Title:
BUTTERFLY WALTZ
Genre:
Fantasy
Author:
Jane Tesh
Website:
www.janetesh.com
Publisher:
Silver Leaf Books
Purchase at Amazon
When he helps his friend Jake Brenner, a
tabloid writer on the hunt for a big supernatural story, Des Fairweather is
swept up in a world of mystery and intrigue.
Despite his skepticism of the validity of the stories Jake is seeking,
Des reluctantly accompanies Jake on his latest adventure—all with the promise
that Jake can help Des secure an audition with the city symphony, a break Des
desperately needs.
When Jake’s search takes the two out to the
country to investigate an unusual phenomenon at the Snowden estate, Des
encounters a startlingly beautiful young woman who claims to be magical. That young woman is Kalida, a mysterious
creature who has escaped from the people of the Caverns and renounced their
evil ways. But when Kalida is
discovered, her people will stop at no end to get her to return to their world.
Will Des be able to cast aside his fears in order to save Kalida….before it’s
too late?
A mesmerizing tale that blends music,
mystery and magic, Butterfly Waltz charms
with its enchanting storyline and compelling characters. Resplendent with
adventure, intrigue, and the allure of the supernatural, Butterfly Waltz is delightful.
CHAPTER ONE
The music was
clearer. It had been the faintest
whisper, the tune barely discernible.
The theme grew familiar, a soft, beckoning tune, a waltz of lilting
melancholy.
Kalida
woke, smiling. Traces of the dream music
hung about the dark room, brightly colored ribbons of sound. For several moments, she savored the melody,
but her smile faded with the music. She
would have to decide soon.
She
folded back the rose-colored sheets, removed her bedclothes, and slipped into
her gown. Her long black hair glittered
as she ran her comb down its length.
Faint sunlight picked its way delicately through the forest and bathed
the small room in pearly light. Another
beautiful day waited outside.
Kalida
took an apple from the blue glass bowl on her small table and sat down on the
little bench outside the doorway of her home.
She gazed at the silent wood.
Small birds flickered from tree to tree. A few butterflies danced above the wildflowers
that grew in the grove. Bright colors,
sunshine, butterflies—these things were alien to her nature, but she had grown
to love them. Alone with time to think,
she had decided her people, the people of the Caverns, had been wrong about so
many things it was impossible to count them.
The
Caverns. To think of them was to be back
within the dark hallways of cold stone, the only sound the rustling of her gown
on the smooth floor, while all around, silver eyes and ruby eyes cast secretive
glances full of malice as they studied the rules, the dark etiquette that bound
all to the Legion. Conquer and
destroy. That was the only way. How many worlds had she seen blown to ashes,
how many beings had she heard crying out in despair?
She
had been part of the destruction. She
had flown with her people, but always reluctantly, as if there were something
else just beyond her reach, something different. She could trace her discontent to the
Leader’s celebration, the night she first heard music.
As a
small child, she had watched in awe as the veterans of the Legion received
honors at victory celebrations. The
leader she first remembered was a dark-eyed man as rough and sharp as a
stalactite, who called the young ones up for a better look. With their transforming skill, members of the
Legion re-enacted the battle. Young
Kalida, thrilled by the sights and sounds, longed to be a part of it all. Everyone clapped until sparks flew from their
hands. But one celebration night had
been different.
That
night, a great whispering filled the tunnels.
Kalida heard a man say, “Some new entertainment. The Lady has brought an Andrean man to the
celebration. We’ll have some fun.”
The
Lady was the title of their Leader, a harsh, demanding woman who rarely held
celebrations. Kalida followed the others
to the Hall. The Andrean man stood in
the center. He didn’t seem worried or
afraid. He wore tattered clothes and
boots. An odd-looking instrument was
slung over his back.
More
whispers.
“They
say his brother joined the Legion.”
“How
would The Lady allow that?”
“What
is that thing on his back?”
“Is
he going to sing?”
“Sing?”
Kalida said. “What do you mean?”
Her
companion grimaced. “You’ll see.”
Kalida
stared at the man. “But isn’t The Lady
mounting a massive campaign against the Three Worlds, Trieal, Andrea, and Fey
East? What’s this Andrean man doing
here?”
“I
told you. You’ll see.”
At
last, The Lady appeared, accompanied by her latest creation, a creature in the
shape of an eerily beautiful child. She
sat down in her stone chair with the child beside her and introduced the man.
“This is Raven. Don’t stare, child. He’s here to sing for you. He is always welcome.”
“But
isn’t he an enemy?” the child asked.
