The goblin's curse sos-3

by Gillian Summers

  “Yes. But if you want it so much, he’ll deliver it to you. Goblin blood makes very bad tree fertilizer, let me tell you.”

  “That’s exactly why I want to see it. That was a foolish thing you did.”

  “Tell me about it,” Keelie said glumly. “I had no idea what I was doing. I just thought I’d bring a little life back to a dead spot, and bring something of the Queen Aspen back too.”

  We’re here, the Queen Aspen’s children sang.

  Yeah, I know. I wish I knew last year, Keelie told them.

  “What is this about goblins? And you go seeking them without weapons and without me?” Vangar was walking behind them. They hadn’t heard his footsteps. His iridescent dragon tattoos glittered in the sunlight that was filtering through the trees.

  Finch frowned. “Back away, dragon breath. I was sent here to handle this situation. You can pretend all you want in front of the humans, but I know what you are.”

  Keelie stared. Dragon breath? Of course.

  “But not why I’m here.” The tall dragon regarded her coolly. “I was sent by a mutual associate of ours, to guard Keelie. Seems our two assignments should go arm in arm.” His cold gaze warmed as he looked Finch up and down.

  “Or claw in claw,” Keelie muttered under her breath. “I already have a guardian. Who sent you?”

  Vangar shook his head, his dreadlocks swinging like braided snakes. “Can’t tell.”

  A crunching sound came from nearby and she saw that Cricket had found a trash bin and was pulling out paper plates and munching them down, a blissful smile on his shiny black face.

  Vangar huffed. “Sounds like a cricket. Doesn’t look dangerous, does he? But give him a couple of years and he’ll turn mean.”

  “Not true. Some goblins are… ” Keelie had been about to say good, but that wasn’t strictly true. “Mean well,” she finished lamely.

  Finch laughed, and Vangar let out a roar of mirth. Then both shut up just as suddenly and stared at each other warily.

  “Glad you two think I’m so hilarious.” Keelie picked up Cricket, paper plate and all. “Come on, little guy.”

  He munched on the rim of the plate, chirping to himself.

  “I’m glad to hear the tree will be moved,” Finch said, eyes glued to Vangar’s. “Keep me posted on any developments.”

  Keelie left the two dragons still looking at each other and headed back toward the jousting field, where Sean and his knights were exercising their horses.

  Cricket clambered up onto her shoulder and perched there like a shiny black parrot.

  Feminine laughter sounded from around the bend in the path, and a few steps later Keelie saw a gaggle of girls hanging on Hob’s arm. Keelie didn’t worry that any of them would see Cricket, but as Hob bowed his head to her in greeting as they passed, she could have sworn that his eyes flicked to the goblin on her shoulder.

  Could Hob have some fae blood? Or elven? Interesting. She’d have to remember to tell Dad.

  Keelie soon forgot Hob, however, as she watched the faire’s merchants put the finishing touches on their shops and booths.

  Cricket jumped to the ground and skittered off. He’d probably seen an interesting gum wrapper or a piece of pretzel. She didn’t worry. Unlike stray kittens, little goblins could fend for themselves.

  At the bottom of the hill, the faire’s elf ear vendor was leveling his cart, its little roof lined with rubber elven ears dangling grotesquely from their strings. She fluffed her hair out as she passed so that he wouldn’t notice that one of her ears looked just like his merchandise. She’d be mortified if he offered to even her up by putting a prosthesis on her human ear. On the other hand, it might be funny to show up at dinner with two elf ears. Dad and Sir Davey would probably laugh until they cried; they knew that she was fine with her asymmetrical ears. Janice would laugh too. She imagined how her other friends would pass the Elf Ear Challenge: Laurie, her best friend from her old life in Los Angeles, wouldn’t laugh-she’d want a set for herself. Raven, on the other hand, would think it was pretty funny.

  Keelie had reached the list field, as the dirt-and-sawdust jousting arena oval was sometimes called. It was also called the tourney field, depending on what movie the speaker had seen. On the long sides of the oval were wooden viewing stands, with tall poles to hold cloth sunshields that kept the audience from getting scorched by the summer sun. The poles were bare now, like skinny baseball bats sticking out of the sides of the stands.

