How does it feel? (Infatuated Fae Book 1)
How does it feel? – Chapter 4

“You’re doing what now?” asked Cliff as he stood over me in the deep green grass.

“Don’t move, you make them nervous,” I reprimanded the hovering man as I tried to shoo the teenage bunnies into the grassy field.

They didn’t seem interested in leaving. All five brownish-gray rabbits continued to play and bounce about my legs as I sat stretched out in the grassy field.

“They don’t look nervous to me. They look like they don’t want to leave you, Disney princess.” I could hear the smirk in his voice without looking.

“I’m going to—” I started before Cliff cut me off.

“In non-nerd terms, something I can understand, please.” He smiled down at me.

His golden locks were covered by a worn ball cap leaving just a few tufts of disheveled, sun-drenched hair to pop out wildly.

He was cute in a boyish sort of way. He had made no secret of pursuing me since I had stepped foot in Willow Springs, but I wasn’t interested in him that way. I had goals and dreams, and they didn’t involve love. Love made you hurt. Love made you distracted and inevitably sad and empty when they left.

“Ouch!” My love-hating thoughts were interrupted as one of the small bunnies took a taste of my finger.

I loved animals.

They couldn’t drive. They couldn’t crash rushing home to see you. They couldn’t leave you with an empty hole in your chest. I shook myself out of my thoughts.

Why weren’t they running off into the field like normal wild bunnies? They hadn’t been at the center for very long and had been cleared and ready to be off on their own.

Instead of running free the moment they were let out into the wide open meadow of the large state park, they bounced around our legs in circles playing happily. I was in no rush, and they were a beautiful distraction. Although, I was rather eager to evaluate the infamous “honey hole” and see what I could do to help the bass of Lake Blackwing, if anything.

“Well, initially, I only took this position because it was on the migratory pattern of the Actias luna. Several, if not all, of the lepidoptera are in danger of extinction due to the Compsilura concinnata parasite. I hypothesized that by infusing the water source with the mycelium of the Amanita muscaria, I could re-establish their immunity, thus creating a continuation of—”

“I said in terms a normal human would understand, Callie,” Cliff impatiently interrupted as he tried to shove a few of the fluffy bunnies off into the field. Obviously, he had already grown tired of listening to my interests.

I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised I didn’t see my brain. “The big green moths that come here have a parasite that’s killing them. Parasite bad, moths good.” I grinned at a fluffy bunny in front of me. “I’m going to take the pretty red mushrooms and make a drink for the moths that will kill off the bad parasites allowing them to thrive.” I bit my lip in an attempt to stifle my laughter as I watched the rusty wheels turning in Cliff’s mind, sorting through all the beer and football.

“You mean the big red mushrooms with the white specks? I thought those were poisonous?”

“Well, to us, they can be highly poisonous, but they also contain trace amounts of psilocybin, so people have been known to ‘party’ with them. Foolishly too, because too many and they can easily kill you.”

I had started walking in wide circles, trying to get the bunnies to wander off. It looked like a bad magic act as they followed absent-mindedly behind me. Why did this always happen to me?

“Geez, Callie, you really are different,” Cliff said with a sincere look as he watched me now try to outrun the bunnies.

“What do you mean? Don’t mock me.”

My mouth felt dry and thirsty as I stopped running and crossed my arms. The sun would be setting soon, and if the bunnies didn’t get out into the woods before dark, I would have to take them back to the center. How the heavens would I tell Cecelia another of my releases wouldn’t . . . release?

“I ain’t pickin’ on ya, Callie, I mean it. You’re smart enough to be some big hotshot scientist at a big company making tons of money, but instead, you’re in bum-fuck Willow Springs running from rabbits with a hundred-year-old truck, livin’ in an old hunting cabin that stinks of piss. All ’cause you wanna help moths. You’re as sweet as they come, Callie Sue.”

He had taken off his aviator sunglasses to study me. His eyes turned serious, and I suddenly didn’t like the way he watched me. I didn’t want that. I just wanted a friend. Why couldn’t we be just friends?

I picked dried grass blades out of my hair, attempting to avoid his perusal. “Thanks, Cliff, that’s sweet. I just want to help the creatures that can’t help themselves. I’m nothing unusual. Look at you. You’re the game warden. That’s a big deal.” I smiled broadly at the man in an attempt to refocus the conversation. “If they don’t leave soon, I’m going to have to take them back to the center with us. Go! Go now, sweet bunnies! It’s time. If you ever need me, you know where to replace me, but right now it’s time for you to go!” I shouted at the bouncing cotton balls, suddenly wishing I could leave this situation.

Maybe going fishing alone in the dark with Cliff tonight wasn’t such a good idea. He normally was really nice and a great friend. It was never weird, but lately, he had been putting it in overdrive.

