“B-but—” Lowell stammered. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“Well, you succeeded nonetheless.” She gathered his kilt and shirt and tossed them onto his bare stomach. “I’m going to do some cooking in my inadequate and tacky kitchen, so why don’t you just hit the road.”
Dora padded to her kitchen and poured a glass of cabernet from her wine box. Less than a minute later, Lowell slunk in with his tail between his legs.
“Dora,” he began. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this”—he waved his hand around in the air—“relationship stuff. I just wanted you near me. I wanted to be with you.”
“Then you’ll just have to keep on wanting,” Dora said coldly. “I’m not leaving Bohemian Rhapsody. It may not be perfect, but it’s mine, and I love it.” She sipped her wine and glared at him. “You should go.”
* * * *
Lowell sank back in the bubbling tub and groaned. “Women.” He scrubbed hot water on his face with his hands and poured a double handful over his head. “I offered her a perfectly good solution and she acted like I gave her a box of gnome’s toenail clippings.”
“I resent that!” Mephita snapped. She lifted one gnarled foot from the steaming bath and turned it side to side admiringly. “We dersen’t clip our toesies as if they were hedgies or somewhat. We nibbles ’em, all proper-like.” She narrowed her eyes and held up her little toe, then drew it towards her open jaws—
“Not in these healing waters you don’t!” Lowell said loudly. “It’s one thing to share them with gnomes, but quite another to share them with your toenail scraps floating in the water.”
Mephita rolled her eyes. “Sheeshies, we dersen’t spit them out, a course. We swallows them right up!”
“Ugh, Mephita, that’s quite enough.” Carmen winced. She ducked her head under the surface of the tub and sat back up, hot water streaming off her short blonde locks. “You were saying, Lowell, that by offering Prescott Manor up to Dora, you were presenting her with a solution?”
“Aye,” Lowell grumbled.
“A solution to what, if I might ask?”
Lowell’s mouth opened, then snapped shut as he considered.
“Dora doesn’t have a problem,” Carmen went on. “She lives in the home she loves and she has a boyfriend she enjoys.” Brock chuckled and Carmen jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Maybe
you
have a problem, Lowell, but why would Dora know anything about that?”
“Well, I can’t tell her about our secrets unless she’s willing to move to the woods,” Lowell protested weakly, “and I can’t very well move in with her since she lives away from the Healing Waters and Living Earth.” Water dripped from his beard onto the surface of the bubbling natural hot tub. “My hands are tied.”
“She lives not so far, truly. Worth it to go see her, keep her happy, hmm?” a hitherto silent male voice from the far end of the tub offered.
“Ah, just Bufo,” Mephita snorted. “That one knows nary and nothing about lovey romantical stuff, just dirt and worms and weeds.”
“I’m a cooker, I am!” he retorted indignantly. “Learning to, anyhow.”
“You’re a mess-maker, from tell I hear.” A third gnome slipped off her tunic and stepped into the water. “Best stay to diggering and flower stuffs, you.” A drip fell from one of her wide nostrils into the bubbling pool. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of one hand.
“Uh, hi there, Limax,” Carmen said with a queasy smile. “Brock, I think I’m going to head back to my cottage. Care to join me?” She climbed from the water and headed for the stone chamber designated as the females’ changing room.
A bubble surfaced behind Mephita’s back and all three gnomes laughed uproariously. “Right behind you!” Brock shouted as he bounded from the tub.
Lowell glared at the three sniggering beings as he rose with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Gnomes,” he grumbled under his breath.
He stood by the edge of the pool as water streamed from his naked form. “And you, Bufo,” he directed at the male occupant of the tub. “No more slacking off with the Prescott gardens! Do your job, you hear?”
Bufo’s eyes fell to the rippling water before him and he nodded quickly.
Scowling, the oldest Rossi son wrapped his kilt around his hips and stalked from the cavern.
* * * *
Lowell grabbed his wrapped parcel and whistled for Dax. Options, each both tempting and utterly unacceptable, teased him as he trudged through the trees. He could tell Dora everything about Prescott Woods so she’d willingly come with him. He could throw her over his shoulder like a caveman and toss her into the Healing Waters and be done with it. Or he could carry on visiting her at Bohemian Rhapsody and endure the antics of the malicious imp that was plaguing the place. Lastly, he could stop seeing her entirely and pay a visit to the dryads in the woods. They’d be glad to help him lick his wounds.
