Beds and Blazes Page 6

  “Of course I know you’re not one of the Fair Folk,” Lowell grumbled, “but I thought you might know something about what’s been happening. I’m at my wits’ end, I don’t mind saying. This madness has been going on for weeks now.” He glared at the grandfather clock—its ceaseless tick-ticking was infuriating. Lowell wanted to yank the pendulum off the thing, smash the clock’s face then tip it over onto the floor. Sure, it would be violent and destructive, but the elves could fix it all up tomorrow… He balled his hands into fists and curled his lips wickedly.

  “I do wish I could help, but I’m afraid that I know nothing about it.” Calvin’s brows drew together and he stood. “I’ve had some frustrations of my own, you know, of the gardening variety.”

  Lowell turned to him with a snap. “Somebody digging up your plants?” he asked sharply. “Knocking over your flowerpots? Spilling your fertiliser?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.” Calvin shook his head. “Poor Dora’s got the worse end of things, I’m afraid. The hooligans have left Prescott Manor alone, but…” He strode to the wide window that faced the woods and looked down at the moonlit gardens. “Maybe it’s hard to see in this light, but my gardens have been neglected a bit lately.” He laughed uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to say anything to your family, because, after all, it’s free labour from the gnomes, trolls and elves that made the manor and its gardens a reality. I don’t want to appear ungrateful. It’s just…”

  Lowell rose and stood next to Calvin.

  “Well, see there?” Calvin pointed. “That rose plant is covered in spent blooms, and there are a few dandelions in the irises. The wisteria is starting to look a little shaggy, too.”

  Lowell grunted.

  “I know, I know,” Calvin murmured. “It’s a bit silly. I’m just spoilt on an immaculate garden. It’s just that it’s so unlike Bufo to miss things like that.”

  “Maybe we’re being too easy on them,” grumbled Lowell. “After that business with Mephita and Brock, damn gnomes think they have the run of the place. Using our family bathing cavern, sneaking about and eavesdropping, getting more underfoot and wilful day by day.”

  “Now, now, I don’t want to cause a fuss.” Calvin turned from the window and sank back down into the leather sofa. “It’s springtime, after all, and it’s hard to keep up with all the growth in the gardens. The plants and animals both are a little wild this time of year. Maybe it’s the season of love for gnomes as well—who knows?” He propped his slippered feet up on the coffee table. “And that’s probably all that’s been happening at Bohemian Rhapsody, you know. A concentration of animals getting into trouble in the same place. Stranger things have happened.”

  Lowell took a swig of his beer and stared out the window at the gardens, still spectacular in their quasi-neglected state, and at the depths of the woods beyond. Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps.

  He rejoined Calvin on the couch. “Many thanks, Calvin, for your hospitality, and I’ll take the gardening issues up with Bufo”—he rolled his eyes—“gently.” He drew a deep breath. “There’s something else I want to talk about with you. Something that would mean quite a bit of change, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes?” Calvin prodded. “Go on. I’m intrigued.”

  “Well, it’s about the manor. You do have quite a lot of room here for just one person…”

  Chapter Eight

  Dora propped herself up on one elbow and looked out of the open window. The sheer lacy curtain billowed in the afternoon breeze, carrying the scent of roses and kitchen herbs into her bedroom. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her new sateen sheets were cool and silky on her bare skin, and the birdsong that sparkled through the air was lovelier than any symphony. “Hear that?” she whispered. “Wood thrush. Henry David Thoreau said, ‘Whenever a man hears it he is young, and Nature is in her spring; whenever he hears it, it is a new world and a free country, and the gates of Heaven are not shut against him’.”

  Lowell slid his roughened hands over her bare side. “My Danae,” he murmured. “Even Zeus could never stay away from you, my sweet.” He cupped one bare breast in his hand and smiled. “Who cares about a silly bird when I have you naked in my bed?”

  Dora laughed lightly. “You mean my bed,” she corrected. “My bed, my house, my garden. We’ve made love everywhere there is to do it, Lowell, except at your place.” She spread her fingers over his chest and fluffed his dark chest hair. “Not that I’m complaining. Well, not exactly.” She traced the lines of his pectorals. “But it would be kind of nice to see where you live. In a little cabin in the woods, like Hansel and Gretel? Do you have a lab for your biology studies?”