  Five of the knights were on their big horses, trotting around the inside edge of the field, but Sean was standing to one side, studying a clipboard. Sir Ian, one of the elven knights standing next to him, saw Keelie and whispered something, then turned away. Sean glanced up to see her, and came forward with a smile on his face.

  He stopped when he saw Cricket, and his eyes turned down in dismay. “What is it eating?”

  “A paper plate from the trash. I know, gross, but-” Keelie turned to look at Cricket and stopped. A very realistic-looking elf ear was dangling from his bottom lip. He saw her looking and pushed it all the way into his mouth with his insectile fingers, chomping rapidly.

  Sean stepped backward, and Ian bent over and threw up.

  “It’s rubber, you guys. From the ear vendor up the hill.” She turned and pointed, but the cart was covered with a tarp and the vendor was nowhere to be seen. She turned back to the two horrified elves. “Really, it was a rubber ear.”

  It struck her then that Sean would not think it was funny if she wore a fake elf ear over her human ear. He was always so serious. For some reason, this made her very sad.

  “Well, I’m heading back up to help Dad. Hope you had a great workout,” she finally said.

  Sean nodded. “It was useful to have the horses in the arena again before we work out in armor.”

  She waited for him to ask her to dinner, or to take a walk with him, but his eyes kept returning to the baby goblin. “Those grow up fast, you know. Remember the goblins we battled in the Northwoods?”

  “He’s one of Herne’s goblins. He won’t hurt anyone.” Keelie knew she’d made a mistake the minute she said Herne’s name. Sean’s eyes narrowed; he was jealous of the nature god, who had risked much to help them when they were attacked by Peascod’s army of rogue goblins.

  Keelie suddenly remembered something. “I heard a jangle by the bridge earlier. It gave me chills. I thought Peascod was around.”

  Sean’s eyes finally left Cricket and focused on her face. “Did you see any sign of him?” The power-hungry goblin had vanished during their final battle, abandoning his army to its fate.

  “No, but there’s the big patch of dirt in the meadow that’s tainted by the Red Cap’s blood. Elianard told me once that goblin blood is useful, for those who know how to use it, when raising power with dark magic. We need to figure out how to clean the area.” Too bad the EPA didn’t do magical soil cleaning.

  “I feel helpless-I don’t know how to do that. This is an example of what I’ve been talking about. You’re the one who can solve these things, but what can I do to keep you safe?” Sean gazed intently at her.

  “Just be with me. I have fairy guardians and dragon guardians-I don’t need you to keep me safe. I need you to keep me real.”

  The expression in his leaf-green eyes told her nothing.

  If you were a tree, I’d know what you were thinking.

  “As for my dangerous goblin-” She put a hand up to touch Cricket. The little goblin grabbed her fingers and nibbled at her fingernails. She pulled her hand away and reached out to Sean to show that she was unharmed. “See? He wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “So you say. They’re smart, and destructive, and evil. You can’t convince me otherwise, especially after what we went through with them.”

  “Okay, guess I can’t. See you around?” Keelie was mad now, but she still wanted to see Sean later, away from all the other elves.

  He nodded, then turned to look at the field again, consulting his clipboard. No goodb
ye hug, no see-you-later kiss.

  Keelie wanted to plant her finely crafted, medieval-style boot into his muscular, well-shaped elven backside, but instead she strode up the hill, fuming about pig-headed elves. Cricket clambered down and raced ahead.

  She hadn’t told the truth-she didn’t have to go back to Heartwood, but she headed there anyway in case Sean was watching her. She pretended to fix her boot laces partway up the hill and glanced his way, but he was on the other side of the list field, talking to one of the mounted knights. And she was acting like a lovesick idiot.

  Suddenly she was angry, but not at Sean. Get over yourself, Keelie, she thought. You are independent and strong. You don’t need a boyfriend hanging all over you to be important. How many tree shepherds were there?

  Thirty-two. The voice in her mind was familiar.

  Dad, quit peeking in my private girl thoughts.

  I’m not peeking. You are yelling. Every tree in this forest heard you. They’re discussing your relationship with Sean.

