As they passed a lake that seemed
to go on forever, Sharon started feeling homesick, combined with an
eerie sense of déjà vu. She felt music in her soul, resonating
from the ground they were passing over in the bus. As the lake
disappeared and the forest-covered Highlands loomed, her stomach
churned.
The clouds parted, and the sun
cast rays like a scene of divine majesty toward the road ahead. A
rainbow arched in front of them for a few moments before fading away.
As they passed a small campground
and a sign that said “Welcome to Strathyre”, Sharon's heart
started to race. She gripped the seat in front of her, whispering to
Heather so as not to break the spell of whatever was happening. “I
feel something. Could I feel something if we were close?”
Heather shook her head. “I
don't know, but I feel the spell working. We're close for sure.”
As the bus pulled into the tiny
town, Heather and Sharon stood and ran to the front. The bus had
barely stopped when they jumped out and looked around.
The bus idled in front of little
building called “The Village Shop”, which also appeared to be the
Post Office. A middle-aged couple sat at the tables outside, smoking
and chatting in brogue.
The door to the bus closed and it
pulled away, revealing a tiny two story Victorian hotel across the
street with tables out in front. The town seemed to consist of about
two dozen buildings, with a tiny monument by the side of the main
road marking roughly the center. Roads led into the woods on each
side of the main road, and smoke curled into the sky from chimneys
hidden behind the trees.
Sharon sighed, happy that the
rain had stopped so she wouldn't have to conjure umbrellas. “So
where to now, Sacagawea?”
Heather squinted at Sharon.
“What'd you call me?”
“Sacagawea. You know. The
woman who guided Lewis and Clark across the frontier? She's on a
dollar coin?”
Heather wiped her face in
frustration. “I'm one sixty-fourth Native American. Don't give me
crap about my ancestors or I'll scalp your ass.”
“I thought they scalped heads.”
Heather made a face like a
grimace, but it looked a lot like she was fighting not to laugh.
“You're a lot less funny after sixteen hours of no sleep. Just
follow me, Fairy Princess.”
Heather closed her eyes for a
minute and aimed herself, then led them down the main road a short
way before taking a side road to the left. The road narrowed before
an old stone bridge spanning a small river. Heather paused every
minute or so, turning in a small circle.
Sharon got bored of the circle
turning and stopped at the center of the stone bridge to listen to
the water burbling. She stared at the water and found strange joy in
the languid motion of the river as it caressed the rocky bottom. She
could see fish hugging the shores on either side, moving in a slow
dance to music she could almost hear.
A car honked, and she looked up
to see that an old luxury car only a few feet from her. Somehow she
hadn't heard the tires on the pavement as the car approached. She
turned and ran the rest of the way across the bridge to catch up to
Heather, taking shelter on the small sidewalk as the car zoomed by.
The road was barely wider than a
car, the sidewalk ended as the road took a bend deeper into the
woods. Sharon watched over her shoulder, worried that they might get
run over. She found herself playing Heather's words back. You
can't die in a plane crash. You'd wake up next to the smoldering
debris field wondering what happened.
So I'm essentially
indestructible? She sighed and thought to herself that something
made of iron could probably squash her, and cars had lots of iron, so
it'd be just her luck that she'd become a hood ornament on a Range
Rover.
As they passed a pair of circular
signs with a black diagonal line on each, Sharon stopped. “What do
those signs mean? Are we going the wrong way?”
Heather looked up. “Oh. Those
just mean there's no speed limit any more.”
Sharon stared at the strip of
pavement ahead of them, curving deeper into the woods, and the amount
of grass on the shoulder on each side. “I'm going to die out here.
I just know it.”
Heather shrugged her backpack
higher. “Want me to help you search your backpack?”
Sharon squinted at Heather. “What
for?”
“Your big girl panties.”
Sharon opened her mouth to reply,
but Heather was already laughing and running away. Something about
the way she said it made Sharon forget all her worries. She thought
about Heather being out here in the damp, cold air, helping her. For
what? It's not like she had begged Heather to help. Heather would
not be denied. Heather was suffering through all this because she
cared. Maybe she was a true friend after all.
“I'm so getting you for that!”
Sharon yelled, running after Heather. She completely forgot about
becoming a traffic statistic as they laughed and chased each other.
A half an hour later, after
turning onto an unmarked trail, they found themselves surrounded by
trees in every direction. The place seemed to hum with life, not
just the buzzing of insects and chirping of birds; but it seemed to
vibrate with a kind of soft resonance that Sharon could feel in her
bones.
“Something's here. I can feel
it.”
Heather nodded, handing the
tartan back to Sharon. “You're home, but I guess it's obscured by
Fae magic. Maybe a Glamour.”
