“What does it mean?” Keelie asked. Although it was Vangar’s card, she wanted to know the answer.
Sally smiled knowingly at the big hulk. Vangar’s face flushed bright red.
“It means he made a wish upon the dragonstar, and it was heard by the higher powers.”
“Oh!”
Sally’s eyes twinkled. “That old saying still holds a lot of truth-be careful what you wish for.”
Finch leaned back in her chair and smiled a delightful yet evil grin. “Yes, be careful.” A hint of charcoal wafted through the small office.
Keelie didn’t know if this meant the two dragons’ pheromones were kicking in. She tapped her card. “I think this means I’m going to encounter Peascod.”
“It’s the Fool. We can read it that way, but also look for the deeper meanings in the symbolism of the images around the Fool. What do you see, Keelie?” Sally asked.
Keelie looked deeply into the card, her eyes stopping, transfixed, on the bag in the fool’s hand.
“He has a small velvet patchwork bag. It would make a great purse. Very boho chic.”
“It’s the bag of possibilities,” Sally said. “Whatever your decision is about Peascod, then it will be your choice, so gather the wisdom of your own experiences.”
“What if I make the wrong decision?” Keelie asked.
“There are many paths, but we can choose only one. Once chosen, there are still infinite possibilities available to us, branching forward.”
Keelie felt very confused.
“I think the cards are trying to tell us that there is danger other than the goblins,” Sally said.
“What? Other than goblins?” Keelie didn’t think anything could be more frightening than an angry goblin, other than Peascod, who was sort of an uber-goblin. Did it mean Niriel?
“I’ll be on the lookout for any dangers.” Vangar looked protectively at Finch. A mental image popped up in Keelie’s mind of two dragons kissing. Would they burn each other?
“Whatever happens, I don’t think we can depend on the elves,” Finch said. “Your father is thinking like an elf, and he will not make choices that include all the faire folk.” Seeing Keelie’s expression, she added, “Want another opinion? Talk to Davey. You’ve always listened to him.”
Keelie was reeling at the thought of excluding Dad from their plans, but the goblin situation wasn’t just about the elves. It was about all the faire folk.
“I trust you, but I don’t like keeping things from Dad.”
“It’s only for a couple of days. Vangar and I are trying to coordinate our defenses. We want to protect everyone in the faire, but with the people angry and suspicious of Vangar and me, it’s hard to protect them.”
“I guess you’re right. I just don’t feel like I’m an elf. I feel like I’m betraying them.” Keelie rubbed her pointed ear. “Is this all of me that’s elf? That, and I can hear trees speak?”
Finch steepled her fingers. “You’re more than an elf, Keelie. Just as I’m more than a dragon. It’s part of who we are, but it isn’t all that we are. We have to find a way to blend in with this world. With humans.”
Vangar nodded. “For centuries I’ve had to deal with the same thing. When I had a sheep farm out in the Old West, folks around used to say a dragon can’t keep sheep. Hey, I believe in free enterprise, and that’s why I’m here at the faire. Not only am I a dragon, but I like to think I’m a brilliant businessman.” Vangar straightened his shoulders.
Keelie could almost imagine him as a dragon deep within his lair, counting the money he’d made from his business deals. But herding sheep? That one boggled the mind.
Finch reached out and touched Keelie’s hand. “Trust me, Keelie.”
Keelie was moved. The faire director wasn’t known for her soft side. “I do.”
“I believe Hob may be the link to the goblins, and I’m hoping we can find the connection,” Finch continued. “While the goblins are gathering, we have to prepare ourselves, and one way of doing that is to keep intel on our enemy.” She leaned back.
“He’s always seemed like a human to me, although I did notice an odd shimmer around him once,” Keelie said. “And then there’s that puppet obsession, of course.” She had the brief thought that maybe Hob and the Wildewood Faire’s puppet shop owner, Lulu, should get together. It wouldn’t work, though-Lulu was in witch rehab somewhere.
“Go to work in the mask shop as planned, and if you’re right, then wonderful-Hob merely needs therapy. If I’m right, we have problems.”
