Owl's Fair (The Owl Star Witch Mysteries Book 2)

by Leanne Leeds

  Who could dislike pixies? I mean, they were just earth fairies, right?

  Maybe I should explain.

  There are four main fairy types.

  Fairies (or air fairies, the ones with wings)—they could shrink down and fly, but, for the most part, they lived their lives at average size in paranormal towns. Pixies (or earth fairies) could become normal-sized but generally lived in their teeny-tiny state. Salamanders (or fire fairies)—again, much like air fairies—could shrink down but typically don’t. Then there were mermaids (or water fairies) who, obviously, live in the ocean and are rarely seen.

  Yes, there are more branches of the fairy family, like brownies or sylphs, but those groups branched off from these four types.

  Now, each elemental group had some shared characteristics with their element—the air fairies could be flighty and whimsical, the fire fairies could be destructive and volatile, the water fairies could be calm, or…well, you get the point.

  I know what you’re thinking.

  Earth elementals would seem to be steady, constant. Right?

  Think again.

  Is a volcano steady?

  How about an earthquake?

  Archie’s wild accusations and lousy behavior aside, I knew from my military training that pixies could be deceptively calm. Deceptively innocent. Problems with them could show up with such subtlety, it was possible not to see them coming at all. By the time you realize they’re actually hellbent on destruction, the explosion’s usually past stopping.

  “Look, I’m not dismissing what you’re saying out of hand, but I am trying to understand. You sound like a speciesist giving me nothing but hyperbole because you don’t like pixies. That’s all I’m getting.” I shifted in the tiny tree house and pulled my legs underneath me. “Right now, it sounds to me like you’re just annoyed a non-god paranormal decided to start a spiritual path. Just because the pixie isn’t a god doesn’t make him the leader of a cult or that path destructive.”

  He stopped and looked at me. “It does sound like that, and I am annoyed about that,” Archie deadpanned. “But it’s not some jealous god thing. It’s more than that. I was fine with the idea of a pixie path. I mean, sure—who doesn’t need a little more giggles in their life, right?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The bird again paced back and forth on the rough window sill. “But when I saw that flamboyant, smarmy pixie with his flowing red hair and bedroom eyes, when I heard his oily ‘you smell like honey, baby, come stay in my swamp’?”—Archie’s feathers curled up at the end of his wings like he was balling up the fists he didn’t have—“I wanted to pelt him with owl pellets.”

  Ew. “You attacked him before he ever did that, though,” I pointed out. “And you basically said you attacked him for being short. Out of nowhere. Archie, it looked petty and completely arbitrary.” He stopped pacing. “Was it?” The owl waved his wing and shrugged. “Archie?” My eyes narrowed as the silent refusal to answer dragged out even longer. “What are you not telling me here?”

  Archie’s expression clouded with guilt for about two seconds, and then the guilt melted into a poker-faced mask. It was like watching an anthropomorphized cartoon owl morph back into the mysterious, inscrutable animal he was inspired by. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would I withhold information from you?”

  I gave him a doubting look—verging on suspicious.

  I liked Archie. I even mostly trusted him.

  But I’d learned the hard way most people lie. Most people operate off their own agenda—agendas that don’t always necessarily align with mine. As the two of us stared at one another in the sunset’s orange glow, I wondered if Archie had an agenda I didn’t know about.

  “The owl’s lying to me. At least, I think the owl is lying to me,” I announced to Emma. When she didn’t look up, I pulled out a chair and straddled it backward. “Mom?” I called toward the kitchen. “Does Athena have any particular problem with pixies? Any reason Archie would dive-bomb a pixie chieftain in a swamp with absolutely no provocation and then refuse to tell me why he did it?”

  “You’re assuming there was no provocation,” Emma pointed out without looking up.

  “No, I’m saying it looked like there was no provocation, and when asked, the owl refused to tell me if there was. I’m also assuming the goddess Athena exists in this scenario, which is a stretch.”

