Irene Radford - Thistle Down

“All natural. Except the pirate games. And that’s just kids playing. You’re a trained scientist. You, of all people, should know that Faeries and Pixies exist only in children’s stories.”

“Ever think we might be living inside one giant story?”

Chase snorted. “Just keep Dusty safe. That Thistle woman is a con artist if I ever saw one. Too bad I can’t arrest her without evidence.” He started down the broad stairs. Then he had another thought and returned to Dick’s side. “What made you invite Dusty and her new best friend to the bar tonight? I thought it was supposed to be just us men watching the game.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. We had fun, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we had fun.” Chase’s mouth quirked upward despite his best efforts to remain stern. “Especially when the waiter stumbled and spilled an entire pitcher of beer on Phelma Jo. I’ve wanted to do that to her more than once.”

Dick burst out laughing. “Like the time she ran your boxer shorts with red hearts up the flagpole at City Hall the morning after she broke up with you?”

Heat flashed from Chase’s toes to his ears and spread across his cheeks. He was just glad the dim light over the door was behind him. “We were never going together, so we didn’t have anything to break up from. She always got rid of her boyfriends before they got tired of her and left. Always in control of the relationship. That’s PJ. I was a senior in high school and she was a football groupie, sleeping her way through the entire team like we were trophies. She only stayed with the guys she could control.”

Or she was a notch in his own belt of experimentation.

“Wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t scrawled my name along the fly with magic marker.”

“That is one vengeful woman, Chase. Best not get on her bad side.”

“She doesn’t have a good side,” Chase grumbled. Actually she did, but that was one secret he was sworn to keep. The health and well-being of a lot of troubled teens depended on Phelma Jo staying anonymous in helping them.

She made certain teenage runaways didn’t follow the same self-destructive path her mother had.

“Amen to that. I’ve had my own run-ins with her. But damn, she is hot, even with the squirrely overbite and mean temper.”

“Well, I’m going to keep careful watch on her and her new assistant. What kind of name is Haywood Wheatland anyway?” Chase shook his head in puzzlement.

“I’ll ask around. Discreetly. See if anything comes up on Google.”

Chase had his own databases on his work computer. He added Haywood’s name to Thistle’s for deep background checks.

“Anyway, can you find out if he’s a patient of any of your doctor clients? I’ve never seen him around before.”

“Patient confidentiality will rule. But there’s usually a talkative nurse or two leaving a computer screen untended.” Dick flashed a wide grin.

“Let me know if you find out anything. I don’t like strangers in my town associating with a woman of questionable morals and business ethics.” And that went for Thistle Down, too.

He bounced back to his pickup whistling a catchy tune. What was the name of the music? He couldn’t remember it. Great. Now it was stuck in his head until he figured it out. Something to do with May flowers and honey wine.

DUSTY DRIFTED ON THE LIGHT BREEZE wafting along the river. She looked about with lazy curiosity, not at all concerned with the distance between herself and the water that would cradle her. For now she was content to allow air to lift her wings and take her wherever she needed to go.

A slow smile spread from her mouth to her eyes to her fingertips as the huge white swallowtail wings carried her along. Freedom . No duties or responsibilities or fears chained her to the earth.

No one judged her. No one threatened her. She didn’t fear saying the wrong thing or laughing at the wrong moment. She was who she was and the wind did not care.

She laughed. What were the worries of the world when she could talk to the wind and listen to the river from stupendous heights while her wings took her to new places and marvelous sights?

Slowly, lazily, and carefree, Dusty awoke. She stretched in the small white-painted bed of her childhood and relished the lightness left behind by her dream. And confidence. If she could fly with the wind…

Next time she felt the need to hide in the basement, she should remember that dream and face whatever troubled her.

A shaft of sunlight showed her dust motes that could easily be Pixies dancing.

She rolled over just as the alarm clock clicked over to six o’clock and an obnoxious beep reminded her that freedom and self-confidence were only a dream. She had a museum to run and the grant committee to impress. And then a parade to manage and a Ball to organize.

She just had to remember the dream. Remember it and float forward.

Yeah. Right.

Dick backed up his dad’s half-ton truck into the loading bay of the nursery while dawn was just a promise on the horizon. He yawned hugely as he set the brake. Just two minutes. All he needed was two minutes with his head on the steering wheel and his eyes closed.

“Hey, Carrick, get the lead out!” Tom Ledbetter, otherwise known as Digger, yelled from right beside him.

Dick jerked awake, swearing.

“We’ve got a pumper wagon to decorate and horses to hitch before we can march in the parade.”

A flash nearly blinded Dick. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids to calm the dazzle. “Did you have to take a picture of me asleep?”

“Candid shots are the best for the social pages.” Digger shrugged and let the camera rest on its vividly striped neck strap.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get those flats of flowers loaded while they’re still fresh. Did anyone bring coffee?” Dick yawned again. A bug fluttered against his lips.

A big bug.

He spat it out.

“Hey, watch it, buddy.” A blue splotch twisted away from the inside windshield. “Phew, you musta had garlic for breakfast.”

The blue splotch took on definition. Dick saw large green wings and a blue body. And… and…

He froze in place, moving only his eyes. Digger had retreated to the rear of the truck to release the tailgate.

“Who… who are you?” Dick whispered. Maybe he was only dreaming. He’d had a short night’s sleep on top of too many beers and too much salty pizza. With garlic.

“It’s about time you noticed I hitched a ride with you,” the blue Pixie stood on the dashboard while he waved his arms about like a semaphore. He stretched and flapped his leafy wings slowly, as if he needed to work the kinks out of them.

“Do I know you?” It was one thing to tell himself that Thistle was a Pixie grown to human form, quite another to confront a real-life Pixie.

“Nah, I don’t hang out in The Ten Acre Wood much. But I know you, and you really- really -need to brush your teeth.”

“Um, thanks, buddy. What’s your name?” Though Dick could guess, with the multiple thin blue-purple petals that made up his jaunty hat. “You must be Chicory.”

“You guessed it. Now, quick, tell me what’s up with Thistle, so I can report back to my boss.”

Dum dum do do dee dee dum . A bright tune surrounded Dick with a sense of well-being and cooperation.

“Who’s your boss?”

“Can’t tell. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Nope. We trade information.”

“It’s just gossip, Dick. Gossip is my job. I’ve got obligations,” the Pixie whined.