by John Osborne
“Good. If you have any problem at all, holler.”
“Thanks. What was the enchantment in their room, do you think? Assuming there are various types.”
“I don’t know. Stuff was sure swirling around in there.” Noah lowered his eyes to the table and closed them as he recalled the experience. “I couldn’t latch onto specifics until I saw you in the window. Then I sort of had an adrenaline rush. My whole being, mind and body, went into overdrive. You were beautiful standing in the window, but you also looked … sexy.” He raised his eyes to hers.
Willow was listening with raised eyebrows. “Before or after my little dance?” she asked.
“Before. I think you felt my … arousal and emulated.”
This is not a comfortable conversation.
“Do you remember your dance?” Noah asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Willow said. “Every bit. I haven’t felt so stirred up for a long time.” She paused. “My parents must have had a lot of fun in there to leave energy we can feel thirty years later. I’ve never noticed anything before, though. What triggered it, I don’t know.”
“Have you ever been in their room with a man before?”
Willow thought about this for a moment before she spoke. Her features altered to the sensuous looking-through-her-eyelashes gaze, but she couldn’t mask the mischief behind her thoughts. “Never with a tall, sexy cowboy.”
Another person entering the pub distracted Noah, a large man who projected arrogance, with a swagger in his walk and a sneer on his face. Across the room, Louie sat up straighter in his chair.
“More company,” Noah said, nodding toward the door. “I think it’s Chester Jones.”
Willow winced and rolled her eyes, then stole a glance. “You’re right. Maybe he won’t see me.”
Not likely.
Jones had already stopped at two tables to greet diners, his eyes roving the room.
He’s a big old boy, that’s for sure.
Jones’s frame wasn’t heavy, just large. Gray hair surrounded his balding head. Silver wire frame glasses emphasized small eyes. He wore a gray suit and tie over a white shirt and moved with the comfort of a man in his usual uniform. His voice was loud and commanding. His eyes stopped on the back of Willow’s head, jumped to Noah with a questioning stare for a moment and returned to Willow. He cut short his other conversations and walked toward them.
“Here he comes,” muttered Noah.
Jones walked straight to their table. “Good evening, Willow,” he said. “What a surprise to see you in town.”
Noah’s shoulders tensed. Jones had kept his eyes on Willow as he crossed the room and now he scanned her in a disgusting, personal way, probing, disrobing her.
I think I’ll stand up and punch you.
Willow’s loathing sparked through the air. She gave Jones a sour look. “It was good until you arrived.”
Jones laughed. His face fixed in a mocking half-smile. “Always charming.” His glance strayed to Noah and then back to Willow. “Who’s your little friend? Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Conceited son of a bitch.
“This is Noah Phelps,” Willow said. “He’s a photographer who’s in town for a few days. Noah, this is Chester Jones.” Willow looked like the name left a bad taste in her mouth.
Noah didn’t want to, but he did the right thing and stood to shake hands with Jones, exchanged murmured greetings and returned to his chair.
Noah felt excitement coming from Willow. “Mr. Phelps was kind enough to drive me to Danville this morning to straighten out an issue with the property taxes. Somehow, the woods was listed for the tax sale.”
For an instant, Jones’s face betrayed annoyance. “Those things happen sometimes,” he said. His eyes shifted to Noah. “So, Noah’s in town for a few days but somehow he ran across our little hermit in the woods.”
She’s MY little hermit, asshole.
Noah felt Willow’s anger growing with his own.
“Do you want anything?” Willow asked. “Other than to ruin a pleasant evening out?”
“An evening out,” Jones said. “With your … friend?”
That’s it. You’re done.
“Mr. Jones,” Noah said, with as much chill in his voice as he could muster, “Ms. Brown was kind enough to allow me to photograph the pond on her property. I offered to buy her dinner as a thank you from my employer. We were discussing some business and would like to continue, if you don’t mind.”
