Victoratrees

Today: Evicted

Look for the silver lining.

Life's cruel on the streets.

"Eviction, Mr. Barker! I want those ladies outta there by the end of the week! I swear if they're not —"

Mr. Morganstern never swore. He didn't have to.

Michael Barker shrunk into the lapels of his suit jacket. This was a high order, one not typically tasked to one as lowly as him. "But why me, Mr. George? Surely Mr. Stevenson would be much more suited to the job."

The steady clunk-clunk-clunk from Miss Daisy's typewriter snagged as every neck in the department swung to face Michael. How dare he suggest poor overworked Mr. Stevenson take on another case. His wife was bulgy in her ninth month of pregnancy and he had a hard enough time making it to his oldest son's football games as it was. For the pride of the town, leave that poor man out of this!

Feeling suddenly stupid, Michael Barker took a step backward. His shoes sunk into the thick blue shag.

"Take the folder, Michael!"

A single drop of sweat dribbled down the side of his head. Eyes. Everywhere and fixed on him. "Th - thank you." Michael took in a steady breathe of air. He was a man now, firmly in his thirties. He could take this assignment and make his father proud. "I won't let you down, Sir." With the file tucked firmly in the crook of his arm, Michael Barker walked stiffly back to his desk and sat on the solid oak chair. Slowly he opened the file and took out the crisp white papers stamped with red.

"Right," he told himself. "The end of the week."

=+=

"Oh, Bob! You didn't!"

Tension burned like wildfire that night as Michael Barker's boss, Mr. Bob Morgenstern stood opposite his wife.

"Stacy, I have no choice."

And though he might be the top of the food chain at work, Mr. Bob Morgenstern cowed beneath his wife's disapproval. She knew more about him than most and was still willing to back him into a corner and give him a piece of her mind.

"Those poor women… " She tisked and sighed in such a way that almost made the man feel like a puddle of jelly. "That's the only home they've ever had, Bob. How could you be so heartless! And after all they've done for us? Can you imagine those poor old ladies having to find a new home at their age? They'll be forced out on the streets like a bunch of … drifters!"

Now, Stacy… Stacy, please!"

Stacy's lip was quivered along to the beat of her bleeding heart.

Heartless. That was Bob as he grabbed his pillow and headed for the living room. He dare not even pull out the hide-a-bed; men like him didn't deserve such luxuries. He was a cruel hearted devil; why bother hiding it anymore?

But this was the price of doing business. And the Rivervale Planning Department couldn't afford to have a heart — not when tax money demanded new roads. And what better place for a road than right along the scenic West Coast?

Progress: that was the name of the game he was playing.

=+=

Michael Barker could feel his life shortening as he drove his light blue dustbuster down the road. It was a fine car with clean white leather seats. The sort of car suitable to any self-respecting salaryman. But it didn't have fins, and Michael, had always promised himself someday he'd afford himself a car with a bit more 'pizzazz.'

The weather reporter was just announcing blue skies as the road turned to gravel and the shadows of ancient redwoods loomed down upon Michael's safe, respectable car as it puttered down the long-forgotten logging road.

"Nothing to worry about," he muttered as the shadows grew thicker and he flicked on his high beams.

"Put another kettle on the burner, Isolde dear!" Margarite's voice rang across the storied flets that separated Isolde's study from the sitting room several trees away.

Isolde nearly knocked her head on the hanging green glass lamp as she pushed the the latest draft of her 'nearly finished novel' to the side. "I suppose I ought to tidy some of this mess up." She gave a tinkling laugh as she stretched and hurried to comply with mother's request.

Tea Time.

Peach and Rooibos poured amber into the sixteen teacups circled upon the sitting room table. Each cup was as unique as the elderly woman sitting behind it.

"Illustrious Ladies," spoke Margarite, "for this morning's book club discussion —"

She was cut short as the squeal of tires struggling through mud sounded somewhere below them. Unusual.

The oldest of their order, Penelope, raised a delicate gloved hand, "Excuse my interruption, Margarite dear, but it sounds as if we have a visitor."