Keelie straightened her shoulders. She would practice the To See Truly spell and use it on Hob.
She placed the jingle bell on Finch’s desk. “I want you to keep this.”
Before Finch could respond, the office door slammed open and Sir Davey stood before them, clothes torn and mustache quivering with agitation. “I’ve been robbed!”
thirteen
Finch sat Sir Davey down in the chair Keelie had vacated and poured him a small glass of golden liquid from a dusty bottle. The musty whisky smell was strong even across the room. Sir Davey drank it in a single gulp.
“I left the Dragon Hoard for only a minute, to use the privies down the lane. The shop was almost empty, but there were guards about the place. I didn’t think the shop would be in danger.” His mouth tightened. “Now I know differently.”
“Can you tell what’s missing?” Finch was back in full faire admin mode.
“Geodes, the best of them, which were in a glass display. Smashed now,” he said disgustedly. “My big brass astrolabe, too. It was there for show-it wasn’t for sale. That instrument is irreplaceable.”
Finch took notes, then noticed Keelie. “Heartwood, go home. We’ll be here a while. Don’t speak of this to the shopkeepers or you’ll start a riot.”
Keelie nodded, though she knew word was even now spreading faster than a summer cold. She hugged Sir Davey, then let herself out of the little building.
“Lady Keelie?” Finch’s errand boy stood by nervously. “I have a message for you.”
“Eric, right?”
He nodded as he handed her a rolled paper secured with a pale blue ribbon, then whipped another rolled paper out of the bag slung over his shoulder and jogged away to his next delivery.
Keelie pulled the ribbon off and unrolled the paper. It was a note from Dad, which read that he’d been delayed in the elven camp. So what else was new?
Keelie headed to Green Lady Herbs. Whatever Dad might prefer, she was not about to spend another night under the same roof as the goblin tree. She felt like a stray cat. They needed a home of their own at this faire, provided no more buildings burned down. At least Raven would be there, and maybe she could offer some insight as to what was going on.
That night was the most normal one Keelie had had in days. Janice made soup and Keelie and Raven constructed a salad. The three talked about college choices and unicorn husbands, then Keelie went to bed. Maybe the tea Janice had insisted she drink had a special ingredient in it, but Keelie slept all night, undisturbed.
The following morning she got up early, awakened by the faire noise. It was Saturday, a faire day, and Janice had laid out some of Raven’s old Renaissance clothes. Keelie put on a tan and brown brocaded corset over a white poet’s shirt and a full, plain green skirt that fell to her ankles. She thought about all of the garb she’d lost in the fire. Sadness overcame her, and she tried to be happy that she and Dad had walked away uninjured. It wasn’t easy. She had a pity party ready to go, complete with engraved invitations. But she set those thoughts aside and concentrated on today. Today, she had an important assignment: to use the To See Truly Spell on Hob. She was also anxious to hear how Sir Davey was doing.
Raven smiled at Keelie as she strode into the kitchen area. “Brought you some tea.”
“Good morning. You look so nice in those clothes,” Janice said.
“Thank you, Janice. They’re wonderful. They fit, too.”
“You’ve grown, that�
��s why. Are you ready for a day of greeting customers at Hobknocker’s?” Janice asked. “I’m surprised you took the job.”
“Mom.” Raven wrinkled her brow in disapproval. “Keelie needs something do.”
“She’s right. I do need something to do. Of course, it won’t be the same as working at Heartwood.” Oops, pity party words. Keelie needed to change the subject, but the next thing that came to mind was the Dragon Hoard robbery, and she’d been told not to discuss that.
“Your dad came by this morning to check on you,” Janice said as she blew on a cup of tea. The scent of mint wafted over to Keelie.
“Where is he now?”
“He said he had to finish the cleanup at Heartwood, and then he had a meeting with the elves,” Janice smiled wanly. “He was very curt. I know he’s upset, tired, and under a lot of pressure, but… ”
“But?” Keelie exchanged a knowing glance with Raven. “He seems different?”
Raven cut her eyes over to her mom. “Maybe this isn’t the time to talk about this.”