He chuckled, remembering a particularly pleasant woodsy encounter with a couple of trees. Geneva and Hazel were lithe and playful, and free from those aggravating notions that Dora entertained. What foolishness—playing housemaid and cook to complete strangers in a creaking old house, when she could move into an elf-built and gnome-maintained manor?
A flash of lavender caught his eye. “Flowers,” he humphed. “She’d like that.” He harvested two dozen of the pale purple globes. Then he continued through the trees to Bohemian Rhapsody with a vague plan of presenting her with an impressive bouquet and a gift, then sweeping her off her feet.
* * * *
Dora opened the door at his knock but stood, blocking his entrance and glaring at him.
“I…” Lowell began. “I wanted to see you.”
“Well, congratulations.” She indicated her robe-clad form with a wave of her hand and cocked her fist on her hip. “You’re seeing me.”
He cleared his throat and pulled the blooms out from behind his back. “I brought you some flowers from the woods.” Lowell grinned triumphantly. “I picked them just for you.”
The corner of Dora’s mouth twitched. “Smell them,” she said in an unsteady voice.
Lowell, baffled, lowered his face to the lavender spheres and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Erm.” He searched for words. “They smell…herbal, I’d say? Fresh?”
“Onions, Lowell. You picked onion flowers for me.” Dora shook her head and laughed. “Hang on, I’ll get a container for them. They’ll look pretty on the porch, but they’d stink up the house, I’m afraid.”
Lowell sniffed the palms of his hands as he waited. Yup, it was onion all right. Pretty things, but the odour sure did rub off on the skin. Kind of like a certain tumble with a sassafras dryad a few years ago… He grinned in spite of himself.
Dora returned with a vase full of water. She arranged the onion flowers in them. “They do look nice, Lowell,” she admitted. “I might add some more blossoms to fill out the arrangement, but those purple flowers will be the centrepiece of it. Thank you. I’m afraid my answer is still the same, though. I’m in no way interested in moving to Prescott Manor, and I’m quite insulted that you would even ask me to.”
“Would you give me a chance to explain?” he asked. “And maybe to wash my hands?”
Dora sighed and opened the door wide for him. “Come on in. I don’t have any guests today, so there’s no one to notice a little eau de onion in the place.”
Lowell followed her to the kitchen sink and placed the wrapped box on the counter, then commenced scrubbing his hands with lavender-infused soap.
“The thing is, Dora,” he began, “Prescott Woods is unusual. It’s a part of me in a way that you can’t understand right now.” He squished soap between the webs of his fingers. Dora handed him a nailbrush to complete the job. “I am tied to the woods in a way that isn’t bad, but that is, ah, permanent.” He rinsed the suds from his hands and dried them.
“Well, that’s well and good coming from a biologist,” Dora said. “It’s nice to hear that you’re devoted to your career, but, Lowell, I’m devoted to my career, too. I love running Bohemian Rhapsody. Why in the world would I uproot and move?”
Lowell took her hands in his and inhaled deeply, gathering strength for his words. “Dora, I wanted you to move to Prescott Manor with the hope that, eventually, you would move in with me in the woods.”
“Have you heard nothing I’ve been saying?” Dora shook her head and her eyes shone wetly. “I can’t run a B&B from a cabin in the woods. What would you expect me to do there—hug trees?”
Lowell stifled a guffaw—Hazel and Geneva would doubtless enjoy that a great deal—and continued. “I wish I could tell you more, but you’ll just have to trust me.”
Dora pulled her hands away and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lowell. I like you a lot, I might even…” She sniffled. “But it’s not fair of you to ask me to move out of my home and business without giving me a good reason.” She tore a paper towel from the holder and blew her nose. “You know, Carmen told me that you could be bossy and irrational. I guess she was right.”
“But Dora—”
“I’m sorry, Lowell, but you ought to leave now.” She opened the back door for him and looked at the floor. “And this time, don’t come back.”
Lowell cleared his throat. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you the rest of it, Dora. I wasn’t going to, I’m not supposed to, but you’ve left me no choice.” He looked over his shoulder, wondering how Gavin would react to what he was about to do.
I know just how he’ll react,
Lowell thought grimly.
With disappointment and anger. The real question is, what can Gavin do about it?
Lowell squared his shoulders.
He’ll just have to accept it,
Lowell decided.
And if he can’t, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
“The Rossi family is special,” he began.
