Miles and the Magic Flute Read online

  When five o’clock came and Miles shut down the shop, he didn’t even pause to think, simply nipped around the back and headed for the woods. He felt the pressure build inside him and then release as he stepped over the border into the rustling leaves and dying undergrowth.

  Miles smiled. Yes, he decided, this was what he needed. A brisk walk in crisp, October air through the woods of his youth. Just a short walk now, a short loop to say hello to the place again, but tomorrow he’d take a proper hike.

  And if the fairies wanted to take him, they could damn well have him.

  He’d meant the thought as a sort of joke, but he wasn’t fifty feet into the trees before it didn’t seem that funny anymore.

  Something was wrong with the forest. Miles couldn’t put his finger on what it was, exactly, and part of him was convinced he was just being ridiculous, but a bigger part of him could not let go of the idea that something was very, very wrong here. It looked okay—trees, brush, muddy path, dead leaves, flowers—but it was like those hidden pictures where there was a toothbrush drawn into the bark of a tree. Something was wrong, and his brain had him on high alert because of it. Miles stood there, frowning, trying to figure out what it was.

  Then it hit him. He looked down at the ground, at the small patch of silver and green at his feet.

  Flowers. Flowers did not grow in Minnesota forests in October, especially three days after a hard frost.

  Miles crouched down and inspected the blooms without touching them. He’d never seen flowers like them before. They reminded him of snowdrops, a flower which could bloom in Minnesota, but it generally didn’t in October. It was a flower of early spring. He could see it coming up early if the weather were unseasonably warm, but it was quite the opposite. The weather this fall was cold, even for Minnesota.

  Though, now that he thought about it, the forest was distinctly warmer than the area around the shop had been.

  In fact, Miles wasn’t shivering anymore, and he could almost feel his toes. The breeze against his face was warm and inviting. Very inviting.

  Go deeper, it seemed to say. Go deeper into the forest.

  Miles looked up, looked out across the barren landscape of dead leaves and dying underbrush, and he felt the pull.

  Come. Come to me, lover.

  The light changed. The yellow-pink light that ringed the edges of the trees didn’t match the dull, blue-gray light he’d left when he’d shut the door to the shop, turning into the darker rose-purple sunset of summer instead of the gray into deeper gray of October. It absolutely was warmer here. Much, much warmer. Miles tried to tell himself that it was because the trees were close and blocked the wind, but something in his hindbrain insisted it was more than that. The air felt lighter. The foliage had been stunned by the same early frost that killed everything in southern Minnesota, and above his head the leaves were well on their way to turned, some of them gone already. But it didn’t smell like autumn, like rotting leaves and cold. It smelled of grass and sun and dirt. And it felt like summer.

  Miles looked at the snowdrops again, frowning. It had to be his imagination. But it felt so real.

  As he stared at the flowers, as the forest seemed to warm around him and confirm that he was losing his mind on top of everything else, Miles gave in to the despair that had been dogging him all morning. Instead of simply thinking it, he spoke the words out loud.

  “I never thought this was where I was going to land at twenty-seven.” He stared out into the woods, letting his eyes lose their focus. “I thought I’d have a good job and a killer apartment. I thought that I’d be looking at a promotion, not shoveling my way through job applications that don’t get me anywhere. I thought I’d be adopting too many dogs with my boyfriend and planning vacations to Spain.” He shut his eyes and felt the pain and hurt well up inside him. “I’m more than this. I don’t belong here. I don’t care if it’s arrogant to think that way. I don’t. And if I could find the way to get out of this miserable life and into the one where I belong, I would. Because I’m so much better than this.”

  Even with his eyes closed, he felt the light shift, which was why he opened his eyes just in time to see the rosy-purple fade entirely, replaced briefly with a deep, almost menacing indigo. For one second he could have sworn it was night, and suddenly his thirteen-year-old self’s fear of this forest didn’t seem so silly anymore.

  Something deep inside Miles went cold and whispered, danger.

