New Fairy Moon

The Girls of Spring Hollow

New Fairy Moon

By David Michael

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by David Michael.

Published by Four Crows Landing.

New Fairy Moon. Copyright © 2012 by David Michael. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information contact Four Crows Landing: contact@fourcrowslanding.com

Designed by David Michael.

Cover artwork and layout by Don Michael, Jr.

Published by Four Crows Landing.

1.00-2012.5.16

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Most of the locations are made up too.

for

Serene

Part 1

The Hole in the Fence

~ 1 ~

Faye

Morning

Faye Woods woke to a day of firsts. In addition to being the first day of June, this was her first morning after her first night in her new bed, in her first new house–that she remembered–after the two long days of her first move. Her first morning in six years waking in a room all her own. No Flub snoring in his little bed in the corner. Or worse, curled up on her legs because he got lonely in the dark or because he had to go in the middle of the night and her bed was closer than his.

This was also her first morning where she wasn’t worried about other Flub surprises like cold, damp sheets. Not that Flub, five years old, had wet his sheets or anyone else’s for more than a year, but Faye did not find that reassuring.

Faye pushed thoughts of Flub from her mind as she sat up and stretched.

If not for the smells of dirt and diesel smoke and the sounds of huge engines and jackhammers–because today was also the first day of repaving the street in front of the Woods’ new-to-them home of Hawk Briar–the morning could not have been more perfect.

Faye shivered and pulled the sheet back to her chin. She had left open the French doors that led to the balcony over the front porch, so her first morning in her new bedroom was chilly from the still-cool morning air. Before the end of the week, cool mornings in Tulsa, Oklahoma, would be a fond memory. Until then, though, or until Mom caught her leaving the doors open, she would sleep every night with the balcony doors open. Because she had a balcony. How could she not leave the doors open? Even if leaving the doors open also let in the sounds and smell of the construction crew, she had a balcony. And she was going to use it.

To go from a small bedroom cramped with two beds, her desk, and a carpet of a color she could no longer remember owing to the layer of Flub’s toys that always covered it, to her own room had been heaven enough. To be able–with Dad’s help–to claim the upstairs bedroom with the balcony, though, had been the cherry on top of the dollop of whipped cream on top of the icing on the cake. The only way this morning could have been improved was if it were also her birthday. And if the construction crews would leave.

Faye scooted to the edge of her new, full-sized bed. This bed seemed huge after sleeping on a twin bed all her post-crib life. A big bed in a bedroom all her own–and a balcony. Maybe she had gone to sleep and woke a princess. A couple of years ago, that’s exactly what she would have thought. Now, though, her new, white student desk, next to her new, white chest of drawers, was covered with pencil drawings of Yosai Nomuri, her manga character. Yosai Nomuri, ninja warrioress, was most emphatically not a princess.

Thoughts of Yosai Nomuri, and the cold of the hardwood floor against the soles of her bare feet pushed the last of the old princess fantasy from her mind and made her wish she had a pair of fuzzy, white slippers. She knew just the pair, as she had seen them at Target a few days before, when Mom had held the slippers up and offered to buy them for her, and she had foolishly said, No, thanks. I don’t need slippers.

She pulled her untucked top sheet with her as she walked to the open French doors. She saw herself in the white cheval mirror that stood against the wall. She refused to think that she looked like a princess–a disheveled, sleepy-eyed princess with blonde hair going every which way. Or that the sheet wrapped around her shoulders looked like a princess’s shawl, even as it trailed behind her like a train. Her princess phase was long behind her. And most evidence of it had been successfully hidden in the huge attic of Hawk Briar, never to be seen again if Faye had anything to say about it.

The move into Hawk Briar had been accompanied by a total overhaul of her bedroom furniture. New bed, new chest of drawers, new student desk. Only the cheval mirror had been in her room at the old house. Faye suspected that Mom choosing white for all the new furniture was a subtle hint that Mom, at least, still thought Faye needed traditional girlie accouterments. One last hurrah of the princess phase. At least none of her new furniture was pink.

Faye pushed open the screen door and stepped out on to the balcony proper. She kept the sheet with her because the balcony faced west and was in the shadow of the roof. The morning sun had not yet seen the balcony where she stood and the air was even cooler out here. She had to pull her train of sheet out of the way of the screen door so it could close. Then she took in a deep breath as she admired the view. Her view.

Hawk Briar faced west across Outer Circle Drive, directly across the street from The Parsonage. All the houses in the Spring Hollow neighborhood had names like Hawk Briar or The Parsonage or Jack Rabbit Run. At least the older houses did, the ones built around Spring Park and along Inner and Outer Spring Circle Drives. If the houses in the North Tract Addition had names, they were not carved in stone or painted on wood signs like the Circle Drive houses.

South and west of The Parsonage was the Spring Hill Church and South Cemetery. The real-estate agent had told them Spring Hill Church had been a Presbyterian church once, but was now just part of the neighborhood’s charm and a registered historic site. The real-estate agent had added that there was only one plot remaining in the South Cemetery, and it was reserved for the woman who lived in The Parsonage, Mrs. Lipscomb.

