“Okay,” I said, “you finally did it. You got enough people to bug me about talking to you, so here I am. Merry Christmas.”
The Tree did what any amused parent would do. She laughed at me.
“Are you so very out of patience with me?” she asked. “You are reunited with your brother. Was that not the last thing you asked?”
Plopping down on one of the stone benches ringing the massive trunk, I said, “Yes, it was, but admit it, that didn’t happen the way you intended.”
Word of advice. Don’t try trading verbal barbs with ancient trees. You won’t win.
“What do you know of my intentions?” the Tree asked.
And the correct answer would be “nothing,” but I did remember my last conversation with the Oak in detail.
“You asked me to find out why Chesterfield started all of this 30 years ago,” I said. “I still don’t know that.”
“That is true,” the Oak agreed, “but the course of your investigations was derailed by the Creavit himself. I would not have expected you to do less than save your brother’s life.”
The Tree wasn’t being unreasonable, I was, and the Oak called me on it. “Are you ready to abandon this petulance and talk to me?” she asked.
The problem with people like me who are good at keeping our own counsel is that when we are ready to talk, you can’t shut us up.
An hour later, with midnight fast approaching, I finally ran out of steam. I told the Tree about things I didn’t even know I wanted to talk about, like my gratitude for becoming a business owner after years in a minimum wage job, how much I loved having Tori for my business partner, what it meant to me to find my magic and through it to get closer to my mother.
I talked about things that hurt me, like the Andrews’ divorce, the break-up with Chase, and my constant frustration that Irenaeus Chesterfield always managed to slip out of our grasp. And, of course, I talked about my confusion over Lucas and my real fear that I might still be in love with Chase, too.
I talked until my voice grew hoarse and I didn’t think I could talk any more. That’s when the night air grew warm and comforting with the scents of spring. It seemed as if the Mother Tree embraced me, sheltering me in the remembrance of hope.
“We do not experience life in the same way,” she said, “but I, too know of anger, disappointment, hurt, and yes, I know of love. These emotions stir in the depths of my heart as surely as they stir in yours. But still, you have not named that which joins all these things and for you causes the deepest pain of all. You have spoken of much to me, Jinx Hamilton, now speak of that.”
She wanted me to talk about Myrtle, but I had no intention of setting myself up to be told no again. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said obstinately.
“Ah,” the Tree said, “but you do. The common thread that runs through all these concerns is loneliness. You have grown strong and independent these past months, but now you grapple with problems you do not understand, things that haunt your dreams at night. Although you have said the words to no one, you yearn for the aid of your friend and counselor to negotiate these frightening currents. When last you spoke to me of the aos si, I denied your request, so you fear to make it again. Is this not the truth, Jinx Hamilton?”
The words brought tears to my eyes. Like a begging child, I said, “Will you let me see her now? Will you let me talk to Myrtle? Please?”
At the edge of my awareness, the clock above the entrance to city hall began to chime midnight as a heavy, brilliant snow started to fall. The flakes glowed with unnatural luminescence, hanging around the Great Tree in a glittering aura. The light blinded me so that I raised my hand to shield my eyes.
When I took it away, Myrtle was standing in front of me as goldenly beautiful as I remembered.
“Are you real?” I whispered, afraid to even blink for fear she’d be gone again.
Myrtle held out her arms to me. “As real as you are,” she said.
I catapulted off the bench and into her embrace. “Can you stay?” I cried. “Please tell me you can stay.”
Holding me tight, she said reassuringly, “I can stay. Have no fear about that.”
Leaning back, but not letting go, I searched her face. “You’re healed? You’re back to your old self?”
Myrtle paused, a hesitation that made my heart skip a beat. “Sit with me, Jinx,” she said. “There are things I must tell you.”
