An Ordinary Fairy (49 page)

“Magic. Janet said they were into folk magic.”

“This is like nothing I’ve ever seen, though I’ve read about it. Wicca would never use most of this stuff, especially the animal parts. From what I’ve read in these books, that’s the power they held over the slaves, or workers, whatever you want to call them. If anyone got out of line, they cast a spell on them.”

“So that’s where Chester’s magic books came from.”

Noah nodded. “And it’s probably why he wants in here so badly.” He continued flipping through the last journal. Willow pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. After a couple of minutes, Noah shook his head.

“Unbelievable,” he said.

“What?”

“The last entry in this journal was written in 1924 by James Jones, just a few days after all the workers disappeared. It explains what happened to make them leave. I’ll read it to you if you want me to, but some of it is nasty stuff. Maybe after you hear this you’ll understand Chester better.”

Willow thought for a moment. “Go ahead.”

Noah leaned against the workbench and read:

They’re all gone now. Armstrong did it. The fool has cost us everything. Should have turned him out long ago. Would now if he weren’t half dead.

We had the workers for nigh to a hundred years. Started by my daddy’s grandpa. Kept them happy and kept them in line. Everything worked fine for all those years. Everybody knew their place and kept it. The workers did what we told them to do and we took care of them. They knew their station and it was below us. We brought them to the farm, we let them marry and have kids and keep the kids. But we kept their kids away from our kids. Workers were separate, here to serve us and work the farm, not to live with us. They were Negroes at first then more gypsies when we came north. None of them much more than animals by nature. We never mixed our blood with theirs. Oh, we took our liberties with the women, of course we did. That’s how it was where we come from. Everybody did it. That’s what the women were for. Their men didn’t like it but they had no choice. But we were careful never to get them with a child.

Maybe I am to blame for what happened. It was just fun and sport. We’d pick which one we wanted and take her to the cave at night. The young ones in their teen years. Sometimes they went willing. Sometimes not. My daddy let me start when I was eighteen, as I did Armstrong.

I guess the trouble started when I became attached to one of the young ones. She was gypsy, named Amelia. She was born on the farm and from the first she was different. She was a beautiful child and became a favorite with her big brown eyes and smooth dark skin. Her hair was long and dark and shiny. She knew she was beautiful and used it to full advantage. She could flirt and tease and get her way even with my father. She had a way of saying Papaboss (that was what they always called the oldest Jones man) that could melt your heart.

Amelia followed me around a lot, but I never touched her until after my father died. She had grown to be a fine looking young woman, though she remained tiny. She was only sixteen but could pass for twenty. Things changed when she started calling me Papaboss. Her flirting wasn’t teasing anymore. Mine wasn’t either. One summer day when the house was empty I took her up to my bed and had my way with her. She didn’t fight. She wanted it, too.

That summer I had her every day. I wasn’t careful. I didn’t care if she got with child, and soon she did. My Amelia, my darling. So young, so beautiful. But the birth went wrong and I lost her. Nadia was the child of our love. Nadia, the image of her mother, tiny just as her mother had been. Amelia’s parents took Nadia to raise in the workers’ quarters, but she had free run of the Big House. She was my joy, though my wife hated the sight of her sweet face. I spoiled her.

I had little joy in the women after Amelia. When Armstrong turned eighteen I allowed him to use the women and the cave. I always had to watch him, though; he hated using protection and always wanted the youngest girls, the ones who didn’t have their menses yet. More than once I caught him, despite my warnings.

Two weeks ago I was working late in my study at the Big House when there was a knock. My field boss was standing in the door. He acted nervous and fidgeted with his hat. He wouldn’t look at me. He said Papaboss you need go find Mr. Armstrong. Why, what’s wrong? I asked. The man’s look turned to terror. Nadia, he said. He come and took Nadia.

I knocked the man out of my way and ran from the room. My Nadia? She was only ten! I flew upstairs to the entry way and ran down the passage and the ladder to the tunnel. When I reached the cave the door was unbarred and I flung it open.

He had my Nadia, my own daughter, naked and bent forward over the table while he ravished her from behind. There was blood on the floor beneath her. Her eyes pleaded with me to help. She didn’t even know what was happening to her.

Armstrong looked at me when the door opened. He was in a drunken stupor. I picked up the timber we use to bar the door and beat him senseless. I left him lying on the cave floor, I hoped dead, and gathered up my precious Nadia in my arms and took her to her grandparents.

Now they’re all gone. My Nadia, her grandparents, all the workers. They stole away in the night and we’ve not heard of them since. We’ve nothing now. Only Armstrong.

Noah looked up from the book. Willow sat bolt upright, her hands clenched around the arms of the chair. Terror and rage masked her face, her features contorted in pain that shook her entire body.

I didn’t feel a thing! I would have stopped.

Noah laid the book down and knelt by the chair in front of her. Tenderly he reached for her face.

Focus came to Willow’s eyes as his hand approached her. Hatred flamed in their depths and she viciously swatted his hand. The arm of the chair broke in her other hand.

“Willow, sweetheart,” Noah said. “It’s me. It’s Noah.”

My touch will bring you back.