  Lowell swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sort of,” he mumbled. “But I want to talk to you about something, Dora, now that we’re on the topic of houses. It’s a bit radical, but it would allow us to see more of each other and perhaps, um, grow even closer.”

  “Pray tell.” Dora rolled onto her stomach to look at him.

  “Well, ah.” His face coloured. “You know how I feel about you…”

  “Like I’m a hot human princess and you’re a sex-crazed immortal?” offered Dora.

  Lowell’s chuckles dissolved into a coughing fit. He sat up as Dora thumped him on the back, then settled back onto the mattress. “Okay, here goes.” He took one of her hands between his work-worn ones. “You could move into Prescott Manor, Dora. You could run your bed and breakfast there. There’s plenty of room—Calvin has his own wing, there’s a wing just for you, and the six guest suites run down the middle of the house. You’d even have your own kitchen, separate from Calvin’s, on your side of the manor.”

  Dora, baffled, scanned his face and pulled her hand away. “Why in the world would I want to do that?” she asked. “I love Bohemian Rhapsody. It may not be Prescott Manor, all fine and fancy, but I happen to like my little B&B. I certainly don’t want to move in with Calvin Prescott—I hardly know him!—and I can’t imagine that he wants me to. Have you lost your mind completely, Lowell Rossi?”

  “No, no, I haven’t, just listen!” Lowell insisted. “You wouldn’t have to clean the house any more, or even garden when you didn’t want to. Calvin has his own team of gardeners, repairmen and cleaners. I know there are things you’d like to improve on at Bohemian Rhapsody, things you’d like to fix. If you moved to Prescott Manor, you could just focus on what you love—cooking and entertaining—and let the staff take care of the repairs and drudge work.” He took her hand once more and kissed her palm. “And you’d be closer to where I live.” He paused and continued in a whisper. “Maybe you’d even want to move in with me at some point…”

  Dora yanked her hand away from him a second time. “I see you all the time,” she countered. “It’s not like your top-secret biologist Batcave is that far away from Charade—you find your way here at least every other day. And besides, you haven’t even taken me to see your cabin yet. It’s a bit premature to talk about me moving into it, don’t you think?”

  “And those animals getting into your stuff!” Lowell added desperately. “That wouldn’t happen at the manor. I wouldn’t allow it. Aren’t you tired of all that?”

  Dora climbed out of bed and wrapped a pink velour robe around her body. “I am not the one who has a tantrum every time an animal knocks over a sack of potting soil or a bin of flour,” she snapped. “I just clean it up and deal with it, unlike some people I know.” She yanked her belt around her waist and knotted it tightly. “I’m such an idiot.” She crammed her feet into her slippers and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Here I hoped you were going to ask to move in with me at Bohemian Rhapsody. I had no idea you thought it was such a dump.” She stormed to the bedroom door and glared at him over her shoulder. “You need to leave, Lowell. This mortal princess is not in the mood for a visit from a bearded god with his head up his ass.”

  “B-but—” Lowell stammered. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  “Well, you succeeded nonetheless.” She gather
ed his kilt and shirt and tossed them onto his bare stomach. “I’m going to do some cooking in my inadequate and tacky kitchen, so why don’t you just hit the road.”

  Dora padded to her kitchen and poured a glass of cabernet from her wine box. Less than a minute later, Lowell slunk in with his tail between his legs.

  “Dora,” he began. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this”—he waved his hand around in the air—“relationship stuff. I just wanted you near me. I wanted to be with you.”

  “Then you’ll just have to keep on wanting,” Dora said coldly. “I’m not leaving Bohemian Rhapsody. It may not be perfect, but it’s mine, and I love it.” She sipped her wine and glared at him. “You should go.”

  * * * *

  Lowell sank back in the bubbling tub and groaned. “Women.” He scrubbed hot water on his face with his hands and poured a double handful over his head. “I offered her a perfectly good solution and she acted like I gave her a box of gnome’s toenail clippings.”