We went back to the bench, and Myrtle caught hold of my hands. “Do not be afraid,” she said. “I am well, but understand that I am not as I was. When I could no longer ignore the threat Chesterfield poses to the Grid and to your family and came to understand how much we all failed to piece together the clues he left for us, I asked the Mother Oak to allow me to return so that I might join this fight at your side.”
The Oak’s voice filled the air around us. “I granted the request, but Myrtle could not come back to you as the aos si. That part of her was not yet healed. To be with you, she gave up who she has always been.”
At that news, tears flowed freely down my face. “Oh, Myrtle, I am so sorry.”
“Do not be,” she smiled. “This is my gift to you. I am here of my own choosing. I would be nowhere else.”
As she spoke, she gently cupped my face in her hand. I leaned against the touch.
“If you aren’t the aos si,” I asked, “then what are you?”
“I do not yet know,” Myrtle admitted. “That we must discover together in the new year that lies ahead, but for now, dear Jinx, it is Christmas, and we are reunited. Let that be enough.”
Having Myrtle back wasn’t just “enough,” it was everything — everything for which I’d hoped and everything I would need for what lay ahead.
17
When we left the Mother Tree, Myrtle managed to keep me from shouting her return to the rooftops of the sleeping city, but just barely. Instead, at her suggestion, we walked together through the silent streets to the bottom of the long hill leading to the Alchemist’s workshop.
Dílestos quivered in my hand. She was as excited as I was to have Myrtle back. Even though Amity had made clear to me the staff’s importance as a living branch of the Mother Tree, I had no idea the real role Dílestos was meant to play in my life. It wouldn’t be long before I learned more.
At Moira’s door, I paused before knocking. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “It must be after one in the morning. Moira will be asleep, and Dewey is not going to be happy.”
Dewey only cracks a smile for Darby.
“Master Dewey will be happy,” Myrtle said, “he just won’t show it. Knock.”
The sound of my knuckles striking the massive oak door echoed like gunfire, but no one answered.
“Maybe we should just go back to Barnaby’s and see Moira in the morning,” I suggested.
Myrtle smiled. “The dwarf approaches,” she said, “and judging from the weight of his footfalls, he will be grumpy indeed.”
I started to crack a Snow White joke, but before I could get the words out of my mouth, the door opened to reveal a stout, scowling little barrel of a man wearing a striped nightshirt.
“What?” he barked.
“Good evening, Dewey,” Myrtle said. “We are here to see the Alchemist.”
Blinking, Dewey held the candlestick in his hand higher and squinted at Myrtle. For a flicker of a second, a look of elated surprise crossed his face before he got control of his expression.
“Aren’t you supposed to be inside the Mother Tree,” he groused, “not waking people up in the middle of the night?”
From the shadows behind him, Moira’s approaching voice scolded him sharply. “Really, Dewey! Is that any way to greet the aos si upon her return?”
“It’s not my fault she can’t tell time,” he snapped. “I’m going back to bed.”
Turning on his heel, he started to march away, but after about three steps, he turned and looked at Myrtle. “Welcome back,” he said brusquely. Then, glancing at Moira, he a
dded, “I’ll stir the fire.”
The three of us stood silently in the open doorway. Moira took a step toward Myrtle, before stopping to simply look at her, pure joy playing across the Alchemist’s handsome features. The two of them made for an interesting tableau.
Moira wore a velvet robe covering her night dress. Her long hair, braided for sleep, hung over one shoulder. Still, she conveyed an air of dark, regal bearing in contrast to Myrtle’s golden lightness. Both women are tall and lean. I know they’re strong. But Myrtle always seems thin and willowy beside Moira’s sturdy presence.
Holding her hands out, Moira said softly, “How fare thee?”
“I come to thee seeking an answer to that question,” Myrtle said, taking her hands. “That and to look again upon thy face, dear friend. I have missed our talks.”
Before I thought, I blurted out, “The Tree wouldn’t let you talk to her either?”
The two women — the most powerful practitioners I know — made an identical and very motherly “tsking” sound.
