Juniper wiles, p.13
Juniper Wiles, page 13
“But will it be true?”
“In this case, yes.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I don’t want everything good to be rooted in magic.”
Jilly lays her hand on my arm, her gaze as serious as I’ve ever seen it.
“Don’t ever think it could be otherwise,” she says. “Faeries, fabulous creatures, the otherworld—it’s all beguiling and wonderful. They make the world seem bigger, the stars shine brighter, the dark woods appear darker and more mysterious. I’ll be the first to tell you that, and the first to add that the world would be a sorrier place without their wonder in it.”
She pauses, her gaze thoughtful as she looks away to the hustle and bustle of the festival.
“But,” I prompt.
She turns back to me. “But this world we live in has just as much charm and magic all on its own. The problem is, most of the time we don’t pay attention to it. We’re distracted by what sparkles so bright, like a crow girl convinced a pop can tab is an ancient and secret ring of power and magic, and so we miss the little everyday mysteries and enchantments that are going on all around us, all the time.
“I can find just as much wonder sitting quietly in some corner of a park or a hidden acre of wood. In a vacant lot, a busy street corner, or a cobbled alley in Lower Crowsea. The trick is, you have to actually pay attention. And understand what you’re looking for.
“It might be a flowering weed growing up through a crack in the pavement. Some hipster bringing a homeless guy a coffee and a sandwich. The light in the eyes of a couple in love. These things are all their own kind of magic. The difference is, it belongs to us—the human us—and anyone can partake of it without the casting of spells or receiving a boon from a faerie godmother.”
“Is that something you really believe?”
She presses her forearms across her chest. “With all my heart. And remember, I’ve been to the otherworld for longer periods of time than that little midnight jaunt we had the other night. I rub elbows with magical people all the time. But when I witness some small act of kindness, or take the time to appreciate the pure wonder that nature holds, I’m just as overcome with the beauty of it as I am with faerie.”
“That’s good to know,” I tell her.
She nods. “And worth remembering. The faerie world can be addictive, and not always to our benefit. There’s a reason so many stories are filled with dire warnings about interacting with them.”
“But you haven’t had any trouble?”
Jilly smiles. “Let’s just say that I can recognize addiction when it comes sniffing around me and have learned when to cut myself off from falling back into that black hole.”
Everybody knows the story of her teen years when she scrabbled to get by on the streets.
“But that was a long time ago,” I say.
“It was,” she agrees. “But addiction is the demon that never goes away. It’s always sitting just behind your shoulder, ready for the right temptation to come along so that it can give you a push.”
Later in the afternoon a girl asks if there’s ever going to be a collection of Jilly’s non-faerie paintings.
I’d love to see that as well.
One of the things I find so fascinating with her work is how all the figures are rendered with an intricate, almost photographic, detail, which should be at odds with the loose, painterly quality of the settings and backgrounds. It makes no sense. It shouldn’t work. The two styles should be fighting with each other, but instead the figures blend perfectly with their surroundings.
That said, her cityscapes absolutely mesmerize me. The loose strokes only hint at detail, but I recognize each setting because she presents it in a way that’s familiar but makes you look at it with a whole new eye.
Alan has published a run of cityscape cards, as well as a couple of posters, but they don’t sell nearly as well as the faerie paintings, so I doubt he’ll ever do a book of them.
Jilly tells the girl as much and she walks away with the same disappointment I feel.
We’re tired by the end of the day, but there’s a feeling of sadness, too, as we box up the unsold merchandise and take down the infrastructure for another year. Both Nick and Joe show up to help and the “many hands make light work” truism proves itself once more as we get the rental trucks loaded up in what seems like no time.
When we’re done I watch the crows fly away before I join the others for our last FaerieFest meal. This one’s catered by a vegetarian booth at the festival and everybody’s here, including all the musicians and their various partners. By the time we’re done, we can hear the announcer at the main stage. We bag up our garbage, put away the chairs, and head in that direction en masse.
We leave the trucks where they’re parked. Nobody stays behind to keep watch because even Joe wants to see the Kelledys, who are closing the festival as they do every year. It’s one of the few official gigs they do in town and nobody wants to miss it.
I glance back at the trucks as we’re leaving and note a pair of crows perched on the roof of one of them. Then I see a shimmer in the air between the two trucks and there’s suddenly a small crowd of a half-dozen kids coming my way. The foremost one is wild-haired Cosette, and I realize it’s the gang from Wren Island. That’s confirmed when I spy Isabelle and her friend Rosalind bringing up the rear.
Nick stopped with me, but didn’t turn around in time to see how they all just stepped out of the air. The kids go bounding past us while we wait for the two women to join us.
I let go of Nick’s hand to give Isabelle a hug. “I didn’t think we were going to see you this weekend,” I say.
Isabelle smiles. “And miss tonight’s music? Not a chance.”
I make introductions. Isabelle shakes Nick’s hand then crouches down to fuss over Sonora. Once Rosalind’s done the same we follow in the wake of the kids and make our way through the grounds to the area in front of the stage that Jilly and the others have claimed with a bunch of spread out blankets.
