Holden Patrick

Holden Patrick was five years old when her best friend, Grey the Wolf, died. Always a happy child, she became quiet and refused to eat, and the grownups in charge of her--her mother, Niamh, her aunt Sinead and her uncle Richard, became concerned.

"She won't even eat grilled cheese!" Niamh said.

"Niamh, she hates grilled cheese," Richard said, rolling his eyes. Sinead elbowed him.

"Nonsense," Niamh said. "Everyone loves grilled cheese. She must be sick. We should call the doctor."

"She's heartbroken, not ill," Richard said. "I miss the old guy too, but they had a special bond. He always did have a way with children."

"Get her a kitten," Rowan, Richard's son by a former relationship, strolled into the room munching an apple. "She's crazy about cats."

"I hate cats," Richard said. "Where's your sister? I thought you were together." Rowan's twin sister, Bronwyn, was even more of a handful than he was, which was saying something.

"Dunno. I think she's fishing out back."

"Maybe a kitten would help," Sinead said.

"Kitty?" Holden stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

Which is how a small gray female kitten joined the household.

"KITTY!" Holden was beside herself with joy and promptly declared herself to be hungry, but NOT for grilled cheese. Now all the kitten needed was a name. Richard suggested Grey but Sinead thought that might make Holden sad.

"Hey, Fuzzbucket," Rowan said, picking up the kitten.

"Fuzzbucket," Holden said, giggling.

"No," Richard said. "Anything but that."

"FUZZBUCKET," Holden said, and that was that.

"Come on, let's show her her stuff," Rowan said, and Holden trailed after him with starry eyes.

In Holden's eyes, Rowan was wonderful.

"I am not using that name," Richard said.

"Aw, come on," Sinead said. "I think it's kind of cute."

"I don't do cute. Paxton, stop that." Richard hurried off to stop his youngest child from playing in the toilet.

"Such a glamourous life we lead," Sinead said to the Doberman, Hera. "Come on, girl, let's go for a run."

Hehe, cute scene!

I had to smile at that.

Richard was mad. Even a five-year-old could see that. His shoulders were tense, his mouth was grim, but most important, the temperature in the room seemed to drop whenever he entered. Rowan was quiet, and Rowan was never quiet. Even Bronwyn was making herself scarce.

But Holden was hungry, and the butler had gone home and all her mother knew how to make was grilled cheese so she knocked timidly on Sinead and Richard's door. No one answered but the door slid opened slightly to reveal Richard, standing in the middle of the room, head bent into his hands, sobbing while Sinead tried to comfort him.

Holden felt funny. She backed away. Seeing a grownup cry was scary, especially Richard, who didn't even cry at movies, even the part where the dog died. Her tummy felt like she might throw up. She was so hungry. Maybe there was some food in the fridge.

The fridge had the freezer compartment on the bottom, and Holden was too short to reach the handle of the fruit bin. Apples stared at her temptingly, eye level but too far for her to reach. Her stomach growled. Determined, she jumped up and grabbed the handle, and pulled. The drawer wiggled, and the bottles sitting on the shelf atop it jiggled, but nothing happened.

She tried again, and with a commotion like a circus parade the whole shebang came piling down on top of her: the bottle of milk, a bottle of juice, and the entire contents of the apple drawer. Olives, feta, and peppers came raining down, secure in their tight deli containers as Holden sat, dazed, on the kitchen floor, in a puddle of milk and glass and fruit juice.

She heard exclamations, people running, and she panicked. She couldn't be here. She didn't want to get yelled at. She didn't want to make Richard cry more. So she bolted, out the back door and into the new, scary woods behind the house. Deeper and deeper into the forest she ran until she didn't know where she was. Sobbing with fright, she looked around her, not even sure which way was back.

She was lost in the scary woods, the woods Richard had warned her to stay away from. The fairies were going to get her.

"Excuse me, are you lost?" asked a voice, and she whirled around. A strange creature stood there watching her, a short man with goat legs and ears and horns.

Holden screamed bloody murder and ran.

"Little girl, little girl, wait, I don't mean you any harm!" the creature called but Holden didn't listen.

She ran smack into a hole in the ground she hadn't seen and fell, down, down, down, into oblivion.

OMG! I didn't expect this here. Will the strange creature rescue her?

She woke up in a comfy bed and looked around, confused. This wasn't home. The light was dim but there was a fire in the grate and the room was warm and cozy. She sat up slowly and looked around.

The door opened and the weird creature she had met in the forest walked through. "Oh," he said, "you're awake. Please, don't scream again."

"What . . . who are you?"

"What I am is a faun. Who I am is Serdar Lightfoot." He bowed.

"I want to go home."

"And I would have taken you there sooner, only you hit your head and needed medical attention. I took care of you. You're well enough to travel now, so let's go."

She got up and followed him. Somehow he no longer seemed scary. "You have a nice home," she said.

"You think so?" He looked pleased. He led her through a roundish main room, to a door, which he held open for her. Outside it had started to snow. She shivered.

"Where do you live, exactly?" he asked, leading her through the forest.

"I'm not sure which direction. My family lives in a big tan house with a large garden with its own graveyard. Does that help?"

"What's a graveyard?"

"Where dead people are buried," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "And dead pets too. Gray is buried there."

"I think I know that house. A sad ghost lady lives there."

"That's the one." The grownups had tried to hide the ghost of Rowan's mother from the children, but they all knew about her. Sometimes she stood outside and cried, which always made Rowan really sad.

"Then come on," he said.

"I think I read about this in a book one time," she said.

"Read about what?"

"A faun, rescuing a little girl. This feels awfully familiar."

"Fauns are known for their friendly qualities," said Serdar Lightfoot. "It's really not surprising. Now, come on. You look cold and it's a bit of a walk."

And he did.