North and west of The Parsonage was the North Park, another reason Hawk Briar had seemed like the perfect new home when Mom and Dad first brought Faye and Flub to see it. North Park did not have a pond with geese like Spring Park, but with its tall oaks and elms and other trees that Faye had no idea what they were, with its sunny green grass, scattered benches and picnic tables, North Park looked like no other city park Faye had seen. An iron fence that had become thick with a hedge of holly bushes surrounded the park. A wide double gate on the east fence always stood open, pushed against the fence and just as overgrown with the hedge as the rest of the fence. Another, smaller gate on the south side provided access to the cemetery behind the Parsonage. A dry streambed snaked across the western side of the park, with a small bridge made of native stone arched across it. The brightly colored playground equipment in the northeast corner was the only concession to the modern world.

The hill that rose behind The Parsonage and the North Park was covered with even more trees. Those trees created a small forest that masked the truth that the hill was an embankment where two highways crossed. The trees even muffled the sounds of the traffic on those highways.

Faye wrinkled her nose at a fresh whiff of diesel smoke. Too bad the trees couldn’t muffle all the construction going on in front of the house.

The balcony Faye stood on was built over Hawk Briar’s front porch, with wooden frame railings that matched the Tudoresque style of Hawk Briar’s architecture. The floor of the balcony was a marbled white tile. Faye planned to have a set of chairs and a table on the balcony, though Mom had frowned and said nothing when Faye had announced that the night before. Maybe she could borrow the set from the back porch until Mom and Dad caved.

From the balcony Faye could see the street in front of her house. A man on a small tractor was drilling holes in the street with a jackhammer while a crew came behind him and pried up the pieces. A front loader and a dump truck waited to pick up and haul away the chunks of pavement.

The city had been repaving Inner Circle Drive when Faye and her family first visited Hawk Briar. Outer Circle Drive had had a lot of patches and rough spots then, but to Faye’s eye those had added to the charm of the neighborhood almost as much as the eclectic mix of house architecture and the tall, old-growth trees. The well-used streets showed that Spring Hollow had history, and was not just another new development with cookie cutter houses and short trees held up with guide wires. If the Woods had not rushed their move, the family would have had to wait at least another two weeks. As it was, Dad had to park on the street a couple blocks away last night so he could use the car today.

The sound of a chainsaw revving overwhelmed the other sounds of machinery and drew Faye’s attention to a group of men gathered by the east fence of North Park. One of the men held a chainsaw that belched smoke with each rev. Another held a pair of limb loppers. All three wore leather gloves. The man with the chainsaw revved it again, and Faye saw him start cutting into the thick holly hedge along the park’s east fence.

Faye sighed. She had seen that the repaving included new sidewalks along both sides of the street, but she had been hoping that the holly bushes would not be trimmed back. The bushes were thick, extending nearly six feet and taking up almost the entire space between the fence and the curb, but they had been well-maintained. When she saw how far back the bushes were cut, Faye hoped they weren’t just taking the bushes out entirely.

Poop, she said as the two other men wearing thick gloves began pulling back the severed holly branches.

Faye heard the blue jays screeching just before she saw a small flock of the birds burst out of the bushes and fly overhead. The men by the bushes shouted in surprise and jerked back as white spots appeared on their sleeves and shoulders.

The men working on the bushes brushed the bird droppings off their sleeves. Faye couldn’t hear what they were saying over the sound of the jackhammer, but she could see that the men working in the street were laughing at them.

Few! Few! She heard Flub through the screen door behind her. Few! Few!

She deigned to look over her shoulder at her little brother. Don’t call me– Hey! Stop jumping on my bed!

It’s not like it bounces that good, anyway, Flub said. He landed on his butt, then pushed himself off her bed. He stepped up to the screen door, but didn’t open it. I want to go to the park, Few. Mom says you have to go with me.

I doubt she said I have to go right now. I just got up. You just got up.

But I want to go to the park, Few.

Stop calling me Few. I should never have taught you to read.

You didn’t teach me how to read. Mom did.

I was there when it happened, Flub. I share the blame.

Don’t call me Flub. He stood straight. My name is Finn Reilly Woods. Eff arh double-you. He tapped himself on the chest as he recited each letter of his initials. That doesn’t spell Flub. It doesn’t spell anything. Mom said so. He narrowed his eyes. Does Mom know you’re on the balcony? Can I come out? I want to watch the trucks.

No. You can watch from the porch. And get out of my room.

I’m telling Mom you’re on the balcony.

Go ahead. It’s my room. It’s my balcony.

Few! Flub said again, pointing the fingers of both hands at her as if they were two guns. Few! Few! His thumbs moved up and down with each shot.

I said, get out of my room. She turned and took a step toward the screen.

