by Leanne Leeds
I scratched my chin and thought about it. Pixie clans were notoriously close-knit. Until they weren’t. “Fair point, but he is their chieftain. I think it’s safe to assume they’d follow his lead whether they disagree with him or not.”
“And when the Witches’ Council was ruling Imperatorial City, all of you folks in the military totally agreed with everything they did all the time? No one ever planned a coup to unseat them and totally change the paranormal government?” Althea’s sardonic expression belonged to a woman much older than fifteen years. “You’re assuming his leadership is secure, and the other pixies support him in what he’s doing. That’s a pretty big assumption, Astra.”
“It is,” I agreed. “You think that’s a mistake? Even knowing what we know about pixie clans?”
“I just think you need to stop thinking of them as a group. He’s one dude. If you have no evidence the other pixies agree with him or support what he’s doing, don’t assume. Unless you have evidence to the contrary.” My sister crossed her arms. “Which I don’t think you do. And we do have evidence that Archie is really upset with Pistachio for some reason. Not the pixies. Pistachio.” Althea stepped back. “There might be a lot more going on here with them than we realize. That’s all I’m saying.”
When I first returned to Forkbridge, I was concerned my personality would make reintegration into my family difficult. I assumed my mother had raised three flighty, hippie, roses-and-incense witches who wouldn’t know common sense if it sparked out of a cauldron and spoke to them.
What I found were sisters far more similar to me than I ever would’ve expected.
“You up for traipsing through the wilds of south Forkbridge?” I asked her.
Althea nodded.
“Okay, let me get Gerald a police report so insurance will cover the replacement of the fuel injectors,” I told her. “Then we’ll go looking for the pixie—or pixies—that stole them.”
The sun had sunk below the horizon by the time we investigated the area around the Punktex construction site. Nearly at the undeveloped terrain, Althea reached into her shirt and pulled out a small zippered carrier that held dozens of tiny vials. Just a drop of “Cat’s Eye” on my tongue, and the dark black shadows lifted into a washed-out gray. It meant we could investigate the dark marshland now, but it also meant we were somewhat nearsighted. Fine detail was just a memory.
Not the most fantastic thing when you’re searching for people no bigger than seven inches.
“I didn’t know you could write police reports,” Althea said as we made our way deeper into the quagmire. I didn’t know if Althea had ever had the pleasure of clambering through the muddy marshes of Central Florida, but I suspected not. Her face remained impassive, but every so often, she let out an unhappy squeak.
“I can write them. I’m not supposed to sign them.”
“Oh? So why did you do it this time?”
“I faked Emma’s signature,” I told my sister, scanning the grass and sedges growing in clumps around the warm water. “Hopefully, she won’t be mad at me when she comes out of whatever ecstasy stupor she seems to be stuck in.”
“Right.”
The wind rustled the grass, though we could barely hear it through the swarms of insects humming and buzzing. “I wish Archie wasn’t having a snit fit. We could really use him. Even with your Cat’s Eye potion, it’s not easy to make things out in here.”
“What do you think is going on with him?” Althea asked, dodging a giant dragonfly. “I mean, I know he’s got an attitude and everything, but dive-bombing the pixie chieftain seems out of character even for him.” The dragonfly paid absolutely no mind as he zipped past her.
“If pixies taste like a rabbit, maybe not so out of character.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Because I don’t have an answer. Hopefully, Mom will figure it out, or he’ll be able to tell her. What made you think the pixies might be going rogue?”
“I read a book once that said fey people never quite do what you tell them to do or quite what you think they will.”
Althea’s voice was uncommonly calm for a fifteen-year-old clambering through the dark in a pixie-controlled swamp. I was beginning to understand Ami’s comment that she was unflappable. She had the delivery of a sixty-year-old professor that had long passed the time when he was shocked or surprised by anything.
“Profound,” I told her. “What book?”
“I forget what it was in. But for some reason, that line stuck with me.” She glanced back at me. “I also read that pixies are usually ruled by women, not men. So the male chieftain seems curious.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “The men are usually subservient to the women. Like most fey folk, they have a form of equality, though. At least, as far as we were educated back in the ministry. Leadership positions? You’re right.” I slapped a mosquito on my neck. “Almost always held by women.”
“From what you told me about Pistachio Waterflash, I don’t really see how someone with the personality to do what he’s doing could get elected chieftain.”
“I didn’t really describe much, Althea. What makes you say that?”
She stopped and turned back to face me. “It’s obvious that whatever’s been done to Emma was not done with her consent. The pixies may enjoy playing jokes and manipulating people, but they almost always do so with some level of consent. If Emma didn’t give her consent—and we know she did not because you were there—why are we assuming Alice gave her consent?” Before I could answer, Althea continued. “I don’t need to know much more about him than that. He manipulates women without their consent. There’s really nothing more that can be said about such a creature.”
I considered her guileless expression and marveled at how well it matched her matter-of-fact tone. “Like you said before, though, we don’t know that for sure. We don’t know what Alice agreed to and what she didn’t. All we know is what she told us.”