  Heart beating hard inside his chest, Miles bent down and, without knowing why he did so, plucked one of the silver flowers.

  A light flashed, bright and white and pure. He heard the voice.

  Come to me. Come to me, Miles.

  Miles felt a ghostly touch, warm but disembodied against his face. In the distance, he heard the sound of hooves.

  Come to me and realize all your dreams.

  Miles dropped the flower and ran.

  He ran, pulse racing, cold now not just from temperature but from fear, and as he fled the forest, he told himself he was simply overwrought, that this was just his stress and depression getting the better of him, and he even admitted that it might be time to look into some medication and possibly some therapy. He couldn’t help, though, turning and looking back as soon as he was into the trailer park again, trying to reassure himself.

  The colors of the forest had faded back to normal, and the silver flowers were gone. But before Miles could sigh in relief, he saw that a single flower remained, and as he watched, its petals drifted eerily up into the sky, only to be carried away on an eddy of the wind.

  A silvery ghost-like form appeared near the place Miles had been standing. It smiled sadly at him.

  Miles gasped. Then he reached for it.

  The ghost form faded, and the forest was normal once more.

  Miles stood there a moment, hand still outstretched, feeling foolish and confused. Shaking his head, he lowered his arm and went back to Patty’s trailer.

  Chapter Two

  Come, lover, my sweetest heart and mind,

  come take me to the place your kind

  spends every day in languish deep.

  Take me to the darkest keep.

  MILES DID HIS best to forget about whatever it was that had happened to him in the forest, and when nothing else weird occurred for the next few days, he began to relax. He kept a wide berth of the trees just to be sure, but he began to forget about the strange happenings in the woods and soon went back to actively hating his life. He did notice, though, that he seemed more testy than usual. Prior to his woodland encounter, he’d been moody and depressed, but now he was moody and angry. He was listless, even more so than usual, and it made him edgy. He’d never been exactly tolerant, but he found himself angry at slow drivers on the road and pretty much all the clerks at the Walmart. He told himself that it was because all his job applications had come back as rejections again. He told himself it was because Jeff had sent him a drunken text letting him know how hot his new boyfriend was, and when Miles hadn’t responded, Jeff had followed up with a photo.

  Yes. Jeff’s new boyfriend was exceptionally hot. Goddamn it.

  Except he couldn’t attribute his unease to Jeff alone. Miles’s dreams were strange, too. He was always running through the forest, calling for someone he could never find. Sometimes he woke within the dream, and when he sat up in bed, the figure from the forest sat at the foot of it, studying him. But when Miles reached for the ghost, he would vanish, and Miles would open his eyes for real and find he’d been in a dream within a dream.

  He dreamed the man and the forest over and over and over.

  Then there was his run-in with Katie.

  For a town of less than a thousand people, Summer Hill was ridiculously awash in lesbians. It had been that way even when Miles was in high school, so much so that rival teams (and sometimes even the local one) nicknamed Summer Hill “Dyke Stop.” In addition to Patty and Julie, there was an older couple in town, the head librarian, and Miles had deep suspici
ons about the county attorney. But there was also Katie, Summer Hill’s resident witch.

  Wiccan, she would correct Miles every time he called her a witch, which he did largely to annoy her. It wasn’t that Miles minded so much that she was Wiccan, and obviously he didn’t care about the lesbian part. It was the Katie part that drove him crazy. She was always so damn superior about everything, always giving Miles a knowing look that managed to unnerve and belittle him all at once. He’d taken great pleasure in pointing out his successes to her when he’d come back to visit on occasion from Atlanta, largely because she’d spent most of their high school years promising him woe and doom whenever she read his fortune. It was, of course, a very bitter pill to be back here now, full of the woe and doom she promised. He avoided her and her pitying looks as much as possible.

