Charles de Lint - Forests of the Heart

Just before Tommy arrived, she saw a dark sedan pull up in front of her building. The man who stepped out of it was plain-looking, with light brown hair and a business suit on under his open overcoat, but he had an official air about him that she’d come to recognize through working with Angel. Not a cop, but someone in the law enforcement community. Maybe a private detective or a process server. She wondered who he was coming to see in her building, then Tommy’s pickup pulled in behind the sedan and she turned away from the window to put on her parka and gather her things.

She had just locked her door behind her and was picking up the box with her art materials when the man she’d seen come into the building topped the stairs and walked towards her.

“Ms. Jones?” he asked. “Ms. Ellie Jones?”

Oh shit, Ellie thought, managing to keep her features schooled. What does some official type like this want with me? But then she remembered the threat Henry Patterson had delivered when he left her studio on Saturday morning and realized he hadn’t been bluffing. He really was going to take her to court.

“I’m afraid not,” she lied, giving what had to be a process server a sweet smile. “Ellie left for Florida yesterday. I’m just looking after her place until she gets back.”

The man gave her a suspicious look, but what could he do? It wasn’t like he was a cop with any real authority.

“When will that be?” he asked.

“Late spring. Can I take a message?”

“No, I’d rather talk to her in person.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait then. Say, can you give me a hand with that suitcase?”

“Well, I don’t—”

“This is great,” Ellie said, heading off with the box, acting like he’d already agreed to help. “You’re saving me a lot of time. When I agreed to put this stuff into storage for Ellie, I had no idea there’d be so much of it, you know?”

She paused at the top of the stairs. The process server gave her a considering look, then picked up her suitcase and followed her down to the street where they met Tommy coming in.

“Tommy!” Ellie said. “You’re on time for a change. And here I went and got this nice man to help me carry Ellie’s stuff all the way downstairs. Why did you say you wanted to see her again?” she added, turning to the process server.

“I didn’t. It’s…” He looked from her to Tommy, then set the suitcase down. “It’s not that important. If you’re talking to her, tell her I was by.”

“And who do I say the message is from?”

“It’s really not that important,” he repeated, almost mumbling now as he pushed past Tommy and beat a retreat to his car.

“What was that all about?” Tommy asked as they watched him drive away.

“I’m pretty sure he was a process server.”

“Well, he was some bureaucratic lowlife, that’s for sure. What did he want with you?”

“He never said, but I’m guessing the commission I blew off on Saturday really is going to press charges.”

“That sucks. How’d you managed to convince this guy you weren’t, well, who you are?”

“I don’t know. He even caught me coming out of my studio, but I just told him I was apartment-sitting and that ‘Ellie’ had left for Florida and wouldn’t be back until the spring.”

Tommy grinned. “I didn’t know you were such a good bullshitter. I’m going to have to be more careful around you.”

“Oh, please.”

Tommy picked up the suitcase the process server had abandoned. “Come on,” he said. “I want you to meet one of those aunts of mine who don’t exist.”

“Oh, god. You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

“No. But I could.”

Ellie’s heart sank, but Tommy behaved himself and the nervousness she was feeling faded almost as soon as they reached the pickup and she slid onto the seat beside Sunday Creek. Instead of the mysterious old wise woman Ellie had been picturing, all seriousness and pithy sayings and omens, Sunday was a cheerfully good-natured woman who looked a great deal younger than the forty-some years of age she had to be if she was one of Tommy’s aunts. Even sitting she was tall, a serene, broad-faced woman with lustrous black hair. And she had a wicked sense of humor. The whole way out on the drive to Kel-lygnow she had Ellie giggling with her stories of the rez and the characters that made up her immediate circle of friends and family.

It wasn’t until they pulled up in front of the big house at the top of the hill that was their destination and Ellie was about to get out of the car, that Sunday grew serious. She caught hold of Ellie’s arm and regarded her gravely.

“You will watch out for Tommy, won’t you?” she asked.

Ellie gave her a puzzled look.

“Don’t start, Sunday,” Tommy said.

His aunt ignored him. “I ask you because we can’t always watch over him, what with his living down here in the city so far from home as he does, but you’re close to him, and I know you care for him as much as we do.”

Ellie glanced past Sunday to where Tommy was offering up a “What can you do?” look, but it barely registered. Instead she was thinking how Sunday was right. She did care for Tommy. It wasn’t something she’d ever really stopped and thought about much, but he was like a big brother to her—a big brother she wanted to shake some sense into every once in a while because he could be doing so much more with his life than he was. But that didn’t stop her from caring for him.

“He doesn’t listen to me,” she said, returning her gaze to Sunday,

“That’s not news,” Sunday said. “He doesn’t listen to anybody.”

“Hello?” Tommy broke in. “I’m here, too. You don’t have to talk about me like I’ve stepped out of the cab.”

“The trouble is,” Sunday went on as though he hadn’t spoken, “this turn of the wheel’s taking us into a dangerous time, especially for Tommy, and it would help set our minds at ease to know you were using your medicine to protect him.”

“My what?” Ellie said.

“You’re talking to the wrong person,” Tommy told his aunt. “Ellie doesn’t know mamándá-gashkitówin ondji pate and thinks they’re pretty much both the same thing. Magic from smoke,” he added in English for Ellie’s benefit.

Sunday’s dark, serious gaze remained fixed on Ellie.

“Is this true?” she asked. “With the medicine as potent as it is?”

A strange prickling sensation went up Ellie’s spine, but she remained silent, not knowing what to say. The conversation had taken such an odd and unexpected turn that the ability to use language momentarily fled.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Sunday said after a long moment. “You have no idea how strong the Maker’s gift runs in you.”

She was talking about magic, Ellie realized. Talking about it, but not like Donal or Jilly did, as though it was some mysterious, distant thing. Sunday spoke of it as though it was an everyday part of life, the way she might discuss someone’s health, or the weather.

Ellie cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t really believe in that sort of thing.”

“Ah.”

Just that. No attempt to convince her otherwise. No cataloguing of extraordinary, mysterious occurrences followed with a “So explain that, then,” as Donal would do. None of Jilly’s sad, sympathetic looks, conveying an unspoken but no less understood “You’re missing so much.”

“It’s just not anything I can relate to,” Ellie went on.

“Of course.”

“I mean, it’s not real.”

Sunday smiled. “There’s no need to explain. But will you do this for me? Think positive thoughts of Tommy from time to time. Conce—trate on his continued well-being.”