9. Phil
Phil
R uthie’s hair was . . . Well, there was no kind way to describe it. Rats wouldn’t even be interested in the mess it had become. Pixie hair didn’t knot and tangle the way were hair evidently did. Or maybe it was just Ruthie, though I doubted it.
I dubiously stared at the tangled mess sitting atop her delicate head. Comb in hand, I didn’t know where to start. Trying to comb through this briar patch would hurt like hell. Surely this wasn’t what her hair had looked like before. Was it?
“Dillon, did you bring any shampoos or conditioners to your Uncle Sedrick’s house?”
Dillon perched skeptically on the toilet, watching me like a hawk. Ruthie was on the bathroom counter, turned away from me, her legs folded into the sink. The mirror above the sink reflected my self-doubt.
Dillon shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s a bunch of boxes we never opened.” I’d been afraid Dillon would see my actions as interference. But he was a bright boy and knew there was a problem. He was willing to accept help. He just didn’t have a lot of faith in my abilities.
I glanced into the shower and saw a bar of soap and an anemic bottle of shampoo. I asked, “What have you been washing your hair with?”
Dillon pointed at the soap. “I started using the soap. The shampoo’s almost gone.” Dillon’s pert nose shot to the ceiling, his arms crossed, daring me to second-guess his decision.
I reached over and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. It didn’t look very impressive, and Dillon was right; it was almost gone. “Why didn’t you tell your Uncle Sedrick you were almost out? I’m sure—”
“Uncle Sed does enough,” Dillon huffed. A cool glow lit up his eyes, washing them in amber. I’d awakened his inner wolf. “We can make do with what we’ve got.”
As usual, Ruthie remained silent. Her soft eyes met mine in the mirror, and she looked just as lost as I felt.
“I see,” I answered, even though I wasn’t entirely certain I did. “Maybe there’s something more in one of those boxes.”
Dillon looked away, and the spark drained out of him. With a sad little huff, he got up off his makeshift seat and helped Ruthie down from the sink. “You can look if you want.” The fact Dillon didn’t plan to help was well understood.
Tugging Ruthie after him, Dillon walked out of the bathroom. It was probably best. Had they stayed, the agitated fluttering of my wings and the pixie dust rolling off them would have resulted in a sneezing fit.
* * *
I headed for the storage shed tucked behind the garden. I flew over the garden to avoid the gnomes. My vantage allowed me to see the infestation was far more extensive than I’d hoped. Gnomes were akin to vicious termites. From above, I could easily make out their burrows and mounded dwellings.
Sedrick didn’t need an exterminator; he needed a gnome exorcist. I would need to take extra care to keep the children out of the garden.
Gnomes were territorial, even if the territory they were fighting over belonged to another.
Were children were hardy, but Sedrick was right, this many gnomes could do a lot of damage, and Dillon and Ruthie didn’t have wings like me.
Gnomes were fast and could overrun them far too quickly for my peace of mind.
The shed was easy to spot and not far away. It would take time for my flight muscles to be up to flying to and from Sedrick’s home every day. I would have walked to the shed if it hadn’t been for my concern about the gnomes.
Landing in front of the door, I was glad to see it was unlocked. The hinges squeaked when I pulled the door back, but inside, the shed was remarkably dry and well-kept. I was afraid it would be packed with boxes. It wasn’t. In fact, there were only a dozen or so to go through.
Despite feeling like I was intruding, I set to work. With each cardboard flap, my heart broke just a little bit more. The pictures and obviously personal paraphernalia contained within those few boxes gave me a deeper understanding of why Dillon didn’t want any part of this exploration.
My fingers shook as I flipped through one picture after another.
Dillon and Ruthie looked so different in them.
They were goofy, smiling kids. Silly antics mixed with sweet family portraits.
I could easily see the family resemblance between their father and uncle.
Their mother, Kelsie, was lovely. The look in her eyes as she stared at her children was one of endless love.
Maybe Kelsie Belview truly had been different from the rest of her family.
Whether she had or not was none of my business, and I tucked the photos back into the box I’d pulled them from.
Hopefully one day, Dillon and Ruthie will want to look at them.