“We know that Emma was manipulated without her consent, so nothing she’s said can be relied upon as truth,” Althea said with a steely glint in her eye. “That tells me as much about Pistachio Waterflash as I need to know to justify my mistrust.”
I realized while traipsing through the mud that Archie and the star power might have come to me because the paranormal world was a growing threat to humans. That made solving these cases far more complicated—first, I had to narrow down whether the danger was supernatural or human, and then I had to subvert the threat.
Which, if paranormal, could get…complicated.
Before the coup, as Althea called it, the paranormal world had strict rules for interacting with the human one.
As in, we didn’t. At all. Ever.
Okay, we weren’t supposed to.
Most paranormals lived in paranormal towns shielded from the human world. The few paranormals residing in the human world abided by a strict code. It kept all paranormals, including themselves, hidden from the humans.
Again, they were supposed to. Violations of the code resulted in arrest and possible execution—and yes, that was abused by the Witches’ Council more than I’d like to admit. There were reasons behind it, and I can’t say I disagreed with the rule (even if I disagreed with the consequences of violating it).
But that all changed with the new regime. The rule was tossed out in the name of freedom of choice. It was now advised that we remain hidden—but not required.
Some of us ran out of the sparkly closet and let our freak flag fly.
Most paranormals, though, understood the wisdom of keeping ourselves hidden from view. The threat of death from our own rules may have gone away, but the danger of persecution from the humans kept most of us quiet about what we are.
“Why are you in our territory, witch?” a small, tinny voice from the dark interrupted my thoughts with as brutal a directness as one could manage, while still sounding like a dog’s squeaky toy. “No one has given you permission to come here.”
I scanned the area near my feet, but the lack of fine detail prevented my recognition of my feet, much less anything actually standing near me on the ground. I couldn’t see the pixie confronting me.
“Why are you here?” the voice asked again, and I froze. Now it was a rich and loud woman’s voice, and the timbre of a threat was unmistakable.
This pixie wasn’t at my feet.
They were at least my size, if not larger.
“Get behind me,” I told Althea, dragging her back. “And keep your hands out of your pockets for the moment.” Standing taller, I called out, “Show yourself, pixie.”
“How dare you give me commands in my own swamp,” the pixie responded brusquely. “I am Amethyst Cloudspirit, guardian of this place and fierce warrior of the Waterflash clan.”
“Good for you,” I responded. “My name is—”
“I didn’t ask you what your name was,” she hissed. “I know who you are, Astra of the Arden clan. We have known of your coven since we came to this place. We have left one another alone until now.” I scanned the trees but could see nothing. “I asked you what you are doing here, and I expect an answer.”
As if magician’s smoke cleared to reveal the trick, Althea and I were suddenly surrounded by six full-sized red-tunicked female pixies. It was like they appeared fully formed from the flora itself—rising up from ditches, out of leaves, and emerging with a splash from shallow pools of water. They all gripped large staffs firmly in their hands. “Althea, I can’t see their expressions very well,” I whispered. “I need to.”
My sister quickly handed me a tiny vial. “One drop.”
I tapped it on my tongue and nearly choked on the strong flavor of cinnamon. Within seconds, my vision darkened but cleared.
“You’re trying my patience, witch.”
I scanned quickly over the six ladies and focused on a purple-haired woman with a bearing that telegraphed she was in charge. I raised my left hand and gestured toward her. “You’re Amethyst Cloudspirit?”
In response, Cloudspirit dropped into an attack stance and raised her staff. “Put your hands down, witch, and answer my question. Your defiance is brave, but I promise you, it won’t get you anywhere.”
“I thought pixies were cheerful?” Althea whispered. Her voice was steady. I’d worried she would be frightened, but there was no outward sign of it if she was. “These are pixies, right? Even though they’re big?”
“We are cheerful when we have cause to be, and we are vengeful when we have cause to be,” Amethyst responded with a sneer at my sister. “Right now, we have no cause to be cheerful. Witches are invading our territory, and our—” The angry pixie abruptly stopped as if she’d said too much and eyed the two of us suspiciously. “Answer my question! Do not distract me!” Her face reddened.
With an irritated sigh, I nodded. “You know what? I don’t see any point in hiding why we’re here. Someone sabotaged all the construction machines at the site on the northeast end of this marsh. There’s no way a human could have done it, but a pixie could’ve crawled right up in there and stolen the fuel injectors.”
“We didn’t steal anything!” a neon green-haired pixie to the right of Amethyst burst out indignantly. “Pixies don’t steal, witch!”
“Ebony, shut up,” Amethyst told her.
“Ebony?” I asked, surprised. “Are you the same Ebony that told Pistachio Waterflash I would be coming?” Ebony’s eyes widened as my own narrowed.
Pistachio had known somehow Emma was coming as well, and now Emma was non compos mentis. Was this troll-haired pixie the reason he had time to prepare his attack? The anger rose with the bile in my esophagus.
“We’re not here to answer your questions, witch,” Amethyst spat while placing a hand on Ebony’s shoulder. “Tread lightly. Only pixies may ask questions of our seer.”
“Tread lightly?” I asked with enough disdain to get my point across.
“Tread lightly,” she answered with enough menace to get her point across.
Okay, that’s it.
