Moon Spun

by Marilee Brothers

  Dennis didn’t show up until the end of the week. When I finished work and pulled in next to the trailer, he was sitting on our front steps. Uncle Sid’s dogs, Lewis and Clark, were sprawled on their backs so he could scratch their bellies. L and C were yellow Labrador retrievers, but probably not British labs like Ms. Peacock-Tuman’s dog. Tongues lolling and mouths agape in wide, bliss-filled smiles, Lewis and Clark were in doggy heaven, all eight legs churning the air. I spotted a Domino’s pizza box, a pile of napkins and a six pack of Pepsi on the spool table. Dennis wasn’t just a FBI agent. He was my dad’s friend and a fellow Star Seeker. We’d met after the school incident last fall, supposedly for debriefing. During the debriefing, I’d fibbed a little when it came to Beck and Nicole and their role in the ordeal. I figured their mother, Melissa, didn’t need the FBI poking around in her life. Think about it. If you wrote Christian fiction, would you want the world to know your twins had been fathered by a lust demon? Ha! Didn’t think so.

  “Hey, Dennis,” I called, after carefully locking Junior’s—oops, I mean my car. “I heard you were in the area. Must be bad guys around, huh?”

  Dennis rose. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doin’?”

  He stretched out a hand, fingers up, palm forward, taking care to stay clear of the moonstone. The last time we’d met, I’d zapped him with it to prove a point.

  We pressed our palms together, interlaced our fingers and murmured, “Stella Potenza,” Italian for

  “star power,” and the official greeting for Star Seekers.

  “Eat first. Talk later,” he said.

  He walked to the table, and lifted the lid from the pizza box, releasing the delicious aroma of tomato sauce, oregano and pepperoni. My stomach growled ferociously in response. I snagged a big slice, and sat down on a stump, leaving the rickety lawn chair for Dennis. He wiped his hands on his jeans, and dug into the pizza box. The dogs scrambled up, and flopped down on my feet, their unblinking gaze locked onto the pizza travelling back and forth to my mouth. Dennis must have been famished too. The only words we exchanged in the next five minutes were, “Mmm, good!”

  Finally, we came up for air. Dennis tossed pizza crusts to the dogs, and then mopped his face with a handful of napkins. “To answer your question,” he said, still chewing his last bite. “No bad guys right now.”

  I gathered up the debris from our dinner, and tossed it into the garbage can next to the trailer.

  “So, is this just a friendly visit so we could share a pizza?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I studied his face. “So, why exactly are you here?”

  “Your dad sent me.”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip, remembering Mike’s shock and obvious sadness when he told me about his parents’ accident.

  “He would have come himself, but he’s pretty busy making funerals arrangements and such.”

  I nodded.

  Dennis squirmed a bit before saying, “The funeral is tomorrow. Mike said if you want to go, you can ride over with me.”

  “To the funeral?” I repeated, stupidly. In my mind, I saw Mike Purdy sobbing over his parents’

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  caskets, while his blonde wife and kids glared at me, the dusky, dark-haired teen stranger invading their family circle. “Um, don’t you think that would be a little awkward?”

  Dennis shrugged. “Not for me to say. Your decision.”

  “Pretty easy decision,” I said. “I didn’t know them.”

  I couldn’t help but feel a little resentful when I thought about the prosperous Purdy family. Faye and I struggled every day to make ends meet. “Is that why you’re here?

  To invite me to the funeral?”

  I must have sounded a little snippy, because Dennis held up a hand. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger! The funeral invitation was an afterthought. The real reason is this.”

  He pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. I reached for it, but he jerked it away. “Before you read it, I have something to tell you.”

  He looked so serious, I started to worry. “Is this about the moonstone?”

  “Don’t know for sure.”

  “Earlier, you told me ‘no bad guys,’ so what you’re about to tell me must be good. Right?”

  Dennis said, “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

  “So what’s the big secret?”

  Dennis cleared his throat. “Mike looked in his mother’s safety deposit box and got a bit of a shock.”