  Her brow furrowed. “There must have been some provocation for it. I just can’t see Archie wanting to hurt Pistachio. I can’t see anyone wanting to hurt him, really.”

  I looked at her. “We were both there, though,” I told her, surprised. “There was no provocation.”

  From Emma’s perspective, Archie was simply an owl. She knew that he could speak to us and we to him, but she didn’t have any direct relationship with him. Where was this opinion he wouldn’t attack the pixie coming from?

  “He was hungry, and he doesn’t care who he kills?” My sister Ami thrust her head into the dining area. “I mean, that would be my guess. Since the brute regularly rips apart Peter Cottontail in the garden.”

  “Now, Ami, Archie is still part of the natural world, and we have to respect that,” Aunt Gwennie admonished my sister. She passed by Ami in the doorway to set down a stack of plates on the table. “Whatever else he is, he’s still an owl. I wouldn’t judge any of you for eating what you’re meant to eat. You shouldn’t judge him.”

  “Whatever,” Ami muttered.

  “Speaking of eating, we’re having stuffed flounder tonight. I hope you’ll be joining us, Emma.” Aunt Gwennie looked at my friend affectionately, but Emma’s nose was buried in her computer, and she didn’t respond.

  “Look, I’m not judging him for eating.”

  “No, your sister was,” Aunt Gwennie gestured toward Ami.

  I rolled my eyes. “He tried to attack Pistachio Waterflash, and he won’t tell me what motivated him to do it.” I tapped the chair. “He’s hiding something from me, and I want to know what it is.”

  Emma looked up from her laptop at the mention of the sexy pixie’s name. “Pistachio Waterflash? Is he here?”

  Before I could answer, Alice perked up on the couch and turned her attention from the television.

  “Pistachio is here?” Alice looked around. “Where? Is he coming for dinner?”

  I looked back and forth between the two women. “No. He’s not here.”

  Emma and Alice exchanged a long look, and then they both sighed.

  Aunt Gwennie and I exchanged looks. What the heck?

  I turned toward Emma. “What is it with you and the pixie?” I asked, my voice low. “I know he’s cute and flirty, and the pecs were easy on the eyes, but you’ve been in a haze ever since you met the guy. It’s like you’re under a spell or something.” I raised my eyebrow. “Are you under a spell or something?”

  Althea, who had been walking by with a salad, stopped and turned to consider Emma with practiced eyes. The quiet potion master’s gaze swept up and down and back around again as if she was ticking off a checklist in her head.

  “I know, I have been a little. I told you, Astra. He was just so overwhelming.” Emma shifted in her chair, tilted her laptop screen, and pointed toward it. “I’ve been reading about the myths around pixies, and none of them—”

  “Wait a minute. You’ve been doing what?” I stared at her.

  “Reading about pixies.”

  She was supposed to be in here looking up information on Paul Wakefield. In fact, shifting the investigation to him and immediately diving in was her idea. Not mine. Instead, she’s been googling pixie pages?

  “Why are you looking at information about pixies?”

  “I just told you. Wait. What do you mean?” Emma asked, frowning.

  “Did you get done with the Paul Wakefield stuff? We decided that’s where we were going to shift our focus.” I paused, waiting for an answer. Emma didn’t respond. “Well, it’s where you decided you would shift your focus. Remem
ber?” Nothing. “Paul Wakefield? Embezzler? CEO of Punktex? Alice Windrow’s life being in danger? Glow star card? Any of this ringing a bell?”

  “Paul who?” Emma’s eyes looked unfocused.

  I looked at Althea with alarm.

  “I get the reason for the expression, and there’s clearly something”—Althea swept her hand in a circle toward Emma—“going on, but there’s no tell-tale definitive sign I can spot to tell me exactly what it is.”

  “Can you take a guess?” Aunt Gwennie asked.

  “If I’d met her on the street? I’d just say she was in love. Elevated heart rate, pupils slightly dilated, but all just…slight. Nothing major. Not enough to be artificially induced, and nothing to explain the brain fog that seems to have her in its grip.” Althea tilted her head. “Everything I’m seeing could all be completely natural in the right circumstances.”

