Tales from Tarker's Hollow

by Tasha Black

And Marie had been expected to have the same.

  “You know,” Addie said, helping to lift the dress onto Marie’s head. “I hope you don’t feel pressure about this… event.”

  Marie didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to shimmy her hips into the gown. It looked like a cloud, but felt so heavy. It probably weighed twenty pounds.

  “But, you’re going out with boys anyway, you may as well just meet Thaddeus,” Addie continued reasonably. “If you don’t meet him, how will you know you wouldn’t have liked him? Or any of the boys from magical families?”

  So that was the reason for the new dress.

  Not because Addie expected her daughter to come into her own magic miraculously in the nick of time.

  That ship had sailed.

  Addie Ironwood expected her daughter to marry into the next family to wear the mantle.

  The sunlight in the room suddenly felt stark instead of warm.

  “Why would he be interested in me?” Marie asked.

  She had meant it innocently. Everyone knew she didn’t have a drop of magic.

  Her mother’s lips tightened and she swung Marie around by the shoulders with a strength Marie forgot she possessed.

  “You are beautiful and kind and you are my daughter.” Addie’s voice trembled. “Any one of those boys would be lucky to spend five minutes with you. Don’t ever let me hear you say such a thing.”

  “No, Mom,” Marie said quickly. “I’m sorry. I meant the magic.”

  Addie nodded and began buttoning the thousand little buttons on the back of Marie’s gown.

  “You carry that magic,” she said. “Even if you don’t have access to it, yet.”

  Yet.

  Marie had been alive for over two whole decades. If she didn’t have access to it now, what hope was there?

  “Oh, Marie!” Her mother clapped her little hands together and pulled her over to the full-length mirror.

  Marie breathed in her reflection.

  She was stunning.

  And she was dressed perfectly to match the golden-eyed prince.

  2

  Lighting the Tree

  As tradition dictated, inky darkness enveloped the ballroom while the guests entered its double doors.

  When, at last, the final guest had entered, the double doors swept shut with a resounding boom.

  Marie held her breath in anticipation, her back against the cool chestnut wall.

  Her father, Bertram Ironwood, did not speak right away, waiting instead until the murmurs died and the guests absorbed the darkness.

  “Adelaide and I are honored that your families chose to spend Christmas Eve with us,” his solemn voice rang out. “Each of you brings a special gift, a light in the darkness, like the one that first Christmas Eve.”

  A tiny mote of light appeared, like nothing more than an afterimage, the memory of a soft white circle.

  Its intensity grew slowly. Then, all at once, it flickered and brightened.

  A collective gasp rose up from the crowd.

  On cue, hundreds of flickering lights appeared, transforming the ballroom ceiling into a nighttime sky.

  Marie’s heart filled with pride at her father’s wonderful magic. It might not be useful for much, but it was lovely, and he had such control.

  “And like that first night,” Marie’s father continued, “we celebrate the hope of things to come.”

  Marie got a twinge in her stomach as she thought about what that might mean.

  The lights began to float down from the ceiling and suddenly, they were not stars but candles – some large tapers, others that would be at home atop a birthday cake. They hovered around a small tree in the center of the ballroom.

  The floorboards gave a gentle moan, then the little tree began to grow, new branches bursting out of the ground.

  This part wasn’t real magic, though it was a wonderful illusion. As a girl, Marie had believed the tree was really growing. Now, like so many illusions from her childhood, she saw it for what it was. The tree was lifted from the deep basement beneath the ballroom. Grandmother Marie’s childhood friend, Harry Dross, had designed the ingenious pulley system.

  As the tree reached its full height, the candles lowered themselves to rest upon its branches, and for a moment the whole room was still.

  Marie savored the simple view of the lone pine tree lit with white candles.

  “And now,” her father boomed, “we dance!”

  Every chandelier in the ballroom flashed to life.

  The tree shimmered briefly in the light and the guests let out a collective gasp at its transformation.

  Garlands wound around it, and the candles had been replaced by electric lights, illuminating the china angels and metallic balls that adorned the lush green needles. Beautiful dolls and musical instruments nestled among the branches. The Ironwoods would present these as gifts to the children in attendance at the end of the evening.

  Although Marie understood her father’s talent for light magic, and the workings of the old Christmas tree lift in the basement, he had never told her the secret of decorating the tree. And she had never asked.

  Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

  3

  New Faces

  The music had scarcely begun before Marie was asked to dance.

  The boy was not handsome. But he had a friendly smile and enchanting Spanish accent.

  She accepted readily enough, and they swirled around the Christmas tree a few times without stepping on each other’s toes too much.

  Waltzing wasn’t exactly an everyday life skill in the modern world, but Marie supposed it must be a “thing” with magical families, because many of the guests danced enthusiastically.

  The music stopped.

  Before she could get away, another boy asked. So she danced with him.

  And when that dance was over, she danced again with another boy.

  And again.

  And again.

  They were all polite, but none had much to say. The music and chatter in the ballroom made it hard to talk anyway.