He reached for her again and she struck at him, but he clasped her little hand in both his and held it tight. It took all his strength to restrain her arm as he lowered his face to the hand and kissed it. Tension eased away from her arm and hand. He kissed it again and rubbed his cheek across it. She slumped in the chair as her face transfigured to the Willow he knew.

“Noah?” she whispered, bewildered.

“Willow, look at me.” He stroked her cheek.

She turned watery eyes to his. “What happened, Noah? I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m sorry, oh Noah, my Noah.”

He leaned forward and took her in his arms. “No, I’m the one that’s sorry. I shouldn’t have read that to you.”

Willow pulled away and wiped her eyes. She shook her head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Noah. You had no way of knowing.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely, and then laid her head on his shoulder. He held her until she calmed.

She spoke in her little voice. “I got snot on your jacket.”

They laughed, and Noah handed her his handkerchief.

“What happened, Willow?”

Her eyes shifted away and her face reddened.

Noah held up his hand. “This is a box thing, isn’t it?” Willow nodded. “Then forget I asked.” Noah stood, walked to the workbench, and returned the journal to its open slot on the shelves. He felt Willow’s hands on his waist. She pressed herself close against his back.

“I love you, sweet man.”

“I love you, Willow.”

Willow released him. “Are we finished down here? I’m hungry.”

“Leave it to a fairy not to miss mealtime. I want to take some pictures before we leave, if that’s okay. I cleverly left my camera at the foot of the ladder, so I’m going to run and get it.”

“Sure. I’ll wait here.”

Noah picked up his flashlight and left.

Wow. Another intriguing day with a fairy. They are challenging little souls.

“No, that’s not fair,” he whispered, lest the tunnel carry his voice to her sensitive ears. “I only know one, after all.” He reached the bottom of the ladder and leaned over to retrieve his camera.

Terror gripped him. At the same moment, Willow shrieked and called out his name. A splitting pain pierced his head. Then she was gone. He gasped and grabbed the ladder to steady himself.

Where are you?

Her presence, always there, had vanished. Only emptiness reigned where she lived in his heart. He leaned against the wall, panting for breath, until he regained control and ran down the tunnel, filled now with his own terror.

Twenty-Five

“W
illow! Willow!”

Noah ran as fast as he dared. While he passed through the dark section, the door to the cave banged closed. It sprang open, but someone shut it again.

Faster, Noah!

“Willow!” Just as he reached the door, it sealed tight with a thud. He slammed himself against it, but too late. “Willow!” he called in frustration. The only sound was a familiar, mocking laugh.

He threw himself at the door, pounding his fists, kicking.

“Jones! If you do anything to her I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

He stopped his futile assault on the heavy oak.

He’s already done something to her, Noah.

There was no sensation of her presence, even this close.

Think, Noah, think
!
You have to get in there. How are you going to do it? What do you need to do?

An image formed in his mind. He ran back up the tunnel. Once at the ladder, he hesitated.

You can do this. Willow needs you.

He visualized Willow’s sweet face and kept the image in his mind as he climbed the ladder.

Don’t slip.

He reached the top and climbed the narrow stair three steps at a time. In seconds, he was in the master suite. At a dead run he traversed the atrium balcony and passed down the service hall to the back stairs. The flights were short so he took them in one huge leap each, leaning on the banisters to fling himself down. Once on the first floor he ran to the back door, removed the wood beam used to bar it, and shouldered it like a rifle. He returned to the stairs, but paused at the bottom to catch his breath. Shadow barked outside.

His vision blurred and he grew unsteady on his feet. He dropped the beam to the floor and leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes and gasping for breath.

Foggy … can’t think…

Something stirred deep in his consciousness. A far off voice seemed to whisper in his head, but without words.

Willow!

Faint, distant, but it was Willow. He began to weep. Her presence grew stronger by the moment. He concentrated, visualizing her in his arms, bringing comfort on himself and sending it to her.

The confusion cleared, replaced by affection for a short time, but then became sharp terror that abruptly transformed into fury. Noah focused calm on her.

Don’t do anything rash.

Pain reformed in Noah’s head. Jones must have knocked her unconscious.

“I wish I was there to hold you,” he whispered.

ME TOO.

Gooseflesh ran down Noah’s back. That had come from Willow, not as words exactly, but feelings and images that became her thoughts in his mind. He felt Willow’s surprise.

WHAT DID WE JUST DO?

I don’t know
.
Maybe that conk on the head did something to you.

No response.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe that conk on the head did something to you.”

I HOPE IT KEEPS WORKING.

“It seems I have to say the words out loud for it to work. But you’re not, are you?”

NO.

“Sweetheart, stay still. Let Jones think you’re still knocked out.”

I HAVE BEEN. I’M NOT STUPID, YOU KNOW.

You must be okay.

JONES IS BEHIND ME. I HEAR HIM RUMMAGING ABOUT.

“Are you hurt badly?” The pain in Noah’s head doubled and redoubled; his vision blurred again.

WHAT DO
YOU
THINK?

The pain subsided and he sensed some remorse.

“Willow, I’m going to break down the door.”

I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

He visualized himself beating the door down with the wood beam. Willow sent a confusion of feelings, and then what seemed to be
DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME.
Nothing came for a few moments, and then everything went black and Noah slumped to the floor. He put his arms out to either side to brace himself. Eyes open or closed, all was darkness. An image formed, either in his mind or before his eyes.