  “Could it be magically induced?” I asked.

  “That’s probably a better question for Mom.” Althea was an incredibly disciplined witch for a fifteen-year-old. She knew what her expertise was in, and she knew when to stay in her lane and refer something out. She would’ve done well in the potion department of the military.

  “You’re probably right. Where is Mom?”

  Althea looked around. “Weren’t you talking to her a minute ago?”

  “I asked her about the pixies earlier, but she never answered.” I glanced at everyone and took a quick mental roll call. Ami, Althea, and Ayla were here. Aunt Gwennie was in the kitchen. Alice sat on the couch staring at the television, and Emma at the table googling pixie pictures. I didn’t see Archie, but he was probably still sulking in the treehouse. “Has anyone seen Mom?”

  “Maybe upstairs?” Althea glanced at me. “I’ll go check.”

  “I’ve got it.” I got up and turned toward the stairway. “Can you do me a favor and just keep an eye on Emma and Alice?”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  I found my mother sitting in the parlor of the two-room suite she shared with Aunt Gwennie, seated in a wing chair. Her finger rested on her chin, and her eyes looked off into space. “Mom?”

  Her pale eyes focused on me. “Yes, Astra?”

  “What are you doing here?” The perfectly innocuous question came out like a threat, and her eyes widened at my tone. I held my hands up quickly. “I’m sorry. I know how that came out. I’m sorry. I’ve just developed this way of speaking that sounds way more confrontational than I think it does. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, well, as a high priestess, I can sympathize with the tone of authority invading conversations even when it has no place.” She patted the chair next to her. “Come, Astra, sit down. Maybe if you’re not towering over me looking down at me, your tone will soften a bit. Little ritualistic changes can have that effect.”

  I moved across the room and sat down. “What are you doing up here all alone?” I made it sound less like an accusation and more like a genuine question of concern. “Everybody’s downstairs, and dinner is almost ready.”

  Silvery threads of gray snaked through her hair. I noticed lines under her eyes, around her mouth. I wasn’t sure if they were from age or exhaustion. Mom had always seemed larger-than-life to me, the strong authority and center of our family. Now she looked slightly old, a little tired. Even her hair was a bit dull.

  “I was just up here thinking, Astra. Thinking about how far you girls have come.” Her eyes moved back toward the window. “I am heartened—more than you could possibly know—that you are forming a genuine bond with your sisters.”

  “I’m pretty happy about it, too. Honestly. They’re cool.”

  Mom turned and looked at me. “The goddess was absolutely brilliant in giving you Archie for your birthday. The job she’s given you has given all of them purpose, too.” Her eyes burned with intensity, and she added quietly, “I know you think I did all this, but I’m not as smart as Athena.”

  “Mom, you sound a little odd,” I said with concern. “Is everything okay?”

  She waved away my suddenly anxious expression. “I’m just getting older, Astra, and when you get older, you start to take stock of your life. Choices you’ve made that, perhaps, weren’t the best ones. The guilt you chose not to feel comes back many years later, as if you transgressed just yesterday. Karma always comes home to roost.”

  I said nothing. I wasn’t sure what to say.

  Suddenly, my mom’s expression cleared. “I am truly sorry for the way I treated you when you told me you wanted to go into the military. Had I known the rift between us would last fifteen years, I never would’ve said what I said. I should’ve listened more. I’m sorry, and I am sorry that you and your sisters’ relationships suffered for my…my inability to find my way through in a way that preserved those ties.”

  Now I really wasn’t sure what to say.

  The tension blanketing the air every time my mother and I walked into a room together had ebbed and flowed since I returned. My own silent mental responses to her arrogant pronouncements of late had been…Well, let’s just say I felt myself slipping back into a pattern of dismissing her, just as I heard her tone falling back into a habit of dismissing me. “I didn’t handle it well either, Mom. It wasn’t just you.”

