An Ordinary Fairy

  Stevens nodded. “I thought so. You have the air about you. Peculiar people, most of them, but you won’t meet kinder, gentler folks.”

  Noah let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  They walked to the front of the house. Stevens instructed his deputy to photograph the back porch and shutter. The extra photographer was nowhere to be seen.

  The sheriff turned to Willow and Noah. “Thank you, Ms. Brown. We’ll not bother you any longer. Let us know if anything’s disturbed inside. I’m sorry about that photographer, ma’am.”

  “No problem. Would it be alright if we clean up the mess now? I’d like to get the blood washed off before it stains.”

  “Yes, we have all the photos we need. We’ll be out of your way soon.”

  Shadow was released from duty and plunged into the brush to explore. Willow led the way to the old shed south of the Big House. When they were alone, she spoke. “I don’t think you’re peculiar.”

  “Thanks. For a moment there, I wanted to blink … I mean wink … but that’s a little beyond my humble Wiccan magic.”

  Willow smiled. “I know the feeling. In fact, the first rule of Guarding the Mystery is ‘When you are found out, disappear and fly away.’ A rule I violated in your case.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  Willow took his hand and squeezed it. “Me, too.”

  “Did Guarding the Mystery prevail over your curiosity about damage inside the house?”

  Willow nodded. “Plus I hate having law enforcement around. Anyway, Jones won’t do anything inside the house. He’s too much in love with it.”

  “True. Did you get the chip from the camera before it spontaneously broke into pieces?”

  “Yep. It’s right here in my pocket.”

  Once at the shed Willow opened the big sliding door to reveal a garage-sized room full of tools for maintaining a large estate: chainsaws, shovels, hoes, rakes, a mower, a heavy duty brush mower, and in the center a John Deere Gator outfitted with a small bed. Every carefully stored tool gleamed. The smell of earth, oiled steel and gasoline filled the air. A stack of salt and mineral blocks occupied one wall. Noah peered up a wood stairway leading into the darkness of the second level.

  “Anything interesting up there?” he asked.

  “Just lumber and stuff we don’t use often. I think we still have a few bales of straw and some feed for the animals. The worker’s overseer lived there in the Jones days.”

  Willow pulled a garden hose from a peg and threw it in the back of the Gator, along with a push broom and a scrub brush.

  “Hop on board,” she said as she got behind the wheel.

  Noah took the other seat warily. He located the handholds and took a tight grip while Willow started the engine and revved it up. She grinned at him and floored it.

  Noah nearly discovered how it felt to fly, as they went airborne several times on the short trip to the Big House. Willow did a violent one eighty in front of the house and stood on the brakes. She looked at Noah, waiting for a comment. He shook his head and climbed out. Willow cackled happily.

  The sheriff and his men had left. Noah and Willow went about the gruesome task of hosing down the door and the porch floor. The finish resisted staining; a good scrub removed all traces of the blood. They took turns, one on hands and knees scrubbing while the other sprayed and swept. More than once Noah caught a peculiar expression on Willow’s face while she watched him scrub, reflecting some mysterious new emotion he sensed in her.

  Happy, yet … subdued.

  When they finished Willow stood up and stretched her back. Noah stood on the opposite side of the cleaned area with the spray nozzle still in his hand. He looked from Willow to the nozzle and back.

  I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.

  Willow looked from Noah to the nozzle and back. Her eyes narrowed. “If you want even a chance of sex with me tonight, Noah Phelps, you’ll put that nozzle down and step away.”

  Noah pasted on his most innocent expression and subtly turned the nozzle Willow’s direction. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Put—it—down.”

  Noah slowly lowered the nozzle to the porch floor as if she held him at gunpoint, one hand raised in the air, and then stood up and raised both hands over his head.

  “Great. I make love with you one time and you’re already using sex as a weapon.”

  “Well, now you appreciate the value of my assets.”

  Very true.

