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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Spirits of the Mistletoe

It was already the last day of Yule court. I’d heard nine cases altogether and was about to gavel in the last.

When this case appeared at the top of my stack, I thought, Mistletoe spirits on the Yule docket? Yes, please. In keeping with the spirit of the season, an action brought by mistletoe fairies made the little girl in me sit up and point ears forward.

Choosing this case would’ve been a no-brainer even if I didn’t judge the merits as court-worthy. But this suit had potential to be one of my most important hearings to date.

Several things made it noteworthy. One was the highly rare circumstance that one of the parties to the suit, the defendants, was human.

I hadn’t known that was a possibility until now.

I checked with Lochlan and did a brief scan of the magistrate journal library, which had not been digitized for encyclopedic scrutiny.

That would make things too easy. Between the two of us, the only reference we found to humans being involved in fae court had occurred some three hundred-plus years ago.

As you might guess, bringing humans into the magic world requires extraordinary provisions such as a special dispensation from the Powers and BOBO providing us with a mind sweep capable of wiping the memories of participating humans. After my ruling is handed down, of course.

The druids, who’d been sued by a loose coalition of mistletoe spirits, are well aware that there are magic worlds that exist side by side with human reality.

But knowing a thing intellectually is not the same thing as a physical introduction to one of the magic kind dimensions.

I’m told there’s a danger of permanent damage to the personality of humans who accidentally wander into a fae world.

It’s a wrong place, wrong time, wrong species scenario that can create a form of PTSD.

Not all humans are so affected, but some souls, be it because of sensitivity or intractability, find proof of alternate realities difficult to reconcile with their point of view.

Emotionally, they withdraw to an unreachable “safe space” in their minds and stay there.

Yikes. And no, thank you!

Max, that’s shorthand for Maxfield Pteron, lead counsel for the Bureau of Behavioral Oversight (BOBO), was representing the plaintiff, which was the Mistletoe Spirit Union.

Earlier I referred to the “Union” as a loose coalition because magic kind are famously libertarian, meaning that organization is elusive at best.

Blythe Merriwether was pulling double duty this court, serving as attorney for the Celtic Fraternity of Bards, Ovates, and Druids, six of whom were present and the defendant’s table.

Try as the six men might to look like Gandalf, all fell short.

They might’ve been going for a wizard-supreme thing, but missed the target altogether.

They came off as the oldest, grayest version of ZZ Top in drab burlap robes with rope belts.

I’d read in the brief during my docket selection process that Druids make an annual pilgrimage to the Malvern Hills to gather Viscum album, also known as sacred white mistletoe.

In late November, early December, they look for orchards of apple or hawthorn, or poplar trees, where mistletoe is plentiful and most visible growing.

Accompanying rituals included using a golden cycle for cutting and catching the mistletoe in a cloak before it touched the ground.

Norse tradition associates mistletoe with matters of hearth and home, along with clairvoyance.

It’s the latter that is of concern in this dispute.

In the distant past, Druids had unlocked the secret of forcing mistletoe spirits to reveal themselves and answer questions.

The spirits didn’t mind this so long as the questions referenced such things as weather prediction, but in modern times, despite their appearance, some Druids had become more interested in material gain.

They realized that the ancient pagan practices might be used to provide livelihoods or even prosperity.

When they began drawing mistletoe spirits out to inquire about such things as lottery numbers and stock market predictions, the mistletoe spirit union went to the Druids’ council and asked to be divested of the burden of truth-telling performance.

The Druids refused on the grounds that mistletoe spirits were becoming lazy and trying to get out of the only job they have.

After I was settled in, I looked at Blythe Merriwether and said, “You’re busy today.”

She stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Sit. Sit,” I instructed. “I’ll hear from the plaintiff first.” I turned toward the other table. “Maxfield Pteron.” He stood. “Are your clients running late or not coming?”

He looked confused which, in turn, confused me. “Ah,” he began. “The Mistletoe Spirits Union has sent three members to represent their interests, Your Honor.”

As if to punctuate his point, he turned to his right. There was nothing there.

It would be very unlike Max to indulge in a prank regarding invisible clients. And gaslighting was absolutely out of the question. That led me to the conclusion that I was odd woman out.