  “Yes, but you were a child, and it was my responsibility as the adult—”

  “I wasn’t really a child, mom.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “I was old enough to join the paranormal military. That’s hardly a child.”

  A smile crept across her face. “You just have to argue with me, don’t you?”

  “I’m not arguing, I’m—” I stopped myself.

  The two of us chuckled.

  If I had to do it all over again, I’d have done the same thing. I didn’t feel I was wrong choosing to pursue the life that I wanted to lead, regardless of my mother’s permission. I didn’t need her permission to be myself or to select the path of my life.

  But I didn’t try very hard before I left to help her understand why I needed to do it and what it was about military life that appealed to me.

  And once I left, I didn’t try at all.

  “Perhaps we can put this aside until Alice’s safety is secured,” Mom said, the intimacy that had been woven in her words now gone. “What was it you needed from me?”

  “Do you know anything about pixies?” I asked.

  “Enough. What’s the problem?”

  “Emma and Alice both met the pixie chieftain, Pistachio Waterflash, and now they’re both acting like…I don’t know. Weird. Almost like obsessed teenagers with a crush. I don’t know Alice at all, but for Emma? The way she’s acting is completely out of character.”

  Mom made a face, and I couldn’t tell whether it was one of concern or dismissal. The high priestess cloak had wrapped around her once again, and her reactions were difficult to read. “Anything else?”

  “Archie dive-bombed Pistachio back at the swamp with no warning, and he won’t tell me why.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was almost dinnertime when Mom and I emerged on the first floor. The broiled fish scent made my mouth water, but the sight of a giggling Emma and a coquettish Alice seated on the floor in front of the laptop screen made my jaw drop. “I think Pistachio is way hotter than this pixie,” Emma told Alice with a wrinkle of her nose. “I mean, these pictures all make them look like children.”

  Alice wiggled her eyebrows. “Pistachio’s no child, right?” The two women leaned into one another, clasping hands, and snickered as if they shared a secret no one else knew. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as handsome as him. And he never wears a shirt. Was he wearing a shirt when you met him? Please tell me he wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

  “Nope. He wasn’t wearing one when I met him,” Emma breathed. Her eyes widened as if suddenly remembering something. “Did you see his pectoral muscles? They were unbelievable. Like a chiseled statue.” The detective’s blush deepened with vivid color. “It was all I could do to k
eep from putting my hands on them and just squeezing.”

  “If you’re wondering—and I have no doubt that you are—yes, this has been going on a while,” Althea deadpanned warily.

  “See what I mean?” I glanced at my mother. “What have you got by way of explanation for this embarrassing display?”

  Mom stared at the two, astonished. “Grown women regressed to lovesick teenagers?” Mom crossed her arms and examined the two with a puzzled frown. “Althea was right. There’s nothing obviously wrong with either one of them. Usually, those enchanted by a magical creature have a bit of an otherworldly glow I can see. There is none here. Or if there is, it’s so subtle that I can’t pick up on it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s useful. Can anyone see this?”

  Mom glanced at me and nodded. “With a lot of practice, sure.”

  “I smelled their breath,” Althea told our mother. “There wasn’t anything there that indicated either one of them had ingested anything. At least, nothing I could detect that would explain this.”

  We stared as if Emma and Alice were specimens on display in a laboratory. At the same time, the scent of seasoned fish grew stronger. “I do have a radical idea,” Mom said, gesturing toward the two. “Have you asked them why they are like this? Emma in particular, since you’re more familiar with her?”

  “Obviously, we thought of that. Astra asked her what was wrong with her,” Althea said with a hint of annoyance at my mother’s question. “It was one of the first things she did, actually. Emma didn’t acknowledge the question. Not really.”

  “Maybe we should start with Archie,” Mom suggested. “He may be stubborn, but at least he still has his wits about him. It doesn’t look to me like the two of them do anymore.” Emma and Alice tittered girlishly again to illustrate Mom’s point.