“Don’t even try it—the smile won’t work on me, Mitch. I’m immune. Now hand me the tow rope.”
He clutched it to his chest until I raised my eyebrows and forced my hand a few inches closer. Against the protests of the other boys, he handed it to me.
“All of you realize, I hope, that your parents would be furious if they knew you were floating in the middle of the lake without life jackets.”
Four sets of eyes looked down.
“I didn’t want to, Mags, but they wanted to see the island. You won’t tell Mom, will you? Please?” Mitch flashed his smile again.
I tried hard not to smile.
“Mitch, you know the island is off limits. You promised Aunt May.”
“She’s not here now,” he retorted matter-of-factly.
“No, but I am, and it’s my island now. Same rules apply.”
Mitch looked dejected, and despite their protests, they all eventually agreed to put on lifevests—but only after I promised to take them tubing. Quid pro quo—they learn so early.
“But why can’t we go to the islands?” The little brown-haired boy asked.
“I’m Maggie, Mitch’s sister,” I said ignoring the question.
“I’m Mike Anderson. I live on the lake, and I don’t need a lifejacket.”
“What’s your mom’s phone number? I’ll just ask her.”
His face went white.
“To answer your question, Michael, the islands are off limits because the caretaker doesn’t like children. He’s always there, watching.”
Mitch’s smile disappeared as I know he ran our meeting with Chalen through his head.
“Is that him?” Scotty asked, pointing as he finished fastening his lifevest.
Turning my head slowly, I saw him, the wretched older version, a pale gargoyle, on the shore a hundred yards away. Ignoring my homicidal anger, I turned back to the boys. “Yes!” I said through clinched teeth.
With frightened eyes, Mitch’s forehead wrinkled and his frown grew.
“Maggie, can we please go? I don’t like him.”
“Do I have your promise? Or should I let Chalen deal with you?”
They stared at the alabaster demon on the island and agreed.
I tied the inflatable to the back of the boat, and lifted the boys inside before speeding away as fast as the Capri would carry us. Well, he was useful for something, I thought as the islands passed out of view at the bend. Chalen was the perfect boogey man.
As I thought about him, I realized something—he was the first person, or whatever he was, that I’d ever truly hated. I’d disliked some people, even dispised a few, Rhonda for instance, but I’d never felt as much animosity for anything as I felt for him. I cleared my mind and focused on the boys instead.
Then I remembered what Sara had said the last time we talked. What was the name she told me to remember? In a moment it came to me: Billy Macy at Turpentine Creek.
TWENTY-FIVE
TIGERS AND MEN
Mitch’s friends spent the night, which left Justice in a child-induced high. As much as the big dog loved me, he loved kids more and the feeling was mutual. I caught each of the boys sharing bacon with him under the table at breakfast. It made me feel better watching Mitch with his friends—they helped me forget how lonely I felt, how much I hurt inside. Mitch was oblivious to everything that went on—like he always was. Enjoying his own little world, I wished, jealously, that I could join him. My reverie came to an end quickly, as Michael’s mom came by boat at nine o’clock in the morning to whisk all four away for the evening.
I could find Billy, since I wouldn’t need to keep watch over the boys today—I still worried that they’d try to sneak onto the island. If I left this morning, I’d have a window before my plans this afternoon. I was supposed to meet Doug, Candace and Ronnie, along with a few other friends, at Rachel’s house. I planned to break the news to them that Gavin had moved back to France—that was the story. Four hours to find Billy. I could do it.
Turpentine Creek turned out to be a big cat preserve—not at all what I expected—but it would be easy to find, located just a few miles south of Eureka Springs. I didn’t know why I was supposed to look for a Fae at a wildlife refuge, but Sara told me so for a reason. Likewise, I didn’t know what I was supposed to ask Billy, but I’d figure that out when the time came.
I cringed a little when I drove past where the Maserati was parked two evenings ago. The sense of isolation crept back in, briefly, before I forced it out. I found a random song on my iPod—a good diversion. When the music wasn’t enough, I focused on how beautiful the lake looked from the highway above. Anything to keep my mind busy.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled up to the small barn-like structure that served as the main building at Turpentine Creek. In the storefront, I greeted a blond woman who appeared to be only a few years older than me. She wore a greenish-khaki shirt with the refuge’s logo above the pocket.
“Hi, is there someone named Billy Macy here?”
“Yes, I think he’s in the main compound, just through the doors. He was with Vada, our black Leopard, when I was back there a few minutes ago.”
It smelled like a zoo when I opened the door, the scent of the big cats hanging in the hot summer air. There were rows of shaded, wire mesh enclosures, and big cats everywhere. Their roars sounded in my chest as much as my ears—they were much louder than I’d expected. People milled about the concrete walkways just feet from the animals. Some of the cats lay on their sides completely oblivious of the people staring at them, snapping pictures. Other cats paced back and forth in their enclosures, staring at the people on the other side of the barrier, but I didn’t see a black Leopard. I did, however, sense a Fae.
