Into the Wildewood (9 page)

The mom handed her camera to Zeke and asked, “Will you take our picture?”

Zeke smiled and the woman blushed. She leaned against Keelie and the baby tugged on Plumpkin’s googly eyes.

“Say turkey legs,” Zeke encouraged. Keelie noticed dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t had dark circles under his eyes this morning.

“Turkey legs.” The mom had a goofy grin on her face. The baby sneezed his icky baby grossness onto Plumpkin. Zeke clicked the camera. An outcry pulled her attention to Lulu’s.

“You little jerk! Leave my shop alone.” Lulu was one angry woman. Red-faced and waving a fist in the air, she threatened a pudgy little man in a gherkin-shaped hat and skintight green hose who was running away, one hand holding the floppy hat to his head while the other clutched a wooden contraption to his chest. A girl in green golf pants huffed and puffed after him, pushing a two-wheeled cart. Lulu’s steps were littered with pickles. Poor Lulu. First acorns, now dills.

Lulu vanished into her shop and reappeared in her white fairy wings, dancing a Dragon marionette in front of her gorgeous white gown. Chiming music filled the air and the kids in Dad’s shop ran out toward her, followed by their confused parents. Keelie hadn’t thought puppets were that popular. She watched as the baby turned his head toward Lulu. His bright eyes glazed over, and he pointed toward the puppet lady dressed in her fairy godmother splendor.

Knot sauntered over to the puppet shop. Lulu seemed confused when he entered, followed by Keelie, who was followed by the white cat. Her smile seemed a little forced. “There you are, Plumpkin.”

Keelie pointed in the direction of the Admin building. She hoped Lulu understood that Finch had sent her to the puppet shop.

More and more little kids assembled in front of Lulu’s shop. It seemed they were drawn to it like the children of Hamelin were drawn by the Pied Piper’s enthralling music.

Lulu looked uncomfortable, and her skin was breaking out in those weird, red, irritating and itchy-looking bumps. Keelie could so relate. Between the aggravating cloth in the foot of the costume and the glitter, she was still super itchy.

The trees began to sway.

Green magic tingled through Keelie. Great, now something was up with the oaks. They were wide awake. She hoped they didn’t pummel the mundanes with acorns. It was time for Zeke to do some tree shepherd therapy.

Knot carried a stuffed unicorn in his mouth, price tag dangling. He dropped it.

“Hey, stop that cat.” Lulu pointed at Knot.

Blinking at her with his big green eyes, Knot placed his paw on the stuffed unicorn. Lulu stepped out into the Enchanted Lane. Before Keelie could shout out a warning, a shower of acorns cascaded down on the puppet-maker. The families who had gathered to see the puppet show ran, but they hadn’t been the target of the oak trees’ ire.

Keelie searched for her father. He needed to put the oaks back to sleep. She didn’t know how.

As she shuffled quickly toward the shop, wishing she could run in her ridiculous costume, the little brat in plastic armor appeared. He ran up to Keelie and began beating her with his wooden sword.

“Die, stinky dragon. Die, stinky dragon.”

Where was his mother? Keelie tried dancing from foot to foot. The kid hit the back of her knee, and she fell on her face. He hit her head, over and over. The costume’s foam rubber deflected the sword, but she couldn’t get up.

In pain and frustration, Keelie shouted a single word—one that began with “F.” She realized her mistake the minute it left her lips. The boy vanished from her Plumpkin-eye-socket window, replaced by a woman whose mouth was shaped in a soundless “O” of shock.

Knot ran into Heartwood, the unicorn still in his mouth. All around, horrified parents covered their children’s ears.

Lulu dropped her dragon marionette and began hopping up and down. “Out. Out. Out. These kids don’t need to hear your filthy talk! Don’t think I won’t report you to Finch!!”

Keelie found herself on her way back to Admin, steeling herself to face the real dragon.

eight

“Take it off!” Finch’s strident voice rang in Keelie’s ears.

“What?” Startled, Keelie tried to look behind her, but all she could see was the back of the dragon head’s cave-like interior.

“You heard me. Take the damn costume off. Now!”

Keelie ripped the Velcro fastenings at her neck and removed the Plumpkin head. Cool air rushed against her face. The air conditioning was heavenly on her skin and smelled fresh and sweet, especially compared to the stink of the costume.