Sharon looked around, trying to
pinpoint some shimmer or hint that magic was obscuring their sight.
The place seemed to be nothing but trees. She looked back to
Heather. “Why can't I see through it?”
Heather shrugged. “I know I
look like an expert on all things Fae, but everything I know is based
on stories passed down from my Grandmother's Grandmother or a
cousin's friend who heard it from a guy who heard it from a guy... if
you know what I mean. Nobody I know has actually met a Fae.”
Sharon stared at Heather for a
minute.
“Yeah,” Heather said, staring
back. “Like I said, you're kind of a big deal.”
Sharon crossed her arms. “Can't
you use a spell or something?”
“If we have a week to spare.
Or if you know some local witches.”
Sharon unhooked her arms and
rubbed her temples in frustration. “What use are you?”
“I brought cookies. Chocolate
chip.”
Sharon laughed, then made a come
hither motion with her hand. “Break 'em out. I could use some
chocolate about now.”
They sat on a boulder, taking off
their backpacks to relax. Heather opened her pack and pulled out a
bag with a fancy gold foil label with stars and scripted writing:
*** Seven Sisters Bakery. ***
World's Best Cookies.
“I've never heard of these
before,” Sharon said, taking one from the bag and passing it back.
She took one bite and moaned. “Oh. These are good.”
“Esmerelda's coven makes them.
A little magic in every bite!”
They sat and enjoyed their
cookies. Sharon felt more relaxed and calm with each bite. The
cookies seemed to be exactly what she needed.
After her cookie was gone, Sharon
stared at the road. In another life, it could have been the road
home. As she looked at it, she realized that the way home was back
the way they had come; and that she desperately missed her life with
the Morgan family already. Even with her mother nagging, her parents
working all the time, and Bobby annoying her, she would miss them.
She stared at the road, thinking
about how her life had changed since the night when she fell asleep
in the cast iron bathtub. Hadn't she been content? She tried to
recall what had upset her, and somehow everything before that night
in the tub seemed insignificant now.
“You seem like you're a million
miles away.”
Sharon blinked and turned to
Heather. “I was just thinking about how much my life has changed.”
“Since the picnic, when I used
the spell on you?”
Sharon shook her head. “The
night before that, I fell asleep in a cast iron tub. I woke up with
wings and claws.”
Heather nodded, kicking a leaf as
she seemed lost in thought. “A cast iron-”
Sharon could almost feel the
click in their minds at the same time, as they both looked at each
other. “Cast iron!” They said at once, grabbing their things
and running toward the road. They searched the roadside, walking
back toward town. A remnant of an old fence post stood in the dirt to
the side of the road. Steel cables wrapped around it held a piece of
broken pipe.
Heather unwound a scrap of wire
holding a metal pipe against a wooden post, and Sharon yanked the
pipe free from the ground where it had rusted apart.
Sharon could feel the her magic
fighting the insidious force of the iron, and handed the pipe to
Heather. “You better hold that. It kinda stings.”
They walked the hundred yards or
so back to the spot where they had felt magic in the air. They
clasped hands, and Heather led them forward, holding the pipe in
front of her.
The world seemed to shift on its
axis, and the air pressed against Sharon like a thick gelatinous
mass. The trees blurred, and for a minute Sharon felt like she was
being ripped apart. Pain. Pressure. Her ears rang, and her mouth
felt dry. Her skin crawled, and she fought to hold herself up. Just
when she was sure she was going to die, the pressure stopped and the
world righted itself.
They both fell to the ground.
Sharon looked to Heather first.
The witch was shaking her head and breathing hard. Heather looked
looked back and then around at their surroundings.
Sharon followed Heather's gaze to
an old-style cottage in front of them. It reminded Sharon of a
Thomas Kinkade painting. A weathered cobblestone driveway led up to
it. An old Jaguar sedan sat parked in a porte-cochère between the
cottage and what might have been a barn or workshop. Smoke curled up
from a chimney in the back of the house, and the windows on the front
of the cottage glowed with a warm inviting light.
A girl with brown hair was on her
knees in a small garden off to the side of the house, her back to
them. She stood, holding a handful of fresh herbs. She turned and
stared, confused for a moment at Sharon and Heather.
Sharon's heart stopped. She
stared at the girl she'd been for sixteen years. Diana Jean Morgan,
flesh and blood human girl, stood not thirty feet away. She opened
her mouth to say something, but her mind went blank. She turned to
Heather, and found Heather staring slack-jawed in wonder at the
magical Fae cottage in front of them.
Diana approached, rubbing the
dirt off her hands onto her apron, looking for all the world like a
medieval peasant. Her first words would live in Sharon's memory
forever.