  Whoops. Need some help at the shop, Daddy dearest?

  As a matter of fact, yes. I’ll fix us some tea if you come dust and polish the counter, and I’ll tell you of my adventures digging up the blasted treeling.

  Deal. Keelie hurried up the path, relieved that Dad had gotten the little aspen out of the meadow without her help.

  Cleaning Heartwood’s counter would be a treat. It was one of the things that had drawn her into her new life when she’d first arrived and was rediscovering her power to communicate with trees. The counter was hewn out of a wide and curvy slice of tree, but what a tree. It must have been immense, and this piece of it lived on. Knots and rings showed through its polished top, and the sides had animal carvings that followed the natural curve of the tree trunk. At night, by candlelight, the carved animals appeared to move. The bottom of the counter was carved to look like roots digging deep in the floor. Whenever Keelie polished it, the wood showed her scenes of its long life.

  At Heartwood, Dad was mounting caged crystals onto the back of a chair. “Cleaning supplies are in the back room.” He didn’t even look her way.

  On her way to the storeroom, Keelie saw Cricket sitting on the stairs to her apartment, Knot at his side. The cat showed his pointy fangs in a kitty grin. The little goblin brightened and skittered toward her, climbing her jeans and perching on her shoulder as she tidied up, then gathered a pile of soft polishing cloths and a bottle of lemon oil. Knot had fallen asleep draped over the stair, snoozing. She got quickly to work, giving the counter a thin coat of oil, then rubbing it in until the wood glowed.

  “That little tree has some issues,” Dad remarked.

  “I know. I feel a little guilty about disliking it, since it’s my fault it was planted in that spot.” Keelie refrained from saying “goblin blood” although no one was around to hear.

  “Davey helped me dig it up. We used a wheelbarrow to haul it up here.”

  Keelie straightened. “Here, where?” She looked around.

  Dad pointed at the front corner of the shop, where a large half whiskey barrel held a green-leafed sapling, its roots covered in a tidy brown mulch. “We tucked it in snugly. It’ll sleep for a day or so.”

  “Thank goodness, because otherwise we wouldn’t get any sleep.”

  Dad grinned. “Tell me about it.”

  With the tree safely out of harm’s way, Keelie thought about Sean. She attacked the surface of the counter with the polishing cloth, easing her anger and confusion with work.

  As she polished, she lost herself in the stories that the wood underneath her fingers was telling. No people ever starred in tree stories, but they were full of heroes and villains and misunderstood younglings.

  Feeling very much like one of the defiant saplings in the counter tree’s stories, she put away the polishing cloth and started to dust the merchandise.

  “Are you almost ready?” a man in a bushy mustache asked as he passed by the shop, juggling balls as he walked.

  “Absolutely!” Dad answered him.

  The man pushed a Ping-Pong ball out of his mouth and it joined the whirling balls.

  “Hello, Oswald.” Janice struggled across the clearing with a basket stuffed full and covered by a cloth. The juggler bowed to her. “Hello, Heartwood,” Janice continued. “You folks hungry?”

  “What’ve you got in there?” Keelie asked, running to help carry the loaded basket.

  “A little dinner for my favorite tree shepherds.” Janice placed the basket on the flagstone floor, pulled the cloth back, and showed Keelie that the willow laundry basket was bursting with packages and covered plates. A heavenly aroma rose from one of the packages. “Fried chicken, broccoli, rice salad with nuts and currants, and freshly made rolls,” Janice announced.

  She sure knew how to answer an unspoken question. As Janice went to speak to Dad, Keelie watched the woman’s face soften. She’d never have another mother, but Janice might be okay as a stepmom. And then Raven could be her sister.

  Dad and Janice spoke, heads together, for a while, then Janice picked up the basket and sashayed up the wooden stairs to their apartment as if she knew he was still watching her. He was.

  Oldsters and their romances, Keelie thought. But Dad was such a chick magnet. Maybe Janice would chase the rest away. He was like the elf version of… of… Hob. Keelie laughed at that.

  As if. Hob was such an amateur when it came to anything Dad could do.

