by Amber Kizer
I swallowed over a lump in my throat. Every cell in my body shrank back. Listen to your gut, Juliet.
“We don’t have a fire, just headlamps. Here, take mine. We can share.” I started to reach out and hand mine over.
“That can’t be what’s making that light. Where’s it coming from?” The girl again tried to step around Fara.
“Take the headlamp and leave,” Fara suggested. “Juliet, toss it on the ground.” I watched her wrap the chains around her hands and roll her weight forward on her feet.
“That’s not going to happen,” the guy said. “Thanks for finding the bitch for us.” He grinned, showing too many teeth like a cheap toothpaste ad. “Made it pretty easy, all in all.”
The girl giggled.
My mouth went dry.
“Isn’t it interesting how it takes a bunch of magic light to get rid of a Nocti but a itsy-bitsy bullet can do in a Fenestra?” He pulled a gun from behind his back.
I sensed Tony freeze.
Fara didn’t flinch as she asked, “Why is that?”
“Let me enlighten you—pun intended. We’re stronger. Creators like us better.” He shrugged.
“Or maybe Fenestra are more human; they haven’t lost their senses.”
“I like my answer better. Who needs love?”
“We all do,” I said quietly.
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you. Kirian had lots to say. Wherefore art thou Juliet?”
The girl laughed harder.
“You followed us here?” Fara asked.
“Of course. ‘Three hikers had a nasty accident when they went off trail and were hit by falling trees during a storm.’ Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You were bait, Juliet. Your mother? She was too. And it didn’t work, so now we don’t need you anymore.”
“Bait for who?” Tony asked.
“Argy Ambrose. Name ring a bell?” the Nocti asked. The wind around us picked up, going from a breeze to gusts that lifted our clothes and ripped leaves off branches.
“Daddy dearest?” the girl inserted.
I tried to speak, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.
“We have no idea who you’re talking about,” Fara said.
“I don’t have all day to explain it to you. So come on, get close together.” He waved us toward each other, but none of us moved. “How are you going to die with a tree falling on you if you’re all standing so far apart? We have things to do today. Time is awastin’.”
Above us, branches cracked and creaked violently. The morning sun backlit the silhouettes in menace. With every blink, a little more of the peach-blush first light reached through the forest.
“Say good night, Juliet.”
I saw Fara shift. I knew she was prepared to launch herself. I gripped the headlamp in my fist, ready to throw it. I hoped my aim from skipping rocks along the creek held true. I tried to remember how we vanquished Ms. Asura. Good thoughts, good deeds.
Movement to my right startled me. Mini? Custos?
As the Nocti raised the gun, Fara moved. Her chains struck flesh as a gun cracked and the world exploded, blinding me.
CHAPTER 41
After throwing down food to refuel, we left Rumi in the company of a few Woodsmen to protect him and read the journal. I didn’t like the threat I felt in my gut. I didn’t know how to keep all the people in our family safe. Bales’s death is proof that safety is an illusion.
Tens and I arrived at the intersection of Georgetown and Sixteenth Streets, the main gate of the track, and followed the thumping base, bonfires, and traffic. The gigantic party, comprised of many parties like a super organism, began before dusk. We were late. Very, very late.
“Rumi will call if they figure anything out, right? Should we have stayed to help?”
“I wouldn’t count on him to think clearly, Meridian,” Tens advised. “Grief makes people dumb. You and I can’t wallow. There’s no time.”
Plastic signs splashed beverage brand names everywhere. Line after line of canopies and tents were erected next to campers and trucks. Quads zoomed through the crowds, their drivers shouting unintelligible excitement. Tiki torches flickered, and a few brainiacs used their headlights to illuminate their camping spaces. Of course they wouldn’t be able to leave in the morning, but that would give them time to sober up.
I gripped Tens’s hand as we tried to finagle our way between tents and RVs. Car-camping partiers weren’t even trying to make it appear as if they planned to sleep tonight.