Flub shot her once more. Few! Then he spun and ran away. Or tried to. His socks slipped on the smooth wood floor and he stumbled. Before she could say anything, though, he righted himself and skated out of her room, pushing and sliding with his socked feet.

Faye turned to face the street again. The men with the chainsaw and hedge clippers had already cut a ten-foot stretch of hedge from the northeast corner. Where they had trimmed only a layer of green remained on top of naked, gray, twisted limbs. The hedge would grow back, but it would be at least a year before it looked as pretty as it had.

Someone moved on the porch of The Parsonage across the street, and Faye saw Mrs. Lipscomb there, also watching the men attack the hedge. Faye could not see Mrs. Lipscomb’s face clearly, but she could feel the resigned frustration and irritation the old woman was directing at the men.

Mrs. Lipscomb turned and looked up at her, and Faye could see now, and feel, the intensity behind the woman’s gray eyes. Because the intensity was focused on her, Faye Ellen Woods, called Few by her brat of a little brother. Faye managed a nod and a slight wave with one hand before looking away from the old woman. It took more effort than she expected, as if the old woman was trying to keep her from looking away, but she did it. She could feel Mrs. Lipscomb still staring at her, but Faye refused to look back. She focused on the men pruning the hedges.

A small face peered out of the shadows exposed in the heart of the hedge. A young man’s face, or maybe a boy’s, but smaller than a face should be.

The sound of a girl’s voice, drew Faye’s attention. She saw a girl about her age with shoulder length curly, dark hair, wearing a red and black plaid ruffle dress with black boots, and carrying a small cage with an animal in it. The girl came up the street from beyond the construction, walking across the yard of The Parsonage. The girl called out to Mrs. Lipscomb, then joined Mrs. Lipscomb on the porch.

When Faye turned back to the hedge, the little face had disappeared. She tried to find the face again, but there were only gray branches and a few torn bits of what might have been faded ribbon.

Below her, she heard the front door open and close as someone came out onto the porch. She stopped trying to find the face again and walked to the railing. She leaned over and looked down. Flub came into view and walked toward the curb.

Flub! she shouted. Don’t get too close to the street.

Mom already told me, Flub said, stopping much closer to the street than Mom probably had in mind. A few of the men prying up broken slabs of pavement paused to wave at him, then waved at her when they noticed her. Flub waved back. Faye ignored them.

You should watch from the porch, Faye said.

Flub didn’t move.

Faye shook her head. Little brothers could be so irritating.

She had been excited when Mom told her she would be a big sister. Her excitement had dimmed a bit when she found out the new family member would be a brother and not the little sister she had wanted. She still wanted a little sister.

At least she no longer had to share a room with Flub. Now … if she no longer had to share a house with Flub …

A shadow passed over her, chilling the air even more and causing her to shiver again. She tugged the sheet tighter around her as the shadow continued into the yard. When the shadow passed over Flub, it was as if he disappeared. Faye could see only the shadow-grayed grass of the front yard.

She looked up at the sky, expecting to see a cloud or an airplane, but the blue-gold dome above her was clear. No clouds, and no airplanes.

When she looked down at Flub again, he was there, standing too near the edge of the yard as before, as if nothing had happened.

She felt Mrs. Lipscomb looking at her again, so Faye kept her eyes averted as she turned around to go back inside.

The screen door closed behind her as she noticed the pair of white, fuzzy slippers just under her bed. The red and white Target tag still connected the two slippers.

The shivering came back.

She had not put the slippers there. She did not own slippers.

She stood there until she decided that Mom must have bought her the slippers yesterday, at Target, and had sent them up to her room with Flub. Except she was not sure that believing Flub had placed the slippers so neatly in exactly the right spot was any less insane than thinking that the slippers had just appeared there after she had wished she had a pair.

~ 2 ~

Brenna

Morning

Ready, Norv? Brenna asked the sleeping rat, picking up his cage and bringing his pink nose level with hers. Norv’s whiskers twitched as he smelled her breath. He opened his ruby eyes for a second, then closed them again. Wake up, sleepyhead, or you’ll miss the walk over. Norv shifted in his bed of cedar shavings, his tiny muscles moving under his dark cream fur, but he did not open his eyes again. Silly rat, she said, then blew him a kiss anyway.

She set Norv’s cage back on her writing desk, then grabbed her black purse, the one with the square silver studs that matched her black boots, and loaded it with her cell phone that she should have put back on its charger last night–two bars of battery might be enough because she wasn’t expecting any calls today–her keys to the house, and a packet of Norv’s food pellets. Then, with her purse in one hand and Norv’s cage in the other, she left her room.

The red plaid ruffles of her black skirt bounced as the soles of her boots clomped on the polished hardwood of the stairs. Mom would have a fit, if she were home. Possibly several fits. Because Mom never liked to get upset at just one thing. It wasn’t efficient. Brenna listed the clomping of the boots–You’re making too much noise–the possible scuffing of the finish on the stair steps–"Those are steps are old