The Faery Keepers (3 page)

             
We climb in, I take the front seat and Maggie takes the back for security issues. Just what we need is for him to see the flower/Faery and start asking questions. It smells like artificial pine. A green freshener hangs from the rear view mirror, still swaying from the previous motions of the car. Wrappers from gum and fast food joints litter the floor and an empty pop can rolls around in the back. He shoves most of the litter under the seats, murmuring an apology for the mess as he does so. It’s obvious that the Jeep sees a lot of use.

             
“Thanks,” I mutter.

             
“No problem,” he nods, revving the engine. “So where’re you two headed?”

             
“Er,” I cast around for something to say, not sure whether it would be smart to tell him where but seeing no choice in the matter. “The Apple Orchard just up the hill.”

             
His face screws up in confusion. “I won’t ask,” he says, turning the knob on the radio. Some song that has a fast drum beat and a bit more screaming and guitar than I’m used to blares through the speakers.

             
“What is this?” I call over the noise.

             
“Shinedown.”

             
I wince at the loudness of it.

             
“Hey you don’t have to like my music and I don’t have to give you a ride. Your choice.”

             
“It’s just loud,” I feel the need to point out.

             
“Well, deal.”

             
I scowl at him.

             
We speed up the street and I have to think that I’m grateful he came along when he did. Not so grateful that we could be stopped by a cop . . . But as he said, he is our only help right now. So, I deal with it.

             
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I ask once the song’s over.

             
“Yeah, remember? The pool? She told me to beat it?” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Maggie in the back seat.

             
I can just feel her glare burning into the back of his head.

             
“No that’s not what I mean.” I can’t put my finger on it.

             
“School?” he arches his eyebrows at me.

             
“Maybe,” I muse.

             
We pull up to the gate in front of rows and rows of tall apple trees. The house is off in the distance rather than right there by the drive. That’s good. We’ll have a better chance at getting this done and getting out of there before someone notices.

             
“Do you want me to park?”

             
I blink at him.

             
“Do you want me to come with you?” He amends.

             
“No, stay here. We shouldn’t be too long.” I didn’t know how to begin explaining the whole “
Faeries
exist” thing to him, I was too busy swallowing it myself. Even with living (barely) proof in the car with us, it was still hard to believe. Just too benign.

             
“OK.” By his tone he sure didn’t sound OK with it. He strikes me as the type of person who doesn’t like being out of the loop.

             
We leave our bags in the Jeep. Yeah, granted that isn’t such a great idea considering we don’t know him all that well. But it’s the easiest thing to do. Better to not have to worry about them if the need to run approaches. But we stash them behind the back seat in the small crevice that passes as a trunk in this thing. He gives us a weird look as if to say “what? You don’t trust me?” and opens his mouth to most likely say something along those lines.

             
I raise my hand palm forward:
stop.

             
We leave him before he can make any snarky remarks, heading towards the gate just off the side of the road. I can hear the bass of his stereo behind us and shake my head in his general direction. I hope that it doesn’t scare them away . . . wherever they are.

             
I think about how much stock he puts in us trusting him when we don’t even know him from Adam. What’s up with that, anyways? We didn’t even know his
name
, and he didn’t even know ours. How can you trust someone you’ve just met?

             
The gate is wooden, five feet tall and is chained shut with a padlock.
Great
. I give it a sharp tug to no avail. The chains rattle and jangle, not giving way. Unless we have the magical ability to break solid metal we aren’t getting through this the easy way. And with no know how on how to pick a padlock, our chances are even slimmer. So it looks like it’ll be up and over.

             
I lace my fingers together to form a foothold for Maggie and gesture for her to go first. I can climb myself. Her shoe meets my palms and I give her a boost over the fence, waiting to hear her hit the ground on the other side before I begin to climb. Using the crossbar as my own foothold I hoist myself over the gate. The wood is rough and splinters stab into my flesh. I land with a light
thump
in the dirt on the other side near Maggie, brushing my palms on my shorts.

             
“Let’s do this,” I say, striding off into the columns of trees.

             
The air has a strong smell of leaves, apples and dirt. I breathe in the fresh scents, loving the deliciousness of them. The moon finally chooses then to make its appearance, lighting up our surroundings to near daylight brightness, casting shadows that
crisscross
the ground. Each apple in a tree near us has a pale reflection of the moon, washing out any and all color. The trunks and branches are leeched of light, darkening them to mere silhouettes. I have no idea where we’re supposed to go, but judging by the determination in Maggie’s stride she does. We make our way up the row, quickening our paces to a brisk power walk. It’s uphill so it makes a good work out.

             
The trees start thinning out and the hill becomes steeper still. I look up from watching where I walk to see our destination. There is a huge, and I mean
huge
, tree atop a vast mound of dirt covered with grass that looks blue in the night. It has to be over fifty feet tall at least. The trunk is massive. As big around as a mini-van is long. I marvel at its absolute size.

             
“Is this where we’re going?” I ponder out loud, stepping on a mushy apple core on the ground. There’s a multitude of them strewn about, bruised and rotting.