“Business,” Jones repeated, a doubtful look on his face. “Oh. As a matter of fact, that’s why I came to your table, to discuss some business. I have some dealings I need to discuss with you, too, Ms. Brown. I’ve been trying to contact you but your attorneys are out of town, I understand. Could you come to my house later this evening? I have some matters we shouldn’t discuss in public.”
Fat chance she’ll agree to that.
“Unless,” Jones added, “you don’t feel adequate to protect your own interests.” Jones watched Willow with eyebrows raised as if expecting her to admit this point. Noah felt her resolve harden.
Does fairy friend status give me the right to intervene?
“Not at all,” Willow said. “What time?”
Jones checked his watch. “Let’s make it eight. And bring your little friend if you like.” He turned and left the pub without another word.
Once Jones was out of earshot, Noah spoke. “Why did you agree to meet with him?”
Willow shrugged. “It’s not as if I’m going to sign anything, and I’ll have you there as a witness.”
“That may be, but I don’t trust this guy. He’s up to something. You saw that look when you mentioned the taxes. He knows you well, and knows how to play you into ignoring your instincts. Would your attorney want you to do this?”
Willow’s expression was sheepish. “Probably not. Well … at least we have time for dessert.”
She ate two pieces of pie for dessert, one pumpkin and one chocolate. Noah was learning that fairies could never turn down chocolate, or at least, his fairy couldn’t. She finished in time to leave for Jones’s house. They waved goodbye to Louie and Catherine and walked to the truck for the short drive.
Chester Jones lived a few blocks north of downtown on a quiet stretch of Penn Street, in one of Hoopeston’s grand old homes, though the place had seen better times. The roof would need some work soon and high on the north side the yellow paint was peeling. A small widow’s walk perched at the apex of the roof. Noah stopped the truck in front of the house and they climbed out.
Willow led Noah up an old brick path from the public sidewalk to the front porch. He sensed growing uneasiness in her.
Black energy seeps out of this place.
A small yellow light illuminated the front door, where a harvest wreath of dried flowers and leaves hung. Willow pushed the doorbell button.
As they waited, Noah peered at the wreath. Hanging below it in the shadow cast by the porch light was a small cloth bag tied with a cord. He leaned close and sniffed it.
“What are you doing?” Willow asked.
“Snooping. Stay on your toes in here. And … please don’t stand with your hands in your back pockets.”
Willow looked surprised, but moved her hands to her front pockets. They heard a bolt thrown and the door opened.
“Come in,” Jones said. He had removed his suit coat and loosened his tie. He ushered them into the foyer and led them to the left into what appeared to be a study. Willow stopped abruptly at the doorway. Noah bumped into her from behind.
A hunter’s trophy room spread before them, every wall festooned with specimens. Deer, antelope, a wild boar, even a moose stared out from the walls. On the shelves and tables sat smaller prizes: pheasants, geese, raccoons, and squirrels. Willow’s revulsion pulsed in Noah’s head.
Amusement lit Jones’s features.
You know Willow very well, don’t you?
“Please, have a seat,” Jones said.
Noah moved
alongside Willow and guided her to the sofa. He sat next to her and tried to focus on some happy thoughts to calm her, but her loathing was too strong.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Jones asked. “Coffee? Tea? Beer?”
“Some water will be fine,” Willow said. Noah asked for water, too. As soon as Jones left the room, Noah rested his hand on Willow’s leg.
“Willow, look at me,” he said.
She smiled her thanks. “I’ll be okay. Doesn’t this place feel evil?”
“Yes. It’s like stepping into a swamp. You hope nothing jumps out and bites you.”
Noah’s eyes roamed the room. A large gun safe stood open behind the desk, displaying a variety of rifles and shotguns.
A hunter’s dream.
Noah withdrew his hand when he heard Jones returning. Their host handed them each a glass of ice and water and picked up his own glass of iced tea from the desk. He sat down in an easy chair across from the sofa and settled back as if chatting with old friends.
