by Candace Colt
Rachel didn't have a biased bone in her body, or so she thought. She'd warehoused judgments and comparisons about everyone in town. She never used to be like this. What was going on?
"I'll do my best," she said.
"Good. Let's start from the top. First, let me tell you about Crealde."
Forty minutes passed like forty seconds.
"I suspect your brain is on overload. And our teapot is empty," Echo said.
"I almost forgot why I came here," Rachel said.
"The path out back appears to end at a small fire pit. But it doesn't. Keep walking due East. The path will open for you. Soon you'll come to Ian's cabin."
"But isn't this in the middle of town? How can there be woods behind your lot?"
Echo's gravelly laugh filled the room. "Remember, anything is possible here."
Her face turned deathly serious.
"You must promise never to tell a soul about the woods or where Ian lives. No one. Not even Jess or Brianna."
"I don't understand. You just told me they have similar gifts as yours. Jess grew up here.
How could they not know about the woods in the middle of town?"
Echo's narrow gaze intensified through her coke bottle thick glasses. "There are things in this world which can never be explained. Or when explained, aren't believed. The woods were necessary for Ian. So, voila. We have woods."
"You just met me. Why trust me with this?"
"You'll see in due time. And besides, I like you." Echo slowly pressed on the table to stand.
"Ian's going to have a fit. And he'll suspect I told you how to find him," Echo said.
"What then?" Rachel asked.
Echo shrugged her shoulders to her ears and gestured with open hands. "Who stays mad at a sweet little old lady like me? Just roll with it."
Before she descended the stairs, Rachel reached around Echo and gave her a tight hug. "I like you, too."
"Soon I want you to come back for a card reading. On the house." Echo's laugh followed Rachel downstairs.
What a day, and it wasn't even noon.
Echo's clairsentient. Check.
Crealde's invisible. Check.
Fairy-tale woods. Check.
Just roll with it? Right.
TWELVE
Had that sweet little lady pranked her?
Rachel braced to enter the so-called enchanted forest. At this point, nothing on the path looked a bit enchanting.
Except for severely neglected upkeep, Echo's garden was like any other. Though overgrown with weeds, the herb garden yearned to survive. Several azalea bushes were about to bloom. Two squirrels dug through a half-foot of leaf litter, probably going crazy trying to remember where they buried acorns.
Past its prime, Echo's garden was nothing like the manicured Ford estate.
The deeper she walked, the denser the growth around her. No more street sounds. No more sun through the interlaced tree branches overhead. She looked back toward the Carpe Diem, though it appeared to be a lot farther away than the short distance she'd walked.
She went further along the path until it ended at the firepit, just as Echo had said. Dilapidated wood benches circled the pit. At one time this would have been an excellent place to hang out with friends and drink a few beers. And at one time she would have enjoyed it.
The idea had no appeal anymore.
Branches and vines encroached on the circle making the whole experience claustrophobic. She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. It had become downright cold.
Maybe it would be a smarter idea to catch up with Ian at the pub. The brilliance of finding where he lived was fading.
Roll with it.
Rachel jumped. Whose voice was that? She looked around but no other soul was out here. Imagination messing with her?
Time to get out of here before mysterious vines grabbed her and drug her off to the mouth of a man-eating plant.
Head due East as I told you.
Echo's voice, clear as a bell. But, where was she?
Sweetie, I didn’t tell you all my secrets. Stop telling yourself scary campfire stories and get on with it.
Fearing Echo would haunt her for the rest of her days, Rachel quickly homed in on due East. Time to do this.
She stepped forward and pressed her hands into the thicket. To her surprise, the branches offered no resistance. Quite the opposite. Effortlessly, as though parting a silk curtain, a portal opened.
Rachel entered a clearing the size of a soccer field. At the far end, surrounded by neatly manicured thick green grass, sat a cabin. A spring garden was on one side, a small fruit tree orchard on the other.
With Echo's raggedy tangled woods on one side, and this lush forest on the other, had she crossed through Alice's looking glass?
Though she wondered why Ian lived in this solitary place, she no longer doubted Echo.
As she approached the cabin, she heard a male voice inside singing in a language she didn't recognize. And someone was playing some type of stringed instrument. The lilting music added to the peacefulness.
Was it Ian? Was he alone?
She hated to intrude, but she wasn't here for her health. She was on a quest.
The wooden door was apparently built to accommodate Ian's height. She knocked hard to get his attention.
The music stopped.
"It's Rachel. I came to say I'm sorry."
The door opened a few inches.
Ian had pulled his hair into a high, tight ponytail exposing his pointed ears. He was dressed in long pants fastened at the top with a drawstring. His collarless beige shirt was either linen or some other natural fabric. And he wore leather slippers.
His narrowed gaze and troubled crease over his nose emphasized his almond-shaped eyes.
"Echo told me how to find you," she said.
"I suspected as much." His gruff tone surprised her, but for all she knew, this was the real Ian.