“I see that you have not cultivated patience during my absence,” Myrtle said. “You make it sound as if the Mother Tree held me prisoner. My silence was something upon which the Oak and I agreed, not a thing that was forced upon me.”
Every response that rose to my lips would make me sound like a whiner, but that didn’t stop me. “Fine,” I said, “but I still feel better knowing I wasn’t the only one getting told no.”
Moira laughed. “You were not, indeed,” she said. “Now come in out of the cold and let us sit by the fire.”
The Alchemist led us across the room, gesturing the wall sconces to life as we passed. By the time we each claimed a chair by the hearth, flickering light drove back the shadows in the cavernous space. It wasn’t until the heat of the fire hit me that I realized I was freezing.
Moira saw my involuntary shiver. With another wave of her hand, a thick wool blanket materialized and wrapped itself around my shoulders while a mug of steaming hot chocolate floated in the air before me waiting to be claimed.
The mug felt like heaven in my hands, and the soothing liquid seemed to flow out along every nerve in my body. I didn’t have to ask if the drink carried extra enchantment. With Moira, that’s a given.
As I watched, she conjured a snifter of brandy for herself and another for Myrtle. Under normal circumstances, I might have protested being given a blanket and hot chocolate while my companions drank the hard stuff. But, honestly? In their company, I was the child, and there is no situation in which I will turn down chocolate in any form.
“I spoke with the Mother Tree earlier this evening,” Moira said. “She gave me no indication that you would be returning to us. Has something happened?”
“Only my realization that I am needed here to help rectify our error in underestimating Irenaeus Chesterfield and his ambitions,” Myrtle said. She smiled at me. “And my desire to give Jinx what she most wished for on this Yule night.”
“Ah,” Moira nodded. “So Jinx finally spoke honestly to the Mother Tree.”
I might have guessed she was in on the whole “talk to the tree” campaign.
“Not that I’m complaining,” I said, “but why did the Tree give me what I wanted and more tonight? It’s not like I haven’t asked before.”
“On this occasion, you did not ask with words,” Myrtle said, “you asked with your heart.”
At the time, I thought I understood what she meant, but I seriously didn’t. File that one away. We’ll come back to it.
Moira, who had been studying Myrtle’s face, said quietly, “What bargain did you strike with the Mother Oak, aos si?”
“You know the Tree well,” Myrtle said. “To come back, the course of my healing stopped. No further recovery is possible. I fear I am no longer as you have known me. I am not the aos si.”
Setting her glass on the table beside her chair, Moira held out her hands again. Myrtle took them silently. A soft opalescence spread from Moira’s form. As it undulated toward Myrtle, a low basso hum rose up around them.
As I listened, my eyelids drooped under the weight of a delicious lethargy. It might have been the hypnotic sound or the mojo-spiked hot chocolate, but when I finally struggled awake, sunlight streamed through the windows falling on a breakfast table set before the fire.
“Good morning,” Moira said. “Did you sleep well?”
Considering I’d been upright in a chair, I should have had knotted muscles and stiff limbs. Instead, I felt wonderful.
“Like a rock,” I replied. “What did you slip me in that hot chocolate?”
“That,” Moira said, levitating the pot and expertly pouring hands-free coffee, “is a trade secret.”
I accepted the cup cautiously. “Anything I should know about this coffee?” I asked.
Moira’s brows knitted in a frown. “That the beans are from Madame Kaveh’s private stock?”
“Just checking,” I said. Turning my attention to Myrtle, I asked, “How are you this morning?”
“Well,” she replied, “and content. Moira was able to give me some of the answers I sought.”
Let me tell you something about the oldest Fae. They say stuff like that and then just sit there like they’ve told you everything you need to know. It’s annoying as hell.
“And?” I prodded.
The Fae also drop bombshells with complete nonchalance, like what Myrtle said next.
“I am no longer immortal, and I am confined to this single form.”