It’s almost dark by the time we’re all settled in. The quiet murmur of the big crowd that fills the space in front of the main stage dies away as a recording of harp music begins a stately march. Lights come on to illuminate a line of kids dressed in their best FaerieFest gear as they come on the stage and begin an intricate dance. I recognize some of them from the group that came from Wren Island, others from having seen them around the festival over the weekend.
Like everybody in the crowd, I’m entranced by the music and the hypnotic movement of the dancers. The lights seem to make the dancers glow with their own inner light until I remember something Jilly said to me.
I turn to where she’s sitting beside me and bring my mouth close to her ear.
“So those kids…” I begin.
“Are faerie,” she whispers back. “And numena from Wren Island.”
“And the harping?”
“Isn’t a recording.”
“How is it not a recording? I don’t see anyone playing it.”
“Magic,” Jilly says and returns her attention to the stage.
Damn.
Nick gives me a quizzical look. I don’t know what to say. My heart is so full of the wonder of the moment and it’s not like I can tell him what we’re talking about. So I squeeze his hand and smile.
The dancers leave the stage, or maybe the lighting just makes it seem that way since it all goes dark. A moment later a small spotlight captures Miki Greer sitting on a stool on the right side of the stage as she begins playing long notes on her accordion to accompany the harp, which is still playing. A second beam lights up the harp and Cerin, his fingers moving deftly on the strings.
“Once upon a time,” he says, “or perhaps it was yesterday, there was an old man who wanted nothing so much as to learn the music of faerie.”
He’s got the kind of voice that draws you in. It carries easily, but you still lean a little closer.
“And what music it is, a music seldom heard in this world or even the next.”
Another beam slowly brightens to reveal Meran, drawing long harmony notes from her wooden flute. Now spots focus on Geordie, Amy and Lesli as they begin to play a sprightly tune on fiddle, whistle and flute. More stage lights follow a pair of dancers moving lightly from one side to the other as they mime playing instruments. Another finds a figure bent like an old man walking slowly to the front of the stage, one hand cupping an ear as he listens to the music.
I elbow Jilly lightly when I realize it’s Tam. Jilly gives me a grin and we return our attention to the stage. How can he not have told me about this?
Cerin keeps telling the story. Sometimes he plays his harp, sometimes the other instruments take the lead. Meran’s flute. Amy switching to her pipes. Lesli on a low D whistle. Miki playing a melody on her accordion. Eventually, through guile and trickery, the character Tam embodies takes up his guitar and plays fluid versions of the faerie tunes on his own instrument.
Like the rest of the audience, I’m utterly mesmerized.
This is so different. Every other time I’ve seen the Kelledys perform, it’s been just the two of them sitting center stage, playing music on harp and flute and telling stories. Occasionally, they’d bring in guest musicians for one or two pieces. But this is a full-blown performance, theatrical, yet intimate, as though Cerin is telling the story to each of us individually, and some people just happen to be doing interpretive dance as the tale unfolds.
The story ends with the faerie queen played by Meran giving Tam his comeuppance. The whole stage goes dark except for the spotlight on Tam. He’s on his knees, his forehead on the ground. The music swells, then the instruments fade out, one by one, until it’s just the harp. When it finally fades as well, there’s a long silence before we all rise to our feet and give them a thunderous ovation.
Lights come on, highlighting the musicians and dancers, who stand in a long row. They wave at us before they leave the stage until finally it’s just Meran in a single spotlight.
“Thank you so much,” she says. “We’re going to have a little break, but we’ll be back with more music so don’t go away.”
As if anybody’s leaving after that performance.
Everybody’s talking during the intermission, except the conversation is only a murmur of soft voices.
“That was amazing,” Nick says.
I nod in agreement. “I can’t believe Tam kept it a secret from me. And I can’t believe how good an actor he is.”
“It must run in the family,” Jilly says.
I wave off her compliment.
“Did you know they were doing this?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Geordie didn’t breathe a word.”
I’m dying to ask her about faeries and magical harps and a hundred other things that came into my head during the performance, but Nick’s standing with us and I’m not sure what the protocol is for talking about magical things around people who aren’t aware of any of this. I know Jilly does it all the time, but people just think, that’s Jilly, and don’t take her seriously. I know I didn’t. But I’ve already noticed that the others don’t mention it unless they’re among a particular circle of friends.
So I let it go for some later time when I’ll be alone with her.
“So you liked it,” I say to Nick.
“I’ll tell you,” he says, “if you’d asked me before this evening if I liked performance art, or this raw traditional Celtic music we just heard, I would have said that I could take it or leave it. But honestly, that just left me speechless. I feel full of—I don’t know what, exactly.” He laughs. “Starlight and moonshine, maybe.”
Jilly gives an approving nod.
“We should give the dogs a chance to stretch their legs before the second half,” she says.
So we wander off around the park. Isabelle comes with us, and she and Jilly chat quietly with each other. They’re not excluding us, but I don’t mind not being a part of their conversation. I’d just as soon walk without talking anyway, Sonora trotting on one side of me, my hand tucked into the crook of Nick’s arm.
