Moon In The Mirror: A Tess Noncoire Adventure

by P. R. Frost

“Then keep it there,” Gollum replied on an equally quiet whisper. He turned up his small stereo. Opera, a light aria I couldn’t identify, filled the apartment and masked our voices. “We don’t know what kind of metaphysical or magical authority the piece grants. We don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

  “I agree. Darren is getting nothing from me. And as soon as I can convince my mom that he is a con man through, and through, he won’t even have my mother.”

  “Good thinking. But we have another more immediate problem.”

  "WindScribe and the toothy garden gnomes.” I just couldn’t think of those little guys as Orculli trolls. Trolls are big and hairy and live under bridges.

  Gollum pulled a book from his briefcase. The fat, trade-sized volume looked well worn and had a dozen Post-it notes protruding from the pages.

  I read the title. “A Field Guide To Wild Folk: Faeries, Gnomes, Pixies, and Sprites.” The author’s name was long, unpronounceable, and Italian.

  “A year ago I would have laughed out loud that someone actually needed a field guide for critters out of fairy tales,” I said on a nearly hysterical giggle.

  The music shifted to something militaristic, right on cue. I paced in time to it.

  “And now you know that fairy tales sometimes come true. The grim ones, not just the cleaned up versions published by the brothers Grimm. Did you know that their original manuscript was quite accurate and quite dark, but the Church ordered revisions more consistent with their worldview?” He thumbed through the yellow flags, reading a few lines on each page.

  I nodded. Of course I knew that. The gesture was lost on him. His entire attention belonged to that book.

  Gollum thumbed through more pages, finally stopping about two thirds of the way through. “Sit down and then look at this.”

  I plopped onto the cushy sofa that threatened to swallow me. Dill had picked out the furniture in the apartment. I had never had the chance to spend any time in here. Before or after he died.

  We’d headed west on that final, and fatal, trip less than a week after we moved into the house.

  Now I wondered at the rather feminine choices of overstuffed furniture covered in bright floral chintz. I liked it. I doubted that Dill would. Who had he chosen the furniture for?

  Where was he anyway? If he haunted any part of the house, it should be here.

  “I haunt you. Not the house, lovey,” he reminded me from his casual slump against the computer desk that Gollum’s laptop now occupied. “And I kind of resent your new boyfriend taking over my office.”

  I ignored him rather than retort that Gollum was not my boyfriend. Colleague; yes. Friend; yes. Lover? I didn’t think so.

  “What do you think of this guy?” Gollum held the book out for me.

  Right there, in full color, sat an excellent watercolor print of the little king of the garden gnomes; complete with droopy red hat and golden feather. The bit of gold braid around the crown was more elaborate in the picture, more crownlike and brighter. I wondered if losing WindScribe had given his gold a bit of tarnish.

  “That’s our guy.” I peered at the microscopic print beneath the picture. “King Scazzamurieddu, a Laúru of northern Italy.”

  “This is a bad translation,” Gollum said. He sat down next to me, pushing his glasses on top of his head. He took the book back. “I have an original Italian version in storage. The names are all mixed up. He should actually be an Orculli of the Tyrol district. But they did get the hat right. It’s his most prized possession. Some folklorists believe the hat is the secret to his magic.”

  “So why is he here?”

  “What this book doesn’t say, but a friend of mine in Boston told me, is that the Orculli were drafted to be pandimensional prison guards. Their punishment for stealing the rest of us blind is to imprison more dangerous beings. They also are accused of bringing freezing temperatures and icy roads when in a bad mood. King Scazzamurieddu is the prison warden.”

  “What kind of crime warrants pandimensional imprisonment? ” Darren had spoken of metaphysical laws of possession. Was there really a codification of laws that applied to all races in all the many universes?

  “I don’t know. But apparently WindScribe committed a big crime if Scazzy is willing to cross dimensions and battle a Warrior of the Celestial Blade to get her back.” He lost himself for a moment reading more about our foe.

  “Somehow I don’t think petty theft is involved.” I remembered the contents of my purse scattered across my candlewick bedspread. "WindScribe is spacey and immature, but she doesn’t strike me as a hardened criminal.”

  “Beware of first impressions, lovey.” The music went cold and eerie like a ghostly wind in bare trees. “I caught her picking the lock on your desk. Expertly. She was looking for drugs. Lucky you flushed the lot.”

  “Do you feel a draft in here, Tess?” Gollum heaved himself up and inspected the windows.

  I immediately thought of the Windago. My spine remained free of the typical warning flares and I heard only an occasional gust whipping through the woods, not the wail of a demon.

