The Book of Dreams Forgotten: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 2) Page 15

  I refrained from looking at Lia’s horns a second time. “Yes, ma’am,” I murmured.

  “Then you know how it is. I took her inside, didn’t ask a single thing, fed, clothed and even brought out one of my grandkids’ dollhouses for her to sleep in. But wouldn’t you know it, the next morning, I found her in the greenhouse, fast asleep in my tulips, and young man, my plants have never been healthier.”

  I was just about to ask a third time what the problem was, but the woman’s hands began to tremble slightly, as did her lips.

  Lia and I didn’t say a word.

  When the woman collected her bearings, hand over her mouth, she said, “And now, four months later and she’s not eating. She’s taking care of the greenhouse and garden in the dead of winter yet she refuses to eat, hasn’t come out of the greenhouse in weeks, despite the cold.”

  I nodded in sincere concern, even as my stomach twisted inside. Why had Inoli sent me here to this pixie in particular?

  “Can I see her?” I asked gently.

  Mary nodded quickly. “Oh yes, please, dear.”

  And just like that, we abandoned the untouched cookies and followed the woman through the sunroom in the back of the home and into the greenhouse. The temperature dropped immediately, but was warmer than outside.

  Plants were lined on tables in rows, greenery everywhere, but it was the purple tulips the lady led me towards.

  “I try to keep the heat above 60, but it’s hard to do with a greenhouse during this season.” She urged the potted plant forward, where only then could I see that of the bundle of soft-bellied petals, there was one slightly fatter than the other. “That’s the petal she likes to sleep in,” Mary explained.

  “And she’s been in there for three weeks you say?”

  Mary nodded.

  I frowned. “Could you give us a moment alone with, Breone, is it?”

  With another nod, she rest a hand on my arm. “Of course, of course. And thank you for coming all the way out here. I’m sure it must have been out of the way.”

  “Not at all,” I lied, watched as she retreated back to the kitchen, likely to put in another batch of stress cookies.

  I turned to Lia. “Three weeks?” I asked.

  “Pixies are known to hibernate for years if the environment is agreeable.” She glanced around the greenhouse. “Though I do not think this qualifies. The temperature alone would have increased her metabolism and depleted her food source, thus sending her out of her den.”

  “So let’s see.” I reached for the lip of the petals.

  She grabbed my arm, eyes shot wide. “What are you doing?!” she whispered in stun.

  I froze. “Um, opening it to see if she’s alive?”

  “Th-that’s considered highly indecent behavior.”

  “Well how else am I supposed to see?”

  “The pixie isn’t dead, Peter. Can’t you hear her heart?”

  “Afraid I don’t have superhuman hearing just yet.” And when I searched for the creature’s dark energy, all I got back was Lia’s, which meant not only were pixies really tiny, but so were their dark energy. “If she’s alive, why doesn’t she come out?”

  “It’s not that simple. Here, you have to . . .” Lia ran her tongue over her lips and suddenly the air filled with an airy, crystalline whistle. A blue jay's song, peddler on a sunny Sunday evening. Lia whistled a tune I’d never heard before, an angelic gentleness cascading around us, reminding me of mellow pieces of time, where life stood still and it was hard to tell sleeping from waking.

  When she stopped, I blinked away the fog that’d begun to settle over my mind at the sheer beauty of it, and moments later, the smallest pale hand poked out of the tulip before disappearing back inside.

  There on the lip of the petal was a red pebble.

  Lia lifted it and smiled. “It’s not uncommon for lower castes to offer things for various reasons. With pixies, they give them in offering when you sing, hum or whistle something they like. It’s similar to your father’s jukebox, in a way.”

  “What is it?” I asked, squinting at it. Its gritty surface reminded me of a sugar cube’s.

  Lia held it out to me. “Taste it.”

  My brows shot up. “No . . . thanks.”

  “They’re surprisingly good. Back home, it was a rare thing to come across a pixie pearl. They used them to sweeten drinks and foods of all varieties.”

