An Ordinary Fairy (43 page)

When Noah checked the camera, he found it had captured more images, a full roll. He unloaded the film and replaced it with his last roll of infrared. He spent the next ten minutes opening the kitchen window and installing the bar across the inside of the shutter.

As he walked across the atrium, Noah stopped for a moment to gaze up at the interior of the house.

I can picture this place full of fairies. My, how life has changed.

As he contemplated, the source of the change appeared overhead and gently descended to the floor.

“All clear,” Willow said.

Noah held up the film. “We shot a whole roll again.”

“Super! When can we develop it?”

“Tonight, after work. Willow, I want you to go with me today.”

Her face lit. “Really?” she said. “I would love to!”

“Good. I don’t want to leave you here alone, even in the daytime. If they arrest Jones today or question him, things could get ugly.”

“You’re right. I love to watch you work. I’ll try not to distract you.” She fluttered her eyelashes and wings in sync.

“Besides, you can carry the big camera case for me.”

“Sure!”

“I need to run to the truck. Why don’t you fly over to the cottage and start getting ready?”

“Okay. I think we need another bath. Give me those tools. I’ll take them back next time I’m down by the shed.” Noah went out the door and locked it behind him. The sounds of Willow dropping the bar in place and zooming off were faintly audible.

He walked casually to the truck to drop off the film. He didn’t like carrying exposed film in his pocket. Too many things could ruin it. He put the film into a metal can reserved for the purpose and left for the cottage.

As Noah entered, Willow came down the stairs, carrying a shoebox and flushed from exercise or excitement, he couldn’t tell which. Hair still wet from washing, she wore red shorts, the kind with flared legs that looked like a super short skirt at first, and a white knit sweater. She sat on the bottom step, opened the shoebox and took out new white tennis shoes.

“You’re wearing
that
?” Noah said.

“Yes. So?”

“How am I supposed to get anything done with you running around in front of me in shorts all day?”

“You’ll have to concentrate.” She finished tying the shoes and stood up. “How do I look?” She struck a pose with hands on hips and one leg extended with her toe pointed to the ground.

“You look like a cheerleader.”

Willow grinned mischievously. “I bet you never knew a cheerleader who dressed like this.” She pulled the front of the sweater up to reveal her bare chest.

Actually, I did. Her name was Sarah. There was that night after the football game…

He grinned and shook his head. “I need a bath.”

Twenty-One

H
aving Willow around was delightful. Besides carrying the big camera case, she was wonderful company. She talked non-stop on the way to Noah’s shooting location, or rather asked questions non-stop, about photography and Wisconsin and dairy farming and magazines.

Noah had chosen a spot near Danville for today’s work. The Arches, everyone called it, after the crumbling century-old concrete bridge that soared over the Vermilion River in multiple arcs. They walked along the railroad tracks from a nearby city park to reach the spot. Willow fell in love with the scene. She wandered off to explore, which helped with the distraction issue, although Noah found himself inexplicably excited several times, until he understood Willow was broadcasting her feelings over each little discovery. A hollow log excited her, a heron flushed from the brush, an unexpected late season butterfly.

After working an hour, Noah began to grow hungry, and he knew Willow would be starving. He called her and she appeared, hopping from rock to rock along a path.

“Hungry?” he asked when she came near.

“Yes! Let’s eat!” She went to her canvas bag and spread a picnic lunch out on a blanket next to the river. Temperatures in the fifties plus bright sun made for a comfortable spot. They ate in silence until Willow finished most of her lunch. Then the questions began again.

“Noah, can I ask you a philosophical question? How does Wicca deal with the right versus wrong issue? I know how Christianity and most big religions work, with a rulebook written by some higher power, but Wicca doesn’t have anything like a book, does it?”

“No. Most Wiccan beliefs are based on tradition and history, passed down by word of mouth. Wicca is actually a modern religion, based on some ancient beliefs. As far as right versus wrong, there’s only one rule: Harm none. There are some other principles but that’s what it all comes back to in the end.”

“Isn’t that too simplistic? Doesn’t your right versus wrong question become personal? Seems to me everything is relative. What’s right in one situation might not be in another.”

“Give me an example.”

Willow thought for a few seconds. “Take lying for instance. In Christianity, it’s wrong in every situation because there’s an absolute: always tell the truth. What if a lie is told to prevent greater harm?”

“You mean like Guarding the Mystery?”

“Exactly. Fairies tell many lies, it becomes second nature, but it saves lives. Wicca would say it was okay, right? No harm, no foul?”

You’re not just making conversation, are you?

“Yes, that makes sense. Wicca assumes a lot of intelligence and goodwill on the part of its adherents. The sticky part is when you harm no matter what you do. Say when you must act to prevent harm coming to a loved one, or anyone, for that matter, and your actions bring harm to another person. Like the person who shoots an armed robber who’s about to kill someone. Many times you have to make a judgment call. In some situations you have to settle for the least harm.”

“So lying is okay, if it prevents greater harm.”

Noah nodded. “Yes, I would have to agree.” Willow seemed satisfied.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Noah finished eating. “My turn to ask a question,” he said. “Are you still feeling the
deja
knew thing?”

“Not as strongly as when you first came here, but I know you better now, so the things you do that remind me of … well, something I never knew, are familiar now.” She stopped and frowned. “I’m not sure that made sense. How does it seem to you?”

“It’s still strong most of the time. Like just now when you were jumping from rock to rock on the path. I swear I saw you do it another time. Or maybe I expected you to do it and I’m interpreting my response wrong. I don’t know.” He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. “Last night was new though. If we knew each other in a past life, we didn’t make love.”