  She supposed most of their mothers had giddily dressed them up in finery and insisted they dance with her. Although her grandfather no longer filled the role of patriarch, her family remained important. The boys put in their time, but none of them seemed terribly upset when she moved on to the next.

  A new song began. Before she had the chance to ask her latest partner his name, someone tapped his shoulder from behind.

  “Please,” said a smooth voice. “I’ll take it from here.”

  A tall young man stepped forward, blonde hair glimmering in the light of the tree. His shirt hung open a little too far, revealing a golden chain with a little brass key on the end of it, gleaming against his muscled chest.

  He looked down at Marie, thick lips stretching into a smug smile.

  Thaddeus Ratcliffe.

  His grandfather, Rex was sure to be the next patriarch. Rex Ratcliffe had real magic and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  Aside from an abundance of magic, the Ratcliffes had no real redeeming qualities. In fact, their views on the magical world, especially a woman’s part in that world, would set their community back to the dark ages.

  It really was a shame they were going to be at the prow of the magical society after this weekend. But who could possibly oppose him?

  “Marie,” Thaddeus said, grabbing her around the waist without asking her consent for a dance.

  Marie briefly considered kneeing him in the family jewels.

  But knowing her mother would fall down dead if she did, she smiled at him instead, and decided that she could survive a three-minute waltz.

  “So I guess your mom is, like, thrilled that we’re dancing,” he smirked.

  Marie shrugged and looked at the Christmas tree.

  “They probably hope I’ll marry you,” he said. “And maybe you’ll have babies that won’t be duds, right?”

  Since the only reply that came to mind was a punch in h
is smug face, Marie remained silent.

  “I wouldn’t mind inheriting this fancy house,” Thaddeus continued, undeterred by Marie’s refusal to engage.

  “But, you’re not really my type.” The mean smile came to his face much too naturally. “I prefer my girls shaped more like, you know, girls.”

  Mercifully, the music ended before Marie could reply and shame her family with her sharp tongue.

  The next boy tapped her shoulder and she turned swiftly into his arms before Thaddeus could say anything else.

  And she went from that boy to another to another.

  At last, tired and thirsty, she shook her head at the boy who was waiting, and made her way to the punch table in the corner.

  There she found a familiar face.

  The local police woman, Grace Kwan-Cortez, poured out a frothy ladle of punch for her grandmother, a powerful witch in her own right. And even though Grace had been adopted, she seemed to somehow inherit her grandmother’s talent.

  Marie felt a small pang, wishing her own grandmother could be there. But Big Marie had died before she was born.

  Grace’s grandmother must have sensed something, because she placed a hand gently on Marie’s shoulder.

  “Don’t fret, dear,” Mrs. Cortez said in a kindly tone. “You’ll find your voice.”

  Marie didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but it comforted her all the same.

  After Grace finished, Marie ladled a glass of punch for herself.

  The fruity concoction was refreshing and a bit dizzying at the same time.

  Belatedly, Marie realized it must have wine in it. Like most college seniors, she was no stranger to alcohol, but it wasn’t really what she was looking for in the warm ballroom. The other drink table was across the room, and going to it would require passing about ten boys she hadn’t danced with, and she was thirsty.

  She longed for the anonymity of a campus party, where everyone was too busy looking at their phones to notice what anyone else was doing.

  Marie sighed and downed the rest of her punch, setting the cup down quickly and scanning the room for her mother.

  Before she could spot her, a hush fell over the room. Someone had entered.

  Marie couldn’t see who, due to the massive Christmas tree at the center of the room, so she hastened through the crowd to get a better view.

  The punch had already lightened her spirits and she felt curious, but not curious enough to dance again with another tiresome boy, if that’s who it was.

  Cautiously, she peered through the fragrant branches.

  A man with a blood-red cloak stood in the doorway.

  He was not tall, but his posture and his clothing were elegant enough that Marie knew he must be someone of importance.

  His raven hair held the barest touch of silver. It was rather too long, and the way it brushed his beaded collar reminded her of something.

  “Mr. Dross,” Addie Ironwood exclaimed. “How wonderful of you to join us.”

  Harry Dross.

  Marie’s parents talked about him fondly, with a tinge of awe.

  He was supposed to have been a dear friend of her grandmother, but Marie didn’t see how that could possibly be true. The man before her now seemed younger than either of her parents. If not for the few strands of silver in his dark hair, she would have guessed him closer to her own age.

  Harry Dross was sort of a legend for his work.

  He delighted in inventing the most cunning contraptions, which, though they were not magical, almost seemed to be. The lift for the Ironwood Christmas tree had been his design.

  When Marie’s grandmother had married, Dross had returned to his native Germany. He told the Ironwoods that it was because his village was a quiet place for an inventor. But what place could be quieter than Tarker’s Hollow?

  They invited him to the Christmas party every year, but he never came.

  Until tonight.

  As Marie stared in wonder through the branches, Harry Dross turned toward the tree and seemed to look right at her.

  His eyelashes were so long and dark, his lips at once both cruel and sensual.

