanked Rhonda for her dad’s generosity.

  The meeting quickly became the Rhonda Adair Show as she asserted her opinion about each facet of the prom while cutting Candace off at every turn. Their relationship had taken a negative turn over the last few months, and they bickered as our food arrived. It only grew more intense while we ate, with Rhonda raising her grating, high-pitched voice and talking to Candace as though she were an infant. Candace seemed ready to lose it. Her nostrils flared with each breath, and she cocked her jaw behind thinly pressed lips.

  Rhonda rolled her eyes when anyone, especially Ronnie, offered an alternative, and bristled when she was outnumbered, each time suggesting that the prom could be moved back to the school gym if she didn’t get her way. Punching her pointy, upturned nose dominated my thoughts.

  After exchanging barbs with Candace, she cut Ronnie off and I thought they were going to come to blows. Rachel, who was devoted to Ronnie, Rhonda, and Candace, did her best to smooth everything over. Rhonda complimented Rachel when she agreed with her, but belittled her when she didn’t. Poor Rachel was too unsure of herself to stand her ground when confronting Rhonda.

  Whether it was the stress in my life or just her annoying manner, I’d had enough. When Rhonda circumvented Candace and asked for a vote, I gave way to my anger. I didn’t care about the prom, but I was sick of Rhonda.

  “Do we all agree?” she said, smugly satisfied that she was getting her way.

  “No, actually, I don’t agree,” I said sharply.

  She slowly turned her crystal blue eyes in my direction. The irritation on her face was clear and it fueled my desire to knock her down a notch.

  “Well, I think we’ve settled on everything, Maggie. I’m sure your contribution would be…interesting, but it’s a little late. No one wants a mariachi band or piñatas.”

  “I know it runs against your nature, but you don’t need to be ugly. I think I speak for everyone when I say that I’m sick of hearing you whine.”

  Candace relaxed in her seat, grinning like she was about to open a present, and settled in to enjoy the inevitable fray. Rhonda’s irritation turned to thinly veiled anger.

  “You don’t speak for…”

  “Shut up, Rhonda,” I interrupted her. “This is Candace’s gig, not yours. She’s the committee chair. You’re just along for the ride. I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’ve watched everyone at the table grimace at the horrid suggestions you’ve come up with so far. Honestly, no one likes your ideas, and they’d say so but they’re just afraid you’ll tell daddy to pull the plug. I realize that nobody here wants a prom in the gym, but I’ve had it with your petty crap.”
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  “Maggie’s right,” Candace said. “I’d like to open the table back up to discuss…well…everything.”

  Rhonda shot Candace a nasty look. Rachel nodded her head timidly, diverting her big blue-green eyes from Rhonda stare.

  Ronnie, looking far too satisfied, twined his fingers in the thick black hair on the back of his head. “Rhonda, we all appreciate your dad’s generosity, but I think I’d rather have the prom in the gym than do some lame-ass tribute to 1976. No offense, your highness.”

  “Great,” she snapped. “Why doesn’t it surprise me, Ronnie, that you’d be happy with the gym? Average—that’s all you’re used to. Maybe we can do it in your parent’s carport? We can move the old couch off the front porch to make a dance floor. Tell me, is it actually possible to rent a tuxedo at K-mart?”

  For a fleeting moment, I considered setting her hair on fire, but decided against it with Sara sitting so close.

  Ronnie dropped his hands and clenched the bottom of his chair, tensing every muscle in his lean body so hard the veins bulged under his ivory skin. “We’re exactly the opposite I guess, since you seem perfectly happy putting designer clothes on a K-mart body.”

  “I have a grand idea…” Sara said in a thick Irish accent, cutting them both off. Sara’s comments caught everyone off-guard, as she usually said nothing. As she spoke, she turned her black eyes from the tabletop to Rhonda’s face in a slow deliberate movement, her golden curls glinting in the dining room light. “Rhonda, your father, he doesn’t need to pay for the room. I’ll pay for the thing meself. Tell your father, from all of us, thank you for the wonderful offer, but we’re not going to be held hostage by a vapid, ungracious megalomaniac. Now, I don’t intend to repeat it, so try concentrating on the words coming out of me mouth.

  “I noticed how you enjoy it when people refer to you as a princess, but I’ve lived abroad, you see, and I know a thing or two about royalty. The Queen of England has breeding, and money of her own, but you…you have neither. So drop the airs. I didn’t move from Ireland to bow down to an unctuous bourgeois harpy, nor am I willing to go to a dance as the guest of such a person. You’re little more than a delusional, truculent strumpet with less taste than sense, and that’s saying something. So, Rhonda, I’d prefer it if you just stopped talking.”