Irene Radford - Thistle Down

The childishly pink, broken music box.

“What?” She didn’t know what to think, how to react. Only that the sense of violation grew even stronger.

“I fixed it. Took me all night with a lot of help from Mabel’s friend. But I got it working again. And now you can dance and twirl to the strains of Für Elise again, just like you did before… before the cancer and chemo stole the sparkle from your eyes.”

Dusty took the box delicately from Chase. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it even more now that you fixed it just for me.” Dusty’s heart swelled, and a tiny crack in it healed. A tear of gratitude touched the corner of her eye.

He opened the lid while she held the sides and the little pink dancer began spinning in place on one leg.

Only the tune no longer chimed the notes of Beethoven. It played the sprightly dum dee dee do dum dum of the tune that had haunted her half the night.

“What?” Chase looked at the box as if she held an alien being. “It played Für Elise ten minutes ago when I left Mabel’s house.”

Behind them, Thistle giggled. “That’s my song. It’s Pixie music. Pixie magic.”

Dusty held her breath. For a few moments, time seemed to stop, and her balance firmed up as if she’d teetered on the edge for a long time and only now found her center. With Chase close beside her, where he belonged.

“She really is a Pixie,” Dusty said in awe.

“Told you so,” Thistle sounded hurt.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you, my friend.”

“Friends. Now we’re all friends again. Let’s eat.” Thistle bounced back into the kitchen, happy and light again.

“Friends,” Chase said as he bent and kissed Dusty’s cheek.

DICK WANDERED DOWN TO THE KITCHEN; the smell of fresh coffee brewing enticed him to keep his eyes open.

On the last step he paused, unsure how to react to Chase being here so early-or was that late?-sitting next to Dusty. She had that stupid broken music box sitting right beside her bowl of oatmeal, one hand stroking the faded pink faux leather affectionately.

Then she opened the lid and let the little dancer spin. Music poured forth. Special music that Dick had begun to think of as Thistle’s song though he’d never heard it all the way through before; just snatches of half remembered phrases.

As the entrancing tune came to an end, Dusty looked up at Chase with adoring eyes.

“About time,” Dick muttered. “You’ve been in love with him like forever.”

But hadn’t she had a date with Haywood Wheatland last night? He wondered where Joe and his daughters fit into the puzzle. Did she even know how attractive she was?

He doubted it. Desdemona Carrick thought about little other than her artifacts and her grant writing to preserve her precious museum.

All that was on the brink of dissolving, so it was good she had Chase to soften the blow.

Chase finished regaling Dusty and Thistle with a story about seeing Thistle converse with a pink Pixie in Mabel’s rose garden.

“Confess, Thistle, Mabel’s tribe of Pixies are her spies. She gives them sanctuary in her garden in return for information,” Chase said. His voice sounded light, but his posture looked aggressive, as if he interrogated a suspect.

“Yes,” Thistle replied. “You have to understand that Pixie territories are fiercely defended. There aren’t a lot of them left. Possession of The Ten Acre Wood has been an object of jealousy for generations. That’s why until recently an old, old, Faery who lived in the Patriarch Oak ruled my tribe. In other tribes the kings always have to marry outside the tribe, to help preserve peace. I guess that’s why Alder chose Milkweed from a valley tribe as his queen.” She kept her gaze glued to the dregs of tea in her mug.

“Does that have anything to do with why you were exiled?” Dusty asked. She finally stopped her caress of the music box long enough to pat Thistle’s hand in comfort.

“Maybe. Sort of.” She still didn’t look up. But she firmed her chin.

“Don’t forget there’s another Pixie locking doors in City Hall.” Dick found himself saying without thinking. In the glorious aftermath of their kiss, he’d forgotten why Thistle had become so weak and vulnerable and so much more adorable than ever.

“What?” Chase sat up straighter. “What’s this about another Pixie in City Hall? That’s the same building as the police station and Mabel rarely goes home. She’s at the dispatch desk like fourteen hours a day. One of her Pixies could easily play tricks on people all through the warren of abandoned staircases, redundant heating vents, and odd alcoves.”

“Thistle, you know Mabel’s Pixies. Could one of them have locked the door?” Dick asked on a yawn.

“For Mabel to go out of her way to make sure her tribe will always have that garden is very important.” Thistle looked out the window, her eyes focusing on something far away. “Rosie’s tribe is one of the few that is really thriving. They have no reason to upset the balance of peace. They have their own territory. They don’t need to extend the boundaries to include City Hall.”

“Except the Patriarch Oak. They don’t have that,” Dusty whispered. “Which reminds me. I’ve got to call M’Velle and have her start researching heritage trees.”

Dick told them about following voices up a back staircase only to find the door they needed locked by Pixie magic.

He didn’t say anything about how he’d kissed Thistle. She looked up at him at last and nodded a thank you, ever so slightly.

She must have come to the same conclusion he had, that they had no future together. She’d go back to Pixie soon, and he’d go back… go back to unsatisfying onenight stands because no woman could live up to Thistle.

“Thistle, you once told me that the Patriarch Oak is very special to all the tribes and that responsibility for caring for it makes your tribe more important than all the others combined. Why would any Pixie want to destroy The Ten Acre Wood?” Dusty put forth, returning both her hands to the music box. She pushed aside her half-eaten bowl of cereal in favor of caressing her treasure.

Thistle bit her lip. Her silence stretched beyond hesitation into refusal.

“Thistle, if you know something, now is not the time to keep secrets. We’re here to help you, and we will respect your confidence in us.” Dick found himself sitting beside her and holding her hand.

I’m not coming on to her. I’m protecting her, taking care of her. But, damn, I wish it could be more.

“The Patriarch Oak is where… is where,” she gulped. “Is where all Pixies go for a mating flight, the true expression of love and trust. Not all Pixies do it. But kings and queens of a tribe must when they take a mate, as a symbol of the peace treaty their marriage creates.”

“Maybe it’s someone who’s been hurt by Pixies who wants to cut down the oak,” Dusty suggested.

“Someone with the fire of Faery in his magic,” Thistle whispered. “The Faeries have always looked down upon Pixies. They call us traitors to our own kind because we make friends with humans, risking exposure and something called a witch hunt. We call them cowards because they won’t face up to the reality that humans are here to stay, thriving while they build atop our lands. We either have to adapt to them or die.”

“Maybe it’s because the current king of your tribe won’t let anyone use the oak except for him,” Chase added, as if he hadn’t heard Thistle’s last remarks. He tried to pin her with his gaze, but she kept slipping away, hiding behind her black hair.