  She returned to her work, absently noting when Janice came back down and returned to Dad’s side again. He would be thrilled at the meal, however, and Keelie’d get to go to bed early tonight. She was exhausted, and she hoped to find a book on the shelves upstairs that would take her mind off that hurtful encounter with Sean. The importance of it was probably all in her mind, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t reliving his words over and over. Could Cricket really grow up to be evil? Herne’s goblins had all been helpful, staying underground and not joining the goblins battling in the Northwoods.

  “If you rub any harder, that counter is going to blind people with reflected light.” The voice was manly and deep, but Keelie could only see the extravagantly plumed top of a cavalier hat.

  “Sir Davey!” She dropped her rag and ran around to hug her teacher, who was several inches shorter than she.

  “I was coming to say hello to your father, and to you too, of course,” Sir Davey said. “But the old man seems to be busy.”

  Keelie shrugged. “You know Dad. And Janice came armed for seduction.” She leaned over to whisper, “Fried chicken.”

  Sir Davey’s bushy eyebrows rose, vanishing into his musketeer hat. “Well, in that case.” He turned, arms stretched out like a zombie’s and headed toward the whispering couple. “Chicken,” he intoned flatly. “Fried chicken.”

  Dad and Janice turned to look at him, and Keelie laughed at the annoyed looks on their faces. Davey turned and aimed a wink at her.

  Little Cricket hopped up onto the counter and slid halfway across its slick surface. Keelie caught him just before he flew off into space, then headed over to where the adults were, to tell them the story of the munched rubber elf ear and Sir Ian’s undignified reaction. Janice would have to take her word for it-she couldn’t see Cricket.

  Sean would come around. He was probably overwhelmed as always with his responsibilities as head of the jousters. The show depended on him, and he’d gotten here weeks after the faire had opened. As soon as he got situated, he’d relax. Things would be back to normal soon. She could just feel it.

  five

  Keelie crouched down to warm her hands at the fireplace. She smiled at her mother, who was knitting in the armchair next to her. This was a dream. Knitting needles were alien to her attorney mother.

  “I miss you so much. I’m glad you stopped by for a visit, but you need to go.” Mom’s voice was gentle but firm.

  Keelie stood up. “I don’t want to go. I miss you, too.” Dream or not, Mom seemed real. Keelie stretched a hand out to touch h
er.

  “Don’t. You have to wake up.” Mom’s eyes were still on her work, the wooden needles slipping up and down, in and out, knotting the strands of orange yarn into a glowing pattern against the gray and black swirls.

  Keelie coughed and opened her eyes, the dream fading although the misty swirls remained, whooshing overhead in choking billows.

  Fire.

  All sleep gone, Keelie sprang to her feet. “Dad! Dad!”

  Her father’s cough came from across the room, where his bedroom area faced the front windows. Then his groggy response vanished. “Get out, Keelie! Take nothing, just go!”

  Take nothing? Keelie put her feet into her shoes and grabbed her roomy purse, which hung from her bedpost. The floorboards were hot, and she could see the orange glow of flame between the cracks. Her heart pounded. The shop was on fire, too. She felt her way toward the door. The smoke was impossible now, like a thick, gagging blanket.

  She dropped to her knees and crawled, coughing. She couldn’t breathe. She pulled her T-shirt up and held the hem over her nose as she felt her way, on her knees and one hand, toward the wall. The wall would take her to the front door.

  Her shoulder banged into something hard and objects rattled above her. One struck her head, then rolled to the floor. The pain stopped her, robbing her of what little air she had, and her hand closed on the object. It was a wooden frame (yellow pine, from Alabama). Keelie couldn’t see the picture, but she knew it was one of the photos of herself that Dad kept on a little chest by the front door.

  “Keelie, why did you stop? Are you near the door?”

  Glass exploded behind her and a wave of fire rolled over her. If she’d been standing, she would have been scorched. But the light of the fire showed Dad scuttling toward her, a towel over his face. Knot was riding his shoulders, claws dug in, his eyes wide with fear and his orange fur puffed out so that it looked like he was on fire, too.

  “Keep moving,” Dad commanded, and she turned and hurried toward the door. The floor was blistering hot now, and Keelie got up and walked in a crouch. The fire sounded like ten trains and a tornado were beneath and all around them.