  “It’s an old house full of drafts. Feel free to build a fire in the wood stove in the bedroom. It’s probably more efficient than the fireplaces in the rest of the house.”

  “I don’t think Donovan left you a lot of wood.”

  I heaved a sigh and laid my head back against the very soft cushions. With my eyes closed, I could almost believe I was somewhere else, far away from the problems that had descended on me.

  “Mind if I stay here a while and pretend I’m on a beach in Mexico sipping piña coladas?”

  “Sure go ahead. I’m going to see if anyone knows how to fight King Scazzy.”

  “Simple: steal his hat.”

  “If only it were that easy.”

  A gentle kiss to my forehead awoke me. I left my eyes closed, drifting in a warm, safe cocoon of wool blankets and a long hard body pressed next to mine.

  “Dill?” I murmured and reached to hold my husband close.

  “Sorry,” Gollum grumbled. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your own bed?”

  I’d fallen asleep on Gollum’s cushy sofa.

  I opened my eyes a crack and groaned at the loss of my wonderful dream and having made the faux pas of all time.

  “Yeah, I guess I’d better.”

  “What happened to the house rules? We sleep in beds and not on the furniture?” he quipped. A half smile tugged at his mouth.

  “That rule was for you. You don’t sleep in my armchair. ” I twisted to untangle my legs from the lovely blanket he’d wrapped me in. “What time is it anyway?” I couldn’t get my arm free to check my watch.

  “About two. The house is quiet, and all the lights seem to be out.”

  “Did you find out anything more about our Orculli trolls and King Scazzy?”

  “Nope. All of my colleagues agree that he’s the prison warden, but no one knows what kind of criminals he guards. Amazing what kind of information is available in a chat room. I met the most interesting man from Russia. I knew of his work, but had never had the opportunity to chat with him before.”

  “I guess we’ll have to have a long heartfelt talk with WindScribe in the morning.” I yawned and stretched. If we tied her to a chair and threatened her with hot coals, we might get some straight answers. I would never torture her with imprisonment in a dark box like her mother had.

  That kind of abuse might explain her need to set things free and avoid constraint by a seat belt.

  “Thanks for letting me nap. I feel much better than I did when I came in.”

  “Any time, love.”

  Chapter 25

  NOW THAT IS MORE like it! In time Tess will realize that her best interests lie (or is that laid) with Gollum and not Donovan and his ilk.

  Maybe if I pretty her up a little, Gollum will be more bold. That’s the only thing that will penetrate her thick skull. Let’s see now, a little makeup wouldn’t hurt, and some nice wool sla
cks rather than sweats—she’ll never go for a skirt unless it’s one hundred degrees outside with an equal humidity, or she’s going to a place that almost requires a dress. Let’s see what we can find in the closet. I’ll just lay it out for her, maybe help her get the hint.

  What! The sapphire blouse and sky-blue pants are missing. I can smell them in the house. Where can they be?

  That thieving, conniving bitch! WindScribe has stolen half of Tess’ best wardrobe! And she’s altering them. Taking in seams to fit her willowy figure, adding trim and lace to pant legs to lengthen them!

  That look is so passé. But then the waif has been out of the loop for thirty years or so. She needs an education in fashion as well as manners.

  “Tess dahling, wake up. I’ve got some things to tell you about your guest and the monster cat. I forget to tell you about the cat and the armory door yesterday. Sorry. I got busy. Tess, stop swatting at me. Tess, will you please wake up.”

  Finally. She sits up and listens. Then she glowers. Then she sets her chin.

  Ooooooh, there’s going to be trouble. Maybe a fight. I can’t wait.

  Then she plops back down and covers her head with a pillow. I don’t think she heard me at all.

  Much to my surprise, Mom and Darren showed up for breakfast Saturday morning just as I started fixing johnny cakes—a kind of cornmeal pancake—sausages, and eggs. I expected them to sleep in, or go out, or do just about anything to avoid me after my confrontation with Darren the night before.

  A light New Age instrumental played in the background. Nothing that demanded we listen, an easy accompaniment to life. Just as Darren entered the kitchen, I noted a muted bass string underlying and adding tension to the melody.

  There was a new strain about Mom’s eyes and mouth, but she put on a good show of being the happy bride, sitting close to her new husband and chattering brightly and sipping coffee and orange juice. But she didn’t touch him like she had the last two days. She didn’t meet his silent and penetrating gaze. Even when he spoke the bastard French Mom had invented as a child. (How’d he learn it?)