“So what have you two been up to out in the woods?” Jones asked. He looked from Noah to Willow and back, a smile growing on his face. “People have seen your truck going that way quite often, Noah.”
“As I told you at the pub, I’ve been photographing the pond on Will—Ms. Brown’s property.”
“Hmm. Just pictures.”
“My technique is to make more than one pass at a subject to shoot a range of angles and lighting effects, which takes time.”
“Oh, I see.” Jones turned his attention to Willow. “It’s almost time to renew the cemetery agreement. Hard to believe it’s been three years.”
Willow spoke to Noah in explanation. “When my parents bought the property they agreed to allow access to the Jones family cemetery at the south end of the woods. It’s not a perpetual agreement and has to be renewed every three years.” She turned back to Jones. “Why do we need to talk about it now? It doesn’t expire until December.”
“That’s not why I asked you over. I just thought I would mention it.”
“So why are we here?”
Jones laughed and looked at Noah. “Impatient little thing, isn’t she? I have a business proposition for you, Willow. I’ve been able to secure some special financing, and I’ve been contemplating making an offer on the property.”
“It’s not for sale,” Willow said.
“I know you’ve always said so, but hear me out.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“I’m prepared to offer you three thousand dollars per acre and another three hundred fifty thousand for the Big House. Double what I’ve offered you before.”
“It’s not for sale,” Willow said without hesitation. She rose to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, giving Jones a contemptuous stare. Noah did a quick calculation: Jones’s offer was $1.4 million.
Jones looked at Noah with his perpetual sneer. “She can certainly be stubborn, can’t she, Noah,” he said.
“That’s not stubborn, Chester.” Noah smiled and looked at Willow. “You need to be prudent when you’re standing in a swamp.”
Take that, you bastard.
Chester’s smile faded, replaced by confusion. His face reddened. Willow giggled, turned her back to Jones and walked over to a bookcase, scanning the titles.
Jones’s eyes followed Willow; his leering gaze came to rest on her backside. Noah rose, walked over to Willow, and stood behind her, facing Jones, leveling a cold stare at him. Jones lazily raised his gaze to Noah with a smirking, knowing, smile.
“Staking out your claim to the territory, Noah?” Jones said. He glanced at Willow, back to Noah, and grinned with malice. Willow turned around at his comment, but having missed the non-verbal sparring also missed the point. She stood next to Noah.
“Are we done here?” Willow asked.
Jones smiled at her, pleasantly for a change. “I have another proposal for you, Willow,” he said. “You and I have one thing in common. We both love that old house.” He paused and let Willow absorb this. She seemed to accept this as the truth, startling though it was to Noah. “We both love that old house and I think we both hate to see it sit empty to no purpose. I know you’ve kept it up but I think more could be done.”
Willow looked skeptical but waited to hear Jones out.
What are you up to?
Jones continued. “It occurred to me we could work together and turn the old place into a bed and breakfast, or a retreat center. The remote location is perfect, it has plenty of space and it wouldn’t require much renovation. We would need to upgrade the road and add parking. We would, of course, split the cost of any improvements.”
Noah watched Willow during Jones’s speech, expecting to see her angry, but instead, she appeared interested, even excited.
Careful, little fairy.
Jones went on. “You could continue living in your cottage, of course, so you’d have your privacy. I could manage all the business end from here and you could do all the grounds work as you do now.” Willow paced the room, apparently picking up on Jones’s enthusiasm.
Willow, what are you thinking!?
“I don’t know why I never thought of this before,” she said. “I’ve never put much consideration into it at all. I’ve kept everything the way my parents left it. I think the retreat center idea is what excites me most.”
Jones seemed nearly as surprised as Noah did. He moved forward to sit on the edge of his chair.
“Can I ask what you expect to get out of this?” Noah said.
“Just the satisfaction of seeing the old house used for something again…” Jones said.
Liar.
“…and it would be good to visit the old place every now and then.”