Unwelcome distraction, thought Margarite, grinding her teeth. But who could it be at this hour? Their ladies' society was not often given to visitors, the mailman excluded, and he was under strict orders to leave his truck at the end of the road half a mile back. No, this was not Kevin the mailman with a package of peace. "Trespassers more like it," Margarite huffed with a flick of her graceful fingers. Composing herself, the older woman turned to her daughter. "Care to be a dear and redirect whatever unfortunate soul has wondered upon our land back to the road?"

Isolde gave a polite smile and adjusted her hat.

It was just a matter of a few ladders, pulleys, and lifts to lower herself down to the soft forest floor below. But — no matter — Isolde was by far the most spry and adventurous of the community. There was a sparkle in her eye any time one of the older ladies suggest she inspect whatever intrusion might have happened upon the Victoratries Estates grounds. Given the time of year, poachers could be found wandering deep into the grove, but a little misdirection and a flash of light easily dealt with those unruly sorts. There was just something satisfying about seeing the hunter become the hunted. Isolde smirked, "Ready or not, here I come!"

=+=

Michael Barker gave the gas one last shove with his foot. No good. He was stuck. Stuck in the mud in the middle of the infernal redwoods of all things. Trees were nice — once or twice — but he was the sort that had always felt nervous in the dark. He gulped as he reached for the door. A towering tree cast a dark shadow over his car. The crisp morning air cooled his cheeks as he stepped outside. With a muttered curse he kicked at his thoroughly stuck front tire. "Just my luck, and on a Wednesday, too." As if Wednesdays didn't bring enough trouble of their own. He opened the trunk and sifted through the many boxes and buckets of junk until he found his spare tire — only to find that it, too, was in need of replacing. "Now, what am I to do? The nearest town is — is…" Well, it was far too far away for him to consider walking. At this rate, he could give up on the blind date he had scheduled for that evening — not that he overly minded — but it would have been nice to at least warn the girl that he'd be another 'no-show'.

"Sorry, Kathrine, or whatever your name is…"

Michael fiddled with his tie, pulling it straight and re-tucking it beneath his tweed blazer. He grabbed the all-too-important file from the passenger seat and turned his squeaky-clean shoes toward what he hoped was the Victoratrees Estates, a ramshackle commune run by a bunch of hippy woman that was famous for its code violations. It was a wonder they hadn't been evicted already. From what his coworkers had told him, many had tried to do just that.

Michael gulped.

Those men had never been heard from again.

=+=

"Good morning, Mr. President!" Mr. Bob Morgenstern said into the telephone. This was an important phone call, one with a possible promotion if things went just right. "Yes, we're taking care of that particular matter as we speak. You see, Mr. President, Sir, I've just — no, I'm sending the best — don't you worry, Mr, President, Sir. Mr. Barker is good a man as any. He's got grit, I assure you. I have full confidence those scoundrel cultists will be out of there by the end of the week. Yes, Sir, Mr. President, you will get your road if it's the last thing I do. Alrighty, goodbye, Mr. President."

Bob delicately set the phone back down on the switch hook and then drew the back of his hand through the sweat that beaded his forehead. That could have gone better. He had a lot hanging on that account and Michael Barker was hardly up for the task. But, as he walked over to the door and peered out of his office at the room full of nincompoops before him, he reminded himself that Michael was the best option. He snicked the door shut and slumped against the wall. Unlike the rest of the office, at least Michael didn't have anyone waiting back at home to mourn him if things went sour.

Isolde was practically skipping as she wound her way through the forest underbrush to where she was sure she'd heard the car revving. The grin she wore was wide, showing pretty rounded teeth, while her eyes crinkled with pleasure. Youth was rushing through her veins. Who might she meet today? Perhaps a long lost prince or a swashbuckling pirate? Tisk. Don't get so excited, Isolde, she told herself as she pushed past a pair of ferns, it's probably just another boring hunter after the deer again. The last she'd encountered had been quite rude, saying a number of hurtful things about her and hers, none of which were repeatable in polite society, none of which would inspire dialogue for her novel.

She slowed as she approached the clearing with the car. The beast was the color of gently washing waves and the man that stood beside it was tall and handsome. A pang shot through her chest. It was always worst when they were handsome… But that was the cost of securing their borders from 'outsiders'.

