by Amber Kizer
I swallowed past the bread crumbs in my throat. “Why do you think that?”
“Ah, you’re almost adorable when you’re imprudent.” She toed a shovel handle. “Digging around for the past, are you? Don’t think I’ll tell you where to find your mommy and daddy? Or are you trying to find Kirian here? Pity how they can’t move on.”
I sat up, freeing Fara. I reached into the mud for a rock, anything. Nothing.
“Leave her alone.” Fara stood, holding a knife in front of her, planting her feet.
“Or what? You’ll cut my steak into small bites for me? You two are suited for each other. Congrats.”
I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off.
“Stupid—”
“Hello? Is someone down there?” From the shadows above us, a flashlight sliced across my vision.
I knew that voice. Who is it?
“Juliet? Fara? Are you okay? Who are you?” His voice dipped deep into his chest.
“Sergio!” Fara called out. “Go back out, call the police.”
He clamored down the stairs. “You need to leave,” he said to Ms. Asura, and picked up a shovel. As he moved toward us, we became a threesome. But the odds aren’t in our favor. The odds are never in my favor.
“Who are you, little hero?” Ms. Asura licked her lips and clacked her teeth.
“You’re trespassing,” he said to Ms. Asura, tossing his cell phone in my direction. “You can leave or you can explain to the police why you’re bullying these girls.” Sergio protectively stood between us and Ms. Asura.
“Ooh, I know when I’m outwitted,” Ms. Asura cackled. “I’ll leave.” She held her hands open in front of her. “Please don’t call the police. Please, please.” She moved back toward the stairs but paused near the top step. “I left your cat with a present. Thank yourself I didn’t kill her. Yet. Just a warning, Juliet, dear. Don’t fail me. You have four days left, or your friend here and an army won’t be able to protect that ragtag band of annoyances.”
“What did you do to Mini?” I shouted. Fear wicked up my spine and brought bile to my throat.
“What I did to your mother so she’d tell me where you were hiding with your daddy.”
“You bitch,” Fara spit the words.
“Get out of here!” Sergio yelled, shifting his weight.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have dinner reservations with my beau. Find it, Juliet, or … Well, you’re not too smart, but I do think you have quite the imagination, don’t you?” She picked her way outside.
I threw up and tried to catch my breath. Adrenaline tasted metallic and bitter like old onion salts. I asked myself for the millionth time, What do I do?
CHAPTER 21
I sat on the floor with Custos half leaning against me, half draped across my lap. She let me tend her while Tens and the veterinarian worked on Mini. I barely registered that Custos was trusting me at her most vulnerable. Rumi blubbered, unable to do more than cry.
Dr. Jones shaved most of Mini except for the tip of her tail and her ears. After injecting her with general sedation, the doc cleaned and stitched all of the cat’s numerous puncture wounds. Shaking her head, Doc said, “I don’t know how she survived this. The blood loss alone should have killed her.”
Please be okay. Please be okay. I kept my hand on Custos, trying to reassure her.
Custos whined and nudged my hand with her head. I focused on petting her, giving what little comfort she asked for.
Minerva looked like a mummy all wrapped in tight white dressings. We were instructed on how to give her oral pain medication from a needleless syringe.
Dr. Jones continued. “Let’s keep her as medicated as she needs to be for the next few days. We don’t want her moving around and tearing her stitches.”
We’d laid Mini on a makeshift bed on the floor so she wouldn’t accidentally fall off the furniture. With the wraps and the meds, her reflexes were impaired at best. Why didn’t she disappear and heal herself? Were the coyotes the Nocti equivalent of our creatures? Why didn’t Custos and Mini simply vanish to a safe place? Why stay and fight?
“I don’t think she’ll ever have claws again. It looks like she lost parts of each digit. And you say this happened how?” the vet asked.
“Poor cat, what ailurophobe cat hater would do this?” Rumi wiped his eyes on a handkerchief.
Tens answered Dr. Jones, “We don’t know. But coyotes were attacking her and then us. She was up in a tree.”