All the bunnies froze to watch me as I scolded them. It was quite comical. Then as though commanded, they each bounced happily off in different directions. Some into the woods, some into the thicket of the field as though they had simply been waiting for my word.

Cliff and I looked at each other wide-eyed.

“Wow,” Cliff murmured to himself. “Disney fuckin’ princess.”

“Okay . . . well, I guess we can go now. Do you mind running me over to Don’s on the way to my house?” I asked as we walked out of the field and back to Cliff’s truck parked on a nearby path.

That was one of the major perks of working at a national state park—you could drive your truck all over the paths. Small perk, sure, but when you walked all over the eight hundred and twenty-nine thousand acres every week, it became a massive perk.

The air was already starting to cool, and the sun had only just begun to creep lower. That meant fall was just around the corner. My favorite time of year and the perfect time for harvesting mushrooms for the Luna moths’ anti-parasite cocktail.

We settled into Cliff’s truck and headed through the familiar paths back to the main road. Cliff paused at the entrance gate to speak to one of the park rangers before we continued down the road toward the wildlife center.

“Just grab what you need from the center, and I’ll take you to the house. You don’t need to bother stopping at Don’s, I took care of it,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.

“What do you mean you took care of it?” I asked the side of his face as I stared at the bit of stubble he had missed shaving.

I knew he was just trying to be nice, but I didn’t need anyone to “take care” of my things, and it bristled something deep inside me to have anyone get that close.

“It’s not a big deal, I traded him some fishin’ tags he needed,” he said, his face still stoically facing the road.

“That sounds like either a stupid deal or an illegal one,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him. “Thank you, Cliff, but I’d rather just pay him.

“Suit yourself, Callie,” he said arrogantly with a shake of his head, his body stiff.

We had pulled into the empty parking lot of the center. I ran in and finished the last bit of tidying and locking up that I needed to do before quickly returning to the shiny gray truck.

“Would you mind just taking me home, Cliff? I think I’m going to pass on the bass tonight. I don’t want the town talking, and I really do have lots of things I need to get in order if I’m going to have this mycelium set up and harvested in time for the luna moths,” I said with a sheepish smile, the same as I had rehearsed inside.

He clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything. He’d been around me long enough to know arguing with me would go nowhere.

“Whatever you want,” he said as he abruptly slammed the shifter into drive. “Stacy Perkins has been dying to see my honey hole . . . .and I kinda wanna see hers too.” He grinned childishly, his stare held mine a moment too long.

He was hoping to make me jealous and get a reaction out of me, but unfortunately, the only thing I was severely jealous of was that Stacy’s family had a very secret morel mushroom patch they refused to tell the location of.

“Well, I hope you have a lot of fun, you deserve it. If you want, I can get a ride with Hank or Cecelia tomorrow morning,” I said blithely.

Had I refilled the deer feeder in my back lot? Poor things were probably hungry. I added that to the mental checklist of things to do when I woke up the next day.

Cliff huffed a loud pouty breath but remained silent until we pulled into the winding gravel drive of my lot. I couldn’t help but admire it every time I came back to the house. Of all the places I’d moved to, and there were a lot, this was by far my favorite.

Tall oaks and maples scattered the forest on either side of the long curving driveway in a warm, picturesque way. I only owned two acres, but the woods surrounded it for about twenty acres on either side, lending to the cozy illusion. It was incredible, quiet and solitary, laced with a special warmth and character that I loved.

The gravel crunched and shifted under the tires as the small house came into view. It was only a one-bedroom cabin covered in mismatched brown and tan siding and a black shingled roof. No frills and absolutely nothing I didn’t need. One shuttered window on either side of the front door and a bright-blue tarp that I parked under attached to the side. I loved it. Every type of wildflower I could replace was scattered across the property. I had large beds of pollinator-friendly flowers strewn about, as well as several mushroom patches and a few deer gardens. I didn’t bother trying to grow anything for myself here, the animals were ever present on this property, and I was more than happy to help feed them instead of myself anyway. Sometimes they felt like the only real friends I had, and they couldn’t run to Tate’s grocery like I could when I got hungry.

I waited as Cliff turned the truck around in the small gravel rectangle next to my house. “Thanks again for the ride, Cliff. I really do appreciate it,” I said with a smile and stepped out of the truck.

“Yea, whatever,” he said, fake annoyed with a grin on his face. “Hey, you know who you should talk to about those ’shrooms you’re looking for?” he said as he popped a fresh toothpick into his mouth.

“Well, I’m not looking for them yet. They are predominantly with birch and a few diverse conifer trees—”

“Talk to Crazy Earl. If they have the stuff that you get high off of and are around here, that bastard will know where to replace ’em,” he said as he chewed on the end of the small wooden stick.