  But Julie was a budding practitioner of the Craft herself, and Miles was often called on to run over to the shop Katie kept in the back of her house for this or that herb or colored candle. She always had something special just for Miles, too, some scathing remark or portent of further misery which served as an opening act to her offering to read his cards, make a charm, or balance his chakra. Miles never took her up on any of it, just stood as close to the door as possible with his arms folded, waiting for her to stop needling and fill Julie’s order so he could get the hell out of there.

  The Friday after he’d felt the weird presence in the forest was no exception. He came through the back door, tensing as she put down the book she’d been reading behind the cash register and came toward him, silken caftan fluttering around her ample form as she clucked and cooed.

  “Oh, poor Miles. You look so tired. Shall I put on a pot for tea while you wait? I can make you a restorative.” She clucked her tongue as she ran her eyes up and down his body and shook her head. “Oh, dear.”

  All that was pretty much the usual, and Miles ignored it as he always did. But then she looked at him again.

  She stopped, startled. A real startle, not the fake one she usually gave, which Miles knew was just to get his goat. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she frowned, and the gesture was so unsettling he couldn’t help but bite.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  But she didn’t answer, which was even odder still. She went back to the counter, though she glanced occasionally back at Miles, unnerved. “What is it Julie needs?”

  “I have a list.” Miles dug it out of his pocket, and when Katie didn’t take it from him, he laid it on a nearby table. She came back over—carefully—picked it up, gave it a curt nod, then busied about the shop, pulling down jars and opening up little plastic baggies. She didn’t say another word to Miles, but when she glanced at him, she bit her lip again.

  Suspecting a joke, Miles held himself rigid, determined not to give in, but the rage built inside him, and it wasn’t even two minutes before he blurted out with a sharp sneer, “What the fuck is it, Katie?”

  His tone was so harsh he even surprised himself. Katie, however, only put down the silver scoop and turned to Miles, quietly thoughtful.

  “How long have you been like this?” she asked.

  “Like what?” Miles snapped.

  “Angry,” Katie replied. “Your aura is so spiky it’s cutting across the room, breaking down several spells I cast around the door to ward off just such a thing. You’re rending them like spider webs.” She tilted her head to the side. “When did this start? Because I’m getting the feeling this burst of temper isn’t just for my benefit.”

  A snippy denial leapt to the tip of Miles’s tongue, but the heat of it surprised even him, and as the pique bounced back against Katie’s calm, he found himself gentling.

  He took a step farther backward toward the door and leaned against it. “A few days ago.” He didn’t like the look she was giving him, the witchy assessing one, so he added, “It was just after I got another rejection letter for a job. It’s nothing. Don’t even think of trying any spells on me.”

  He braced himself, because this was where she would cajole and tease and lecture him about his energy and the need for balance. It was when he would throw her weakness for refined sugar back at her, and soon they’d be lobbing insults back and forth like they were balls and there was a tennis net between them. He was even looking forward to it.

  But she only held up her hands and said, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She grimaced at the air around him one last time, then tucked her hands inside her sleeves and nodded curtly. “I’ll just get the rest from the back,” she said, and disappeared behind the beaded curtain that led to her storeroom.

  Miles remained in the doorway, confused.

  The rage simmered inside him, lava looking for an outlet. He thought of what Katie had said about the spells he had rent, and even though he didn’t believe in any of that stuff, Katie did, and she was clearly upset, which began to make him feel uneasy too. He really did think this was all just an overdue therapy appointment ricocheting around inside him, but as he stood there, blood boiling, it was easy to believe it was something more as well. He could almost feel the strings around his heart, binding him, stirring him, rousing him, and in his fancy, he imagined they extended all the way through the door, down the road and back down the valley, up and over all the way to the forest. The tug increased, and Miles shut his eyes as it pulled him flush against the door.

  Come. Come, lover. Come, a soft voice whispered. I can make all the rage, all the pain, all this sorrow go away.