  “Shock? Like in a good way?”

  The corners of Dennis’ mouth lifted in a brief smile. “Depends on what you call good. Mike found out the man who raised him wasn’t his real father.”

  “Figures,” I said. “More family secrets.”

  He opened the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. “Mike had a copy made of the original. Since it involves you, he thought you should read it.”

  I unfolded the paper, surprised when I read the date at the top. February 20, 1971. Written in black ink with a bunch of curlicues, the script looked old-fashioned, like the picture of the handwritten Declaration of Independence in my history book. It was that kind of writing. Even more surprising, was the content. It said: My days in this world are few. Those who would do me harm are closing in. As an emissary of the Tuatha de Danaan, I have accomplished my task. You, my unborn son, are the conduit. The moon and stars will bless the child who follows you. Descendant of an ancient race and daughter of Avalon, she is the chosen one. But, heed my warning. Forces of evil from the moon’s dark side will seek to destroy you both. The answers to your questions are hidden on the Emerald Isle. Your father, Kyle Cassidy

  Bewildered, I shook my head and stared at Dennis McCarty, waiting for him to explain. He waved a hand in frustration. “I know, I know. It’s messed up. Instead of answers, we’ve got more questions.”

  I nodded in agreement. “This thing, or person, this two-a-day Donna—whatever—that Kyle Cassidy is an emissary of . . . any idea what that is?”

  Dennis rubbed a hand over his chin. “Nope. It’s Gaelic. The word is. That’s all I know.”

  I re-read the letter. “So, is this guy dead, or what?”

  “Yes. His death certificate was in the same envelope. He died on February 21, 1971.”

  “The day after he wrote the letter?” My voice was squeaky with disbelief. “But how did he know about me . . . about everything? Could he see into the future? I mean, it’s like everything he said is—

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  what’s the word—supposed to happen?”

  “Predestined,” Dennis said, with a grimace.

  We sat in silence. I don’t know what Dennis was thinking, but my head was filled with images scrolling across my brain, like the breaking news crawl on CNN.

  WASHINGTON STATE GIRL GETS SHOCK OF HER LIFE. FINDS OUT SHE’S

  PART FAERY AND HAS A FAKE GRANDPA ALL IN ONE WEEK! STAY TUNED

  FOR THE WHOLE STORY.

  The whole story? Geez, wouldn’t that be nice!

  When the silence got too heavy, I cleared my throat. “So, apparently this Kyle Cassidy guy could see into the future.”

  “Looks that way,” Dennis said. “Your dad is leaving for Ireland after the funeral. You know, the bit about: the answers are hidden on the Emerald Isle. ”

  Unexpected sadness for my father’s loss crept into my heart, along with the shame I felt for thinking bad thoughts about the Purdy family. Mike had not only lost both parents in a fiery crash, but also discovered his mother was living a lie. And now he had no choice but to figure out some mystery he didn’t ask for. Talk about piling on.

  Sometimes family stuff just sucks dirty dishwater.

  “Ireland, huh,” I mused. “Is that where Avalon is?” I pointed at the letter. “If I’m reading this right, it says here I’m the ‘daughter of Avalon.’”

  Dennis said, “I think Avalon was part of the whole Camelot myth. If I remember correctly, it’s where King Arthur found his sword, Excalibur.”

&n
bsp; “A myth,” I repeated and waved the letter at Dennis. “This whole thing is based on a myth?

  Excuse me, but doesn’t the word myth mean it’s not true? Maybe Kyle Cassidy was nuts. It’s possible, you know.”

  “Allie,” Dennis said solemnly. “Think about what’s happened to you the last twelve months. The moonstone prophecy. Star Seekers. Trimarks. Do you really think we should dismiss this letter as the ramblings of some crackpot Irishman?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “It’s just that when I think I’m getting stuff figured out, something else comes along and knocks me down again.”

  Dennis chuckled. “You know what that’s called, kiddo?”

  I shook my head.

  “Life.”

  I grinned up at him. “Since you’re much older than me, I guess you know more about that than I do.”