  As interesting as that was . . . “How do we get the pixie to come all the way out?”

  “Simple: you keep singing until they feel safe.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Sure it does,” she disagreed. “Every song sung is infused with emotions straight from the heart. A pixie can hear one’s true heart through musical sound alone. Try it.”

  I frowned and swallowed hard. One’s true heart. What would mine say if I sung a tune to it—would the pixie hear its death?

  Pocketing my hands, I shook my head. “I’m terrible at whistling and singing. Why don’t you try again? It was beautiful.”

  She studied me a moment before giving one of her blinding smiles. “Alright.”

  This time, when the whistle winded from Lia’s lungs like the playful tinkle of windchimes, it wasn’t a hand that poked out, but the pixie herself.

  Ch. 16

  Straight blue hair, violet transparent wings thin as paper, the creature before me was breathtaking—and heartbreaking.

  “Breone, right?” I ventured hesitantly, not sure if they even spoke the same language as us.

  Eyes made of amethyst shards peered up at me beneath lashes sprinkled with a pale pink dust. There was such a forlorn and intrinsic depth to the gaze, I felt as though I was peering into the cosmos. She gave a tiny nod, hair of silk falling over her shoulders.

  She was actually slightly smaller than my hand—the perfect size for what I was to do.

  I shoved the grim truth down and focused on a grimmer one.

  This pixie was dangerously malnourished, a truth even I could determined despite having never laid eyes on one. The blue dress she wore that may have once belonged to a doll ate away half her features, but did nothing to hide the jut of bones that were her shoulders, or the extremely pale skin stretched over her bones for fingers. A walking skeleton.

  Even Lia seemed momentarily stunned, frowning when the pixie turned to her and offered up another of the strange red pebbles in a bid to continue the song.

  “Actually,” I cut in. “We’re here for Mary-Luanne. You know her don’t you?”

  Another faint nod, the pebble still outstretched towards Lia who eventually took it with a silent smile of thanks.

  “Well, she’s been very worried about you,” I said. What was I doing? This wasn’t an actual case. I was only here to take the pixie and leave, but it’d become habit for me to pry into strange happenings, digging to the bottom of people’s problems—when clearly I had my own.

  Was this why Inoli had sent me to this pixie in particular? The couple housing it were elderly, the pixie was obviously weak and defenseless. It would have been easy to simply snatch it up and do what had to be done.

  If only I hadn’t brought Lia with me.

  If only I wasn’t burning to know just why it was this pixie’s eyes held such bleak emptiness.

  “She’s worried about your health,” I went on. “Says you haven’t come out in days.”

  Breone hung her head then, the butterfly-shaped wings at her back sagging in a half-cocoon around her. “I know.” The whisper was redolent of the wind, young, and just as Inoli said, innocent.

  “Why have you been hiding?” Lia asked gently.

  The pixie never looked up. “Because.”

  We waited.

  She clenched the seams of her too-big dress. “Because if I come out I’ll eat everything in their home!”

  I reeled at the outburst, the sudden fire in her eyes. “I—what do you mean?”

  “Mary-Luanne, you’ve seen her cookies. They’re deliciou
s! And her salisbury steak.” An actual line of drool started at the corner of her mouth as her eyes glazed.

  “If you like her food so much, why reject it suddenly?”

  “Because I’ll get fat and the males who visit the gardens during the Spring Solstice will not want me.”

  “Pixies are attracted to well cared for gardens,” Lia explained when I glanced to her. “During the spring they choose one garden to have a festival of sorts.”

  “And you’re afraid that if they choose Mary-Luanne’s garden they won’t like you because you’re . . . fat?” I asked.

  Brone nodded fiercely and it was a wonder I didn’t hear her tiny bones scraping against one another. “Before I met Mary-Luanne, I had a home, a great home, but because I’m slightly smaller than the other pixies, I don’t produce as many pixie pearls. So when male suitors would visit my family’s garden, my parents said I had to compensate for my size.”

