“He’s human. He should be able to get through the wall,” Chicory agreed.
“While he’s doing that, I want you six to get back to normal size and go see what you can do with those clouds. Take with you every Pixie from every tribe you can find. We really need some relief in this town, or the Ball is going to break into fistfights just like the bar did last night.”
“That will be fun.” Delph grinned hugely.
“For you, maybe. Not for Dusty.”
“Oh, yeah. Dusty. Mabel reminded us this morning that this is Dusty’s day and we shouldn’t do anything to upset her.”
“Did you hear that Dusty and Chase stayed up after the bar fight until almost dawn, talking and kissing?” Daisy asked. “They are truly in love.” Her eyes looked at Chicory with adoration.
“Good. Now go see what you can do about those clouds. Take with you every Pixie willing to go, no matter which tribe.”
“What are you going to do?” Chicory asked.
“Make sure everyone has fun at this Ball. Especially Dusty. Which may mean messing with her cell phone so her mother can’t call her again.”
“Can I have a real gun like yours?” Dick asked as he fondled the toy weapon riding low on his left hip. He pulled his neckerchief up over his mouth and nose like any self-respecting Wild West bandit.
“No,” Chase replied firmly.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m wearing a badge and you aren’t.”
“I can get a badge.”
“A real badge?” Chase shook his head in dismay. “No. You aren’t twelve anymore. Act like a grownup.”
“Oh, you’re no fun. The Masque Ball is supposed to be about acting out your fantasies. I want to hold up the stagecoach and ravish the ladies.”
Chase snorted. “Can you, just this once, get your mind out of the gutter and pay attention? I need you to walk the perimeter and keep your eyes out for either Hay or Phelma Jo.” He scanned the throng of volunteers, some costumed, some still in rough work clothes, as they put the finishing details on the décor and catering.
“And what will you be doing?” Dick pulled his cowboy hat low over his eyes. “Ravishing my sister?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Happy for Dusty, yeah. Afraid for her? Yeah, that, too.
Chase hadn’t been any better than himself when it came to commitments. He really, really hoped that Chase had just been waiting for Dusty, as Dick had been waiting for… for Thistle. And it looked like he’d have to wait forever.
“I’ll be keeping my eyes on the politicos and my ears open to stray conversations. Everyone is hot and miserable. There’s static coming from the electronics, and the food is wilting. This could be a disastrous fund-raiser.” Chase carried through his words by keeping his gaze moving and bouncing back and forth from toe to heel, just in case he had to move in a hurry. He had done the same thing on the football field.
“You got a point there. At least the girls can wear those light and airy Pixie costumes.” Dick’s gaze strayed to where Thistle, wearing bright purple draperies and a tiara, but no wings, was ordering people about.
She was becoming quite the organizer. She’d even managed to get most of her elderly clients here, even if they were in wheelchairs. Mrs. Spencer held court beside the guest book where everyone in town could reminisce about school days with her.
“Yeah.” Chase’s eyes sought and found Dusty in ethereal white with matching swallowtail wings strapped to her back. She’d dug out the child-sized tiara she’d planned to wear for her first ballet solo and never got to perform because of the cancer. She looked like a fragile doll.
Dick didn’t like Chase’s possessive grin.
He had to suppress his instinct to cover his sister with a blanket and take her home before a bully could hurt her.
Chase is not a bully on the playground, he reminded himself. He’s my best friend and the man Dusty loves.
“Dick?” Thistle’s lilting voice intruded on his musing. “Dick, can you do me a favor?” She waltzed up to him and slipped her arm through his.
“Anything to please you,” he replied, smiling down on her with an equally possessive smile.
But he had no right to feel that way. Thistle had made it quite clear they had no future together. She wanted to go back to Pixie just as soon as she could. She’d never age, just befriending the next generation of children while he grew old and decrepit and continued his lonely existence without her.
A reverse of Peter Pan.
“Mabel’s boys and I think that maybe Phelma Jo is hiding in The Ten Acre Wood.”
Both Dick and Chase looked sharply toward the line of trees marking the boundary of the museum grounds and the party area. A web of Pixie lights blanketing the undergrowth and low shrubs among the first row of trees was supposed to deter party guests from wandering deeper and getting lost in the dark.
“Why would you think that?” Chase asked.
“Because none of the Pixies can get in there. Including me. But a human can.” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, looking at Dick and Chase as if they were totally stupid and thoughtless.
“What about Hay?” Chase asked, still thinking like a cop. “If he is who we think he is, he can’t get in there either.”
“Harder to find two separate targets than two people as one target,” Dick mused. “Best place to stash Phelma Jo until he needs her is a place we won’t look for her because we think she’s with him.”
“Good idea.” Chase started walking toward the street and the side path that led directly to the center of the woodland.
“Um, Chase, I think I should go,” Dick said. “You’ve got your hands full here. And with the electronics going all static and crossed, your walkie-talkie might not work in there if something comes up requiring your official presence.”
“You’re right, of course.” Chase stopped abruptly. “Take your cell phone and a flashlight. The big heavy duty one from my cruiser. You can use it as a club if you have to, or to signal an SOS. It’s powerful enough we should be able to see it from here. With luck, the cell phone will at least ring mine even if we can’t hear each other. I’ll consider any call from you as a need for help.”
“Be careful, Dick.” Thistle reached up and kissed his cheek. “I’d go with you if I could.”
Dick’s heart beat faster, followed by a sharp stab of regret. “I’ll be back to collect more of that as my reward.” He walked off, happy to do Thistle’s bidding, happy that she turned to him for help.
And looking forward to claiming the first dozen dances with her. He couldn’t think of a better excuse to hold her in his arms.
Phelma Jo stared at the arching fronds of a sword fern imagining each branch lengthening and sharpening into a lethal blade. Abruptly her thoughts shifted to seeing tiny jewels glistening in the slanting shafts of sunlight coming in from the west. The facets bounced the light as they moved from plant to plant.
Her muscles ached for her to get up and move. Something she didn’t understand bound her to sitting beneath the tall Douglas fir, her attention captured by the wondrous construction of the fern. So graceful, so pragmatic, so resilient…
A noise broke her thought. A footstep on the soft ground at the verge of the wetlands. “Damn you for intruding on me and my privacy,” she yelled. Her neck snapped back and forth, seeking the source of the intrusion. Her hand clasped a stout branch lying beside her.
She stood up and watched the man in the cowboy hat circle the opening. He peered into shadows every few steps, seeking something.
The world grew quiet. Insects ceased their afternoon gossip session. Jewel-toned Pixies flew to the top of the tree canopy and waited. Or were they Faeries? She couldn’t remember which was which, only that there was a difference and it was important to someone.