“I think this is the perfect time. Surely Keelie’s noticed the changes.” Janice sipped her tea and placed her mug down on the counter top. “Zeke seems different now that he’s taken over the leadership of the Dread Forest. More standoffish. Even with the fires.”
“More elven,” Keelie said.
“Exactly.” Janice looked out the small window. Hurt reflected in her eyes.
“I know. He’s got a lot on his mind right now.” Keelie rubbed her ears. “I need to get moving. Hob will be waiting for me.”
“Do you want some breakfast?” Janice asked.
“No, I’ll grab a muffin at Mrs. Butters’. I’m meeting Finch there.”
“You’ve become quite friendly with the faire director.” Janice’s voice held a disapproving note.
“Mom.” Raven rolled her eyes. “Keelie, Mom is just tense after the fires.”
“I worked with Finch at the Wildewood Faire, and we sort of forged a bond,” Keelie explained weakly. “She may be gruff, but she comes through in a tight spot.”
“She does take getting used to.” Janice shook her head.
Although Raven’s magical sensibilities had become stronger since marrying Einhorn, Keelie couldn’t exactly tell either Raven or her mother about the goblins or the robbery. She was starting to run out of conversation. And she didn’t want to frighten Janice, who had always been so kind to her.
Janice broke the awkward silence that fell between them. “I need to prepare some herbal tea packets for a special client, and when I finish that, I’ll open the shop.” She poured the remainder of her tea down the drain. “So I’ll see you later.”
“I hope you have a great day,” Keelie said.
“You too.”
“I may see you later at Hobknocker’s. I’ve been wanting to check out the masks,” Raven said.
At Mrs. Butters’ shop, some of the jousters were hanging out with Marcia, Tracy, and Lily, who were dressed as their alter egos Shimmerlight, Lavender Lollipop, and Lily Limerton. They were laughing and joking with one another. When Keelie stepped up to the order counter, they stopped their conversation and stared rudely at her. It was as if she was wearing a scarlet “E” for “enemy” on her chest. Sean wasn’t with them. These guys had been her friends, and now they looked at her as if she was a traitor.
Keelie touched her rounded ear and then her pointed one. She was part elf, she reminded herself.
“I want a crystalberry muffin,” she told Mrs. Butters, although she’d suddenly lost her appetite. She’d take it with her, and maybe eat it on her way to Hobknocker’s.
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Butters moved very slowly as she reached into the display counter and removed a muffin for Keelie.
Bromliel, one of the jousters, stood up from the table and walked over to her. “We wanted you to know that we’re sorry about you and your Dad’s loss, and not everyone agrees with the Council’s decision to ban you from the village.”
Moved, Keelie blinked several times to keep back the tears. “Thanks.”
He leaned closer to her as Mrs. Butters gave Keelie her muffin. “But there are others who want you to be banished forever and seek to turn your father against you. Be careful around Niriel. He’s using his power of persuasion to poison the other elves against you.”
He straightened quickly and returned to his fellow elves. He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Okay, boys, it’s a good day to do battle.”
Keelie forced a smile at Mrs. Butters and paid for her muffin.
“Have a great day, dear,” Mrs. Butters said, and ambled to her next customer.
As Keelie got to the top of the hill and saw where Heartwood had once stood, she stopped. Her mouth dropped open as if she’d suddenly developed cast-iron hinges in her jaw. The elves had worked miracles.
Where Heartwood had been forty-eight hours before, five-foot-tall cedar trees were now planted. A fountain flowed in the center, surrounded by pine-bark mulch paths and container plantings with benches. A cart, adorned with painted dancing corn cobs, stood at the edge of the impromptu garden, guarded by a girl wearing a hat with ears of corn sticking out like donkey ears.
Keelie walked up to her. “When did this happen?”
“Oh, the former owner and his gardening crew came out here and created this beautiful evergreen oasis overnight.”
The cedars greeted her in unison — Hello!
Hello, trees, she answered politely.
It’s very nice to meet you. They sounded fresh and young.
When were you planted? Not that she didn’t trust the corn seller, but she wanted to be sure.