“I knew it!” I shouted so loud Cliff jumped, dropping the toothpick from his mouth. “Sorry,” I said apologetically as I calmed my voice, attempting to harness my excitement.

He probably did have a field of psilocybin-loaded mushrooms behind that gas station!

I said goodbye to Cliff and continued inside my home, setting my bag on the glossy cream tile just inside the front door. I unbuttoned my stiff khaki shirt. A few of the brightly colored patches had begun to peel up from the firm fabric. Inside the bathroom that led to the only bedroom in the house, I paused in front of the mirror to assess the ironing that would be necessary.

I smiled at my reflection. Large ball lights cast a yellow hue on the big smile of straight white teeth that stared back at me, the result of three years worth of incessant orthodontists appointments and braces. My pale, dirty-blonde hair had bleached out this summer, giving me natural highlights along with a tan face full of freckles. I laughed as I watched my tan line abruptly stop on my shoulders as I took off my outer shirt and hung it up. I had hosted a class for the fifth-grade camp last week, and the racer-back tank top I had worn left me with a unique set of tan lines. Good thing no one but me would see them.

I would wake up early and fix the loose patches on my work shirt. No sense in waiting for them to fall off. I made a mental checklist of my duties for tomorrow. Well, I made a mental note to write myself a checklist, I should say. I was a fool for lists. My entire being revolved around notes and checklists.

Standing in my sports bra and pants, I couldn’t help but giggle at my five-foot-tall reflection. I looked like the prototype of what Mattel would cast as scientist Barbie. It was no wonder no one took me seriously. Skipper had been the cool doll anyway. Barbie only cared about her hair and fashion, not that I’d ever really played with dolls when I was a kid. Too many real-life things happened for me to be able to enjoy dolls and action figures.

Maybe I should chop my hair off into a pixie cut. Would that produce a more serious appearance? Don’t get me wrong, the compliments I received during my training or at the local watering hole were lovely. Real confidence boosters even. Unless you were in my field.

The older professionals constantly talked down to me, assuming I was a brain-dead idiot simply based on my looks. One time in college, a professor convinced me I was in the wrong class, only to send me to a fashion and textiles classroom. Shortly after that, I stopped wearing makeup.

I was so tired of not fitting in anywhere.

That very same professor asked me out later that very same year. What a joke. At least until the higher-ups told him I had been offered the job to replace him. I hadn’t accepted, but it was so great of them to offer. I’ll never forget the look on his face.

I pulled up my waist-length hair to see if, in fact, a pixie cut would help make my appearance more studious. It didn’t appear to, so I continued with my routine.

I washed my face before patting it dry. My cheekbones rested high on my heart-shaped face, making my oversized blue eyes look even more doe-eyed. I scrunched my face in the mirror and made myself smile.

I was happy with who I was. Things were often hard, but I knew there was a light at the end of every tunnel. If the Lepidoptera Migratory Society didn’t want me, that was okay. I understood not wanting someone to flake halfway through a long project to go have a family. But them assuming that was something I would want or do made me sad. I could never whole-heartedly love someone, not after everything that had happened.

That’s okay. I would prove to them I was serious about the conservation of the moths and butterflies, and they would accept me eventually. They had to.

How else would I replace them?

If the society members took one step into my house, they would know just how serious I really was about butterflies.

Photos of wings lined every wall in my small home. Beautiful feathered falcon wings backlit by abstract colors. Realistic paintings of every species of bat and bird wings lined my entryway. I had even added a photo of Dorothy the turkey’s, now not-so-gimpy, wing to the kitchen wall collection. Some from my family’s postcards with wings, several from antique stores.

I had dedicated the last ten years of my life to the Actias luna, or luna moth as most people called it. It had been the sole reason I moved to Willow Springs. The parks sent me an email after seeing a TED Talk I had done on the importance of integrating wildflowers and pollinator gardens into rural and residential properties. Several places with growing luna moth populations had reached out, and Willow Springs State Park was one of them. They said it was a shot in the dark for such a small state park, but when I googled where it was, everything changed.

I had been mapping the luna moth’s migratory patterns for years after my best friend had piqued my interest in them. There was one place in particular that always seemed to be a hot spot for the moths, but it never made any sense. I was specifically looking for where they gathered, so this was intriguing.

What was it in the small area of Willow Springs, Michigan, that drew such a large luna moth crowd? Well, I had to replace out and see them for myself, so I emailed an acceptance letter the very same day. Do I regret being so rash? Not at all. It was incredibly unfortunate that their numbers had dwindled so low the following year that I hadn’t actually been able to see any, or even one for that matter.

I would see them this year in person. I knew it. There were certain things that drew them to this area, and I needed to know what they were, or I would go crazy.

It was a good thing I was silly and bubbly, or I would be worried about receiving a mad scientist reputation with my obsessive nature and gusto. My butterfly and moth obsession started when I was little, before I even knew what a scientist was.