Sedrick would need to keep them safe until that day came.
Rustling through a few more boxes, I finally came upon the one I was looking for.
“Jackpot,” I whisper-shouted. Shampoo, conditioner, hair ties, brushes .
. . All the things I needed. I’d brought my satchel with me and carefully placed everything I thought I’d need before I walked out and closed the door.
A quick flight over the gnome-infested garden and I was back at the house.
* * *
“W ow.” Dillon leaned over my shoulder while I combed through Ruthie’s hair. The teeth glided through Ruthie’s hair like water, not a single tug or pull. “What’s that stuff called again?”
“Conditioner,” I answered, handing the bottle over to him. “It works wonders.” I’d had no idea just how wondrous it could be.
“Do you use this stuff too?” Dillon asked. I caught the motion of his hand reflected in the mirror. He reached for my hair but stopped short as if he were afraid to touch it.
“No,” I answered, turning just enough to offer a smile. “Pixies don’t need it.”
“Why not?” Dillon’s nose adorably scrunched. It was easy to forget he was a dominant were in the making.
“No idea. That’s just the way we are. I know some pixies place other things in their hair to make it smell better or make it sparkle, but I’ve never done it.”
“Why not?” Dillon asked again. When relaxed, he was like any other kid—full of endless questions.
I chewed on my bottom lip, a habit that had only worsened as I grew up. I debated how much to tell him but finally settled on the truth. “That kind of thing is expensive, and I’ve never had the extra money to spend on something frivolous.”
“Hmm.” Dillon gave a firm nod as if he could understand the cost.
He’d been worried about asking for more shampoo earlier.
Maybe finances in the Voss home weren’t as good as I’d assumed.
Earlier, Sedrick had said cost wasn’t an issue when it came to the gnome extermination, but maybe .
. . I didn’t want to think about it. If finances were tight, I was a luxury Sedrick might not be able to afford for long.
I continued working on Ruthie’s hair but kept catching shy glances from both the kids. They seemed fascinated by my hair. Given the topic of the day, that was only natural.
Separating Ruthie’s hair into two sections, I braided it into pigtails, making sure to show Dillon each and every step. He was an attentive student. When Ruthie was all done, I helped her off the bathroom sink and asked, “Would you like to see my hair?”
I got two agreeing nods. Pulling the pins and ties from my hair, I let it loose, cascading over my shoulders and falling nearly to my waist. Dillon and Ruthie’s eyes widened with awe.
“Whoa,” Dillon stuttered. “That’s a lot of pink.” Kids were innocently truthful.
“It is.” I shook out my hair, letting it dance around me before I squatted and allowed them to explore. Both children were exceedingly gentle as if I were a wild animal that might take flight at a moment’s notice.
Cocking his head to the side, Dillon asked, “Why do you keep it up all the time? I’ve seen other pixies, and they keep it down.”
I tucked a strand behind the tip of an ear. My cheeks heated, and I looked down and away before I stood to my full height. “It’s better pulled up and out of the way. At least for now.” It was the only answer I could manage.
Mr. Moony didn’t want my hair long, pulled up or not.
I wasn’t sure about Sedrick. From what Mr. Buttons told me, Sedrick thought I was a practical pixie, which evidently included keeping my hair tame.
This morning, I’d made a mistake by not braiding it, but Sedrick’s comment made me think maybe the bun was okay. I wasn’t sure about anything else.
Ruthie made a small, plaintive noise when I started to pile it atop my head again. It was the first sound I’d heard, and I blinked a few times. Dillon looked equally surprised. Leaning back down, I asked, “Do you want me to keep it down?”
A hesitant nod was my answer. “Tell you what, how about I pull the sides up and leave the rest down. How does that sound?”
Ruthie’s approving grin carried me through the rest of the day.
Groceries were delivered a little before lunchtime.
After putting them away, I spent the remainder of the day working on the house, setting it more to rights and murmuring encouraging words into every nook and cranny.
Most didn’t consider homes to be alive, but home-and-hearth pixies knew better.
Sedrick’s home needed to know it was important, that it was essential, and most of all, that it was loved.
By the time Sedrick got home that evening, his house was starting to understand that it was a home.