I held up a finger, signaling to Max that I needed a quick staff convo.

Leaning toward Lochlan, I held my hand in front of my mouth and whispered. “Do you see anyone with Max?”

My clerk, neighbor, and favorite walking buddy cleared his throat before saying. “Why, yes, Magistrate. I do.”

“I don’t see a thing.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Well…”

“Is it important that I see them? Because honestly, I hate having to admit what hundreds of attendees will see as a weakness.”

“I’ll take care of it. If you could take a ten-minute break?”

“Please sit, Counselor Pteron,” I said. “Hengest!”

“Yes, Magistrate.” He hurried over.

“We’re taking a ten-minute break.”

“Yes, Magistrate,” he said before making the announcement.

Lochlan stayed back on the way to chambers to say something to Hengest. I didn’t have to wait long to find out what was said. He arrived a scant minute after Keir and me.

“So, why are we breaking?” Upon hearing that come out of my mouth, I decided to restate. “I mean, why are we taking another break?”

“Evie is in the house. Hengest has sent someone to fetch her.”

“Why?”

“I believe she can make the Mistletoe Spirits visible to you and, because of the relationship you enjoy with the queen, she’ll not tell others.”

“And that’s why you get the big bucks, Clerk?”

“I beg your pardon?” It was Lochlan’s turn to look confused. Sometimes my American casualness left him not knowing how to respond to me. Sometimes my sense of humor missed the target. Regardless of which, my quip hadn’t landed as intended.

“Never mind,” I said. “Thank you.”

One of Hengest’s guards opened the door, and Evie came breezing into the sitting room looking trim and radiant. “What’s up?” she asked.

“How is Rhiannon?”

“Unbelievably spoiled and surrounded by animals each of whom think they have a priority claim on her.”

I chuckled. “For some reason that delights me. But I shouldn’t keep everyone waiting while I get an update.”

“True,” she said.

“So, promise to call me later.”

“I’ll do one better. I’ll meet you in your kitchen with a Starbucks in hand after you declare court closed for the season.”

“Perfect. Here’s the thing. There are three Mistletoe Spirits at the plaintiff table next to Max.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I can’t see them.”

She grew suddenly serious. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Can you help?”

“I guess. You want me to make them temporarily bigger?”

I deferred to Lochlan. “Would it be better to make them bigger or would it be better to improve my eyesight?”

To Evie, Lochlan said, “If you’re able to enhance Rita’s sight, just for the morning, I believe that would be preferable. That way, no one will know there was an issue with the magistrate.”

“Sure,” Evie said nonchalantly as she was already walking toward me. She stopped in front of my chair. “What’s your all-time favorite memory?”

“That’s easy. When they put you in my arms the first time.”

“Awwwwwww. Mom. You almost make it sound like you like me. Close your eyes and form that picture in your mind.”

I did. At first, nothing happened. Then the picture began to change. The colors were richer. The details were finer. I could see the individual stitches on the pink blanket wrapped around Evie’s brand-new little body.

“Wow. That’s just…”

“Incredible? No. Not really. I’m the fantastic Evangeline.”

“If someone thought to deny that before, they look like fools now,” I said.

“Okay. See ya later. Good luck with this one.”

“WAIT!” I shouted just as she put her hand on the doorknob. “I may need your help hearing them as well?”

“Oh, right,” said Evie. “Hmmm. Let’s see. Do you have any memory of a time when you wanted to hear something better?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“At the viewing the night before Birdie’s funeral. Your grandmother and great aunt were having a hushed but animated discussion in the funeral home alcove.”

“And you wanted to know what they said,” Evie accused. I nodded. “Even though you knew it wasn’t any of my business.”

“Hey. I’m an inquiring person who wants to know.”

She smiled. “Close your eyes and picture the scene.”

I did and saw myself watching my two elders in an intense back-and-forth.

My mother was saying, “This isn’t the time or place, Glad.”

My aunt came back with, “The pink hurricane lamp should be mine, and you know it.”

Oh, my gods! My aunt was being greedy about Birdie’s stuff. I wished I could take that memory reference back and continue to not know.

Evie saw it on my face. “Sorry,” she said. “Just the messenger here.”

“Not your fault. Thank you for the upgrade. How long does it last?”

“Duration of this case.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”