One day, I had been out playing in the meadow behind our old house. I suppose I was approximately seven or eight years old. My younger sister had been out with me, following me around as I picked dandelion bouquets for my mother.

A sharp pain seared through my chest at the memory, like the pain was looking for them but could only replace an empty piece to land on. I gripped the smooth vanity counter and breathed through the feeling. It hurt like it were the very day it happened.

The day the car accident ripped my mom and sister from my life. The only real family I had.

But this was before that horrible day. I could see the sunlit field as if it were yesterday. Dandelions were the chosen flower to pick for my mother until I happened to see little bell-shaped mushrooms and instantly decided Mom would be delighted to have a bouquet of smashed bell mushrooms and dandelions combined. This was where things started to grow odd. The tiny mushrooms were strewn through the tall grass, a bit past where we were supposed to play, but Mom was inside, and I had decided she wouldn’t mind if I wandered a little in an effort to get her something beautiful.

As I collected an exceptionally bright and beautiful mushroom, a tiny glowing bug stood beneath it. Only, once I had moved closer in an attempt to get a better view of the odd bug, I realized it wasn’t a bug at all. Stunning golden wings fluttered behind the tiniest person I’d ever laid eyes on. I had read the tales my mother gave me, they were some of my favorites, and I knew I had found a fairy. Her entire body had shimmered gold in the amber sunlight, and her orange and yellow butterfly wings seemed to be illuminated. Even her tiny dress had hung from her dainty body like a glittering ray of sunlight. I could still recollect the intricate updo of coiled golden curls that had rested upon her head. Even her tiny eyes gleamed as though they were little citrine stones framed by delicate features and a tiny mouth. I was in complete awe.

I threw my bouquet to the ground, save for the tiniest and most pristine of the dandelions I had picked. That one I pulled free and rested at her feet as I had lain upon my belly to chance a better view of the beautifully winged creature. I was set to make my plea, asking how I could become a fairy as well, when a sudden gust of wind, quite unlike anything I’d ever felt still to this day, flung me several feet away from the tiny fairy and onto my back. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had landed on a stick that dug viciously into my baby-skinned palm. It had even left a tiny jagged scar in the shape of a small V by my thumb that I still possessed. I remembered looking at Adrianna and making certain my baby sister was all right. She was unfazed and playing with a toad she had come across. When I had turned to check on the fairy, a large wispy-looking crow, bigger than any I had ever seen, swooped down at the speed of a torpedo to the spot I had left the tiny fairy. I cried out in pure horror as the giant black bird flapped viciously with dedication as it tried to kill the golden fairy. Don’t ask me how I knew it was trying to kill it. I don’t have a solid answer other than I could feel it. The golden fairy brought feelings, good and wholesome, of tenderness, while the horrible crow emanated a sort of evil and vile feeling.

I ran as fast as I could to the helpless fairy and covered it with my own small body. I could see the glow of light bouncing upon my stomach and chest as I shielded her from the bird. It had continued its attack, only my back and head were then targeted. It flapped so wildly, so intensely.

I remembered looking up and crying, wishing with every fiber of my being that the bird would leave us. Then, a mere second later, with a puff of unnerving black smoke, the bird had transformed into an entirely different creature. Though about the same size as the large bird, this creature was more human than not. It had a similar build to the golden fairy, but instead of beautiful delicate butterfly wings, this creature carried inky black wings that looked to be made of macabre black smoke. The wings seemed to be longer than they were wide and were attached more to her shoulders than her back. The wings, no less beautiful, were different in their own right. Everything about the creature was. Where the golden fairy had oozed happiness and smiles that made you think of sunshine and summer, this creature made you feel only terror and fright, like death watched over your shoulder. Smoke seemed to flow from nowhere, surrounding her long black hair. A chill had cascaded down my spine as she stared at me with absolute hate.

What happened next, I couldn’t tell you. It seemed I must have passed out because I woke up later in a small hospital room surrounded by every family member I had ever known hovering over my metal-railed bed. When I tried to tell them what had happened and replace out if the golden fairy was all right, they laughed and cried, their faces full of melancholic regret.

Apparently, the beautiful bell mushrooms I picked had been highly poisonous, and the toxins had seeped into my little hands, causing hallucinations of astonishing proportions. At least, that’s what they had said.

It hadn’t mattered. What I had seen (or not seen) changed my life forever. From then on, I was obsessed with winged creatures.

I ran my thumb across the tiny V-shaped scar on my palm as I revisited the memory. I never got into drugs or parties, so I had no basis for comparison to my experience.

I met my best friend Eli shortly thereafter, and he had believed me. He had even encouraged me to follow my passion for wildlife.

I would see the luna moths this year and help rid them of the parasites that claimed them. Then I would get to see the treasures they held in all their glory.