Silently, she ducked her hand into the pocket of her dress, clasping her fingers tightly upon —

=+=

"Tarnation!" Michael roared as another giant mosquito attacked his arm, its long proboscis a bloodied saber stabbing him with swift strikes. "I'll die out here before I find this darned address. How could he evict someone he couldn't find? "Did you know," he said to no particular mosquito, "that you're spreading blood-bourne illnesses? In my opinion that makes you the villains of this particular narrative. If I were you I'd — oof!"

Michael found himself face down in the damp forest floor as a tangle of root reached out and swept him from his feet. Spitting moss and dirt from his mouth, he scrambled back up to face his attacker. "Dratted vines. No wonder they want to build a highway through here." He had only just taken another step in his chosen direction when — "Ouch! Now what was that for?" — the root rose up and snapped him in the back.

With eyes wide, Michael Barker turned — ever so slowly — back to face the root. It stood upright, taking as much the form of a human as a root could muster, and shook an offended end in his direction. Take that back, it seemed to say. "Now, listen here, plant, I meant no harm," explained Michael Barker, "I just —"

"Down Felix!" A gentle voice commanded from within the underbrush.

Great, now the plants were talking, too. Was this a sign of insanity? Of never daring to take a sick day in hopes of that mythic some-day promotion? If so, than Michael worried he was done for because he was fairly certain plants couldn't speak human.

Michael hurriedly shoved the folder between his elbow and his side as he raised his hands as fist before him. He'd never boxed a day in his life, but his older brother had won a few matches on the playground, so it couldn't be that difficult. "Which one of you is Felix?" He growled.

Choosing not to answer, the root slithered back to its tree and Michael lowered his fists. See? He was intimidating if he chose to be.

A tinkling laugh followed from the bushes. "Have you no weapon, oh warrior?"

"I —" There was the voice again. A lilting soprano. "And who wants to know?"

"I do," said the lovely voice.

"And who is I?"

"I am," said the most alluring woman as she lightly stepped out from behind the underbrush.

Color crept across Michael's face as he took in the sight before him. She was tall and slender. Her features were delicate and her fingers long. Altogether, she looked like she'd just stepped out of a Victorian painting. She even had a flowered hat sitting upon her long chocolate hair like a crown and a small silver notebook in one hand.

"And who are you?" Asked a now rather flustered Michael Barker.

"Isolde Dawn," she said with the sweetest of smiles, and if she meant to enchant him, Michael was already well under her influence. "And you are?"

"Michael Barker," Michael just managed to get out. "I'm with the Rivervale Planning Department… I've — well, I've come to deliver this," he said shoving the file in her direction.

"A parcel?" The woman gave another splendid laugh as she accepted the folder. "But we've already gotten a mailman, might you have sent this in the post instead of bothering your car like that?"

Oh, then she'd been watching him from behind the bushes for quite some time.

Clearing his throat, Michael explained, "No, the boss sent me himself. I'm here on official business with the Victoratrees Estates. You don't happen to be — one of them — are you?"

He watched as her smile turned sly. "I'll take you to see mother," she said, turning back into the bushes. "She'll have just finished her morning tea and book discussion with the ladies, so she might be agreeable. Just this way," she said with a delicate flick of her wrist.

As Michael followed her deeper into the thick ferns and flowers, he noticed that the mosquitoes seemed to keep their distance, as if they, too, were stuck dumb with her beauty.

If she truly were a cultist as the rumors suggested, then Michael worried she'd just won herself another convert.

=+=

Take a chance on me.

Look past the smile on my face.

Enemy or friend?

Bob Morgenstern hadn't always been the top of the food chain. There was a 'once upon a time' where he had been a young man running away from home, chasing after a father who didn't wish to be found. "You'll never amount to anything." Those were the words his father had said as he slammed the door in his face. "Go back to your mother and tell her I've moved on."

But Bob had spent too much of his life running to go back home. He vowed that day to prove his father wrong or die trying.

He read a line in a book once that resinated with him. "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps," it read. "Don't let anyone pull you back down." Bob had taken those words to heart.