Last night. We were planted by the elves. Are you an elf? Elves don’t talk to us, except for the Tree Shepherd, but you’re different.
Keelie reeled inwardly. These new trees didn’t recognize her as a tree shepherd. The ground didn’t show any signs of the fire, and the area smelled like a Christmas tree farm. It was as if someone had taken a big eraser and wiped out any traces of the existence of Heartwood.
“Would you like to buy a hot buttered ear of corn? The faire gates aren’t open yet, so you get dibs.” The corn girl held out a buttery ear wrapped in aluminum foil.
“I might,” Keelie said numbly. She would never buy corn from the spot where her father’s shop had once stood, but the corn smelled yummy, and as she imagined hot butter dripping down the golden kernels, her stomach growled.
“I like your outfit.” She could say this honestly. The gathered skirt and billowy shirt with the corn cob hat were much cuter than the ridiculous Steak-on-a-Stake mock-cowhide dress she’d worn at the Wildewood Faire, or the green pants of her Pickle Girl days. Maybe Finch had relaxed her standards.
A howl interrupted their transaction, as breaking glass from Hobknocker’s was followed by a Santa Claus mask that flew out the door and landed on the porch. “I hate Christmas,” someone inside screamed. “Where is he? Where’s Toshi?”
Keelie recognized Hob’s voice. It was going to be an exciting day for her at the mask shop if he was already having a temper tantrum. Unfortunately, Keelie knew that Toshi had met an unpleasant end.
She turned back to the cedar trees.
What do you know of the mask maker?
He’s a strange fellow. He’s been upset about something called his Toshi, and he’s been screaming for it all night long. The elves who planted us laughed at the mask maker, and that made him even angrier.
Hob stormed out onto the porch of his shop and paced back and forth, weaving like a drunkard, clenching his fists tightly and mumbling to himself.
No, it wasn’t going to be a good day. Keelie reached for some loose soil on the ground and placed it in her pocket before strolling up to the mask shop. “Good morrow,” she said, in a Ren-Faire-standard faux English accent.
Hob stopped, startled to see Keelie. She cocked her head fifteen degrees. Earth magic flowed through her, and she focused on Hob.
Allow me to
see truly. Thick slow ripples of true sight radiated from her in all directions; bright light expanded like a sunny pond, surrounding her. Keelie closed her eyes, then opened them. A shimmer glowed around Hob’s body, and then disappeared. She was getting the hang of this spell. But what did that shimmer mean?
Startled, she suddenly realized she was seeing everything truly. The Hot Tub wenches, despite all their makeup, looked like plain little girls. In the trees, balls of energy hung suspended like holiday lights. She realized she was seeing the bhata as they really were.
The spell had unintentional side effects that Finch should have mentioned. Keelie shivered, then turned to see that Hob was staring at her.
“Is everything okay?” Keelie asked, placing a foot on the first step to the porch of the mask shop. She ran into a skin-prickling wall of magic, which quickly faded.
Knot hopped onto the porch ahead of her and rubbed up against Hob’s leg.
Hob recoiled. “A cat! I hate cats!” His eyes turned bleary and his skin blotchy, as if just saying the word “cat” made him break out in an allergic reaction.
The illumination around Hob became brighter as Keelie felt Earth magic flow through her. He bent down, and she saw shadowy tendrils of magic twisting and turning like storm clouds around his face.
She bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to open the shop today.” Hob peered about the porch, wringing his hands together. “I need to find something.”
Keelie’s heart drummed against her rib cage, but she steadied herself, focusing on the magic. “What can I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do.” Hob turned toward her. The weak muscles in Keelie’s legs almost gave way when she saw Peascod’s contorted and wrinkled goblin face underneath the glamour that masked him as Hob.
Hob was Peascod. Peascod was Hob. Keelie’s first instinct was to run, but she remained calm. She had to act like she didn’t know. She would be in danger if he discovered that she knew his real identity. Just wait until Finch found out! Imagining the dragon flaming the wayward and murderous jester steeled Keelie’s resolve to see the morning through until she could think up an excuse to report back to the dragon.
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