“No, we didn’t,” Willow said quietly. She seemed deep in thought. After a few moments, she came back to the present and Noah could feel apprehension for a moment, then tingling in his arms and hands. She got on her hands and knees, crawled across the blanket, and pushed him over backward, landing on top of him. “Because if we did something that good, I would remember,” she said, and kissed him.

There’s that look again.

Noah discovered a way to climb inside the bridge. They walked up and down the arches through a series of low openings that pierced the massive concrete uprights. Noah filled the memory of his digital camera and shot all the film he had brought. Willow spent the time exploring the graffiti that covered the interior of the bridge, or standing at the edge of the arches enjoying the view of the surrounding woodlands. Noah kept close to the middle of the structure, far from the eighty-foot drop to the river.

“Willow, come here a second,” he called when he finished shooting. Willow appeared in the nearest archway. “I know fairies avoid pictures, but will you pose for me? I have one shot left.”

Willow’s eyes twinkled. “Sure. I trust you. And you really need a better picture, since the one you have got damaged.”

Noah posed her against a weathered concrete wall. He composed a waist up shot that filled the frame and illuminated her beautiful features with the soft glow of the bridge interior. The light revealed another change: Willow’s hair was becoming wavy. He fiddled in silence with the camera but couldn’t quite get what he wanted.

“What’s wrong?” Willow asked.

“Well, I’m not capturing
you
. I mean you’re drop dead gorgeous no matter how I pose you, but … I need to see your arms and shoulders, they define you. You know, you’re physique. Power sheathed in beauty.”

“Very poetic. Here, try this.” She pulled off her sweater, handed it to Noah and then leaned against the wall as before with her wings concealed behind her, but her bare chest exposed.

“Are you sure about this?” Noah asked.

“Absolutely. No fairies are being harmed in the production of this photo.”

Noah framed her in the viewfinder. “Great. Now think about what we did last night.” She didn’t grin, as he intended, but instead the mysterious expression returned, happy yet not so, with the smallest, puzzling smile. Her hands slid down to her belly, out of the picture. She leaned her head against the wall, looked at the camera, and took a deep breath.

Mona Willow.

Noah clicked the shutter.

“Got it. Thanks.” Noah stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “Are you okay? You look … I don’t know. Like something’s missing.”

Willow’s smile faded and her eyes glistened. She rubbed her hands on his chest, her eyes tight on his. “Noah, I’ve always longed for just two things. You, whoever you turned out to be, and to have your child, our child. At last, I found you, right on my doorstep, but too late.” She shook her head. “Too late.”

Noah searched for words, but found none amidst the whirlpool of Willow’s joy and sorrow. He placed his hand over her heart, to perhaps soothe the ache he could never cure.

The ride back to Hoopeston was quiet. Willow seemed lost in thought and Noah didn’t disturb her, but instead absorbed her brooding emotions.

Willow had suggested that Noah develop the film at the cottage, so they dropped by the motel to grab the darkroom equipment and some clean clothes. As soon as they turned off the county road at the missing sign, Willow’s spirits began to lift. She breathed deeply and her posture relaxed. Together they juggled moving the equipment to the cottage from the tree across the lane.

Once inside the cottage, Willow stripped off her sweater, put on her glasses and sat down at the desk, waving her wings behind her as she typed.

While she worked, Noah pulled out his ritual kit, which he had left the day of the big fight, and studied the little purple spell book. “Willow,” he said, “I have an idea. I’m going to cast a protection spell around the Big House.”

Willow looked over the top of her glasses. “Really? You can do that?”

“Sure. It may not stop Jones but it should slow him down.”

“It didn’t work on his house. We had no problem getting in.”

“Spells don’t always work as you think. The spirits and energies sometimes react to our spells to obtain the same results in an unexpected way. That’s why you use a spell as a last resort.”

Willow mulled this over for a moment. “So it’s a ‘Trust in God, but keep your powder dry’ thing.”

“Exactly. You can’t cast a protection spell and then leave the door wide open. And I think his spell did work. He came home early for some reason, and had it not been for you being a fairy, we would have been caught.”

Willow appeared doubtful. “You mean the meeting finished early because of his spell?”

“The spirits have a sense of humor.”

Willow raised her eyebrows and went back to typing.

Noah went to work on his preparations. He still had the supply of acorns from the healing ritual. He fashioned two small amulets similar to the one he made for Willow. Within a few minutes, all was ready.

“Noah!” Willow said. “Come look at this. My picture is in the paper.” Noah peered over Willow’s shoulder, not an easy task because her wings twitched violently. On the screen was an article from the
Danville Commercial-News
, together with a photo of Willow in front of the house. “That picture isn’t from today. Who took it? And when?”

Noah dodged her wings again. “Probably Jones. It looks like it might be a telephoto shot. He may have taken it sometime for his private collection. Thank goodness, he didn’t see you fly. At least, as far as we know he didn’t.”

Noah grabbed Willow’s chair to steady himself in the blast of Willow’s rage and scanned the article. The uninvited photographer must have written it. He was not kind in his description of Willow’s actions, nor accurate in his description of the vandalism. Included was a quote from “a former owner of the property” which could only be Chester Jones. “There’s always been strange goings on out there, ever since the property was sold to the Brown family.” Noah received his mention, too, as “Brown’s boyfriend.” The boys at Henning’s would love reading this stuff. Willow reached the end and clicked the back key. Another article caught Noah’s eye headlined “Hoopeston Councilman Questioned.”