Earlier rains turned the fields to muddy pits. We sank with each step. But that didn’t stop a group from setting up a full bar and living room—I gaped at couches, recliners, tables, and barstools. In the middle of the mud?
Garbage barrels were used as makeshift fire pits. Bottles, plastic cups, and aluminum cans lay wherever they were dropped. Bug zappers filled the air with blue lightning and the singed smell of moth wings. One guy dropped trou and took a leak into the drainage ditch.
“Good aim,” Tens commented, making me laugh.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” I knew my eyes were wide, and my sixteen years of cloistered freakdom showed.
“Timothy said it’s like this every year.”
“Seriously?” I blinked as someone pet a monkey sitting on the shoulder of a fellow partier.
We walked around, continuously on guard for Nocti. Nothing. Nada. Where are they all?
The festivities deteriorated until it seemed as though they took on a life of their own. The music thumped bass, rocking the ground.
“Don’t eat or drink anything,” Tens said as a policeman arrested a man who was groping a passed out girl who was missing the important parts of her bikini.
Poison? There’s a happy thought. “You think that’s how they’re going to do it?”
“Easy to get drunk people to down spiked drinks when you make ’em free and easy to get to.”
We waited until EMTs loaded Ms. Topless Bikini into an ambulance and then moved on.
Garbage already littered the grass and the mud slopped up until it seemed as though people were actually trying to make an area devoted to mud wrestling. One man said he’d give me twenty bucks to strip and slide down a mud runway. Tens answered for me.
We checked in with the Woodsmen twice an hour and spent more time trying not to get covered in beer or puke than looking for Nocti. The temperature never dipped below seventy.
An artillery blast was greeted with cheers and whoops. The sky was navy with violet streaks as the sun began to rise.
“What was that?” I jumped.
“The gates are open. Time to wake up.” Tens smiled down at me.
All around us, men, boys, were passed out in camp chairs, their heads lolled back, beer cans littering the ground. I pointed. “I don’t think they’re going to see the race.”
“They’ve got a few hours.” He snorted.
Camera crews were present in force, interviewing ticket holders who carried in coolers and backpacks. Local roads were bumper to bumper with traffic trying to get into the infield. Tailgating took on a whole new meaning when it started before sunrise. Long lines of tour buses stretched as far as I could see. Where do all these people come from?
We headed toward the gates around the track. I’d thought there were tons of people at qualifying, but that was nothing compared to this. Elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, we invaded the personal space of people from all over the world. The outfits ranged from matching color-blocked shirts worn by entire families to black-and-white ensembles to tanks and shorts to festive sweaters. Definitely international visitors. Most of the jeans were utility and meant for farm work, and boots carried field scuffs or manure. The majority of male heads were covered in hats advertising companies that sold tractors.
Once inside, though, shirts and shoes seemed voluntary for those under the age of twenty-five. Tattoo conventions must show less skin.
We
bought funnel cakes and elephant ears for breakfast and washed them down with lemonade as we watched people hurry in.
“Did we bring sunblock?” I asked, seeing an already sunburned, shirtless guy weaving his way toward the bathrooms. The sun wasn’t quite awake yet. He’s going to layer the damage.
“No, don’t burn,” Tens grunted.
“I do,” I huffed.
We merged with the crowds trying to get a great seat in the infield. We’d broken the enormous track, bigger than most towns, into sections. Quite a few Woodsmen were heading to the inside of turn three because it was called the Snake Pit and we’d been warned by their dead brother it was part of the plot. Tens and I thought our best guess was to assume the Nocti plan involved balloons, because I’d seen Ms. Asura and others near the hot-air balloons, not to mention the white powder in the parade balloons. Guesses are all we have. A group of Woodsmen headed there as well.
If Juliet showed up, she was supposed to position herself near the start/finish line. If she is okay. Big if.
Not a cloud filled the sky and it was already seventy-five degrees before the sun even started to bake the aluminum stands and black asphalt. They predicted setting new heat records.