Finch didn’t seem to be feeling the AC’s effect. Sweat dripped down her face and unruly sprigs of red hair stuck out all over her head. The woman looked as if she were going to burst into flames. She grabbed a yellow walkie-talkie off her desk and pressed a red button on its face.

“Mona,” she yelled. “Bring me one of the costumes for the Steak-on-a-Stake booth.” She must have heard an answer in the garbled sounds that came through the static, because she threw the walkie-talkie onto her desk and glared at Keelie.

“Are you intentionally trying to screw up? You know better than to use that word in front of the mundanes.”

Keelie was embarrassed that she’d lost control, but she hated to be scolded even though she’d expected it. She raised her chin. “It’s a period word. Its roots are Anglo-Saxon.”

Finch lowered her head like a bull getting ready to charge. “Disemboweling miscreants is period, too. You’d better be damn glad that we use common sense around here, and that I’m famous for my even temper, or your head would be decorating the effing front gate.” Her face was getting redder and redder. She seemed to be stoking an inner fire, about to blast anyone near her.

“Having our one animated character, our children’s favorite, drop the F-bomb is wrong!” Finch yelled. “Get out of the damn Plumpkin suit. You don’t deserve to wear it. From now on you’re working the Steak-on-a-Stake booth.” The windows rattled from her yells. Keelie could almost see the woman’s sweat turn to steam.

She quickly slipped out of the Plumpkin costume, afraid that otherwise, Finch would turn her upside down and shake the suit until she fell out of it. She wondered if she’d subconsciously screwed up because she hated being Plumpkin. Whatever. Keelie was ecstatic. How bad could the Steak-on-a-Stake booth be? No more stinky old costume. But what had been inside the bottom of the foot? She reached down and pulled out a soft, yellow-streaked wad of black cloth, then shook it to see what it was. She screamed and dropped it.

“Now what?” Finch shouted.

Keelie pointed to the dingy, tiger-striped men’s briefs on the floor. A couple of the tiger stripes went in another direction, suspiciously like skid marks.

Finch sighed. “Vernerd was looking for those.” She handed Keelie a bottle of hand sanitizer. “You might want to use this stuff twice.”

Keelie accepted it, shuddering. This was worse than lice. Her foot had been on top of men’s underwear. Worse, Vernerd’s obviously used underwear.

Finch sat back in her chair. “I might retire Plumpkin. I was thinking about maybe having fairies. Know anything about fairies?”

Keelie grimaced. “More than you want to know.”

Finch’s complexion was returning to a more human pink. “Good. Draw some pictures and give them to Mona. She’ll start on the costumes next week. Not like we don’t have other things to handle around here. If I have one more complaint from Princess Whine-A-Lot, I’ll personally sew her lips together.”

Keelie was beginning to like Finch, despite her temper. At least one person didn’t think that Elia was perfect and beautiful. “I can’t draw.”

“Can you draw a stick figure?”

“I guess.” How much did Finch know about the
bhata?
The little fairies looked like sticks and leaves and bits of moss, but most humans couldn’t see them.

Finch shrugged. “Come back later, and I’ll give you some crayons and computer paper and you can have at it.”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Finch bellowed.

Mona entered the room with a bundle under her arm. She seemed to have shed yesterday’s stress. Although her face was still creased and worried-looking, her shoulders weren’t hunched up. “Here’s the costume you asked for.”

She held up a full red skirt and a black bodice printed with white cow spots, and, to top off the horror, a short black vampire cape with a tall, stiff collar.

Keelie thought that this Count Von Bovine getup was almost worse than the old yellow Muck and Mire skirt, with the red handprints on the butt, that she’d had to wear when she’d first arrived at the High Mountain Faire. She cringed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. Get dressed and haul your ass to Steak-on-a-Stake. It’s just past noon.” Finch snapped her fingers several times in a row. “Lunchtime crowd. People are hungry. Move it.”

“What about shoes?” Keelie wiggled her bare feet. The thought of steak was enticing. She hadn’t eaten all day.

“Mona, get her some hose and boots.”

“Follow me.” Mona pulled a pair of green tights from a shelf stacked high with them. “We’ve got lots in stock because of the Faire’s Robin Hood story line.” She gave Keelie an apologetic smile. “And these are the only shoes left in your size.”

Keelie put on the hose, even though they seriously clashed with her costume. She looked like a used-up Christmas ornament.