  And she had reverted to her dress and pearls. The only remnant of the makeover was her short hair and brighter makeup.

  Maybe there was hope for an annulment yet.

  Especially if Darren’s fight with Donovan had made the wedding night less than expected.

  My mind shied away from the intimate details that might cause this kind of tension between them when they’d only been married less than a day. I remembered my own honeymoon with Dill and sighed with regret that I’d never share that kind of closeness with him again.

  “You can, lovey,” Dill whispered. His voice was a near caress on my ear. “You know what you have to do.”

  He asked too much. Too late. If he’d started haunting me right after his death, I’d have given anything for us to be together, even my own life. But he hadn’t shown up until last autumn, right after I’d had my first otherworldly fight. Right after I’d asked Scrap to transform into the Celestial Blade for the first time.

  There was something fishy about the deal Dill offered and the timing, and I don’t mean last night’s supper of cod with lemon and wine sauce.

  Gollum came in just then with a bag of fresh apples and oranges and made a second pot of coffee.

  MoonFeather hobbled in on her crutches, grumbling about not spending another minute in that bed and what could she do to help. I set her to putting together a fruit plate. She sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, out of my way yet still close enough for me to fetch things for her.

  WindScribe drifted down wearing my blue outfit all tarted up with lace and braid trim from my bag of scraps for costumes. I ground my teeth together, determined to speak to her the moment we had a speck of privacy.

  Manners were universal. Or they should be. If she’d borrowed some sweats, I’d have bought her some clothes at the mall today. But no, she went for my expensive clothes. I didn’t feel like I owed her a thing.

  We ate together at my new table with the new linens and things. I was happy with the décor. It gave us something to talk about to cover the false brightness in Mom’s voice and posture. She fiddled with her pearls, and ran her hands uncertainly through her short hair.

  “I hope you haven’t made a mistake, Genevieve,” MoonFeather whispered to Mom during one of the lulls in conversation.

  Mom glared at her. I could almost hear her mental shout: Mind your own business, witch.

  MoonFeather reared back as if slapped.

  I swear no words passed between them. Only negative energy. Extremely negative energy.

  “What are we all doing today?” Mom asked. She sounded brittle and fragile.

  “I’m searching the Internet for a good price on a trip to Mexico,” I said quietly. The clouds and wind and icy temperatures had come back. No shadows. Was that good or bad for drawing Windago out during daylight?

  “I’ll be setting up my office at the college,” Gollum said.

  Coward, I mouthed at him for deserting me with this mob.

  “I guess I won’t be doing anything but reading in bed,” MoonFeather grumbled.

  WindScribe looked a little panicked. What was she going to do with the day? With the rest of her life?

  “I’d like to see a bit of Cape Cod. Never been here before,” Darren finally said.

  “Fine. We can find a real estate agent to take us around and look at properties.” Mom didn’t sound fine. She sounded angry. With him?

  Hopefully.

  Then they all dispersed. Except WindScribe.

  “Would you help me with the dishes, please?” I asked her. I’d made quite a mess. I always did when I cooked. For the last two years Mom had done most of the cooking and all of the cleaning. I couldn’t expect her to do that anymore. At least not until she got rid of Darren and life got back to normal.

  Normal? What is normal? Not my life certainly. What with a grieving Windago stalking me, Orculli trolls, strangers stepping out of Faery, Mom marrying a demon, and me all hot and bothered for a different demon . . .

  And then there was Dill. Could he really come back to life?

  No. I wouldn’t go there even in my imagination. Some things were just too creepy.

  “I guess I can help. There isn’t much else to do. The only TVs are in MoonFeather’s room and your bedroom. ” WindScribe sighed as if prison shackles weighed heavily upon her soul as well as her shoulders.

  "What are your plans, WindScribe?”

  “What do you mean?” That panicked look was back, like a wounded bird ready to flee.

  “I mean, you can’t stay here forever. You need to find a job, get an education, do something with your life.”

  “Isn’t there some kind of cosmic law that says, since you rescued me, you have to take care of me?”

  “You aren’t a lost puppy, WindScribe. You are a person. You have to take responsibility for yourself.”

  “You’re just mad that I took your lipstick without asking.” The limp, frightened child vanished from her countenance, replaced by a wary fox.

  “I’m mad that you have so little consideration for everyone around you.” I drew on every skill I had learned in my years as a teacher to maintain a calm demeanor. Anger only begat anger. “You’ve taken my clothes and altered them so that I can never use them again. You monopolize the television so that others are forced out of the room. You don’t seem interested in communicating with me or anyone else in the house.”