We jostled through crowds, intent on reaching the lake and trees around it. By the time we made it closer, there were six hot-air balloons filled and tethered.
And a giant inflated pink bunny selling batteries? So enormous it made the traditional hot-air balloons seem like toys. The size of an aircraft carrier, the bunny wore sunglasses and held a drum. Its feet were the size of trucks, and I watched people continually scramble to keep it attached to the ground. The bunny has a mind of its own.
I didn’t spot the same balloon I’d seen Ms. Asura riding in. Ryder and U-Haul trucks parked next to each other in a nice line that blocked the view behind them. No telling what lurked inside those bad boys.
“Dammit,” Tens said under his breath as we rounded a corner.
A flimsy plastic fence cut the masses off from getting near the balloons. Yellow-shirted guards asked for credentials.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Ah, we find a place to sit and watch. There’s time.”
How Tens could be so serene and Zen, I didn’t know. He’s never ruffled. “What’s with you?” I griped.
“What? I have a good feeling about today,” he answered, sounding as calm as he appeared.
“Nothing’s going to happen?” I asked hopefully.
“No, something’s up, but I think good may come too.” The fortune-cookie answer did nothing for my attitude.
“Have you seen Custos recently?”
“Not since last night.”
“Mini?”
“I think she’s probably with Juliet. What’s with the roll call?” Tens stopped me.
“I just want to make sure we’re prepared.” I felt itchy with anticipation.
“Supergirl”—Tens tugged me into his lap and nuzzled my neck—“haven’t you figured out that preparation means acknowledging we’re never in control? Best we can do is the best we can do. So we sit and watch.” His hand slid over my hip.
“And make out?” I asked with an unrepressed giggle.
“It makes us less conspicuous.” His lips curved against my ear. “It’s important work.”
“In that case.” I saw a woman and a black cat striding purposefully toward me. “Uh, Tens? Soul, two o’clock.”
“I gotcha,” he said as I flowed to the window.
CHAPTER 42
Juliet
I had to shield my eyes against the glare.
“What did you do? What did you do?” the girl kept screaming.
“Shut up!” Fara smacked her on the head with the chain and she collapsed.
Where moments ago the Nocti stood, nothing but singed earth remained.
What just happened?
“Fara? Tony?” I called out tentatively, almost afraid to move. Blinking my eyes back to normal. Like Ms. Asura.
“I’m here.” Tony’s voice sounded funny.
“What’s wrong?” I turned around and my headlamp shined on a growing red splotch on his arm. “You got shot!” I sprang into action.
“Just a flesh wound. Just my shoulder.” Tony was pallid and his tone weak.
Fara stripped off one of her many black layers of clothing and wound it around his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. But you’re shocked.”
“In shock?” Tony laughed weakly. “I’ve seen combat. I’ll be fine. Are you girls okay?”
“Yes.” Fara reached into the backpack and yanked out a roll of duct tape. She wrapped the girl’s wrists and ankles and put a small piece over her mouth. “She’s not Nocti, but she’s not a nice person,” was the only explanation Fara gave.
“Juliet? Are you okay?” Tony asked again.
“I think so. I don’t know how I did that, though. It took all of us with Ms. Asura and I’d barely even started thinking about it …” I trailed off as Fara stilled.
“Maybe you didn’t do it by yourself,” Fara said, looking behind me. Her eyes narrowed and her breathing slowed as if she wasn’t sure what to make of what she saw.
Tony’s eyes widened too.
I twisted and gasped. “You?”
The man I’d seen outside my windows, looking up, disappearing, then reappearing hesitantly approached. His arms were full of Mini, purring so loud I could hear her ten feet away. She flexed her paws as if kneading dough.
“Hello, Juliet.”
And I knew, in that instant, I knew this man. “Dad?”