The local planning department was just a stepping stone in the evolution of his life, just a short stop before greatness. He'd work hard and prove his old man wrong. Bob kep his goals obtainable; they were modest, perfectly suited to his lifestyle as both a husband and a father of two. He was biding his time, slowly scrimping his savings toward his sons' college funds and a retirement in that beach house by the sea he'd purchased just a few summers ago.

And though his wife Stacy might have said otherwise, he was sure she could get used to peaceful mornings sipping their morning coffee by the sea.

But there was a problem with that plan. Bob would never feel ready to retire if he couldn't find someone worthy of replacing him. None of those beneath him had the right spark — no one, that is, except possibly Michael Barker. He was an idiot, sure enough, but he was also a stupid dreamer, one who could see their humble little town as more than it was. One who might just have a bit of spine left in him to build something truly meaningful for the next generation.

Sending him on this little quest into the redwoods was just another of Bob's tests to see if Michael could finally rise to the occasion. If he could convince that covey of old women to move, Michael Barker could very well do anything. Let the President have his highway and Bob his beach house. Just one more rung up the ladder, one step closer to dreams fulfilled and pocketbooks satisfied. 'Live for tomorrow', that's what Bob told himself.

=+=

Isolde glanced behind her at the tall man still following her. He had auburn hair that hung in close cropped ringlets next to his scalp. Softly rounded ears and dark brooding eyes. She bit her lip as her heart did a little dance. She was bringing home a man — what would mother say?!

A dozen or so deer crowded them as they drew near the house. Some with tawny hides, others well spotted, and a few pure white. These were her 'pets' — if they could be called that.

"Don't mind them," she laughed as they walked deeper into the old growth grove.

"I'd heard about the code violations, but really this is insane," the man muttered as he looked up, up, up to where the treehouse homes of the Victoratrees Estates awaited. "But how do you get up? Surely you don't climb?"

Isolde's laugh twinkled in response. "There's a lift, silly. Over here. Oh, do hurry along before mother hears us talking!"

Mother: as fine a woman as any. Powerful, pretty, and cruel.

Michael Barker wasn't fond of heights. It was a wonder that he'd allowed himself into the pearly white little lift in the first place. He gulped as Isolde closed the little gate that seperated him from sanity. Just breath, he reminded himself as the lift inched upwards. He closed his eyes as his stomach tightened in protest. What if the chain broke and they were sent hurtling back down toward their deaths?

The lift ascended for what might have been mere minutes, but to Michael felt like hours. There was a merry ding! as the lift finally reached the top.

"Excuse me, you said what?" Michael could hardly believe what the woman was asking him to do. "You want me to jump from this swinging contraption?"

"It's hardly a jump," laughed Isolde. "Just step over to the deck. Don't worry, I won't let you fall." There was that sweet smile again. When she reached out her hand to him, he let her draw him from the bouncing lift, over the death drop, and safely to the decking on the other side. Even still, his heart remained securely in his throat as he caught a glimpse of the edge. It was all tree trunk and death from there. With knuckles white, he held on to the railing as he followed her from one flet to another, winding higher and higher into the canopy of trees.

Everywhere their was birdsong and the light that broke through the branches was warm and bright. And here, he caught again a whiff of that out-of-place scent he'd noticed on the forest floor so far below. Pastries.

"The ladies should be just about finished with their book club be now; we shouldn't be too much of an imposition.

Michael awkwardly cleared his throat, knowing that Isolde had yet to open the file…

"Does anyone here know how to fix a car —"

"No, we don't bother with those deadly contraptions."

Naturally, thought Michael. It was probably far too modern for their tastes.

Crossing over another nausia-inducing bridge, Isolde led them at long last to the largest of the treehouses. Turning to him, she warned, "Some of the ladies are a bit opinionated about certain matters. Don't be surprised if they act a little persnickety."

Michael pursed his lips. Clarity was finally returning to him. Perhaps it was the fresh air and the hope of pastries, but — lovely and alluring as Isolde was — his resolve was returning. He was on a mission, and no grey-haired little old lady — persnickety or otherwise — would keep him from completing it.