"I want to apologize. I had no right to ask you to out people."
"You could have come by the Pub to tell me this. Why go through the trouble to come here?"
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. Enough of his attitude.
"Don't make this into a federal case. Echo told me where you lived. I came here to say I was sorry and I didn't want my stupid mistake to hurt our friendship. If you want to cop a 'tude, fine. So be it. My conscience is clear. I have things to do. Have a nice day."
Half-way down the steps, she heard the door open all the way.
"Wait," Ian called.
She stopped, facing the clearing.
"Yes?" She refused to turn around.
"I don't want you to go." The edge in his voice was gone.
If he thought one little sentence was going to change her mind about leaving, he was damn right.
His beckoning look was hypnotic.
"Would you like to come inside?" He asked.
She sniffed a laugh. There's a good line. All alone in the woods with a guy who invited her into his cabin? Maybe not.
She gestured to the steps. "How about we sit here?"
"Fair enough," he said.
"I heard you singing. I didn't understand the words."
He cast his gaze across the clearing. "The old language."
"Wow. Very cool. Where did your family come from?"
A troubled shadow crossed his face as he continued to look away.
Filter alert. Had she done it again with another nosy question?
"I doubt you've even heard of the place," he said.
"The language sounded like maybe from Eastern Europe."
He nodded. "Thereabout."
So much for this conversation line. Perhaps another. "Did you build this cabin?"
A twinkle returned to his eyes. "I did. And I put in the garden and orchard."
It was almost idyllic. She fully expected fairies to dance past. Umm. Maybe not so farfetched around here.
"Two years."
She knitted her brows. "So, how can you have fully grown fruit trees already? It takes several seasons before they produce anything." At least that's what her grandmother in Boca always said.
"Don't get spun up in any mystical powers."
After hearing Echo's story about her kinfolk escaping Salem witch hunts and Indian raids, and passing down psychic abilities, Rachel was antsy for more stories.
"When it's slow at the pub, sometimes I go online. I found a nursery specializing in mature trees." His bright smile underscored how he enjoyed sharing his little secret.
Rachel slanted her gaze. "You're kidding me, right?"
"You can buy anything on the Internet."
THIRTEEN
Curiosity offers two options.
Ignore it and avoid the scary unknown, or embrace it and take a chance on a little excitement.
Rachel voted for the latter.
"I think I would like to see your cabin, after all," she said.
Ian took her hand to help her stand and led her inside.
First off, the roaring fireplace heat nearly knocked her down. Sweat beads ran like marathon runners competing for the finish line down her forehead, neck, and cleavage between her breasts.
"Holy crap, Ian. This place is an oven."
She wiped her brow and dried her hands on her thighs. One thing was certain. He'd built a solid house.
Not a drop of wetness anywhere on his face. What the heck?
Ian made a sheepish grin. "I don't tolerate the cold well."
"It's May, for crying out loud. What happens in the winter?"
He threw his head back and gave a generous room-filling laugh.
"More logs," he said.
"Alrighty. Mind if I open the front door? Or will I spoil your sweat lodge ceremony?"
"Feel free," he said.
Rachel swung the door several times hoping to pull in a cool breeze. It worked, sort of.
"I don't have many guests, as you might have determined. But I believe it is customary to offer something. Would you care for a drink?"
"Yes. I'd love one." She looked around for a fridge with a freezer. Did he have ice? A bucket full would be nice about now.
He held a dark bottle for her to see. "I believe you recall my special brew. Would you be interested in another sample?"
"Yes, please."
With any other guy, this slightly odd way of speaking would sound like a put-on. With Ian, it sounded charming. Charming? Now she sounded like him.
She watched him pour from the bottle into two ceramic cups. Small cups. And a small amount. And no ice. Guess he wasn't used to company. But he was a bartender downtown who mixed fabulous drinks. At Solange's party, women lined up like crazy for his special concoctions. What was up with this little dab in a cup?
Too bad he didn't have a six-pack around here. One, or two would be nice about now.
He handed her the small cup and proposed a toast.
"As you said when we first shared a drink, to a great friendship," he said.
"You remembered?"
"Most certainly. And like you, I would like to put our misunderstanding behind us."
Rachel tossed her drink back like a shot of whiskey.
Nice flavor. No burn. Rather yummy.
"Reminds me a little of a Greek liquor," she said.
Ian took a sip of his. The man stretched out a shot longer than anyone she knew.
"I probably should have told you this is fairly strong and meant to be savored and enjoyed slowly," he said.
The first zing knocked on her head. This better not be a repeat of the first night she met him.
"Mind telling me what this is?" She tipped the cup for the last drop.
"A recipe handed down through my family. We call it miruvor. It's like honey mead, but made with nectar from wildflowers growing around here."
Rachel mouthed the word. When she said it aloud, it came out as, "Mirror vore."
The way his eyes twinkled told her she'd butchered the word. But he was too polite to correct her.
"Would you like another?" He asked.