Okay. She’s a blonde knockout, roughly six one who, on a bad day, might be forced to buy a size six. There are worse fates.
The immortality thing was a different matter.
“You can die?” I gasped. “Like really die?”
“Not easily,” Moira said soothingly, “nor any time soon. Myrtle will now age as slowly as any other Fae who possesses great power, but yes, she will, one day, pass from this life.”
“What about her powers?” I asked. “How much have they changed?”
“I think the best way to describe what I have detected so far would be to say that her ‘range’ has diminished,” Moira said. “Myrtle no longer possesses the hyper-awareness of her previous form. Beyond that, only time will tell.”
When I took a minute to mull that information over, Myrtle said teasingly, “I should think you would find my diminished perception to be rather positive. Now you and Tori can talk about me while you are upstairs in the store and I won’t hear you.”
I started to protest. “We never . . . ”
Myrtle stopped me with an arched eyebrow.
“We never said anything bad about you,” I amended. “Okay, except maybe that you needed to lose that silly bun with the pencil stuck in it.”
In the beginning, when Myrtle appeared to us in human form, she adopted a stereotypical librarian look she thought we’d find more soothing and less overwhelming. Clearly, she’d never sat through study hall in a high school library.
“Transmogrification is now beyond my ability,” Myrtle said. “There will be no more ‘silly bun.’”
“How do you feel about that? I know you liked to use your various forms to explore the human realm.”
“It is something of a . . . disappointment,” Myrtle admitted.
“Barnaby would tell you that transmogrification is a double-edged sword,” Moira said. “He has not used that particular ability in centuries.”
“Why?” I asked curiously.
Moira shook her head. “That is a story your grandfather must share with you. It is not mine to tell.”
Suddenly I realized that no one in my family knew where I was. “What time is it?” I asked. “My mother must be worried out of her mind.”
“No,” Moira said. “I have already sent word that you are here with me. After we’ve had our breakfast, we will go to the Lord High Mayor’s house and share the news of Myrtle’s return.”
An hour later, amid a riot of tears and laughter in my granddad’s parlor, a grea
t rumbling purr emanated from Festus as he gazed at Myrtle.
Since he primarily lives in his small werecat form, Festus hadn’t brought any clothes with him to Shevington. He had no choice but to greet Myrtle as a ginger tom cat.
“Forgive me,” he said to Myrtle, bowing his head respectfully. “Had I known you were returning, I would have shifted and worn a proper suit.”
More than once I’d heard Myrtle give Festus grief for his refusal to move about in human form or to put on clothes. We all knew she was just teasing, but for the first time, I realized Festus hadn’t known.
“Steadfast Festus McGregor,” Myrtle said softly, “what need has a werecat with the heart of a lion for the silly raiment of man? I have missed thee, my dear, old friend.”
Festus raised his head and regarded Myrtle with brimming eyes. “As I have missed thee, dear lady. Pray, do not leave us again. We were poorer for thy absence.”
We all choked up when Myrtle gently laid her hand on his head. Nobody — and I mean nobody ‘pets’ Festus unless he’s flirting with an unsuspecting human female who thinks he’s just a cute old cat.
But this time, instead of one of his usual razor-sharp retorts, Festus began to purr even louder. The sound embodied the feeling of love overwhelming us all.
Myrtle really was home.
18
Barnaby declared an open door policy when we all arrived in Shevington on Christmas Eve. We came and went as we pleased, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when Rube waddled out of the kitchen that morning balancing an enormous, multi-layer sandwich in his paws.
Fae politics can get deadly serious in a heartbeat, which is why you have to love a guy like Rube who supplied us with the funniest moment of the day.
The instant he saw Myrtle, his snowy muzzle split into a toothy grin. “Mert!” he cried joyously. “Welcome back, babe! I knew you couldn’t hang out with old Ma Oak forever. Just between us, she can be about as funny as a case of root rot on a good day.”
The Amulet of Caorunn (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 7) Page 13