  He pulled a lighter from his pants pocket. “Look it over one more time. Then, we’ll burn it.”

  Startled, I pulled the letter close to my body. “Burn it? Why?”

  Dennis’s face looked grim. “Just a precaution until we figure out what it means.”

  I scanned the letter again, committing it to memory. “You’ll let me know?”

  “You can count on it.”

  I handed him the letter. A few seconds later, all that remained was a tiny pile of ashes, and my fierce determination to log on to the nearest computer and research the unfamiliar words before I forgot how to spell them.

  After Dennis left, I made a decision. It had been a long week, filled with strange revelations. I couldn’t do much about Mike Purdy and his newly discovered past until I had more information. But, Faye was a different story. Tantalizing new clues had come my way and with it, my resolve to discover why Faye had such a screwed-up life.

  Maybe if I could figure out what went wrong, I could fix it and my mother would be happy. Actually, I would settle for less miserable. My new motto: One parent at a 290

  time.

  I went inside, picked up the phone and punched the number for the Bea’s Honey Pot Diner. When my mother came on the line, I said, “Hi. It’s Allie. I talked to Grandpa Claude.”

  Then, I held the phone a good six inches away from my ear. Wait for it . . . Faye’s horrified screech was so ear-piercing, so shrill, I swear I could hear it reverberating across the entire upper Columbia basin.

  One small step for Allie. One giant leap for faeries in denial.

  When she spoke, her voice was ominously quiet. “You’d better be there when I get home. We’ll talk about it then.”

  I hung up the phone. Time to figure out a plan to keep from getting grounded for life. 291

  Chapter Ten

  Faye’s and my relationship rarely chugged along smoothly. With us, it was all about peaks and valleys. Atop the peaks, life was good. We staked out territory and each did our own thing. The valleys were the worst. Faye, in the grip of depression, could and would cry for days. When I was a little kid, her down days scared the crap out of me. I’d try everything I could think of to snap her out of it. I’d sing “I’m a Little Teapot” complete with hand motions. Ditto, the chicken dance, snapping my fingers and flapping my wings until, finally, I’d give up in exhaustion.

  Pretty lame, but, hey, I was seven years old. Cut me some slack!

  Bottom line: I didn’t know what to expect when Faye came home. I had no plan, other than to tell the truth. I’ve heard that’s supposed to work. My biggest decision was how much of the truth to tell.

  I was sitting at the table doing homework when the pickup rolled to a stop outside the trailer. I heard a door slam as Faye exited the truck. My heart started beating triple time, and I clamped my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. Mad Faye or sad Faye?

  I jumped when the door to the trailer opened. A quick glance over my shoulder told me nothing about my mother’s mood. Her face, though paler than usual, looked like it always did when she came home from work. Tired. She walked to the dinette and stood over me. Before I knew what was happening, she reached out, grabbed my pony tail and yanked.

  “Ouch!” I glared up at her.

  Faye slid into the dinette across from me and folded her hands on top of the table. “That was for seeing your grandfather without my permission.”

  I waited for the storm to hit. “That’s it?”

  Faye stood and crossed to the refrigerator. She snagged a can of Diet Pepsi, popped the top and took a big swallow. When she sat back down, she said, “I know you, Allie, so I knew this day would come.”

  Shock does not begin to describe how I was feeling. Faye being calm and reasonable was not even in my play book.

  “So, what did my old man tell you?” Her tone was casual, but worry lines creased her forehead. I decided not to hit her with the faery stuff right away.

  For some reason, I couldn’t look into my mother’s eyes, so I stared at the table. “He told me about your mother. Melia. He said she wasn’t dead.”

  When I glanced up at her, Faye’s eyes were huge. Her hand tightened around the soda can. When she spoke, her voice was shrill. “What the hell is he talking about?

  Of course she’s dead. Wouldn’t I know if my own mother was dead or alive?”