He ducked his head as he followed Isolde into the luxuriously furnished sitting room where sixteen ladies sat discussing books while drinking tea. But as their faces snapped toward him and he met their eyes, he realized that these were not the 'little old women' he had been expecting.

Michael felt his knees knocking. He froze. Before him sat sixteen elegantly dressed women, each just as youthful as the next, each just as lovely as Isolde. But it wasn't their beauty that sent shivers down his spine, it was their ears.

Michael Barker had been sent to serve a commune of elf women with an eviction letter.

=+=

Margarite could hardly believe her eyes at the sight of her perfectly respectable daughter intruding upon her book club with a man. Kevin the postman would be one thing; Margarite had long ago noticed her daughter's attraction, but this was totally unexpected.

"Isolde? What is the meaning of this?" She asked through measured breaths. Men had no place here, not at the Victoratrees Estates. "Daft girl! You know the rules. I'll be forced to —"

A look of horror passed over Isolde's face. Already the man's charm was working its magic over her daughter. Tempting her. Corrupting her.

"He's here on official business, mother. Look! He's brought a parcel. I thought you might —"

Margarite snatched the file from her daughter's hands and hastily threw it open. There within that unassuming folder was a stack of papers stamped with red lettering.

"Eviction?!" With eyes a-fire she turned a snarl to the man trespassing upon her tea party.

Isolde's face turned ashen and the poor girl looked faint. Audible silence filled the room as her fifteen companions hid their pretty little noses behind books and genteel sips of tea.

It was Penelope who broke the silence with a, "Mighty fine looking man you've got there, Isolde dear."

Margarite raised a single gloved hand in the air and clenched her fist. She would put an end to this nonsense.

A gasp escaped from Isolde's lips. "Oh, please don't curse him, mother. He's been only honorable the whole way over here," she was nearly tripping over her skirts as she rushed to her mother's side. Meanwhile, the man in question looked green at the gills. Honorable he may be, but he clearly an enemy without the slightest bit of spine.

"He works for the government, Isolde." Margarite threw the file against the table, knocking over her own tea cup in the process and sending papers fluttering in all directions. Here an 'eviction', there an 'eviction'. Everywhere the demands that they leave their home and their duty as the society of the Victoratree Estates.

But there was the matter of her daughter's tender beating heart. The poor girl had taken her vow to their order as soon as she was of age. She knew the risks the humans brought. If that man knew their true purpose — everything would be lost.

But Margarite was still a mother — she knew the sorts of books her daughter read and wrote. Isolde was a hopeless romantic, still in love with the idea of romance…

Margarite cleared her throat. "What about Kevin?"

"Kevin's married, mother…" Isolde crossed her arms.

With a death glare toward the man standing at the door, Margarite formed the beginnings of a plan. She would not be forced out of her home, but neither did she wish to break her daughter's heart.

=+=

Tomorrow: Another day.

One more chance to make a change.

Butterflies revealed.

Early the next morning, Miss Daisy answered the office phone of the Rivervale Planning Department. "Hold please," she said before transferring the call to Mr. Bob Morgenstern's office.

"Hello, Mr. Morgenstern, I presume?" said the voice on the other end. What followed was a lengthy conversation that was — at times — quite heated. It ended with Bob delicately clicking the phone back on its hook and then swearing like he'd never sworn before.

It was only a Thursday, and already the weekend was looming over him like a dark cloud ready to swallow the sun.

=+=

Back at the Victoratrees Estates, Michael Barker woke up sore and cramped. Though she hadn't even been bothered to yell or slap her glove in his face, the she-elf that ran this place had locked him up like some common criminal. Michael groaned. The dark space he currently inhabited was hardly large enough to stand up and he'd spent much of the night sitting balled up with his knees to his chin. Dark circles hung from beneath his eyes and his legs had turned to jelly hours ago.

=+=

"Hello, Mr. President? This is Bob Morgenstern of the Rivervale Planning Department. I'm afraid that we've encountered some snags in our plans to evict the ladies in the old growth commune."