  They loaded the hose and cleaning gear onto the back of the Gator. Noah climbed behind the wheel before Willow could. “May I drive?” he said. “I want to live to a ripe old age.” Willow stuck out her tongue.

  Ten minutes later, everything was back in place at the shed.

  “Willow, let’s go back to the house,” Noah said. “You can scout your parents’ room while I check the camera. You can fly from here. Is there stuff to secure the shutter? We’ve gotten Jones in trouble now, so we should secure it.” Willow nodded her agreement and walked to a workbench. She rummaged for a minute or so and produced a flat steel bar and some screws, as well as a drill and bits.

  “This should do it,” she said. She handed everything to Noah and pulled off her sweatshirt, vanishing just at the right moment to disappoint Noah’s ogling. She giggled and with a buzz and a rush of air, zoomed away.

  Noah secured the shed and walked to the Big House. He tried the door and found it unbarred. Willow was standing in the atrium with her sweatshirt tied around her waist. She peered thoughtfully around the open space and upper floors.

  “This is the first time we’ve been here since we saw the pictures. It feels different now, knowing for sure they’re here. Like I know they’re okay.” She let out a long sigh. “See ya,” she said and buzzed away to the fourth floor. She disappeared over the railing as Noah crossed the atrium.

  When Noah checked the camera, he found it had captured more images, a full roll. He unloaded the film and replaced it with his last roll of infrared. He spent the next ten minutes opening the kitchen window and installing the bar across the inside of the shutter.

  As he walked across the atrium, Noah stopped for a moment to gaze up at the interior of the house.

  I can picture this place full of fairies. My, how life has changed.

  As he contemplated, the source of the change appeared overhead and gently descended to the floor.

  “All clear,” Willow said.

  Noah held up the film. “We shot a whole roll again.”

  “Super! When can we develop it?”

  “Tonight, after work. Willow, I want you to go with me today.”

  Her face lit. “Really?” she said. “I would love to!”

  “Good. I don’t want to leave you here alone, even in the daytime. If they arrest Jones today or question him, things could get ugly.”

  “You’re right. I love to watch you work. I’ll try not to distract you.” She fluttered her eyelashes and wings in sync.

  “Besides, you can carry the big camera case for me.”

  “Sure!”

  “I need to run to the truck. Why don’t you fly over to the cottage and start getting ready?”

  “Okay. I think we need another bath. Give me those tools. I’ll take them back next time I’m down by the shed.” Noah went out the door and locked it behind him. The sounds of Willow dropping the bar in place and zooming off were faintly audible.

  He walked casually to the truck to drop off the film. He didn’t like carrying exposed film in his pocket. Too many things could ruin it. He put the film into a metal can reserved for the purpose and left for the cottage.

  As Noah entered, Willow came down the stairs, carrying a shoebox and flushed from exercise or excitement, he couldn’t tell which. Hair still wet from washing, she wore red shorts, the kind with flared legs that looked like a super short skirt at first, and a white knit sweater. She sat on the bottom step, opened the shoebox and took out new white tennis shoes. br />
  “You’re wearing that?” Noah said.

  “Yes. So?”

  “How am I supposed to get anything done with you running around in front of me in shorts all day?”

  “You’ll have to concentrate.” She finished tying the shoes and stood up. “How do I look?” She struck a pose with hands on hips and one leg extended with her toe pointed to the ground.

  “You look like a cheerleader.”

  Willow grinned mischievously. “I bet you never knew a cheerleader who dressed like this.” She pulled the front of the sweater up to reveal her bare chest.

  Actually, I did. Her name was Sarah. There was that night after the football game…

  He grinned and shook his head. “I need a bath.”

  Twenty-One

  Having Willow around was delightful. Besides carrying the big camera case, she was wonderful company. She talked non-stop on the way to Noah’s shooting location, or rather asked questions non-stop, about photography and Wisconsin and dairy farming and magazines.