“Maybe they yanked her off the tree?” Dr. Jones shook her head. “I wish animals could talk, tell us the whole story of what happens to them.”
“Me too.” I smiled. Sadly, I really wish that. Tens hadn’t received more information from Mini since February; I rarely got Custos to stay in the same physical space as me, let alone give me any gifts of knowledge.
Dr. Jones finished tending Custos, who needed a few stitches and antibiotics. “Call me if you need anything else. If Mini’s condition changes at all.”
Rumi walked her out to her car, helping carry her toolbox and bags of accoutrements. I shut the door to the cottage. Leave it to Rumi to know a house-call veterinarian.
“What time is it?” Tens stretched his legs straight and leaned back against the couch.
“It’s after three.” I checked the rooster clock hanging in the kitchen.
The birds would soon be coaxing the sun from its hiding place.
“That’s why I’m so tired.” He rolled his head on his neck; the popping sounds made my toes curl.
“Where is Juliet?” Rumi reentered, asking. “Wouldn’t she want to be here?”
“We called Tony, but Juliet and Fara are missing. As is his car,” I said.
“He must be worried sick, going fantod.” Rumi trembled.
“There’s something going on. I’m afraid for her,” I said.
“She battles the energumenical demons of her experiences, doesn’t she?” he asked thoughtfully.
“I think not knowing her parents is harder on her than she lets on. And now thinking that her mother isn’t at peace? I think that’s tearing her up.” But maybe there was more to it? What am I missing?
Running footsteps had Tens bouncing up and reaching for his gun. Juliet knocked at the door as she flung it open.
“Where is she?” Juliet was covered in dirt. Her braid hung limp and wet down her back. Mud crusted and flaked off her with every movement. She smelled like sewage and ammonia.
“What happened to you?” I asked. You look horrible.
She shook her head and collapsed near Mini. She cried quietly, plaintively.
Fara was right behind her, looking as bedraggled and smelling worse. “Asura.”
Ms. Asura? Tens and I exchanged a glance. As I opened my mouth to question them, Sergio barged in, talking on his cell phone. “Right, yes, I agree. I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. No, I don’t know who she was.”
For our benefit, Fara explained, “He’s talking to Nelli on the phone. Rumi, can you call Tony, please?”
“Sure, lass.” Rumi leapt into action.
Juliet kept whimpering, tears and snot flooding her face.
“Tens?” Fara jerked her head at Tens, who then disappeared with her out the front door.
Rumi and I tried to soothe Juliet, but she wouldn’t relax into any of our touches. She was drawing away. I can feel it, but I have no idea how to stop it. It was as if she had to decide of her own free will to be one of us.
“What happened?” I asked Sergio, unsure if he knew anything or even if he could be trusted.
“I, uh, well, I wanted to see the old foster home, Dunklebarger?” Sergio blushed. “I know I shouldn’t have been trespassing and everything, but working with Nelli made me curious and I thought, you know, I could maybe find something useful.” He paused.
“So?” I pressed.
“Um, I, uh, heard voices and shouting and saw flashlights in the cellar, and I thought maybe I should call the police, but then I heard
Fara’s voice and Juliet and I kinda stormed in.” His cheeks pinked.
“Who was in there with them?” I kept my voice even, trying to make sure there was not a hint of my adrenaline evident in my tone.
“A freaky-looking scarred homeless lady. Right?” He turned to Fara as she and Tens walked back in.
“Yes, I think she was living there.” Fara moved toward Juliet. “Thank you for your help,” she said to Sergio.
“Can I give you a lift home, my boy?” Rumi asked, understanding my silent plea to get Sergio out of here so we could speak freely.
“That would be great, thanks. I left my bike out at Dunklebarger. Um, I hope you feel better.” Sergio stumbled over his feet and seemed to think better of approaching Juliet.
“DG,” Juliet muttered.
“What were you doing there?” I asked Fara.
“We went to look for—”
Juliet interrupted Fara, asking, “What happened to Mini? Who did this?”