“Under
usual conditions, yes, but his brother enjoyed a brilliant if rather brief
career with us, and therefore we admit Raven to our social gathering out of
pity, shall we say?”
The
man looked at her without expression.
“My brother’s choice to join you shamed my family, but his music will
live long after you are gone.”
The
Lady gave a short laugh. “Very
good. Sing now. I want my people to hear what you call
music. It will give them another reason
to eradicate your race.”
“Whatever
you wish.”
Kalida
listened, fascinated, as the melody pierced the darkness of the Hall. The members of the Legion groaned and cursed
at the sound. Her companion gave her a
curious glance, so she winced, as if the sound hurt her ears as well, but it
didn’t. It intrigued her. It made pictures in her mind of things she
had never imagined.
“Love
will find me,” the man sang. “Love green
and golden. I’ll not turn from you, nor
change all the while. Safe in the magic
of your smile.”
She
wanted to hear more.
But
there was no more music from the Andrean man.
After the celebration, he was taken away. She never saw him again, which made her
moody, not an unusual emotion among the Cavern-born, so no one suspected she
had changed. Over the years, she saw
Leaders come and go, but never wanted to be one. Her acquaintances were puzzled by her lack of
ambition, but Kalida hid her growing unease.
She could not forget the alien man or his song. Quite unexpectedly, she found a way out.
In
one wild moment of rebellion, she fled the Caverns to Andrea, hoping to find
the man. She flew to the woods near
Traditional City, planning to take animal form to avoid detection. In the woods, she fell through a blaze of
light, fell to this world.
Escaped.
That
first morning, when the golden sun touched the lush green grass, she couldn’t
keep her eyes off the color. What was
it? Light she knew, and shadow, but this
deep rich hue that colored the grass and the moss and the leaves intrigued
her. She knew red and black and white,
silver and gray, colors of the Caverns.
Yellow and gold were rare, but she had golden eyes, or so everyone
said. This alien shade, though, calm and
deeply satisfying, she had seen only once, on the tattered clothing of the man
who played music so many years before.
Green.
She
could sit in the grass for hours, reveling in new colors, even the rich browns
of the earth and trees. Everything spoke
of life and growth and energy. Exploring
beyond the new forest, she discovered a large white house and watched the
people who lived there. She learned the
names of colors from Mister Snowden as he taught his children in the
garden. She learned that the world was
called Earth, and there was no magic here.
For a
while, she didn’t need magic, just sunlight and birdsong and new colors. Then disturbing dreams began, dreams of night
flying, her hair streaming behind in the cold wind as she swooped down on
cities like a bird of prey, touching the tallest towers and watching them burst
into flame. She would wake, trembling
with fear and desire. She thought her
people would be unable to track her to this world, yet she saw misshapen
shadows in the trees and heard harsh sounds haunting the night. Had her people found her?
She
thought of the bottle in the back of her cabinet and a shiver went through
her. No, don’t back down now, she told
herself. But how much longer can you
live like this, lonely, friendless,
purposeless? She shivered again. She knew exactly how much longer.
She
couldn’t eat. She spent the day sitting
in the doorway. Light shone through the
little bottles of potions on the window ledge: pale lavender, rich violet,
amber, blue, and red. The day itself was
green and gold, so unlike the days of her childhood, which had been filled with
fierce red light and the cold dark silence of the Caverns.
I am
not like that now, she thought, as the sunlight faded and the colors died. Night was the time she liked best, but this
night, the darkness closed in around her.
Do I
really want to do this? Why put it
off? Drink the potion and be done with
it. The music was a dream, nothing
more. Drink the potion. Who knows what other worlds lie beyond death?
Tomorrow.
* * *
“Tomorrow?” Desmond Fairweather stared at his friend Jake
Banner in astonishment. “I can’t go anywhere
tomorrow.”
Jake
beamed, undaunted, hands outspread as if he’d caught a record-sized fish. “This is it, Des, the big story. Actual reports of talking flowers. You know you can’t pass this up. I know you can’t, and I’m staying here till
you agree.”
A
grand piano dominated Des’s sparsely furnished apartment room. Jake perched on the piano bench, slicked back
his hair, and gave the impression of settling in for the day. His neon green shirt and pink tie created a
jarring combination that made Des’s eyes ache as he glared at his friend. His last student, Melissa, a giggly
seventeen-year-old, had just left, after a thorough and determined massacre of
her Scarlatti lesson, and he was still waiting for his head to clear. With an impatient gesture, he pushed his dark
hair out of his eyes.
“Not
another of your harebrained stories for the Galaxy.”
