Juniper Wiles, page 10
“Don’t worry, Juniper,” he told me. “We’ve got this.”
Jilly put her arm around my shoulders. “Joe and the birds are keeping watch.”
Through all these years we’ve never lost a single piece of merchandise. Even during the day, the occasional thief attempting a five-finger discount gets dive-bombed by crows until they drop whatever they grabbed.
“Who trained those birds?” I asked the first time I saw it happen.
Everybody just laughed.
Behind the storefront of the main tent is a second adjoining tent for hanging out. At the moment, we’re using it to change into our outfits.
Jilly’s sticking to a simple pair of leggings and a painter’s smock, so she’s already outside with the guys and the dogs. Meanwhile, the rest of us are transforming ourselves from boho city girls to woodland faeries, some with a touch of steampunk. I’ve even made Sonora a collar with bits of extra fabric from my outfit. All sorts of dangly bits of ribbon and cloth hang from it as Sonora patiently lets me put it around her neck.
I stand back to admire her and she grins up at me.
“Too much?” I ask Sophie, who’s standing closest to me.
She smiles. “I think it’s darling.”
Marisa has posted the schedule for who’s working when. Everybody checks it out before heading off to see how the set up is going at the other booths, wandering away in groups of two and three. I stay with Jilly, waiting for Alan and Marisa to get back from bringing the trucks to their house where they’ll be parked until Sunday evening teardown.
“Wendy didn’t get to Ethan’s computer yet,” Jilly says as we make ourselves comfortable behind the counter.
Geordie found an outdoor chaise cushion somewhere and the dogs are drowsing on it behind our chairs. They’re so cute. Bedazzled Sonora’s lying on her side, while Bobo’s cuddled up against her.
“She wanted to get all her work done so she’d have the weekend free,” Jilly goes on.
I want to say no rush, because I’d just as soon take a break from our “investigation” for the weekend, but what comes out is, “I saw Ethan again yesterday.”
I go on to tell her about our conversation, the unpublished book, what I found on his blog. I study her as I’m talking and two things strike me as weird. She’s not interrupting as much as she usually does and—
“You don’t seem surprised,” I say. “Have you actually run into this kind of thing before—fictional characters that can walk around in the real world?”
But then I remember a conversation I had with her and Sophie the other day. About people stepping out of paintings and characters in books becoming so well-loved that they take on a life of their own.
“Sort of,” she says. “But it was different. It was kind of in my head and real at the same time.”
My eyebrows go up.
“It was when I was recovering from the accident, so who knows? But with everything I know, it’s certainly plausible.”
“Plausible.”
She shrugs. “I’ve seen it with characters from old books. It’s never occurred to me that the same could be true for TV and movies.”
“So fictional versions of the Nora Constantine show characters could actually be running around.”
She nods. “They’re called Eadar.”
I remember she used that term when we were talking to Sophie.
“They don’t like the term fictionals,” she goes on, “and they usually don’t like it when you refer to here as the real world. They like to think that their worlds are real, too.”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, consider it from their point of view.”
“I mean, how is it plausible?”
“We told you about Isabelle’s friends, didn’t we? How is a book that different from a painting?”
“My head’s threatening to explode again,” I tell her. “I was only just getting used to the idea of faeries and ghosts.”
She gives me a sympathetic look.
“Let’s forget about it for now,” she says. “I’m terrible at explaining the finer workings of the otherworld. Joe’ll be around later. After the concerts are over we can come back here and he’ll make sense of all of this for you.”
I don’t even see how that’s possible, but I nod all the same. I doubt I’ll be able to just shake it off, but Jilly has no problem. She starts chatting away about what vendors she hopes will be at the fair, the bands that are playing, the latest installment of Mona’s “Life As a Bird” comic strip, how she feels like she’s always had a dog even though Bobo’s only lived with her for a couple of days. Before I know it I’m not thinking of anything else either.
When Alan and Marisa return I promise to have Jilly back at the booth for when the fair opens, then she and I take the dogs to go exploring.
One of the benefits of being a vendor is that you get to check out what everybody else is selling before the crowds show up and it’s all been picked over. Neither of us are planning to actually buy anything today, but it’s fun going around and looking at everything. There’s beautiful tooled leather, paintings, dolls and figurines, steampunk gear, musical instruments, books and CDs and movies, every kind of good food you can imagine, and of course clothes.
Oh God, the clothes. Whether you’re human or faerie, I suppose, you still want to look good. If I bought everything I wanted at FaerieFest I’d have to take some of those comic con gigs Greta keeps offering me, just to pay for it all.
Jilly’s very good about not bringing even a whiff of magical things into our conversation as we wander around, but I can’t help eyeing everybody differently than I have any other year. Before, I’d be admiring the costumes and outfits. This year, I’m trying to figure out if any of the people we see and chat with are actual faeries.
Eventually, we make our way to the main stage where Geordie and his friends are setting up for the show later in the evening. Many of them, along with some other invited locals, will also be playing short sets on the smallest stage by the East Side Press tent when there isn’t music happening on the other festival stages.