“Merry, we’re going to be late.” Tens’s expression was drawn and troubled.
I glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. We had been summoned to the cemetery by the Woodsmen of the World. “You still want to go?” I asked.
“I think we have to.”
I glanced at Juliet who was watching Mini sleep as if she couldn’t hear us.
Fara saw the direction of my gaze and said, “We’ll stay and watch Mini. Try not to worry.”
We drove through Riverside’s gates without trying to hide the van. We needed it for protection and for escape if this went very wrong.
“What’s your plan?” I asked Tens.
He shrugged. “I was hoping you’d have one.” Then he smiled. Teasing me on no sleep? That’s living dangerously.
“Good, glad we’ve got that covered.” My stomach pitched against my ribs. “Tens, check out the headstones.” Roshana’s was the same, but Auntie’s marker was replaced with an elaborate window, much like those we saw in other parts of the cemetery, like Rumi’s Fenestra ancestors.
“They’ve changed one but not the other?” Tens asked, studying them.
It wasn’t long before the sedan we’d seen the photographer driving came around the corner, followed by an SUV and another truck. A convoy?
“We’ve got company.” Tens slid a gun into my hand. “Please.”
I gripped the gun. Please don’t make me use this. Not again. “They could have killed us at the cottage, right?”
“This has more ambience?” Tens tried to joke.
The kid we recognized assisted an elderly man out of the SUV and into a wheelchair. Balding and fragile, with pale skin that hung in deep wrinkles covered in liver spots. None of the rest of the group gathering wore sunglasses and all of their eyes were very human. Not a blank void of dark in sight. I relaxed a fraction. Not Nocti doesn’t mean friendly.
The man situated himself before addressing us. “Good morning. I see you got our note. I am Timothy. We are all Timothy, or Tim, or Timmy. Your choice.”
Uh-huh. Odd. Very, very odd.
Tens nodded, as if such declarations were common. “We didn’t get much sleep last night. Can you tell us why we’re here?”
He ignored the question. “Don’t the new stones look nice?” He wheeled up the path toward us and pointed.
“Yeah, why’d that one get changed?” Tens asked, rolling up on the balls of his feet.
The man stared at me as if he could see secrets I didn’t know I had. “I suspect you know the answer to that.”
“Humor me,” Tens said, directing the man back to him.
“Breakfast?” Another young man accompanying Timothy unfolded a picnic blanket and poured mugs of coffee from thermoses. Another gave him a picnic basket that he peeked inside of with a satisfied expression. Breakfast at the cemetery? A contingent of frat boys as servants? Everyone named Timothy?
“No thanks, we already ate,” Tens spoke.
“Pity.” He handed the basket to a kid, who carried it back to the car.
I watched the display with curiosity. What is going on?
The old man said, “There are no bones here. Not of these two ladies. Where are they?”
“How do you know?” Tens shrugged. “Does that matter?”
Timothy dismissed Tens’s questions. “They need to be at rest. We must say the words. It’s not natural to leave them in the void.”
It was like a perverse chess game of male egos. “Ah, of course.” Not natural? I rolled my eyes. “Are you Nocti? Some sick sympathizer? Do you work for Ms. Asura?” I was tired of beating around the bush. Attack us or let us get some sleep.
“Are you? Do you?” He swiveled his piercing gaze to me.
“What?” Tens roared. “Are you kidding me?” He freed his gun and held it at his side.
The men dropped their coffees to the ground and reached for weapons.
“Hold on.” The old man held up a hand to stop them.
Interesting. He absolutely controls them.
We stood, holding our breaths for what felt like forever.
“We seem to be at an impasse.” He nudged his chair toward his guys. “Take a walk.”
“But—” they argued.
“One of you stays; the rest go.”
As they ambled off, muttering, Tens relaxed his gun arm, but only a fraction. Never underestimate a potential enemy. Just because he hasn’t killed us yet doesn’t mean he won’t.