  I didn’t understand. “They wanted you to eat more to make more pixie pearls?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, the tip of her bare feet rubbing against the tulip’s petal absently. “They wanted me to eat less so I could be appealing.”

  “And?”

  “And so I did,” she said exasperatedly. “I fasted for two weeks until my wings were so clear, I thought they’d disappear forever! But, even so, the night of the festival, not one pixie looked my way. My parents were more hurt by it than me and soon banished me from the gardens when I objected to the starvation.”

  Ouch. That was brutal. And a little absurd.

  “So I ran away. I met Mary-Luanne and she let me have more food than I could ever eat in one sitting. In return, I tended to her garden morning, noon and night. It made her and Bill so happy. And me.” The smile that’d begun to form on those pallid lips fell. “I was happy, too.”

  “Then what happened?” Lia wondered. “What changed?”

  Breone sucked her bottom lip and glanced towards the door leading into the house. Through the window, we could see Mary frantically going about mixing batter and chocolate chips. “Nothing. Nothing changed. Except, one morning, when I went to have breakfast with Mary-Luanne and Bill, I saw the way he looked at her, the kiss he placed right here on her cheek.” She pointed to her gaunt, colorless one. “And I realized I wanted that. And that I could never have it unless . . . unless I’m small enough to appeal.”

  I’d wanted to root out the problem, yet having it laid bare before me, I was at a loss for words.

  Lia leaned down close to the pixie. “Well, can I say this: I have a sister at home that, if you don’t watch her, she will eat everything within ten feet of her before you can finish blinking. And I love her with all of my heart.”

  “That’s different,” Breone lamented. “She’s family, you have to love her no matter what she looks like.”

  “And if you’re not family?” I proposed.

  Lia and Breone both looked at me.

  I shifted. “If you’re not family and you love them?”

  Lia’s lips parted, but Breone scrutinized the question. “Is she fat?”

  “Well, no.” Jera was far from fat.

  “Then it’s not the same.”

  “Were you fat?” I asked.

  “I must have been; not one male spoke to me.”

  “Do you think it could have had to do with what you did to yourself for two weeks? You said it yourself, your wings were faded.” And if she looked as near to death as she did now . . . “They may not have been looking for beauty in size but health. If pixies value your ability to create pixie pearls, they probably didn’t care one way or another how big you were but how healthy you were, how you took care of your body. For Jera—Lia’s sister—my main concern was her health, not her appearance. You can be as beautiful as the sky is blue, but what’s beauty if you’re dead?”

  It was a hard truth, one that resonated with me just then. The twins were unnaturally gorgeous, but each time Jera and I had kissed, it’d had nothing to do with her appearance. And if ever her neglect towards our bond began to show in her appearance, knowing I could do something to help her, beauty would be the last thing I would want to preserve. Her health was more important by far.

  Or it had been, since clearly my health had been the last thing on her mind during the incident.

  Breone glanced towards Mary-Luanne again then down at her skeletal fingers. “I . . .”

  “What if I were to find you a suitor?” I asked then.

  “What?” they both asked at once.

  “What if I were to find you a suitor who didn’t care how much you ate? Would you promise to eat more then?”

  Mouth hung open, eyes wide. “R-really?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. But you have to promise to eat more. Give me a few days. And in the meantime, spend more time with Mary-Luanne. She really misses you. That, and someone has to help her eat all of those cookies.”

  For the first time the pixie laughed.

  And I’d never felt more deplorable, because as it turned out, there was something worse than murder: leading someone blindly into it.

  Or was that called mercy?

  I couldn’t tell anymore.

  Ch. 17

  Back at the coffeeshop, the parlor lights were off when we arrived, the shop closed for the evening. I was beginning to forget what it was like to be an active member of what kept this place together. It seemed as though, with each day to pass me by, I was growing farther and farther from the cathartic work the shop offered. Instead, I was roped deeper into the supernatural world.

  What I didn’t like? It all felt inevitable.