We sit in the grass with Sophie and Mona and listen to the band do their sound check before we all head off to check out the side stage at the far end of the park. I always like this one best because every year they transform it into something different. Last year, it was decorated like an enchanted woodland where the musicians were playing in a forest. The year before, the whole stage was a pirate ship.
We grin at one another in anticipation as we approach the site of the small stage, then gasp in delight as it comes into view. This year it holds all the trappings of a desert nomad camp. The stage is painted in an array of rich desert hues, contrasted by a soft midnight-blue backdrop painted with iridescent stars. Artisans have made realistic slabs of “rock” upon which the musicians will play. Above it all hang several exotic brass filigreed and stained glass lamps. Imagining this scene later on, lamps aglow, music wafting, fills me with warmth.
We all stand there soaking it in until I realize it’s time for Jilly and me to get back to the East Side Press tent. The festival’s opening in fifteen minutes.
Sophie and Mona come back with us and help me keep Jilly on track. Left to her own devices she’d be hanging out at every booth having long conversations with whoever she happens to meet. Marisa is obviously relieved as she sees us approach. She sets Jilly up at a long table where she’ll be able to talk to her fans and sign things for them. While Jilly settles in the rest of us see to last minute preparations. There’s really not much for us to do yet. I get the dogs back on the cushion, then sit at the end of Jilly’s table and start to flip through her new faerie sketchbook, which I haven’t had a chance to check out until now. Just as I’m beginning to feast my eyes, a fanfare of trumpets signals the opening of the fair, and because we’re the first of the Faerie Market booths inside the gates, we’re immediately swamped.
I love watching the people approach Jilly. They’re of all ages and temperaments, ranging from nervous girls clutching battered but well-loved copies of her first art book, to middle-aged women and men with excitement twinkling in their eyes, making them look years younger. It’s all the more delightful because everybody is in some sort of a faerie costume.
Jilly spends the next three hours signing books and posters, complimenting people on their costumes, accepting gifts of art, candy and various trinkets with a smile. She gives everybody their moment of undivided attention. A couple of girls have brought portfolios and she asks them to come back later in the weekend when it’s not as busy so she can sit with them to look through their art.
I give the dogs a couple of opportunities to stretch their legs and do their business, dutifully picking up after them and putting their waste in trash cans, which are already starting to fill up with the usual festival debris.
Christy comes by to do a round of signing. Wendy and Saskia also take their turns in the booth. But finally, the Faerie Market closes for the evening.
As we talk about getting something to eat before the music starts, Joe arrives with his wife Cassie. He smiles a greeting when I look his way, the crazy in his eyes toned down a little, the way it always is when Cassie is with him.
Cassie will have a table by the East Side Press tent tomorrow and Sunday where she’ll be reading fortunes. I’d think the rainbow flood of colours she’s wearing is for the festival, except she always dresses like this, her hair in cornrows, her dark skin seeming to shimmer with an inner light.
Joe kneels on the ground and both dogs immediately rise and approach him.
“Handsome and Beauty,” Joe says, each hand busily scratching a dog behind the ear.
“It’s actually Bobo and Sonora,” Wendy says.
Joe smiles. “Good names.” His gaze finds me, then Jilly. “You should let them visit with me while the bands are playing, save them from getting stepped on.”
Jilly walks up to him and kisses the top of his head.
“You’re the best,” she says.
Geordie and his friends play a killer set. I’m so proud of Tam. It’s not really his usual style of music, but you’d never have known from his relaxed performance. After them, a German band called Faun plays traditional music from the Continent on an array of acoustic and electric instruments that’s pure magic. Local steampunk darlings The Clockwork Noise Smiths close off the night with a rousing set that still has us all buzzing and pumped when they leave the stage.
We all return to the East Side Press tent to collect our stuff. Most of the others leave, laughing and chatting, until it’s just Joe and Cassie, Jilly and Geordie, and me. We take the festival chairs from the back room and set them out in front of the tent along with a couple of small pails containing beeswax candles. It seems so quiet now that almost everybody has left the grounds.
Cassie lights the candles, then produces an enormous thermos and passes around cups of steaming hot tea. For a while we just sit and enjoy the quiet and each other’s company, sipping our tea.
“So Jilly says you’ve been seeing ghosts,” Joe finally says to me.
And we’re back to crazy times.
Sonora senses my discomfort and gets up so that she can lie down pressed against me. Once she settles, I lay a hand on her back. I feel the calmness emanating from her flow into me.
“That’s the tip of the iceberg,” I say. “How much did Jilly tell you?”
“Just enough to make me curious,” he says. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”
“I don’t want to bore everybody…”
“I only know the little that Jilly’s told me,” Geordie says, “so I probably know less than Joe.”
“I’ll help,” Jilly says. “You were in the Half Kaffe when you first met Ethan—though you didn’t know his name yet—and he thought you were Nora Constantine.”
“That’s a character from a TV show I was in,” I explain to Joe and Cassie.
“I know,” Joe says. “I’ve seen it.”
“You have?”