The old man said, “There’s a very active Novelty in the area. They’ve been trying to flush us out for years. Your arrival in town stirred up the evil. I needed to see if you’re on our side or theirs.”
A Novelty? A huh-what?
We kept silent.
“My name is Timothy Baumhauer. We are Woodsmen.” He waited for us to recognize his name or affiliation. His face fell in disappointment. “Did no one tell you of us?” He looked at me. “We were asked to watch Juliet this spring. You know nothing of us?”
I shook my head. Tens stayed still.
“Get me the basket,” the older man yelled over his shoulder to his lone sentry. “Careful with it,” he barked.
What is going on? How do they know about Juliet? Who asked them to watch her?
A boy about our age set it on the ground between us and opened both lids for a second time.
“You know yourself to be a Fenestra, yes? And I assume you’re more than eye candy?” he poked verbally at Tens. “You’ve heard of the Templars? Knights of the Round Table? White Lions? Emerald Society? Druids?” When we didn’t respond, he grew frustrated. “Where is your education? Your knowledge? Have you not studied your history? Our history?”
“We’re new,” Tens answered him without apology.
Timothy considered this, then said, “In the basket is what we call a Celestial. It belonged to my great-great-great-great-grandfather. When it lights from within, we know we are among friends. When it blackens, we know we are not. Take a look.”
Tens motioned me behind him, but I marched next to him and peeked into the basket. Oh, pretty. What is it?
I’d thought perhaps a lantern or flashlight was on inside, until I peered into a Spirit Stone like Rumi’s, but oh so different. “Wow.” I swallowed back my surprise. Could we truly have an alliance with these Woodsmen? Do we have friends? Generations of history working together?
The old man smiled. “Yes, wow.”
I squatted closer. The ball wasn’t perfectly round. It was filled with bubbles, opaque off-white glass that looked more like granulated sugar or a stream full of sediment. It’s very, very old. To my untrained eye, this appeared ancient. It even had a crack or two that seemed to cleave it almost in half, as if it held together by sheer will.
“We know these as Spirit Stones. We have a friend who makes them,” I offered before I could second-guess myself.
Timothy shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t. The magic was lost long ago. This is the last of them.” The men along the perimeter glanced at each other in question.
Excitement lit his features and rushed his words together. “You must introduce us. We are in great need. We are very vulnerable without them.”
“Maybe,” Tens said, unconvinced.
To the world, he seemed cold and distant, but I saw him thinking, his mind churning. Always thinking.
“What proof do you need?” Timothy asked.
“I don’t know yet. Keep talking.” Tens shrugged again.
“Will you sit, please? My neck is not what it used to be.”
I settled onto the grass. Curiosity overshadowed fear. If this, too, was a Spirit Stone, then it would darken if Nocti were in the area. So far, it blazes.
The man’s face took on a faraway expression, as if he saw into the distant past. “We came on the first waves of immigrants, way before this land was a country. We came with Fenestra who’d survived the Spanish Inquisition, the pogroms in Eastern Europe, the religious cleansing in the British Isles. We settled many places. Made alliances with others like us whose way of life dictated everything about their existence.”
Interesting. Reasonable.
“Such as?” Tens asked.
“Quakers. To this day, Quakers are our friends, which is how we came to be in central Indiana in the 1800s.”
“Why?” Tens asked.
“Quakers moved here from Ohio and Kentucky to open a railroad depot to the north.”
“What?” I couldn’t help my disbelief. A train? Seriously?
“Not a locomotive, child—it was for the slaves. The Underground Railroad? Took many hands to make those moves. We settled in Westfield, north of here, to battle for Light. Woodsmen have many religions, Gnosticism and Christianity, Islam and Judaism, Buddhism and Hinduism.”
“How is that possible?” I asked.
“The heart of all faith has nothing to do with walls or rules. It is believing that love and light are worth dedicating every breath to. You’ve never heard that faith is a noun and to believe a verb? Faith you hold in your heart. It’s a tangible gift you give yourself. But believing requires action, doing. A manifestation of love.”