  “I resent that!” Mephita snapped. She lifted one gnarled foot from the steaming bath and turned it side to side admiringly. “We dersen’t clip our toesies as if they were hedgies or somewhat. We nibbles ’em, all proper-like.” She narrowed her eyes and held up her little toe, then drew it towards her open jaws—

  “Not in these healing waters you don’t!” Lowell said loudly. “It’s one thing to share them with gnomes, but quite another to share them with your toenail scraps floating in the water.”

  Mephita rolled her eyes. “Sheeshies, we dersen’t spit them out, a course. We swallows them right up!”

  “Ugh, Mephita, that’s quite enough.” Carmen winced. She ducked her head under the surface of the tub and sat back up, hot water streaming off her short blonde locks. “You were saying, Lowell, that by offering Prescott Manor up to Dora, you were presenting her with a solution?”

  “Aye,” Lowell grumbled.

  “A solution to what, if I might ask?”

  Lowell’s mouth opened, then snapped shut as he considered.

  “Dora doesn’t have a problem,” Carmen went on. “She lives in the home she loves and she has a boyfriend she enjoys.” Brock chuckled and Carmen jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Maybe you have a problem, Lowell, but why would Dora know anything about that?”

  “Well, I can’t tell her about our secrets unless she’s willing to move to the woods,” Lowell protested weakly, “and I can’t very well move in with her since she lives away from the Healing Waters and Living Earth.” Water dripped from his beard onto the surface of the bubbling natural hot tub. “My hands are tied.”

  “She lives not so far, truly. Worth it to go see her, keep her happy, hmm?” a hitherto silent male voice from the far end of the tub offered.

  “Ah, just Bufo,” Mephita snorted. “That one knows nary and nothing about lovey romantical stuff, just dirt and worms and weeds.”

  “I’m a cooker, I am!” he retorted indignantly. “Learning to, anyhow.”

  “You’re a mess-maker, from tell I hear.” A third gnome slipped off her tunic and stepped into the water. “Best stay to diggering and flower stuffs, you.” A drip fell from one of her wide nostrils into the bubbling pool. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of one hand.

  “Uh, hi there, Limax,” Carmen said with a queasy smile. “Brock, I think I’m going to head back to my cottage. Care to join me?” She climbed from the water and headed for the stone chamber designated as the females’ changing room.

  A bubble surfaced behind Mephita’s back and all three gnomes laughed uproariously. “Right behind you!” Brock shouted as he bounded from the tub.

  Lowell glared at the three sniggering beings as he rose with as much dignity as he could muster.

  “Gnomes,” he grumbled under his breath.

  He stood by the edge of the pool as water streamed from his naked form. “And you, Bufo,” he directed at the male occupant of the tub. “No more slacking off with the Prescott gardens! Do your job, you hear?”

  Bufo’s eyes fell to the rippling water before him and he nodded quickly.

  Scowling, the oldest Rossi son wrapped his kilt around his hips and stalked from the cavern.

  * * * *

  Lowell grabbed his wrapped parcel and whistled for Dax. Options, each both tempting and utterly unacceptable, teased him as he trudged through the trees. He could tell Dora everything about Prescott Woods so she’d willingly come with him. He could throw her over his shoulder like a caveman and toss her into the Healing Waters and be done with it. Or he could carry on visiting her at Bohemian Rhapsody and endure the antics of the malicious imp that was plaguing the place. Lastly, he could stop seeing her entirely and pay a visit to the dryads in the woods. They’d be glad to help him lick his wounds.

  He chuckled, remembering a particularly pleasant woodsy encounter with a couple of trees. Geneva and Hazel were lithe and playful, and free from those aggravating notions that Dora entertained. What foolishness—playing housemaid and cook to complete strangers in a creaking old house, when she could move into an elf-built and gnome-maintained manor?

  A flash of lavender caught his eye. “Flowers,” he humphed. “She’d like that.” He harvested two dozen of the pale purple globes. Then he continued through the trees to Bohemian Rhapsody with a vague plan of presenting her with an impressive bouquet and a gift, then sweeping her off her feet.