             
“Yeah,” Maggie grunts.

             
We hike up the hill, reaching the base of the trunk. Its bark is knobby and rough and one chunk is as thick as my hand.

             
“Now what do we do?”

             
“We wait.”

             
I am about to ask what we have to wait for when a silver lining of a square lights up in what is clearly a door about four feet tall. It opens outward and we have to jump back to avoid getting smacked by it. The wood must be a foot thick.

             
“What—?”

             
“Shhh!”

             
It opens fully, giving way to a group of what must be more
Faeries
congregated on the handsomely polished wooden floor of the tree. They’re all the same height as the one in the tulip, clad in multiple shades of leaves and adorned with flower petals and blossoms that wouldn’t have survived this time of year otherwise. Their wings are individually different colors, ranging from translucent to sky blues, grassy greens, lilac purples, sunny yellows, cloudy whites, each one a startling bright color that seems to luminescence in the darkness. The ones on the front line are equipped with an unknown hard material studded with deadly looking thorns, a thorn circlet wrapped about their brows.

             
“Whoa,” I breathe.

             
A light source illuminates from within the depths of the tree changing every few seconds, first a golden honey color, then a
whitish blue, a violent
red, and finally a dim dragonfly green, going through the cycle endlessly. It’s mesmerizing to watch and I feel myself lulled into a dreamlike trance. There was nothing in the world but those colors.

             
“Snap out of it!” Maggie pinches my arm sharply.

             
“Hmm?” I mumble drunkenly.

             
She turns me roughly to the side, away from the light show, slapping my cheek lightly.

             
“Ow!” I protest. “What was that for!?”

             
“Don’t look directly at them,” she says in my ear.

             
“But—”

             
“
Don’t
!”

             
I nod. She searches my face with her eyes to make sure I’m fully aware of what I’m saying. I must be because we turn back towards them. But this time I fix my eyes on the bark above the opening, taking in the whorls and knobs in the tree, refusing to look back at them.

             
The majority of them are whispering something. Something that sounds like: “They have the Sight. They can See us. How is that possible?” over and over again. 

             
“Why are you here?” One of the thorn clad
Faeries
demands over the murmuring.

             
“We’re here to help,” Maggie acts as spokesperson.

             
“We do not need help from mortals,” another of them speaks icily, taking a long, straight thorn from a sheath at his side and brandishes it at us. “Trespassers,” he hisses venomously. “Leave
now
.”

             
“Why?” pipes up the first. “They would make good fun. Fine servants they would be.”

             
Fury makes me glare right at him. I ignore the stupid lights completely. “We’re here because someone tried to kill
her
.” I point angrily at the flower in Maggie’s grasp. “Now, we’d be plenty glad to just let her die. But we came here in hopes you could save her. If you don’t want your own kin back, fine by me. Maggie, let’s go. This is a waste of time.” I grab her by the arm and begin towing her back down the hill.

             
“Stay your foot!” one from behind what must be the guard calls out. “Let us see her.”

             
Maggie and I exchange glances. “Fine,” I say.

             
Maggie puts the flower/Faery down in front of them.

             
The one who spoke pushes through the front line. It turns out to be a female with raven black hair and a silver dress; she has a tiara of brambles that have a multitude of tiny flower blossoms on it and some sort of sparkly substance. Royalty then?

             
She touches the pink petals and they quiver and jump until they dissipate completely, leaving nothing but the Faery left. She’s even grayer than before, the blue is gone. Her dress has even faded in color. Gray tinges the edges of each once emerald leaf. What I didn’t notice before is that she wears a circlet of tiny flowers that look like miniature, in the extreme, white roses.

             
The other Faery gives a gasp of disdain. “I feared so.” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Breen, gather her up.” Her voice is melodic, like the tinkling of a bell whereas the others were rough and roguish.

             
The Faery which had said we were trespassers sheathed his weapon and came forward to take the girl in his arms. He then retreated to the depths of the tree.

             
“You may go,” says the silver dressed Faery. She doesn’t wait for a reply but goes back into the tree to be swallowed up by the others. I’m not certain but I think she said thank you as they were disappearing into the hollow.

             
The door swings shut, leaving no trace of its presence. It merely melds back together with the surrounding wood.

             
“Well that was fun,” I say without feeling that it was at all. Just the opposite. My voice sounds dead.

             
“Heh,” Maggie snorts. “Right.”

             
“Well, mystery man is waiting for us...at least I hope he is. Why don’t we get out of this place? Quite frankly, I’m tired of it.”

             
“I’m with you on that,” she agrees groggily.

             
I’m not even sure I want to know what time it is let alone if the guy is still waiting there for us. I’m riding on the hope that he is trustworthy and hasn’t gone anywhere. The walk back feels like a dream. Like when you’re half asleep and just going through the motions without thinking about it. I don’t want to think about how sore I’m going to be tomorrow. Don’t want to think about how much trouble I’m going to be in when I get home. I just want to fall into bed and sleep for an eternity.