“Yeah, I’ve seen that. You’re weirdly close to your siblings—you all still live a stone’s throw away, for Pete’s sake. But what does that have to do—”
“No, not special like that. We are the Fair Folk. It’s…” He placed one hand on her upper arm and squeezed meaningfully. “It’s a kind of magic, Dora.”
Dora studied him, confused, then squinted over his shoulder. “Is that a possum on my front porch?” she gaped. “Are you kidding me?”
Lowell whipped his head around and caught a glimpse of a thin, stooped form through the lace panel of Dora’s front door.
“Gnome,” he glowered. “I should have known.” He ran towards the front door, growling with rage. “Gnome! I’m coming for you!”
“Wait, wait!” Dora shouted.
Lowell threw open the front door and grabbed Bufo by the throat. “It was you, you rotting piece of troll dung, lurking about and making mischief—”
“Lowell, what are you doing?” Dora screamed. Lowell, snarling, turned to her with Bufo’s skinny body dangling from his grip. She held her hand to her mouth, horrified. “You’re a—you’re a monster!” she accused. “Anyone who would throttle an innocent possum is…” She shook her head and pointed an angry finger at him. “Not someone I want near me. You let that poor animal go this minute!”
Lowell gritted his teeth and gave Bufo a furious shake. Dora began to sob. “I’m calling the police.” She withdrew her cell phone from her pocket and dialled.
“Fine!” Lowell shouted. He flung the whimpering gnome down on the porch floor. “Get out of here, you snivelling piece of crow shit! And hope you don’t see me again!”
Bufo scampered out of sight.
“Yes, I’d like to report an instance of animal cruelty,” Dora spoke into the phone. “Yes, ma’am. It was Lowell Rossi.” She paused. “Well, I’m not sure of his address, other than somewhere in Prescott Woods.”
Lowell shook his head in incredulity, then caught a glimpse of the bunch of onion flowers. Oddly, some fern fronds and pieces of trailing variegated ivy had been added to the vase, and some Japanese iris lay scattered on the table before it. Strange.
“Well, it happened right here on my porch at Bohemian Rhapsody. He just up and started throttling a defenceless possum.” Dora sniffed. “You should have seen the poor thing. It was scared stiff, little possum feet dangling in the air and pink face just terrified…”
Lowell threw his hands up in the air and left for home.
Chapter Nine
Paul Treble had listened as Dora had described the possum abuse she’d witnessed, then explained politely that, with no injured possum as evidence, there was little he could do. “I can see how that’d be disturbing, ma’am,” he’d affirmed. “Poor varmint, all bug-eyed and hissing and whatnot. Bet his little naked, ratty tail was whipping around all over the place.” Officer Treble had shaken his head in disgust. “Sounds like the critter got away from Mr Rossi in one piece, though, and since it’s not anybody’s pet…” He shrugged.
Dora had sent Paul on his way with a frozen loaf of banana bread for his trouble, then locked up the house. “Damn that Lowell Rossi,” she mumbled. “Why does he have to be such a nut-job?” She made her way back to the kitchen.
There, on the counter next to the kitchen sink, sat a box wrapped in shiny dark brown paper and tied with a deep green ribbon. “Huh,” she muttered, remembering that Lowell had had it under his arm when he’d arrived, along with that bouquet of purple stink blossoms. A rose crafted of heavy ivory paper adorned the box. On one pale petal the name ‘Dora’ was written in ornate cursive.
She placed the box to her kitchen table and sat down, indecisive. “Oh well,” she mumbled. “I don’t have to keep it if I don’t want it, after all.” She untied the satin ribbon and unwrapped the gift.
Nestled in a piece of silky white fabric was an ornate wooden candle holder with a fan-shaped cap on a slender pole. A tissue-wrapped set of slender yellow candles was tucked into the side of the box. “Oh!” Dora breathed. “How lovely, a pyramid windmill.” She shook her head, bemused. “This is about the last thing I’d expect a man like Lowell Rossi to give me. Onion flowers seem much more his speed.”
At the base of the candleholder was a fairy-tale castle, complete with parapets and an arched front door, surrounded by intricately carved trees. Dora fetched a lighter from a kitchen drawer and set the four beeswax tapers aglow. Within seconds, the fan above the castle started to spin from the flames’ rising heat.
Dora spied a tiny, ribbon-wrapped scroll poking out from between two of the trees. She unrolled it and read its contents.