“What? You think we don’t have TVs on the rez?”
I feel my face redden and am grateful it’s dark out.
“Um…I didn’t know you lived on the rez.”
“Oh, sure. Our teepee’s got cable, WiFi—”
“Joe,” Cassie says, a warning tone in her voice. “Don’t play the clown.” She turns to me. “He only lived on the rez when he was a pup. These days we live in an apartment here in the city, and I always liked the show. Wendy got me started on it and Joe’s only seen a couple of episodes, which is quite amazing since it’s hard to get him to sit still long enough to watch anything.”
Even in the relative dark, I can see the twinkle in Joe’s eyes.
“Anyway,” Jilly says, reaching over and giving my wrist a little squeeze.
I nod and pick up from where we left off.
It takes a while, even with Jilly and me taking turns and trying to keep it short. I’m glad I can’t really see Joe watching me, but I feel his undivided attention. When Jilly and I finally get the other three up to date I wait for Joe to speak. I’m afraid he’s going to echo what Jilly said—that a Crescent Beach with Emma Rohlin’s characters is actually plausible—but I’m hoping for the opposite.
Except when he does speak, it’s only to ask, “Is there any of that tea left?”
Cassie passes him the thermos. He pours himself a refill then offers it around. Jilly and I take him up on it since we’ve been talking so much.
Joe leans back in his chair, sipping his tea and staring up at the sky.
“Well?” Jilly says.
He looks over to her. “I’m trying to find a way to frame this so that it makes sense to…you know…”
“An unbeliever?” I say.
He shrugs.
“I’ve talked to the ghost,” I tell him. “Twice. I don’t think there’s anything you can say that can really freak me out after that.”
Liar, I think, but one way or another I have to know.
“What do you know about the otherworld?” he asks.
“Just what Jilly’s told me. It’s like a parallel world or something that kind of exists a step sideways from this one, right?”
“Yes and no. There is an otherworld just out of sight of this one, but it’s only one of…” He waves a hand to the night sky above us. “As many as there are stars above us. And the one closest to us is more like a between place that you have to move through to get to the deeper otherworlds.”
I swallow, uneasy with the idea.
“Some people,” he goes on, “call the otherworld the dreamlands because it’s where sleeping spirits go when they dream. The truth is, there are as many otherworlds as can possibly be imagined, and then times that to infinity. Out there, the past, present and future all exist at the same time.
“Some of those otherworlds are as complex as this world we’re living in, others are simpler, almost like pocket worlds. The size of a country, a city, an acre of land, even just a house—like the place Christy’s sister Christiana has made for herself.”
He gives me a questioning look. “You with me?”
I shrug. “I don’t know her that well,” I say. “We’ve only met a couple of times at Bramleyhaugh.”
Joe nods. “Okay, but I was talking about the concept. Where it gets really interesting is the origin of many of them. Dream about a place often enough, and it comes into being. Share the idea of a place, and the same thing happens. The size and permanency of the world depend on how many people share the idea of it and how strongly they believe in it. Some become permanent. Others fade away after a time, or leave just a ghostly echo behind.”
He pauses again, to make sure I understand, I suppose.
“Like the Eadar I met over there,” Jilly says.
Joe nods.
“So people are just flitting back and forth between here and worlds they’ve made up?” I ask.
“Again, yes and no. You know how, in your European mythologies, they talk about the gods disappearing because people didn’t believe in them anymore? Or how faeries exist only so long as people believe in them?”
I nod. I can see where this is going.
“You’re saying there could be a Crescent Beach somewhere out there in the otherworld if enough people believe it exists.”
“I am.”
“And all the people who love the show and the books, and all the people writing fan fiction—they’re making it more real.”
“And the people that live there,” Joe says, “are becoming more independent beings in their own right, the longer that world exists.”
I think of the debauched crap that Ethan wrote and pray he didn’t have much of an audience. I can’t repress a shudder. Sonora stirs and looks up at me. Thankful for the distraction, I switch to another train of thought.
“Okay,” I say. “So if there is a Crescent City out there, why did Ethan tell me it’s under attack? Instead of the usual stories of Nora and her friends solving mysteries and having their relationships with each other, now there are monsters running around tearing everything down. But that situation couldn’t be based on a lot of people believing in it. That story is in a single unpublished book that hardly anyone has read.”
“I suppose it depends on the potency of the creator.”
I think about Emma Rohlin, and shake my head.
“I don’t see Emma making actual worlds,” I say. “Or should that be otherworlds? She kind of freaked when we just talked to her about ghosts.”
Joe shrugs. “Maybe it’s not her. But somebody is.”
“So how can we stop what’s happening there?” I ask. “How do we get rid of Charlie Midnight?”
“How does the book end?” Joe asks.
“I don’t know. I haven’t finished it yet. But Ethan gave me the sense that the book doesn’t have a tidy ending.”
“Maybe Emma Rohlin needs to write another book,” Cassie says. “To fix the mess she’s made.”
“Let me check into this place first,” Joe says.
“How would you even find it?” I ask.