The shoes were something else. They didn’t just totally clash, they looked like something from a genie-reject pile: glittery gold booties with stuffed fabric curlicues that swirled over the toes.

Once dressed, Keelie gathered up the sweaty leotard and yoga pants she’d worn under the Plumpkin costume. Mona called out, “Wait a minute. Don’t forget your mail.” She pointed to the stack on a chair.

“Thanks.”

Keelie scooped up the untidy heap of envelopes and paper, then walked down the steps, treading carefully in the weird shoes. And she’d thought it was tough to negotiate the acorns in her regular shoes—she was going to break a leg. She made it past the path that skirted the woods and led to the campground, wondering if Elianard was hiding out in the forest, watching her.

Thinking of the forest made her long for the green coolness of the deep woods. A sudden need surged through her—she had to find the unicorn. Right now. She glanced down at the envelopes and papers in her hands, tempted to ditch them and run into the woods. The top sheet was torn from a notebook and covered in handwritten phone messages.

The pull of the unicorn faded as she saw Laurie’s name. She slowed down and read. Laurie said she couldn’t wait to see her on Friday! Keelie’s skip of joy ended abruptly as the flipped-up curlicues on her gold booties tangled together. She struggled to regain her footing, then looked around quickly. Luckily, no one seemed to notice.

She hurried along, growing accustomed to walking in the funny footwear, her head spinning with plans. It suddenly occurred to her that with Laurie here, she couldn’t spend her free time helping Dad.

Her happiness deflated as she thought of her overworked father. Just a while ago he’d looked pale and tired. She couldn’t say no to him, but she wanted to show Laurie a good time, and to prove to herself that her new life wasn’t the lame-fest she often accused it of being. She had a sinking feeling that her life would get insane in the coming days.

A family passing by laughed as their toddler pointed at Keelie’s outfit and said something in baby talk. She gritted her teeth and shuffled on. This bites, she thought. Scott was at the California Faire, and she was stuck with a one-way ticket to Steak-on-a-Stake. But she couldn’t screw up this job. There was more to the Faire than food service and ridiculous costumes, and Steak-on-a-Stake was just a step toward good money and a fun gig—maybe even the Francesca job.

To keep from looking at the Faire goers’ reactions to her garb, Keelie rummaged through the rest of the mail. Business envelopes addressed to Zeke Heartwood, although a couple of them looked as if they’d been made from homemade paper, the kind you buy at museum shops, and were addressed in faded-looking calligraphy.

One of these was addressed to Zekeliel Heartwood, and the return address was the Dread Forest. She recognized the handwriting from a package she’d received earlier in the summer. Sadness seemed to seep into her fingers from the envelope. She knew that Grandmother Keliatiel, her dad’s mother, hadn’t written to her. Her elven grandmother didn’t feel for her the way Grandma Josephine had. Her maternal grandmother had liked to spend time with her, and had taken her shopping and sent her funny cards for no reason. She’d died before Mom did, and now it seemed like everything that remained of Keelie’s old life was dead—except for Laurie.

She didn’t expect the same warm feelings from Grandmother Keliatiel. After all, Grandmother Keliatiel was an elf, and elves were very different from humans. She wondered if elven anatomy was different. She’d probably find out in the fall. As vain as most of them were, maybe they had mirrors where their hearts should be. She wasn’t like them. Like her rounded right ear, her heart was totally human. Too human, judging from the pain that had haunted her in the months since her mother’s death.

Keelie tucked her grandmother’s letter into the back of the stack and headed toward Heartwood. At the shop, she was surprised to see no Dad and no customers. Weird. In Colorado, the furniture shop had always been crowded with people. The lane outside was filled with tourists, and Lulu’s shop next door rang with laughter, but in Heartwood, the only movement came from Knot, who lounged sideways on the counter, grooming the stuffed unicorn he’d stolen from Lulu’s shop.

“I hope Dad makes you get a job to pay for that.” Keelie dropped the mail next to him. “So, did Dad leave you in charge?”

To a mundane walking by, Knot probably seemed like any ordinary shop cat. Knot meowed, a sweet cry that ended on an up note as if he were asking a question.

“No mail for you, Knotsie.”

She reached out to pet him. He swatted at her, claws extended, and she pulled her hand back just in time. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take the ’ittle kitty’s toy away from him.”