Bob lips turned down in a frown as he listened to the voice on the other end. He wilted into his seat as the voice continued thundering through the receiver. Damn the President of this Great Nation, he thought as he sat there, listening and nervously twiddling with the long strands of hair that framed his face. His wife would prefer it shorter, but Bob preferred it longer and if the hippies could grow their hair out, why not him?

"Yes, Mr. President, Sir. I understand. I'll meet dozers their first thing Mon — tomorrow?! But Mr. President! No, I'm not yelling, Sir; I'm perfectly under control. It's just — Yes, Mr. President, Sir." Bob sighed. "I'll be there first thing in the morning."

There would be a long conversation with Stacy when he got home later. The fates of their two sons would need to be considered. If news got out that — Bob shuddered. That wouldn't happen. He'd worked far too long to jeopardize the future of yet another generation.

=+=

Margarite stood just opposite the bars of the small cell carved into the heart of a thousand year old redwood. It was nearly as old as she was. She nibbled the end of one of her delicate fingernails as she considered carefully her words to that man.

"Mr. Barker, is it?" She began. He nodded. She wasn't trying to be intimidating, but if that was how he chose to interpret her, that was all well and good. "Would you like to come out — and join me for a cup of tea?" Her words were cordial enough, but she saw how his eyes widened with fear. Good. Then perhaps magic would not be required after all.

Mr. Michael Barker of the Rivervale Planning department had a preference for Chamomile over Lavender tea and a profound dislike of spruce bon bons.

"— and then I told him it was the other package — but if he'd just leave it at the door —"

Margarite clamped her mouth shut, withholding the punchline of the joke she'd just been telling as Isolde appeared at the doorway. With hands on hips, Isolde stared her mother down.

"When were you going to tell me you'd let him out? I spent all night worrying that you've turned him into a frog or some such thing and here you both are, drinking tea and grinning like fools! Of all the nerve, mother!"

Margarite flinched like a naughty school girl caught in the act. Catching Michael's gaze, she gave him a wink before inviting her daughter to take a seat. Clearing her throat, Margarite explained, "Mike — er, Michael and I were just discussing… discussing… How would you like to get married, dear? Michael's quite taken with you and it would save me the trouble of cursing him…"

Michael eyed Isolde with those brown doe-eyes of his, head nodding to the cadence of Margarite's words.

"Mother! Are you forcing him to marry me?"

The slightest snarl formed at the edges of Margarite's perfect mouth. "He's quite agreeable, dear. Unless you'd like another pet?"

There was a knock at the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Ma'am, Miss; but there seems to be trouble at the border. Bulldozers, Ma'am, a whole fleet of them." The fae woman with the bad news looked like she might cry. When was the last time they'd had trouble this bad?

Margarite turned steeled eyes on her daughter. "Isolde. Darling. I've been gracious." There was a slight growl at the edges of her words. "I've considered your needs, but the reality is we've a realm to protect. There's men out there — dangerousmen — men who would break through our barriers and steal through to the fae realm. We've our vows to consider. Time has run out. Are you marrying Mike, here, or what?" The snarl she'd been holding back turned all teeth. Either her daughter make up her mind or Margarite might suddenly seem less a lady of grace.

Margarite rolled her eyes as she marched with her army of female fae warriors toward the battle with the bulldozers. They'd threatened her for years, but now they were here, ready to kick her out of her home and raid her home world just beyond. Greedy, selfish human men. Did they ever come with good intentions? Margarite's shoulders shrank as she listened to her daughter and Michael exchanging whispered sweet-nothings as they walked.

Margarite had been in love once… She could only hope that Michael Edward Barker, III, would hold up the end of hisbargain to love and protect her daughter to the end of his much prolonged days. If not, he would die a slow and agonizing death, as she had thoroughly described to him as she sealed their fairy deal.

Before them, bulldozers yawned metallic, stretching and taunting her small battalion.

"Mother, there's far more of them than I expected," Isolde murmured.

"I know, darling. But we won't let them win."

=+=

Bob Morgenstern sat in the seat of the lead dozer. He pushed the stick shift up and to the left and slowly the great beast rumbled through the underbrush, squashing fern and flower alike as he lead the army of yellow 'cats' toward the Victoratrees Estates.