“Your seer told your chieftain that my friend was coming with me into ‘your’ territory, and now my friend is acting like a lunatic,” I spat back, the first outward sign of the temper rising in the back of my throat. “I get you’re all defensive about incursions into your stinky swamp, but I’m defensive about my friend’s mind being toyed with. If you people hadn’t attacked first—twice—we wouldn’t even be here. So maybe you need to answer my questions.”
“Careful, witch. You’re outnumbered,” Amethyst warned me coldly. Her finger tapped against the bamboo staff.
“You have no idea how fast that can change,” I responded just as coldly, pulling myself up to full height. “Not that I’d need to. In case you know my name but not who I am? I trained in the Ministry of Arcane Fugitives, Cloudspirit. If you think I need to get other people to take on six pixies with twigs, then you’ve been out of the loop, friend.”
Cloudspirit eyed me with predatory calculation. “We are not friends, witch.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Okay, Rainbow Xena.”
“Astra,” Althea said quietly.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Stay behind me.”
“Maybe it would be easier if we each answer the other’s questions,” she said in a reasonable tone. “Clearly, the pixies have questions for you, and you have questions for the pixies.” Althea stepped out from behind me. “I think, in your defensive stance, you failed to notice something that I’m really curious about.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“They have not called their chieftain,” Althea pointed out. “Despite the incursion into their territory, Amethyst Cloudspirit is questioning you herself instead of taking you directly to the leader of their clan. None of these women have countered her choice to do so.” Althea turned toward her and nodded respectfully. “I, for one, would like to know why that is.”
Chapter Eleven
We followed the six pixie fighters deeper into the Florida jungle. They had a place, they assured us, we could speak freely without being overheard—even at full size. Who would overhear us—the alligators? Through the overgrown and untamed marsh, we traipsed silently along a faint path winding its way north.
“Are we almost there?” I asked impatiently. Ironic, since the pixies were known for their childlike demeanors, my sister was fifteen, and I was supposed to be the grown-up in the group. “It feels like we’re walking to Miami.”
“You seem anxious, Astra of Arden clan,” one of the pixies responded. It was difficult to tell which one in the darkness, but I could sense she was to my right. “Ebony Cottonspring agreed to speak with you. That is an honor. Why would you still be on guard?”
“Because you’re dragging my younger sister and me even further into this swampy quagmire. Just because your snippy leader agreed to talk doesn’t mean you won’t turn on us at any time and attack. This could all be a trick.”
“Ebony is our seer, not leader. Is that what you think might happen? That we would give you assurances and then turn on you?” she asked, her voice indicating her surprise. “Do other witches answer honestly so infrequently that your first instinct is to not believe us when we make an agreement?”
Since when did pixies talk like they walked out of Rivendell after lunching with the elves in Middle Earth? They’re supposed to be lighthearted and fun. This wasn’t lighthearted or fun. If anyone pulled a ring out with elvish on it, I was out of here.
“I don’t know you, pixie.”
“Does anyone really know another being? Do we know ourselves?” she mused. “Socrates famously declared that the unexamined life was not worth living. Perhaps you are seeing your own subconscious desires mirrored in your fears about us.”
Just my luck. I found the only pixies on the planet with a penchant for talking like elves and an interest in philosophy. Was nothing in Florida normal? Did everything—even the paranormals—have to be just a little weird? “Considering how we met, I think it’s a pre
tty good idea for me to remain on alert. Don’t you?”
“We don’t know you, either,” she responded.
“Even so, we are bringing you to our hiding place,” another chimed in.
“Witches have so little trust,” yet another added. “A paradox of their supposed empathy. Don’t you agree?”
That they were leading us to their super-secret hideout in their swamp hadn’t precisely been confirmed yet. “Let’s just say I court optimism, but I’m not gonna be marrying it anytime soon.”
“What an interesting way to put it,” a pixie said from behind me.
I rolled my eyes.
“Are you all right?” Althea whispered.
“Fine. How are you doing? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Althea responded evenly.
We continued picking our way through the bug- and snake-infested swamp.
Or maybe it was a jungle.
I don’t know; it seemed like a swamp. It smelled like a swamp.
Florida had the most pristine, gorgeous outdoor areas in the whole country—as long as you were on the coast. If you’re inland? The masses of terrifying bugs buzzing past your face were enough to make you think about moving somewhere with dry weather.
I heard Iceland was mosquito-free.
Iceland sounded good.
“Wait,” Althea whispered. “Do you see that? What’s that?”
The jungle foliage parted to reveal a small pond (no doubt teeming with alligators). The moonlight glistened eerily off the still water. An island lay in shadows about a thousand feet in front of us.
“Get in,” Amethyst Cloudspirit told me, pointing to a small boat.
It wasn’t painted. Heck, the boat didn’t even look like it’d been sealed, the natural wood color patchy and dry. Ten feet long with no motor and seemingly no way to propel it from here to that tiny island, it didn’t look like it could hold one of us—much less eight.
I shook my head. “You must be kidding. That thing is going to sink as soon as I step in.” I leaned forward slightly and glanced in. No seats. “Or I’ll fall over into the pond and get eaten by an alligator.”