I walked down the first row and looked to my right. In a wide, grassy enclosure, a large black cat lay stretched across a limb, lazily swinging its tail in wide circles, and just outside the fence stood Billy. I knew because I sensed his Fae energy. His back was to me as he sprayed down a concrete pad with a hose. He glanced over and smiled briefly when he heard me approach.
Billy wasn’t very tall, about five-foot-ten, but he was as beautiful as all Fae—except Chalen. His hair was medium length, sandy blond and slightly lighter than his neatly trimmed Goatee. Billy was stocky but muscular—his calves were cut like a runner’s. His chest and shoulders looked thick, and his forearms rippled with chords of muscle. The golden hair on the exposed parts of his arms and legs glistened in the sunlight.
He looked back at the cat and went on with his business. I walked up to the enclosure to get closer to him before introducing myself—the cat remained completely aloof to my presence as I moved next to Billy.
“She looks sad,” I said.
“He has his days,” Billy said.
“He’s beautiful.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He’s so regal, almost like he wants to ignore that we’re even here,” I said, glancing back at Billy.
“It’s a marked improvement. Vada used to despise people, but that’s hardly his fault. He was rescued from a man who broke his canine teeth off with pliers when the … gentleman … thought Vada had grown big enough to be dangerous.”
A chill ran down my spine. It only got worse when he told me that Vada had been in a great deal of pain when they rescued him. The man hadn’t removed Vada’s teeth—he just broke them off, exposing the nerves. A team had repaired the damage so Vada was no longer in pain, but for years he associated humans with agony.
“Oh my god, that’s awful.”
“I’m Billy.”
“I know. I’m Maggie O’Shea.”
He looked at me, a little surprised. “The Weald Fae Steward?”
“Yes. Are there others like him?” I nodded to Vada.
“Too many, but that’s what we do here, rescue the victims of human ignorance.”
“I read that on the website—well, in not so many words. How many do you have?”
“There are over a hundred b
ig cats here, each one with a story.”
Billy was different than I thought he would be. He was less friendly now than he was a few moments ago when I walked up. There was contempt in his voice when he said human. He didn’t act anything like Gavin or Sara. His unfriendly demeanor made me wonder whether he was Unseelie. He couldn’t be, right? Why would Sara send me to an Unseelie?
“What brings you here, Steward?”
“It’s just Maggie, please.”
“Okay, Maggie, what brings you here?”
“Sara sent me.”
A brief and subtle smile crossed his face before the stern, emotionless look returned.
“Why?”
“She didn’t tell me why, she only said that if something happened to her or Gavin, I should seek you out.”
“Has something happened to her or Gavin?” His tone grew more acidic with each word.
The question surprised me. I assumed he’d heard that Sara was part of a nationwide manhunt—she’d been spotted at the airport in New York the day after her jailbreak. But he hadn’t heard, and maybe that’s why Sara sent me to him—he was out of the loop.
I began telling him about Sara and he looked confused.
“No more, not here…” He looked around at the people nearby. “Walk with me.”
He put down the water hose and focused on Vada. The beautiful black cat put his head down and looked like he was … in a pleasant dream.
Billy appeared to be compelling him. I could feel the emotion he produced, but I didn’t recognize it.
After a few moments he turned to me before walking away. Billy’s eyes, deep-set and slightly hooded, were perfectly gray with dark gray rings around the edges—they were stunning. I caught up to him as we walked beside larger paddocks where the lions and tigers roamed about more freely. Out of anyone else’s earshot, I turned to him.
“Are you Seelie?” I asked, nervously.
“I don’t consider myself a member of either clan, at least not anymore.”
I stared at his face, ignoring the indifference in his voice. He exhaled, and turned his attention to the large tiger that had sauntered up to the fence.
“I was once Seelie.” He stopped with that and said nothing more.
“What changed?”
He ignored me, focusing on the tiger beyond the fence. After a minute or more he finally shifted his weight. “The Unseelie warnings proved to be correct, mostly. People have spread like bacteria, consuming and destroying without concern for anything else. Your kind consumes without pause, you pollute, and you just keep spreading.”
When he finally turned back toward me, and despite the loathsome timbre in his voice, he looked sad.
“I fought my own kind two millennia ago—fought them to protect your species from annihilation. I’ve since had second thoughts about the wisdom of my choice. I was known as Sarin, but changed my name to Billy to distance myself even more from who I was then.”
“If you hate people, why are you here, working with them in a place full of cages.”
“The people here give me hope. These are cages, yes, but because of humans there are no places for these cats in the wild. Almost all of these animals were bred in captivity to be used as pets for mindless entertainment by people who simply didn’t consider the consequences. The people who work here cannot put these animals where they really belong, and they recognize that. Not a person here labors under the delusion that this is the best place for such creatures, but each does what he or she can to ensure every one of these beasts has the best existence possible—under the circumstances.
“Many of the people here volunteer their time to help. Those are the people I fought for—the ones up there scooping tiger dung because they care. In my estimation, there are simply too few of them among your kind, and it seems like they are never the people who make the big decisions. The question is, Maggie O’Shea, which type of person are you?”
I smiled at him as I considered the question.
“You do more than volunteer, don’t you?”