Stacy had made him sleep on the couch last night. She had forbade their boys from even looking at him as he finished his morning coffee and walked out the front door.

"I don't care about your stupid promotion, Robert," she shouted. "All I care about is keeping this family together. If family's no longer important to you, then don't even bother coming back home."

Bob sighed.

Home.

Family.

Love.

He'd spent the last several decades making sacrifices for Stacy and the kids. Everything he'd ever done was for them. To give them a future. To ensure that they always had a father who'd come home for them.

The trees shivered as the bulldozers rumbled closer to the old growth grove.

He moved the shift stick again so that the dozer tore through a downed log.

Progress.

The shadows of the woods were creeping closer as if the forest itself was ready to fight. Tawny shapes stepped out from behind the trees, pronged sentinels ready to strike.

"Are those deer?" A voice crackled over the radio. "Sure are!" Responded another.

Blocking the path of the dozers, stood nearly a hundred bucks, hoofs pressed into the dirt, ready to charge should the dozers continue.

"She's crazy," Bob muttered. But he didn't stop. He was a man under orders.

The shadows shifted and so did the deer. One by one, the largest of the bucks raised their horned heads high. In a flash of brilliance, they traded hide and horn for skin and rifle. Where there had been a herd of deer, there now stood a battalion of huntsmen, returned once more to the vengence of their human form.

Bob swore and threw down his hat upon the dozer's dash.

"She's gonna get someone killed!"

Already the radio was abuzz with swears of disbelief. "Did you just see that?" "I told you these woods is haunted!" "I'm outta here!"

First one than another of the dozers lost their drivers. Bob was near enough now that he could see Margarite and the others walking toward him.

"Robert James, you get over here this instant and talk to me like a civilized man!" Shouted the fae woman.

With resignation, Bob slid from the seat and hopped out of the dozer. With head hung, he replied, "Coming, mother."

=+=

There is no torture quite like the verbal lashing of one's estranged mother.

"Robert James Morgenstern, I warned you about conniving with the government! I told you that planning department job of yours would be nothing but trouble. And what has it gotten you, hmm? Long hours and more excuses for why the boys can't have tea with their grandmother."

Margarite's gaze was intense, penetrating the darkest recesses of Bob's resolve.

"Yes, ma'am." Bob pulled at his hair. It was no use hiding his ears from her, she knew what he truly was. She was the one that birthed him, after all.

"You just turn right around and phone that highfalutin President of yours. This is a matter of national security. Unless he wants to total war with thee fae realm, he best consider rerouting his damn highway."

"Yes, ma'am."

Bob was a man beat. He couldn't go home, either to his wife or his mother. Either he would have a change both of heart and mind or he would find himself sleeping out on the streets come evening.

Bob flinched. "Mind if I use your phone?"

Margarite's left eyebrow twitched. "Best make it fast. It's almost time for tea."

=+=

Roads can be rerouted, but not families. 'Either love 'em or lose 'em', as Bob would later tell his sons. There was nothing he could do about his father — the man who left his mother for another. But Bob vowed he'd never again let his future aspirations get in the way of what mattered most. He was done running away.

And as he sat across from his family at the large sitting room table at the Victoratrees Estates to celebrate the wedding of his younger sister Isolde, Bob could only smile and remind himself how lucky of a man he truly was. Beside him, his wife Stacy leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I like Michael," she whispered, "how come I never met him before today?"

Bob smiled as he regarded the lovestruck bride and groom. "He wasn't ready for a promotion yet. But, I don't think I need to worry about him anymore. He's got plenty of people waiting at home for him when Isolde finally lets him return from that honeymoon she's got planned." Lifting his cup of tea, Bob toasted the happy couple, wishing them a lifetime of love and more.

"I'm so glad you and Stacy finally decided to move back in. This old tree has missed the boys and I know a couple of fae maids that have missed seeing their handsome faces around the place as well."

Bob rolled his eyes at his mother. Obviously, she still prided herself as the local matchmaker.

Stacy reached for his hand and gave it a tender squeeze. "Me too, Margie. Me too."