He moved a stack of sheet music out of the way before Jake’s elbow toppled it
over. “It’ll be a fake like all the
others.”
“A
fake?” Jake’s blue eyes widened. “None
of the others were fake.”
“I’m
not going to argue with you,” Des said, “and I’m certainly not going to go
chase talking flowers.”
“Aw,
come on. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun
for you, you mean.”
“The
owner happens to be a beautiful young lady,” Jake said in his most wheedling
tone.
Des
motioned wildly to the crumpled balls of paper littering the floor around the
piano. “Do you see all this? I’m trying to compose. I’ve told you I don’t want to travel all over
the country tracking down old magic. I
don’t believe in old magic. I don’t
believe in new magic. I don’t believe in
magic of any sort.”
Jake
kept his grin. He twiddled a few piano
keys and fiddled with the metronome.
Des
snatched it out of his hands. “Will you
go away?”
Jake
leaned back against the piano as if he found it the most comfortable spot in
town. “How’s the cash flow at Chez
Fairweather? Paid this month’s rent
yet?”
“What
does that have to do with anything?”
“Talked
to Sylvia yesterday. She says she’ll
recommend you for that symphony thing.”
He glanced up, eyes crinkling with amusement.
Des
found it hard to speak. “Are you talking
about symphony auditions?”
“Sure.”
“She
can do that?”
“Just
call her up.”
Des
took a deep breath to steady himself.
Jake’s reliability was questionable, but his sister Sylvia had important
connections with Parkland’s music community.
“Did she get on the Arts Council Board?”
Jake
swung around on the bench. “Get on? Pal, she’s the new president. She’ll be happy to set things up for you,
chum. That is, when we get back from our
little day trip.”
“Day
trip?”
“To
the land of talking flowers.”
Des
gave Jake a narrow-eyed glare. “Damn it,
Jake, that’s blackmail.”
Jake
shrugged. “Hey, you do me a favor, I do
you a favor.”
“I
won’t do it.”
“Okay. I guess you like living in such
splendor.” He played a loud version of
“Chopsticks.” “This thing needs a
tune-up.”
Des
closed the piano, sorry he missed Jake’s fingers. “I’ll just call Sylvia and ask for her help.”
“Uh-uh,
doesn’t work that way. This is a package
deal. You help me get a story, and
Sylvia will smooth the way for you, get you a good time slot or whatever. Sounds pretty reasonable to me. You want as many things going in your favor
as possible, right?”
Des
sighed. Dealing with Jake always gave
him a headache. “If I go watch you make a fool of yourself, will you leave me
alone?”
“Of
course. Won’t take a minute. We ride out, hear the flowers, record
them. I get definite proof of magic, old
Basil down at the Galaxy is happy,
I’m happy, and you get your audition and leave this lovely roach condo you call
home.”
Des
slumped in his one chair and regarded his friend, wondering how Jake managed to
be so damned cheerful all the time. He
was right, though. The apartment was
dismal: a tiny grubby kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and this room, full of
piano. Giving piano lessons wasn’t the
most lucrative of careers, but he had made the decision to move out, to try his
luck. A successful audition with the
prestigious city symphony could be the break he was looking for. What he wasn’t looking for was talking
flowers. “I still don’t see why I have
to go.”
“Why,
pal, you’re the best,” Jake said.
“Critters just flock to you.
Haven’t you noticed? You have a
definite affinity with the Other World.”
“I do
not.”
“Must
be those big soulful green eyes.”
Des
heaved himself out of the chair and gathered the papers off the floor. “Will you get out of here? I have work to do. Real work.”
Jake
reached the door. “I’ll pick you up
tomorrow morning at six.”
“Six? Why so early?”
“I
wanna be there when the dew dries.”
Des
made a lunge, but Jake eluded him, laughing, and was out the door and
gone. Muttering under his breath about
unwanted guests, Des bent to pick up more papers and caught sight of his
reflection in the one small window.
Soulful green eyes, indeed. Did
Jake think he’d fall for that line? Yes,
his eyes were green, his hair dark and unruly, and his expression serious, just
like his father’s, in fact, so much like his father’s he was afraid he might
meet the same tragic fate. Now there was
a story Jake could appreciate, a story full of magic.
Magic.
What
if—no, he dared not try. He had made his
decision. He had given up the family
home and the family fortune, so he had given up the family curse, as well. He prayed he had.
Wouldn’t
a little magic make things easier, though?
A better place to live, a better job, even that symphony position?
He
shuddered and tried to suppress the memories.
Make things easier. Isn’t that what his father wanted? Look what happened to him.
No,
don’t look.
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