Abigail and I examined the painting. I couldn’t believe it took me that long to realize what I was looking at. “Abigail, this is the same map Agatha Hollows used to get to Poinsett Bridge.”
“It doesn’t look like a map,” Abigail said.
“No, but it is the same path to the bridge,” I said. “It’s enchanted. We have to decipher the secret to reveal it. Mrs. Tangledwood knew the spell. She wanted to leave the answer to her great-niece—the real Charlotte. This is Mrs. Tangledwood’s greatest treasure. All her other possessions were earthly and will turn to dust in time. This is the true gift she left for her bloodline. Mrs. Twiggs,” I said. “The book, the book that opens the secret room.”
Mrs. Twiggs looked at me and ran to the shelf. She examined the spine and read out loud, “Humphrey Repton. The Theory and Practice of Landscaping. 1795. First edition.” Mrs. Twiggs turned to us. “This is the book that inspired Olmsted to become a landscape architect. He used this book to teach his pupils. He said, ‘You are to read this seriously as a law student would read Blackstone.’ Emma knew that the Ladies of the Biltmore Society would know this reference. She wants us to read Olmsted’s personal journal and to read it seriously.” Mrs. Twiggs checked the shelves but couldn’t find it. She went into the secret room, checking the drawers in the writing desk. They were locked. “Open,” she said, and the drawers flung open. She found Frederick Law Olmsted’s personal journal—the one that George Vanderbilt gifted to the Tangledwoods. She brought it to us. “Emma told me about the journal but she never let me read it.”
Abigail took the book, flipping through it, running a finger along the lines. “Terra, there’s a passage here about his trip to Ireland to bring saplings to the Biltmore Forest. He mentions oak, ash, and thorn. He brought a clipping of an ancient oak tree. He’s talking about my spirit oak tree, isn’t he?”
I nodded.
Abigail continued reading. “He mentioned traveling into the hedges of Lullymore in the County Kildare. The locals told him of a single hawthorn tree that was said to be the home of the last woodland fairy. Intrigued by the fairy tale, Olmsted brought the hawthorn tree to Biltmore Forest.” Abigail closed the journal. “That’s all that’s in there, Terra.”
“We are to read that journal as the letter of the law. I believe that Olmsted brought with him the last fairy on earth. She kept the secret of the portal at Poinsett Bridge. Agatha Hollows knew how to open it and showed me the labyrinth to follow to reach the river, to gather the magic to cross over, but she did not show me how to continue. That way I could never be held hostage to black magic and deliver them into the portal. This painting is a map, painted by the last fairy of Lullymore, the last fairy on earth. She only gave Olmsted half the puzzle. Agatha gave me the other half.”
“We have to go,” Abigail said.
“But, Abigail, no one has ever come back. I didn’t tell you this, but I saw Elizabeth in the portal. She couldn’t leave it. She couldn’t cross back into this world.”
“I don’t care, Terra, we have to save Pixel. We have to defend ourselves against the lieutenant. How do we decipher the map?”
“Like the Wiccans, the fairies’ bloodlines faded as the magic of this world faded and the humans took over, encroaching on their land. Their magic dwindled as the human science became the new magic. In 1820 when the Poinsett Bridge was built to connect the Carolinas, the fairies used the last of their magic and the magic of these ancient mountains to open the portal to the fairy world from where they first came. They hoped that one day they could return to our world which they loved. The Lullymore fairy was the last to cross over. The rest had already evolved.”
“Evolved into what?” Abigail asked.
“Butterflies,” I said.
We turned when we heard a thud against the window. Flutter landed on the windowsill. I paused and stared. “There wasn’t enough magic left for them to save their race. Elizabeth told me this story a long time ago. I thought it was literally a fairy tale. She told me so many fairy tales when I was a little girl. She said only the fairy queen could enter the portal and return the fairies to the woods.”
Chapter 35
Flutter
Mrs. Twiggs finished with Detective Willows and then came over to us. “Detective Willows is trying to find the real Charlotte. Her parents died several years ago, and there has been no trace of her since then. They’re releasing Mr. White.”
Flutter pounded against the window again. The three of us went outside and watched as she danced from one hibiscus to another, yellow to apricot to orange and then back. It took me several minutes to realize there was a pattern to her dance. I ran back to study the painting and saw the same colors. There was a path, a dance of the fairies to make the tumblers click to unlock the portal.
Abigail filled her backpack with supplies. Mrs. Twiggs drove us to the animal hospital so we could say our goodbyes to the ladies. They all remained glued to Pixel’s side. I stared down at my friend, my familiar. He lay still, monitors and IVs hooked up to his tattered and broken body. Flutter flew around the room, landing next to Pixel. She flapped her wings fiercely, and a small sprinkle of dust flew off them, covering Pixel. He moaned and then opened one eye for a second, staring at me before closing it again. It was late at night, the best time to travel. We’d have to follow the stars to make our way to the river. Abigail picked me up, cradling me in her arms.
Mrs. Twiggs pulled us aside. “We’re all coming with you,” she said. “We’ve trained for this day.”
“It’s better if we travel light and unnoticed, and you need to stay with Pixel. I don’t want to leave him alone,” I said although I would welcome their presence.
“We can’t let you go alone. The two of you aren’t prepared to fight this battle on your own,” Mrs. Twiggs argued.
It saddened me to say, but Mrs. Twiggs needed to hear the truth. All the ladies needed to hear the truth. They gathered around me, all in a semicircle. “We only have one chance to defeat the darkness and that is for Abigail to enter the portal. There’s just too many, and they are too powerful. We can’t fight them and survive. Some of you would perish on the trail. I can’t let that happen. If we fall, you will be the last defense of Asheville.”
“Very well, Terra,” Mrs. Twiggs said.
The ladies laid their hands on Abigail, offering what they could from their magic to protect us. Mrs. Raintree sang a Cherokee blessing; Mrs. Birchbark held Abigail’s hand. Her goddess mother Kuan Yin eased Abigail’s suffering for Abigail’s heart was broken.
Mrs. Stickman ran outside, and with a wave of her hand, the dark clouds disappeared, filling the sky with stars. She turned to Abigail. “To help light your way,” she said with a smile.
Mrs. Branchworthy placed a small stone in Abigail’s hand. Abigail stared at it, knowing she could make her own fire, but Mrs. Branchworthy said, “You’ll know what to do and when to use this.” She put the stone in the front flap of her backpack.
Mrs. Bartlett handed Abigail her silver knife. Abigail slid it into her boot. Mrs. Bowers’, descendant of Rhiannon, Queen Witch, said, “I’ve been summoning the magic of the wee ones.” As she spoke, a dragonfly flew into the room and landed on Abigail’s shoulder. Abigail smiled and put her finger up to the dragonfly. It climbed onto it, a beautiful fluorescent blue with iridescent flapping wings. “If you need us, send the dragonfly,” she said.
Mrs. Loblolly handed Abigail a compass, a very old and battered one. “This will help you find your way home. It doesn’t point north. It points to your loved ones. It’s drawn to our love for you, so you will always find us,” she said.