  Miles’s body purred in response, his rage rolling over and becoming, to his surprise, a low-grade lust. Yes, he thought, and fumbled for the doorknob. Yes. Yes, hold on, I’m coming—

  But his fingers missed the door, landing on a shelf beside it instead, and he stilled as his fingers touched something cold and smooth. The tug stopped at once, and when Miles looked down he saw a small silver ring quivering beneath his fingers. And as he continued to touch it, the rage continued to bleed away, not entirely but enough to make him realize that he had been about to go out the door and run to the woods.

  He picked up the ring and stared at it, foreboding sliding like ice through his veins.

  This moodiness was more than just being out of joint over not finding a job. This was more, even, than being back in Summer Hill.

  Miles pinched the ring between his fingers. Something was going on. Something really weird.

  Something possibly dangerous.

  When Katie came back through the beaded curtain, Miles started, and barely realizing he did so, put the ring inside his pocket.

  “Here you go,” Katie said, putting a small parcel inside the cloth bag where she had placed the rest of Julie’s order. “Tell her I’ll just put it on her tab.” She brought the bag over and set it down on the table where Miles had placed his list. Then she paused, and almost in afterthought glanced over to the shelf where the silver ring had been.

  Miles tensed.

  A cold wind whipped through the shop, putting out the candle Katie had been burning at the register.

  Katie drew back, her face carefully blank. “Have a good day, Miles. Give Katie my best. And tell her not to perform that consecration until the full moon.”

  Miles nodded gruffly and reached for the bag. He flushed, and then, because he couldn’t seem to bring himself to pull out the ring, reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty instead. But Katie held up her hand to stay him and shook her head.

  “Keep it,” she said quietly.

  She sounded afraid.

  Miles swallowed, stuffed the twenty back into his pocket, and turned away.

  “Take care, Miles,” she said, her voice ominous and a little sad.

  Miles yanked the door open. A cold wind buffeted him, but he pushed past it and stormed all the way to his car and drove in silence back to the trailer. After parking the car, he sat and stared out the window for a few minutes, not sure why he did so. He stared out through the trees toward the forest, and it made him feel good and quiet and calm
.

  Come, Miles. Come to me now.

  Yes, Miles thought, and opened the car door, ready to run for the woods. But when he stood, he heard something clink against the pavement, and when he looked down he saw the silver ring. When he put it on, the urge to run into the forest vanished. His rage, however, remained, leashed but still there, banked and waiting.

  It stayed that way for days.

  He never, not even in the shower, took the silver ring off his finger.

  Somehow Miles knew this was not over, whatever it was. Because sometimes late at night, he could feel the forest pulling on him again, despite the ring. It kept trying, and it kept getting stronger, and he lay awake most nights in a quiet panic, trying to decide whether this really was the work of some supernatural force or if he were just losing his mind.

  Then the flute showed up at the pawn shop, and he didn’t know what to think about anything after that.

  MILES HAD BEEN working in the shop alone when it came. The door had opened right after he’d stapled his sleeve to the supply shelf as he tried to re-hang, with some irony, the sign that warned, “Not Responsible For Accidents.” Doing his best to turn around with his arm affixed above his head, Miles smiled in the general direction of the door.

  “Can I help—” He saw who had just walked in, and his smile died. “Oh, fuck,” he said, and tugged with some urgency at his sweater. Warren Lehman stood in the doorway of the shop, leering.

  Warren was the author of at least fully half of Miles’s neuroses, beginning when Miles was twelve and Warren’s gang of thugs had pushed Miles’s face over a used toilet bowl and threatened to make him drink the water if he hadn’t said, like a good little parrot, whatever humiliating line they had arranged for him that day. “I’m a stupid little faggot fairy queen” had always been a fan favorite. He’d soon learned to curb his intake of fluids and developed a bladder of steel, and by the time he’d turned fifteen, he’d met Patty and none of that mattered because Patty kicked everyone’s ass, sometimes just because she wanted to. Eventually Warren had been permanently suspended from school and gone to juvy for lighting a freshman on fire, and then all Miles had needed to do was avoid dark alleys until he went to college.