Alex Bledsoe - Wisp of a Thing

The crowd roared its approval, and with a wild cry of abandon and joy, he launched into the final chorus. The band came in right on cue. Both Bliss and Page leaned in to harmonize, and they held out the final crescendo until he swung his guitar up and dramatically brought it down. The crowd applauded, cheered, and whistled, and Rob watched them with amazement. He felt Bliss thread her fingers through his, and glanced over at her. She was smiling, and he thought at that moment he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. He took Page’s hand, and when the others had lined up with them, they bowed in unison.

When he stood, his eye fell on a woman in the crowd who looked for all the world like Stella Kizer.

He froze and stared. She followed a tall, ridiculously handsome man as he worked his way to the back of the room. She momentarily turned toward him, and he saw that her face was drawn tight and tired, with dark circles under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept in days. In fact, she looked so different, he wasn’t entirely certain it was her, and she vanished into the approving throng almost immediately.

By the time Bliss handed him a bottle of water from her cooler, Rob was exhausted. He wiped sweat on his shirttail and drank half the bottle at once. Another group of musicians was onstage now, and he followed Bliss into the cool outside air. Everyone he passed told him how well he’d played.

At the edge of the clear space around the barn, a group of small children stood together tossing bread crumbs and corn to three enormous emus that had emerged from the forest. The birds, skittish and uncertain, caught some of the pieces in the air, which made the kids laugh. The noise caused the birds to back away, but they didn’t run off into the darkness.

Bliss led him to a bonfire, deserted except for some teenagers banging rough tunes on bongos. A canvas camping chair stood empty, and he held it mock gallantly for Bliss. Then he dropped to the ground beside her. The night’s breeze was the perfect temperature to take the edge off the fire’s warmth.

“That… was… amazing, ” he said, still grinning. “I’ve never played with anyone who could follow stuff like that without rehearsing. I sure can’t do it.”

“Good thing you were leading, then,” Bliss said. In the orange glow, she appeared untouchably beautiful.

“Do I get my explanation now?”

Bliss smiled tiredly. “Yes, you do. I know what I need to know about you.”

“Which is what?”

She looked at the people milling outside the barn and clustered around the fire. “Ah-ha. There’s Annie May Pritchard.”

She pointed across the fire, where a teenage girl danced to the sultry beat provided by the drummers. She had black hair in a ponytail and her eyes were closed. She wore low-slung jeans and a tank top that left her stomach exposed, and her bare feet stirred a small cloud of dust.

“What do you see?” Bliss asked.

“A pretty girl dancing.”

“That’s all?”

“What else should I see?”

“Look harder.”

He did, then shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe if I knew what I was looking for—”

Bliss licked her lips. He’d played with the Tufa, with her Tufa. Even if Mandalay was right about why, it didn’t change what had happened. And now she had a promise to keep. “This’ll hurt for a second,” she said, and before he could respond, she thumped him solidly right on the stitched lump.

“Ow!” he cried, and closed his eyes against the pain.

He felt her hands on either side of his head from behind, holding him in a rock-solid grip. “Don’t close your eyes, Rob. Look. ”

He blinked. Across the fire, he saw the same young girl dancing, except…

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

It was the same girl, the same Annie May Pritchard, but now she wore a shimmering wrap that alternately covered and revealed a lean, supple body. Her skin shone in the firelight, alive with rainbow colors. Tall, pointed ears rose from her hair. And from her back sprang two enormous, gossamer wings that flexed to the same rhythm.

He blinked again. Once more, she was just a dancing teenage girl.

He sat very still until Bliss removed her hands. “So what did you see?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t have a clue,” he replied honestly, his voice barely louder than the crackling fire. “What was I supposed to see?”

“Tell me what you did see.”

“It looked like that girl there turned into… Tinker Bell or something.”

Bliss nodded. “Not far off.”

“And exactly why did I see that?”

Cut us, we bleed red. Tickle us, we laugh hard. Whack us in the head, we get dizzy. Now Mandalay’s words made sense. “Somehow, your blow to the skull the other day opened you to… well, things most non-Tufa people don’t see. I realized it when you saw those tombstones behind the fire station, and then when you were able to find them again after you reinjured yourself. And when I heard you play, at our picnic and here tonight, I knew that it was the truth. Even though you’re not Tufa, apparently the right whack to the right head will do it.” We can’t be that different from them, Mandalay had said. “I know it sounds squirrelly, but you saw it, didn’t you?”

He swore that when he focused on Bliss’s eyes, her ears were tall and pointed in his peripheral vision. Yet when he looked directly, they were as normal as his own. “You didn’t slip anything in that water, did you? Acid or something?”

“No.” She looked into his eyes as her heart pounded out a foxtrot in her chest. “So. Do you believe me?”

“I’m looking for a magical song, I’m in no position to judge.” He should’ve been afraid, or at least nervous, but he felt inexplicably safe with her. “So what are you people?”

She looked down, summoning the courage to break the Tufa’s greatest taboo. Carefully, she said, “We were here before the first tribesmen came over from Asia and became the Native Americans. We were here when the first Europeans laid claim to these mountains, as if they were something you could own, like a hat or a gun.” She gestured at the trees. “The forest is our home. When you enter it uninvited and unaccompanied, you enter our world and have to abide by its rules. Many who do, are never seen again. But the ones who are invited, who are brought by us—”

Before she could continue, a vehicle missing its muffler came out of the night. An old station wagon parked awkwardly, right in front of the barn.

Bliss got to her feet. “You have got to be fucking kidding,” she whispered.

The door opened, and Rockhouse Hicks lurched to his feet. He held unsteadily on to the door. “Y’all havin’ a hell of a time, ain’t you?” he said in a loud drunken voice.

Vanover got to his feet, and although the music inside the barn didn’t stop, several big, grim-faced men emerged as if they’d somehow heard Rockhouse arrive. They lined up on either side of Vanover.

“Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit,” Rockhouse said. His hair was disheveled, and spittle hung in his beard. If he was intimidated, it didn’t show. “Y’all got quite a shindig going here.”

“Just turn around and go back the way you came, Mr. Hicks,” Vanover said. “None of us want any trouble.”