  “I’m going to give these to Jera,” Lia said. She’d asked Mary-Luanne if she could take a few cookies home to her sister and the lady had practically broken her ankle racing to get a cookie jar shaped like a Christmas bauble, where she’d then loaded it to the brim.

  I nodded.

  “And Peter?”

  “Hm?”

  “Was it true what you said back there?”

  “About what?”

  “That you . . . that you love Jera?”

  I hesitated, unable to retract the words any more than I could understand them. I’d told her she was worthless and had basically given her the greenlight to succumb to the succubus’ price if she wanted because I no longer cared. I’d known it’d been a lie, a heated rage with words said that I didn’t quite mean. But at the same time, I wanted the words to be true.

  I gave a tight smile. “I love both of you guys. I mean, we’re family, right?”

  She stared up at me for a long time, and when the silence grew deafening, she leaned in and gave me the second hug for the day. “Thank you.”

  “O-of course.”

  “No, I mean it, Peter. Jera may have been afraid to say it, but growing up, we’ve only ever had each other. Our parents hoped for a son but got us instead, and to be quite honest, I’d always wanted a brother as well.”

  “Then what am I?” Danny asked as he came around the corner, wet boots squelching on the floorboards. Tathri was leashed, wet paw prints marring the wood.

  “Hard-headed,” I glowered. “I thought I told you not to walk the dog when it’s dark out unless someone went with you.” Not to mention the dog wasn’t allowed anywhere near the lounge area for sanitary purposes.

  As usual, at the first sign of tension, Lia took the jar of cookies with a quiet goodnight to both of us.

  “Jera said I can do whatever I want so long as I come back in one piece.”

  T-that woman. “And what happens if you don’t come back in one piece—you or Tathri?” I seethed.

  “Really, boss, you probably wouldn’t care.” He held the dread-locked dog close to his chest, and I’d swear the thing looked as me as though to say, yep, he’s right.

  “Of course I’d care, Danny.” What would make him think I’d suddenly stopped caring? I had a feeling I already knew the answer to that one.

  Wary from the long flight, the talk wi
th Mary-Luanne and the pixie, why not add one more thing to the list? A discussion that was long overdue.

  With a sigh, I made for the steps. “Come on, let me show you something.”

  I didn’t wait for his response, but headed up the stairs and back to the storage room. He and Lia must have rearranged all of the boxes to one side of the room, the two new beds set up on either side of the window. Above one of them was a dropdown latch.

  I scooted the unclothed bed to the side, mine no doubt, and pulled the hanging string. The panel gave way with a loud groan, dust falling (and who knew what else).

  “What’re you doing?” Danny asked from the doorway.

  Cold air rushed in instantly, despite the insulation foam. A ladder slid down, touching the floors right at the two scars that’d been left from all those years before. Pushing the foam board aside, I ascended the ladder.

  It was dark up here, chilling—and not just in terms of temperature.

  “My sister and I used to sneak up here all the time when Ma and Dad were sleeping,” I told Danny as he finally managed to climb up the ladder, Tathri gripped tightly in one arm. When he stood on the aged rafters, I gripped his free hand and led him on the path I’d walked so many times before, only now, I had to duck my head low to keep it from hitting the ceiling.

  “It’s creepy and dirty,” Danny noted. “We’re going to get sick.”

  “Yeah, that’s possible,” I laughed, finding the last panel in the ceiling. When I unlatched this one, the night sky loomed above, a grey-purple cluster of clouds sprawling endlessly.

  Together, we climbed onto the snow-covered rooftop, where the cold stole beneath my jacket and left Danny shivering in his.

  In front of us, I saw our city. It wasn’t flashy like Kansas City or Wichita. There were no remarkable large buildings to crane your neck over. Instead, there was just . . . Wamego. A set of structures rubber-banded together into a place those who passed through could easily forget about.

  A place where, if a boy and his brother were to live alone in a shed, this sleepy town would be none the wiser.

  “I already know what you want to say, boss,” Danny muttered.