The spinny feeling had let up, but not entirely. "No. I think one of these is enough. But it is sure good stuff. So, this is what you added to the fruity drinks at the party."
"Yes. Just a skift, however. Too much and Solange would have had a houseful of overnight guests."
"No wonder your line was long,"
They'd come inside his cabin so quickly Rachel hadn't taken time to look around. This was a very efficient place. The living room where they were, the massive fireplace, still roaring, a kitchen with a wood stove, and a small cabinet. And a round table and two chairs. Everything made of wood. The large kitchen sink had a hand pump. He had a well? Who had wells anymore?
A doorway led to his bedroom and she glimpsed a small wood hewed four-poster bed and giant headboard. She didn't see plugs or lamps anywhere. No electricity? Where was his refrigerator? And the bathroom?
Where did he— No. Not in an outhouse?
"It was a very nice gesture for you to come all the way out here," he said.
All the way here? Or back in time?
"By the way, I don't think I caught what you said about where you come from," she said.
"I didn't say, Rachel."
Okay. That didn't work.
"The song was very pretty. What instrument was it?"
Ian gestured to a stringed wooden box on his dining table. "A dulcimer."
"Don't tell me. You made it, too?"
"I did. I made everything in here. Something else passed down from the family."
"Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. You are quite the Renaissance guy. My family couldn't figure out how to cook dinner in the microwave, let alone build the table and chairs to eat it on."
Then again, when had her family sat down together for a meal at home? Papi was always in court or out fundraising. Mommy on call or at the hospital every minute. Brothers scattered wherever brothers go.
"So, you have family around here?" Maybe she would get him to talk about this phantom sister.
"One. But we are not close," he said.
This was going to be harder than she'd thought.
"I have two brothers. Both are in the military. One's a Navy pilot and the other is a Marine."
"Interesting choices for shifters," he said.
She dropped her gaze to her lap. "My whole family pretty much turned their back on our falcon life."
After her sister died, the topic of falcons became taboo. And shifting forbidden.
"And you?" He asked.
Not fair. She wanted to be the one asking questions.
Something about the way he looked at her went right to her heart. It was as if he knew the answer before she spoke. Something compelled her to speak.
"I love it. I fly whenever I can. Solange went over the rules, but I've been so tempted. Like today when I first walked into this clearing, I was dying to shift. And climb with the currents. And stretch my wings to make lazy eights in the sky."
~~~
Rachel Ortega fascinated Ian. From their first meeting he'd known her tough outer shell wasn't the real person. Hearing the joy in her voice as she talked about flying confirmed it.
Someone or something had tried to cage her spirit. Being a tough girl was the only way she knew to fight back.
She talked about flying for a full ten minutes. It lightened his heart when she never once mentioned hunting prey. Predators like falcons had to eat to survive, but what about shifters? Why would they, unless they gleaned some form of sadistic pleasure from it?
It had been a brave thing for her to cross the boundary into his woods. Though he planned to remind Echo this was a secret place, he wasn't angry Rachel found him.
Echo had visited here, and Elle. But no one else.
He cou
ldn't put into words how he felt with this feisty woman in his home, seated across from him. And to see her again after four long weeks.
Used to being alone and with no one to talk to, he'd stumbled over her questions. If he had revealed how old he was; where he came from; or about his crazy sister, she would have sprouted those feathers and escaped at falcon light speed, Nocturne Falls rules or not.
Though he wished to share his story, not with someone as vivacious and full of life as Rachel. He wouldn't burden her with his pain.
And he'd noticed how she stumbled when she'd talked about her family. Why would they turn their back on their heritage? Though he struggled with being half human and half elf and had little in common with other summer elves in Nocturne Falls, he didn't deny his history. And he tried hard to follow the old ways.
At times those were all he had.
"Ian? Are you listening?" Rachel asked.
"Of course, I am. Sometimes my focus is misunderstood." Though he hoped she didn't give him an examination on the content.
"I should go. I have a list of errands for Solange. And shopping. The Fords eat like you wouldn't believe, but I'm starting to get used to the Ford's full house. Even the hostels in Europe didn't seem as busy. I'm still not a hundred percent on this baby business."
"Baby business?" Perhaps deep in thought he had missed part of her conversation. Had she mentioned babies?
Rachel stood to leave. "Yep. I'm going to take care of the twins while the family is on a cruise. We've struck out with everyone we've interviewed to help. So, I guess I'm going solo."
"I might be able to help." The words escaped before Ian snatched them back.
"I don't think your mirror drink would be appropriate," she said.
He laughed. "I was the oldest of twelve children. I know a bit about caring for little ones."
"Are you serious?"
"Quite."
"Mind if I ask Jess?"
"I would not be opposed."
"Good. Well, I guess I should go," she said.
He took a step closer expecting her to move. She didn't.
"Thank you for coming here. I enjoyed your visit a great deal," he said.
"Yeah. Me too," she said.
This was driving him mad. When had he last stood this close to such a lovely woman who stirred his heart?