  * * * *

  Dora opened the door at his knock but stood, blocking his entrance and glaring at him.

  “I…” Lowell began. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Well, congratulations.” She indicated her robe-clad form with a wave of her hand and cocked her fist on her hip. “You’re seeing me.”

  He cleared his throat and pulled the blooms out from behind his back. “I brought you some flowers from the woods.” Lowell grinned triumphantly. “I picked them just for you.”

  The corner of Dora’s mouth twitched. “Smell them,” she said in an unsteady voice.

  Lowell, baffled, lowered his face to the lavender spheres and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Erm.” He searched for words. “They smell…herbal, I’d say? Fresh?”

  “Onions, Lowell. You picked onion flowers for me.” Dora shook her head and laughed. “Hang on, I’ll get a container for them. They’ll look pretty on the porch, but they’d stink up the house, I’m afraid.”

  Lowell sniffed the palms of his hands as he waited. Yup, it was onion all right. Pretty things, but the odour sure did rub off on the skin. Kind of like a certain tumble with a sassafras dryad a few years ago… He grinned in spite of himself.

  Dora returned with a vase full of water. She arranged the onion flowers in them. “They do look nice, Lowell,” she admitted. “I might add some more blossoms to fill out the arrangement, but those purple flowers will be the centrepiece of it. Thank you. I’m afraid my answer is still the same, though. I’m in no way interested in moving to Prescott Manor, and I’m quite insulted that you would even ask me to.”

  “Would you give me a chance to explain?” he asked. “And maybe to wash my hands?”

  Dora sighed and opened the door wide for him. “Come on in. I don’t have any guests today, so there’s no one to notice a little eau de onion in the place.”

  Lowell followed her to the kitchen sink and placed the wrapped box on the counter, then commenced scrubbing his hands with lavender-infused soap.

  “The thing is, Dora,” he began, “Prescott Woods is unusual. It’s a part of me in a way that you can’t understand right now.” He squished soap between the webs of his fingers. Dora handed him a nailbrush to complete the job. “I am tied to the woods in a way that isn’t bad, but that is, ah, permanent.” He rinsed the suds from his hands and dried them.

  “Well, that’s well and good coming from a biologist,” Dora said. “It’s nice to hear that you’re devoted to your career, but, Lowell, I’m devoted to my career, too. I love running Bohemian Rhapsody. Why in the world would I uproot and move?”

/>   Lowell took her hands in his and inhaled deeply, gathering strength for his words. “Dora, I wanted you to move to Prescott Manor with the hope that, eventually, you would move in with me in the woods.”

  “Have you heard nothing I’ve been saying?” Dora shook her head and her eyes shone wetly. “I can’t run a B&B from a cabin in the woods. What would you expect me to do there—hug trees?”

  Lowell stifled a guffaw—Hazel and Geneva would doubtless enjoy that a great deal—and continued. “I wish I could tell you more, but you’ll just have to trust me.”

  Dora pulled her hands away and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lowell. I like you a lot, I might even…” She sniffled. “But it’s not fair of you to ask me to move out of my home and business without giving me a good reason.” She tore a paper towel from the holder and blew her nose. “You know, Carmen told me that you could be bossy and irrational. I guess she was right.”

  “But Dora—”

  “I’m sorry, Lowell, but you ought to leave now.” She opened the back door for him and looked at the floor. “And this time, don’t come back.”

  Lowell cleared his throat. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you the rest of it, Dora. I wasn’t going to, I’m not supposed to, but you’ve left me no choice.” He looked over his shoulder, wondering how Gavin would react to what he was about to do. I know just how he’ll react, Lowell thought grimly. With disappointment and anger. The real question is, what can Gavin do about it? Lowell squared his shoulders. He’ll just have to accept it, Lowell decided. And if he can’t, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

  “The Rossi family is special,” he began.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen that. You’re weirdly close to your siblings—you all still live a stone’s throw away, for Pete’s sake. But what does that have to do—”

  “No, not special like that. We are the Fair Folk. It’s…” He placed one hand on her upper arm and squeezed meaningfully. “It’s a kind of magic, Dora.”