  Whoa! Not quite the reaction I was expecting. Then, I remembered what Grandpa Claude said about Faye being locked in the room full of iron, how it made her forget. I put my hand on her arm. “It’s possible you were told she was dead. You were just a little kid. Maybe your dad didn’t want you to know that Melia is a . . . a . . . ”

  Faye jerked away and slammed the soda can down. Brown froth spurted out of the opening and splattered onto the table top. “A what? Spit it out, Allie!”

  I grabbed a napkin and wiped up the spill. “A faery.”

  Faye leaned across the table. “I didn’t quite hear what you said.”

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  “A faery!” I shouted, tired of the game. “Your mother is a faery, and she went back to faery land or whatever you call it, because she couldn’t live as a mortal.”

  Faye clamped her mouth shut and studied my face. Suddenly, she lifted her hands and covered her face. Oh no, here it comes. Her shoulders began to shake, and a high-pitched sound whistled through her cupped hands. I folded my arms, sighed deeply and waited for the storm to pass. When she lowered her hands, I gaped in surprise. Yeah, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. She was laughing her butt off! Confused, I bit my lip, ticked off she’d found my surprise. Yeah, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. She was laughing her butt off! Confused, I bit my lip, ticked off she’d found my announcement so hilarious.

  Faye wiped her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believed that crap! He was pulling your leg. That’s the way he is. Why tell the truth when it’s so much easier to lie?”

  I needed to choose my words carefully. According to Chad, my mother glowed because she had faery blood. And, my built-in truth-o-meter told me Grandpa Claude was being straight with me. On the other hand, Faye likely had no memory of the events surrounding her separation from her mother. So, she would assume her father was lying.

  I nodded. “I suppose that’s possible. Strange he should go to all that trouble, though.”

  “Faeries!” She spat the word and then shook her head in disgust. “I wonder how he came up with that one.”

  I took a deep breath and took a baby step forward. “What do you know about faeries?”

  “You mean, like Tinker Bell?”

  “Do you think they exist?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Along with elves, pixies and leprechauns.”

  I knew it wasn’t my job to convince her, but I said, “Think about it, Faye. Take me, for example. I can do things other people can’t do. And then there’s Beck and Nicole.

  You know they’re, well, different. It seems like you, of all people, would at least be open to the idea that faeries might exist.”

  Before she could answer, the phone rang.

&
nbsp; Faye pointed at the phone and declared, “Beck.”

  I slid out of the dinette, hoping she was right. I hadn’t heard from Beck since he left for Seattle. Faye rose and headed for the back of the trailer. “When you’re off the phone, I want to hear the whole story . . . how you contacted your grandfather . . . every word he said . . . the whole ball of wax.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, remembering I hadn’t told her about my conversation with Dennis McCarty. I snatched up the phone.

  “Hey, Emerson, how’s the ride?”

  Not Beck. Junior. A tsunami of emotions swept over me as I stammered out a greeting. Disappointment—not Beck. Guilt—I hadn’t thanked Junior for the car. Relief

  —awkward conversation with Faye postponed. Curiosity—why the heck was Junior calling me? And yes, excitement—because Junior was calling me.

  Unfortunately, when I get flustered, I have a tendency to babble. “Hey, yourself, Junior! The car’s great! Thank you so much. I meant to call or write and tell you how much I like it, but I didn’t have your phone number or address. I probably should have called your mother and . . . ”

  Junior chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “Guess you haven’t got pulled over by the cops yet.”

  “What? Of course not. Why?”

  “Cause if you had, you’d have to show your registration.”

  “Well, yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”

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  Junior said, “That little case clipped on the sun visor that holds the registration?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “If you’d looked in there, you would a found it.”

  “Found what? The registration?”

  “My cell number and calling card.” He let his words hang in the space between us for a moment before he said, “Get it, Emerson? Then, you could a called me!”

  I laughed. “I get it, Junior. So, I really have no excuse for not thanking you.”

  “Aw, forget about it. Not why I called. How’s the boyfriend?”

  “Okay, I think. He’s going to college in Seattle.”

  “Long distance relationship, huh?” Junior said.

  I couldn’t resist saying, “Kinda like the one I thought we had.”