  Noah had chosen a spot near Danville for today’s work. The Arches, everyone called it, after the crumbling century-old concrete bridge that soared over the Vermilion River in multiple arcs. They walked along the railroad tracks from a nearby city park to reach the spot. Willow fell in love with the scene. She wandered off to explore, which helped with the distraction issue, although Noah found himself inexplicably excited several times, until he understood Willow was broadcasting her feelings over each little discovery. A hollow log excited her, a heron flushed from the brush, an unexpected late season butterfly.

  After working an hour, Noah began to grow hungry, and he knew Willow would be starving. He called her and she appeared, hopping from rock to rock along a path.

  “Hungry?” he asked when she came near.

  “Yes! Let’s eat!” She went to her canvas bag and spread a picnic lunch out on a blanket next to the river. Temperatures in the fifties plus bright sun made for a comfortable spot. They ate in silence until Willow finished most of her lunch. Then the questions began again.

  “Noah, can I ask you a philosophical question? How does Wicca deal with the right versus wrong issue? I know how Christianity and most big religions work, with a rulebook written by some higher power, but Wicca doesn’t have anything like a book, does it?”

  “No. Most Wiccan beliefs are based on tradition and history, passed down by word of mouth. Wicca is actually a modern religion, based on some ancient beliefs. As far as right versus wrong, there’s only one rule: Harm none. There are some other principles but that’s what it all comes back to in the end.”

  “Isn’t that too simplistic? Doesn’t your right versus wrong question become personal? Seems to me everything is relative. What’s right in one situation might not be in another.”

  “Give me an example.”

  Willow thought for a few seconds. “Take lying for instance. In Christianity, it’s wrong in every situation because there’s an absolute: always tell the truth. What if a lie is told to prevent greater harm?”

  “You mean like Guarding the Mystery?”

  “Exactly. Fairies tell many lies, it becomes second nature, but it saves lives. Wicca would say it was okay, right? No harm, no foul?”

  You’re not just making conversation, are you?

  “Yes, that makes sense. Wicca assumes a lot of intelligence and goodwill on the part of its adherents. The sticky part is when you harm no matter what you do. Say when you must act to prevent harm coming to a loved one, or anyone, for that matter, and your actions bring harm to another person. Like the person who shoots an armed robber who’s about to kill someone. Many times you have to make a judgment call. In some situations you have to settle for the least harm.”

  “So lying is okay, if it prevents greater harm.”

  Noah nodded. “Yes, I would have to agree.” Willow seemed satisfied.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes while Noah finished eating. “My turn to ask a question,” he said. “Are you still feeling the deja knew thing?”

  “Not as strongly as when you first came here, but I know you better now, so the things you do that remind me of … well, something I never knew, are familiar now.” She stopped and frowned. “I’m not sure that made sense. How does it seem to you?”

  “It’s still strong most of the time. Like just now when you were jumping from rock to rock on the path. I swear I saw you do it another time. Or maybe I expected you to do it and I’m interpreting my response wrong. I don’t know.” He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. “Last night was new though. If we knew each other in a past life, we didn’t make love.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Willow said quietly. She seemed deep in thought. After a few moments, she came back to the present and Noah could feel apprehension for a moment, then tingling in his arms and hands. She got on her hands and knees, crawled across the blanket, and pushed him over backward, landing on top of him. “Because if we did something that good, I would remember,” she said, and kissed him.

  There’s that look again.

  Noah discovered a way to climb inside the bridge. They walked up and down the arches through a series of low openings that pierced the massive concrete uprights. Noah filled the memory of his digital camera and shot all the film he had brought. Willow spent the time exploring the graffiti that covered the interior of the bridge, or standing at the edge of the arches enjoying the view of the surrounding woodlands. Noah kept close to the middle of the structure, far from the eighty-foot drop to the river.

  “Willow, come here a second,” he called when he finished shooting. Willow appeared in the nearest archway. “I know fairies avoid pictures, but will you pose for me? I have one shot left.”