Willow had continued pacing but now she stopped. She smiled at Noah, her face flushed with excitement.
Don’t start glowing!
“This is great!” she said.
“Good,” Jones said. The evil quality of his voice was gone and his expression was almost pleasant. “As soon as your attorneys get back, have them call me to start working out an agreement.”
Willow was looking at Noah when Jones spoke. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. She turned her smiling face to Jones.
“Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me, Chester. I meant this was great for me. You are the last person in the world I would do business with. I don’t need your help or your money, I don’t trust you, and I loathe your existence.”
Give him both barrels!
Jones’s face turned deep red. His hands and face shook with rage. “You little witch!” he spat out through clenched teeth. “You little bitch!”
“Wow, you know how to rhyme,” Willow said. She turned to Noah. “Well, let’s go, I think it’s time.” She chuckled.
Noah nodded and moved to place himself between Willow and Jones, who stood up with a threatening look. Willow walked toward the door, while Noah backed his way toward it the first few steps and then turned and followed her, leaving Jones in a speechless, quivering fury.
Willow opened the front door, paused and shouted toward the study. “We’ll let ourselves out!” She giggled and walked out with Noah right behind. They walked rapidly down the brick walk.
“I’ve wanted to tell him what I think for a long time,” Willow said.
“He shouldn’t have any doubts about how you feel now,” Noah said. They climbed into the truck and Noah started the engine.
“Do you know what karma is?” he asked.
“I’ve heard of her,” Willow said, giggling at her pun. “Are you going to tell me I should have been careful about what I said?”
“Well, cosmic consequences shouldn’t be ignored. Every major belief system embraces karma in some form. Even Christianity.”
“How do you know I wasn’t the instrument of karma, delivering cosmic payback for all the bad stuff Chester has done?”
Noah shook his head. “Don’t get too impressed with yourself. I’ve never had much use for the ‘I am the inst
rument of karma’ argument to justify being mean with someone, even an obvious jerk like Jones. It comes down to the old chicken and the egg: who did what to whom first.”
Willow contemplated this while Noah put the truck in gear and pulled away. She shrugged. “Whatever it was, I enjoyed it.” She paused. “I’m glad we went to meet with him, though, he gave me a wonderful idea.”
“You mean you really were excited?”
“Yes, though not with his idea, of course. When he mentioned a retreat center, a light bulb lit up in my head. The Big House would make a perfect safe house. Fairies who are found out need a place to hide for a while, and most of us have false identities that on occasion need to change. A safe house is where we go between lives, so to speak. There isn’t one in any direction from here for a couple of hundred miles. I don’t know why I never thought of it before.” She stopped and went on quietly. “Well, I do know. Part of me died when my parents did. I’ve let that part rule me ever since. My friends have all respected my privacy and not pressed me to do anything. Except Rowan, of course, she’s always needling me. But I’m starting to feel alive again.”
“So what changed?” Noah asked as they rolled to a stop at an intersection.
Willow’s face was solemn. “I met you.” She placed her hand on top of his where it lay on the seat. “Somehow, fairy friend, in just a few days, you’ve changed me.”
“What did I do?”
“You challenge me, Noah. You ask a zillion questions. You argue with me if you think I’m wrong. You make me think about what I’m doing, and why. Most people don’t bother with me. They let me go my way. You’re different. I’m sure if I ever really get out of hand you’ll kick my cute little butt from here to tomorrow.” She patted his hand and flashed an impish grin.
“I don’t know how much credit I can take,” Noah said, “but you have one thing right.” He dredged up his most serious look. “You do have a cute little butt.” Willow giggled.
As they rode, Willow continued her planning, talking non-stop. Rowan could maybe come for a few weeks to help with renovations. Roland, a friend of her father, would help with design. Hazel, an interior decorator from Michigan, could help with furniture. She mentioned at least three others before stopping. She concluded by stating money wouldn’t be a problem.