  Marie gasped and stepped backward.

  He was her golden-eyed prince.

  But he couldn’t be. He was older than the prince, and his eyes were a warm, dark brown.

  “Marie, Fritz,” her mother’s happy voice carried through the hushed room. “Come meet our honored guest.”

  Burning with curiosity, Marie made her way through the crowd, a commotion at the punch table telling her that Fritz was coming too. He was two years older than Marie, but his wild energy seemed positively youthful compared to Marie’s own dreamy pace.

  He was a free spirit, never bothered by the burden of continuing the family legacy. With the tradition of magic falling strongly on the female side of the Ironwood clan, and Marie’s own striking resemblance to her grandmother, no one really expected him to. No one really expected much of Fritz.

  And he didn’t disappoint.

  She rounded the tree as her brother approached.

  “You’re Dross, aren’t you?” Fritz asked.

  “Yes,” Harry Dross replied. “And you’re little Fritz, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Fritz said with a grin, practically leaning down from his great height to shake hands with the smaller Dross.

  “Well, then I’ve got something for you,” Dross announced.

  He leaned down slowly to open a large duffel.

  Like a herd of deer, every person in the room craned for a glimpse of what was in the bag.

  Dross pulled out a lovely guitar – wood the most gorgeous honey color, and frets inlayed with mother-of-pearl.

  He presented it to Fritz with a flourish.

  “Oh, uh, thanks, man,” Fritz said doubtfully. “I’ll have to take lessons or something.”

  Harry Dross just shook his head and smiled without opening his lips.

  He pulled something small from his breast pocket and wiped it with a handkerchief. He studied the object for a moment before pursing his lips slightly and blowing on the tiny thing.

  “Try,” he said simply, handing the guitar pick to Fritz.

  “Oh wow,” Fritz said. “I’m sorry. I can’t play.”

  “I insist,” Harry Dross said lightly.

  Fritz shrugged and ran the pick, across the strings.

  Instead of the discordant jangle Marie expected, the guitar unleashed a lovely, full-sounding chord.

  A murmur went through the crowd.

  Fritz grinned and began to play again.

  The music was lovely.

  Marie didn’t think Dross possessed any magic. But the pick must have been enchanted somehow. Or maybe the guitar. Or both. No one could work such a marvel without at least a little magic. Could they?

  “Now the girls will love you, Fritz!” Dross joked.

  But Fritz was too busy playing the guitar to reply.

  At last, Marie reached her family. Her mother pulled her over with twinkling eyes.

  Harry Dross turned to look at her.

  In spite of the obvious differences, Marie was again filled with certainty that this was the golden-eyed prince, and her heart pounded nearly out of her chest.

  He gazed at her raptly, his thin lips pressed together.

  “Harry, this is—” her mother began.

  “Marie,” he whispered. The sound of her name on his lips made Marie tingle all over.

  Seeming to remember himself, he gave a bow and reached for her hand.

  Marie held it out to shake, but he deftly tuned it palm down and deposited a warm kiss on the back of her knuckles.

  “Dance with me,” he commanded her darkly.

  His manner was unexpectedly passionate. But Marie could sense his sincerity.

  Could he be the golden-eyed prince, here to help her unlock the power inside her?

  She longed for her magical heritage more than for air.

  A little voice in her head suggested that dancing
with Dross might be enough to pull it out of her. Perhaps he would enchant her like one of his inventions and, like Fritz’s guitar, she would spew out perfect magic forever.

  He had her in his arms almost before she could nod. The music began again. And they spun into the crowd.

  Dross was not a large man, standing almost eye-to-eye with Marie. But his skill in dancing made her feel small and dainty. She found herself spinning and floating as easily as if she had danced with him her entire life.

  The whole time, Dross talked. Somehow, she heard his soft voice perfectly through the sea of gossiping and music around them.

  “You’re her very image,” he said, wonder softening his handsome features. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from hearing it so often.”

  Marie shook her head. In her opinion, she could not hear it often enough.

  “Yes, her very image,” he told her. “By your age she was bursting with talent.”

  “I’m not,” she said, trying to keep the apologetic tone out of her voice.

  “When the time is right you’ll be bristling with it,” he assured her.

  And though she knew he was only trying to charm her, for what reason she could not imagine, she couldn’t help smiling.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  She looked up at him in surprise.

  “You have no idea, do you?” he asked her.

  When she failed to reply, he continued.

  “When they said you had grown up to look like her I wanted to see you.” He smiled the first true smile she’d seen all night. “But they didn’t tell me how exquisite you were, or how unique. Where Marie was formidable, you are elegant. And so shy.”

  She ventured a small smile.

  Of course, she’d hoped the golden-eyed prince would appear at this ball, and sweep her off her feet. She knew to her bones, that this was he. But how could she ask him?

  All around them, the other women at the party looked at Dross like it was feeding time at the zoo. Some looked at her as well. A different look, one she had a hard time deciphering. Were they… jealous?

  “Do you want to live in a mansion like this one when you get married?” he asked her quite suddenly.