He was puzzled again.
“You compelled that black panther?”
“Leopard, but yes, I did. How did you know?” His tone softened.
“I felt it. Why?”
He studied me quietly for a moment—his eyes squinted in the sunlight.
“You’re not just a Steward, are you?” He concentrated again on my face before continuing. “The people who work and volunteer here are not able to do what I can do. I can make each animal forget, briefly, where they are and implant images of being free. It’s cathartic—for them and me.”
I smiled and Billy stared at me.
“I can’t see the images in your mind, or feel your emotions. You’ve learned to conceal them.”
“Yeah, on the Weald that’s necessary.”
He studied me again. “It’s alarming. I’m used to reading those things, being able to size people up. No, you’re not just a Steward,” he said as he nodded toward the fence.
“You might want to step to the side.”
I moved behind him as the tiger turned his back to me and raised its tail.
“They don’t urinate like a dog. Some of them have pretty good aim.”
I jumped a little as the tiger demonstrated, missing me by a few feet.
“Do they do that on purpose?” I said laughing.
For only the third time, Billy smiled.
“Do the cats up at the building ever get to come out into one of these big areas?” I asked.
“Yes. We’re building new, larger paddocks all the time.”
“Good, I bet they’re a lot happier in these.”
Billy looked at me again. He appeared to be assessing me.
“What has happened to Sara and Gavin?”
I told him about Aunt May and what Sara had done to save me. He shook his head, but didn’t say anything. I told him about the Fire trial and what happened in the meadow.
“Chalen, such a tragic creature,” he muttered.
Billy grew still and listened intently as I told him about the events at the caretaker’s cottage. I fought to keep my emotions in check when I got to the end, and Billy studied me even closer.
“That’s not just a caretaker’s cottage, but I suppose they haven’t told you that?”
“No, they haven’t,” I said, trying to read his expression.
He immediately let ambivalence consume his face.
Two can play that game. I rewarded him with the same look.
“Green lightning … are you sure it was lightning?”
“Well, it was bigger … thicker … than lightning, but that’s what it looked like.”
I took a deep breath. “I can show you, if you’d like?”
“I would, very much.”
I played it through my mind, the meadow, the drive back from Fayetteville. I went step by step, including the kiss, back through everything that happened from the moment we stopped the car until I lost consciousness.
“Maebown.” The word slowly crossed his lips. He looked astonished, like he was witnessing a catastrophe in progress. Maybe he is.
“I haven’t passed the Water trial yet … and Chalen…” My voice trailed off.
“I understand why Sara sent you. She wants me to be there for the Water trial.” The emotion returned to his face—he appeared angry. “Damn it, Sara,” he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Two things. First, she intends for me to return to the Weald and I haven’t done so since I was Willard’s Treoraí almost eighty years ago. And second, she intends for me to be your new Treoraí—it’s obvious.”
My Treoraí? “How did you know I needed a new Treoraí? I didn’t mention that, and did you say you were a Treoraí?”
“You didn’t need to say a word. The green lightning isn’t lightning at all, it’s Aether. It was Ozara herself who attempted to destroy Gavin. She is the only Fae who can create the substance—that I’m aware of at least. Aether means only one th
ing, she believes the two of you have violated the Edict and she has ordered his...” He paused to study the emotion that clearly covered my face. “Well, you know. I’m sorry.”
“Is there no hope for him?” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Yes, there is always hope—it keeps me here. But I’m not sure hope will bring you peace. You clearly love him, and that’s most unfortunate, because the two of you can never be together. You know that, right?”
I nodded my head, wiping another tear, and tried to settle my nerves.
“The Fae will never be far from you. If he ever gets close, it will mean his end. Had he not been feet from the Seoladán, he would have been destroyed.
“Billy, I’m sorry. What is the sow-la-den? I’ve never heard that word before, I just thought it was the caretaker’s cottage.”
He looked completely exasperated. “They expect you to be the Steward and they haven’t told you why the Weald Fae is so important to my kind?”
I just stared at him.
“Well, I suppose they think it’s best—but I do not. I was the Treoraí for Willard, husband of Melvadine, son of Theodore and Tessa, and grandson of Josephine and Pete. Pete O’Shea was the original Steward, of course. I believed it was essential for Willard to know the truth when I guided him, and since Sara has sent you to me, it is my decision now.
“That area is not the caretaker’s cottage. My guess is that Chalen hasn’t entered the structure for fifty years. That cottage, the gardens, all of it, was built at my suggestion early in the twentieth century.”
“Your suggestion?”
“Yes, the site and the architecture were my idea.”
“Why?”
“I saw a similar house in Carmel, California—I liked it. Most Fae like whimsy, you know,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I laughed. “No, I mean why build it.”
“Two of your distant relatives, Vita and Frank, non-stewards, built it and lived there until the end of their lives. Vita was Lola’s sister and didn’t want to move from the Weald when Lola and Leo got married. It was an opening, and I thought it prudent to hide the Seoladán in plain site. The Seoladán is the unequivocal reason the Weald is important.”
Weald Fae 01 - The Steward Page 30