CHAPTER 43
In a long, faded cotton gown, like something out of Little House on the Prairie, I stood at the window with an ancient crone and her black cat. With her white hair braided up into a crown, her fingers were gnarled and bent like Auntie’s used to be. The sunbaked folds of her skin almost covered her eyes, and her bare feet were filthy hooves from walking shoeless for years.
“Polly Barnett?” I asked. Can this really be her? All these years waiting at her farm for release? Relief? To right a wrong done to her family?
“How’d ya know?” she said without looking at me. She stared past the window at the scene unfolding behind it.
“Lucky guess.”
Across the panes in the next world, the track faded in and out, like a clock being rewound. As if she isn’t sure which time is hers.
“They be back here. The devils. This time they not git the chil’ren.” Her hands fisted and her face scrunched. “You can’ let ’em git ’em.”
“Do you know how we can stop them?” I asked. Please know.
She shook her head and nodded consecutively as if she kept changing her mind. “Follow the stream home. They like the water; it’s got magic.”
I hadn’t seen every inch of the racetrack grounds, but a stream? I haven’t seen a stream.
She hummed a tune I vaguely recognized as Juliet and Rumi’s song while she picked up the black cat and stroked it.
“Where’s the stream today?” I asked. “In my time. Where do I look for the devils?”
The cabin I saw with the Woodsman came into my view. I heard laughter come from inside the house.
“Find the well. Find the shadows.” Polly handed me the cat, which immediately relaxed into my arms like a bag of flour. He was heavier than he appeared. His golden eyes blinked up at me. “I’m tired. I can’t fight no more,” Polly said apologetically. “I thought with many people they would leave this place, but they keep coming back. I need my love, my child.”
“It’s okay, go on.” I nodded. “We’ll take over.”
She nodded and climbed through. I stayed as long as I could. Each step easier than the last, her elderly form sloughed away like so much dirt until her previous youth unfolded fully. Once again straight and clean, she moved to the side of the house, and I saw the water gurgling up from the ground. It bubbled up and ran down a stone trough toward the woods.
“Is that the stream?” I asked.
“Is what the stream?” Tens asked me as I opened my eyes.
“I saw Polly. There’s water coming up out of the ground, like the hot springs we went to with Auntie? Remember?”
“Yeah?”
I paced in a tight circle. “She said we’d find the devils at the water, at the well. Where’s running water here?”
Tens pulled out his walkie-talkie to ask the Woodsmen. His phone rang, and he handed the phone to me.
“Rumi? Are you okay?”
“Ay, lass, we’ve cracked the code. There’s an artesian well on the grounds.”
“What’s that exactly?”
“Deep water pushed to the surface by tectonic pressures and energy. People say it has special minerals and healing properties. Have them all over this state—there’s even one in Carmel folks come from miles around to fill up jugs at.”
“So the water bubbles up on its own?”
“That’s right. My uncle’s journal, all the water, all the notes are about an artesian well at the Barnett farm. It’s the track now.”
“Where is it?” The stream I saw at Polly’s window. Her well. I tried to see around the crowds of people.
Rumi sighed. “None of us know. There’s a tiny map here we can’t figure out. Tim is at the computer trying to find more.”
“Can you call Gus? See if he knows?” I knew we were grasping at straws, but we had to try anything.
“We already tried that. I’m sorry, lass.” Rumi sounded crushed.
“Just call us if you think of a clue, okay?”
“Course,” Rumi said.
Tens grabbed my hand and started walking. “Woodsmen don’t know. Best guess is to look by the lakes. Maybe at the golf course—they’ve sent a team over there.”
“The lake is near the hot-air balloons; it’s the only water here. We’ve got to get closer,” I said. The sun grew hotter and higher. Planes circled overhead, towing banners for restaurants and team sponsors; even an engagement proposal fluttered above us.
As marching bands played a lap around the two and a half miles, their brass and drums gave a lively soundtrack to all the humanity around us. Scattered applause erupted for hometown favorites. I knew Woodsmen mingled in the crowds. Though I couldn’t help but feel as though we were severely outnumbered.