  Willow’s eyes twinkled. “Sure. I trust you. And you really need a better picture, since the one you have got damaged.”

  Noah posed her against a weathered concrete wall. He composed a waist up shot that filled the frame and illuminated her beautiful features with the soft glow of the bridge interior. The light revealed another change: Willow’s hair was becoming wavy. He fiddled in silence with the camera but couldn’t quite get what he wanted.

  “What’s wrong?” Willow asked.

  “Well, I’m not capturing you. I mean you’re drop dead gorgeous no matter how I pose you, but … I need to see your arms and shoulders, they define you. You know, you’re physique. Power sheathed in beauty.”

  “Very poetic. Here, try this.” She pulled off her sweater, handed it to Noah and then leaned against the wall as before with her wings concealed behind her, but her bare chest exposed.

  “Are you sure about this?” Noah asked.

  “Absolutely. No fairies are being harmed in the production of this photo.”

  Noah framed her in the viewfinder. “Great. Now think about what we did last night.” She didn’t grin, as he intended, but instead the mysterious expression returned, happy yet not so, with the smallest, puzzling smile. Her hands slid down to her belly, out of the picture. She leaned her head against the wall, looked at the camera, and took a deep breath.

  Mona Willow.

  Noah clicked the shutter.

  “Got it. Thanks.” Noah stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “Are you okay? You look … I don’t know. Like something’s missing.”

  Willow’s smile faded and her eyes glistened. She rubbed her hands on his chest, her eyes tight on his. “Noah, I’ve always longed for just two things. You, whoever you turned out to be, and to have your child, our child. At last, I found you, right on my doorstep, but too late.” She shook her head. “Too late.”

  Noah searched for words, but found none amidst the whirlpool of Willow’s joy and sorrow. He placed his hand over her heart, to perhaps soothe the ache he could never cure.

  The ride back to Hoopeston was quiet. Willow seemed lost in thought and Noah didn’t disturb her, but instead absorbed her brooding emotions.

  Willow had suggested that Noah develop the film at the cottage, so they
dropped by the motel to grab the darkroom equipment and some clean clothes. As soon as they turned off the county road at the missing sign, Willow’s spirits began to lift. She breathed deeply and her posture relaxed. Together they juggled moving the equipment to the cottage from the tree across the lane.

  Once inside the cottage, Willow stripped off her sweater, put on her glasses and sat down at the desk, waving her wings behind her as she typed.

  While she worked, Noah pulled out his ritual kit, which he had left the day of the big fight, and studied the little purple spell book. “Willow,” he said, “I have an idea. I’m going to cast a protection spell around the Big House.”

  Willow looked over the top of her glasses. “Really? You can do that?”

  “Sure. It may not stop Jones but it should slow him down.”

  “It didn’t work on his house. We had no problem getting in.”

  “Spells don’t always work as you think. The spirits and energies sometimes react to our spells to obtain the same results in an unexpected way. That’s why you use a spell as a last resort.”

  Willow mulled this over for a moment. “So it’s a ‘Trust in God, but keep your powder dry’ thing.”

  “Exactly. You can’t cast a protection spell and then leave the door wide open. And I think his spell did work. He came home early for some reason, and had it not been for you being a fairy, we would have been caught.”

  Willow appeared doubtful. “You mean the meeting finished early because of his spell?”

  “The spirits have a sense of humor.”

  Willow raised her eyebrows and went back to typing.

  Noah went to work on his preparations. He still had the supply of acorns from the healing ritual. He fashioned two small amulets similar to the one he made for Willow. Within a few minutes, all was ready.

  “Noah!” Willow said. “Come look at this. My picture is in the paper.” Noah peered over Willow’s shoulder, not an easy task because her wings twitched violently. On the screen was an article from the Danville Commercial-News, together with a photo of Willow in front of the house. “That picture isn’t from today. Who took it? And when?”