The second half of the show opens with the musicians spread out in a line across the stage, some standing, some sitting. Cerin and Meran are front and center, and lead the band in sets of tunes, occasionally broken with a vocal performance by Meran and Amy singing in gorgeous harmony. Cerin tells a couple of shorter stories. Finally they all run through a lively set of tunes that lasts about twenty minutes. Each musician gets a chance to play a solo, but mostly it’s a full band delivering a rousing performance.
At this point everybody’s dancing. Nick and I have moved off to the side with the dogs so that they won’t get stepped on. Partway into that last long set, Joe appears beside us.
“Go on,” he says, taking the leashes.
“You don’t mind?”
He smiles and tilts his head. “Do I look like I dance?”
Actually, I’m sure he does. He couldn’t live with someone as full of life as Cassie and not hit the dance floor from time to time. But I don’t argue. I grab Nick’s hand and soon we’re in the thick of it all, jigging about in a way that would probably horrify real traditional dancers, but nobody cares. We’re all just having fun.
The music seems to end far too soon, but it’s almost eleven and FaerieFest organizers are good neighbours and never push the patience of the city’s bylaw officers because they want to be able to come back every year. The lights come on around the field and on the stage so that people can collect their stuff and leave without tripping over each other.
The crowd disperses until it’s mostly just our gang still hanging around waiting for the musicians to finish packing up their gear and join us. I hear talk of a session at Bramleyhaugh, but while it’s tempting, I decide to go home. It’s been a long weekend and I have to get up early to be at O’Shaunessy’s in the morning.
Nick offers to walk me home again, which is sweet. I start making the rounds to say my goodbyes.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” Joe asks when I come to where he and Cassie are talking with Marisa.
I nod. “But it’ll have to be in the afternoon. I promised my friend at the boxing club that I’d spar with this new girl he’s training.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Girls box,” I tell him.
“I know that. I just didn’t know that you do.”
I give him a smile. “Well, it looks like you’re not the only one with mysteries.”
Cassie laughs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, and let Nick lead me toward the entrance of the park, Sonora walking beside him since he’s holding her leash.
“What was that about?” Nick asks.
I glance back, then shrug.
“Joe’s just helping us out with our—” I have to force the word out. “Investigation.”
Nick walks us right to our door, but I don’t invite him in for the same reasons I didn’t go to Stanton Street with the others. And sure, we’ve got a little bud of romance happening, but it’s far too soon to get intimate.
“Can I call you?” he asks.
“That would be nice.”
I give him a light kiss on the cheek, then Sonora and I stand on the porch and watch him go down the street until he turns the corner.
“Do you need to pee?” I ask Sonora.
She obligingly goes down the steps, does her business, and rejoins me at the door. We go inside and I get ready for bed, but I don’t think I can sleep. I remember what Nick said about feeling like he was full of starlight and moonshine. I knew exactly what he meant then and I still feel that now, as though the music and Cerin’s stories are still vibrating inside me, along with the sweetness of being attracted to someone.
So I decide to finish Nora Constantine 10: The Rising Dark.
When I reach the end, I square the last loose page with the rest of the manuscript and put it all back in its box. I’m not sure how I feel. Disturbed, that’s for sure. I don’t know why the book wasn’t called Nora Constantine Disappears and the Whole World Goes to Hell. It’s certainly a more appropriate title because, instead of a fun mystery novel, it’s set in a bleak dystopia with monsters and the prophecy that only Nora can prevail against them.
But two thirds of the way through the book, Nora leaves to go investigate a lead in the mystery she’s trying to solve. The story then switches to third-person perspective, and she’s never heard from again. The damn thing ends with the monsters having taken over and destroyed most of Crescent Beach. It’s awful. I mean, the story’s awful. It might be better if the writing were bad because then I could think of it as fanfic, just a little weirder than most. But it’s been written with a skill that draws you in and makes the story feel all too real.
I sit there holding the box and really doubt I’m going to sleep now. Not with all of this darkness and angst floating around in my head. I give Sonora an envious look. She’s been conked out for ages, sprawled beside me on the bed.
I reach down and stroke her back. I have to try to sleep, but I really don’t want to dream about Charlie Midnight, so I take a mint from the Esmerine’s Undream Mints tin on my bedside table.
I lay my head on the pillow and let the mint dissolve in my mouth.
It’s the last thing I remember before I wake up the next morning.
7
Monday
I wake up to find myself half lying on the manuscript box of the Nora Constantine book. Sonora is pressed up against me. She creaks open an eye to look at me, then closes it again. I turn my attention to the bedside clock.
Crap.
I jump out of bed and have a quick shower then hurry downstairs to put the kettle on while I take Sonora outside. Back in the kitchen, I feed her and make my coffee. I sit at the table long enough to gulp it down and leave a note for Tam.
I don’t know if Lydia stayed over again. I don’t even know if Tam ever came home. But just in case he did, I want to tell him how proud I am of his performance last night.
