To the right of the gate, a variety of herbs had gone wild. The rosemary bush was nearly as tall as I was and was making a run for it over the fence line and into the yard.
I pulled my necklace open, unfolding the pair of scissors tucked inside. I used them to snip a sprig of rosemary. As I waded through the overgrown main path, sniffing the rosemary, I thought of my mom.
The first time she’d shown me the necklace’s secret, we’d been in our small, raised-bed garden. I’d been little, only five years old.
“Want to see some magic?” she said.
“Hell yeah!” I said, eyes wide.
“Language, Finn,” Mom said, trying to hide a snicker. “You know the rule.”
“‘I can talk like a trucker when I can drive a truck,’” I recited. “Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s great that you’re a little sponge. We just want to be choosy about what you’re soaking up.” She tousled my hair and smiled. Then, with mischief dancing in her eyes, she said, “Okay, now, watch this!”
She’d been wearing the same necklace she always wore, the one that I wore now.
As I watched, she opened the top of the necklace.
I gasped. I didn’t know it could do that!
Underneath, there was something metal. With a quick pulling and twisting, the metal unfolded, until a small pair of scissors hung from the chain. “Ta dah!”
I giggled and clapped. “How come there’s scissors in your necklace?”
“The necklace is really old. My guess is that these were sewing scissors. Women used to wear folded scissors like these because they were always mending things.”
“What’s mending?”
“Uh, fixing. Women used to sew all the clothes and things by hand. They were constantly fixing things to make them last, so they kept their scissors with them—kind of the way people keep cell phones in their pockets today because they use them all the time. But women didn’t wear pants back then, so they wore the scissors on a chain around their neck or on a belt sometimes. The scissors fold up, so you don’t accidentally poke yourself when you’re wearing them. And the cover on them makes them pretty to wear.”
“Those was there the whole time?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“Do you gots other magic stuffs hiding?” I bounced. “A bunny? Do you gots a bunny?”
She laughed. “No bunnies, sorry. But it’s a big world, and there’s lots more amazing stuff for you to discover.”
“Like those?” I asked, pointing to the necklace.
“All sorts of things.”
“How come you never shows me before?” I pointed at the scissors.
“You weren’t old enough. These scissors are too sharp. But you’re old enough now.”
Mom had handed me the scissors and showed me how to cut the rosemary. She’d tucked a sprig in my button hole, and then we’d laughed our way around the garden as I began learning how to harvest herbs and vegetables. Later, I’d stood on a chair next to her, and she’d let me add some of the herbs as she cooked. Then, I’d peeped out from the kitchen and watched as a customer ate what we’d made. The trucker had slumped in his chair until Mom brought him his plate. Watching the fresh food smooth the weariness from his face and replace it with a look of comfort had made me want to hug my mother. So I did.
Now, as I wandered, sniffing the rosemary, I could still feel her arms around me.
“Hey Mom, guess what I discovered?” I murmured to the sky. “Oh I wish you could see the house!”
I could almost hear her laugh of delight. She wouldn’t be freaked out by the house at all. She’d be banging around in the kitchen while she chatted up a storm, forging ways to communicate with the house, finding out its wants and needs. She’d be making friends.
Me, I was gonna need a minute, so I was fine staying out here for a bit.
I looked at the weed palooza around me. As the sky lightened and revealed more of the garden to me, it became obvious that at one point, the garden must’ve been magnificent. My heart ached to see the tangled, choked mess it’d become. How Meg could have let this get so fallow was beyond me. I could add it to the list of things I wanted to ask her.
A sound like a door closing broke the quiet. I tensed and snapped my head around toward the house, but relaxed a little when I didn’t see anyone. I thought it was probably forest noise I’d heard. But if someone else was awake, I didn’t want them to call me back inside, so I decided to get going on my walk.
I left the garden and headed off into the woods. Though the sun was peeking above the horizon, it was dim in the forest, so I stuck to the first path I found. Looking around me as I walked, I realized that while the garden might be a wreck, the forest was thriving, teeming with life. Decorated with chirping birds and scurrying squirrels, numerous trees nodded in the gentle breeze that rustled their leaves and teased my hair. As I walked, the quiet serenity of the forest sank into me. My shoulders relaxed, my breathing eased, and my mind cleared.
I thought about Meg, Doug, and their visitors. From the way they were skulking about, it was clear they weren’t supposed to be doing whatever they were doing. And what about the “no visitors” rule? I was pretty sure Not-Meg and Not-Doug weren’t even supposed to be in the house. Given the way the house had hidden me, I was thinking that outright asking about what they’d been up to was a bad idea. There was something going on with that door, that much I knew. I’d have to get a look at the door later. Maybe the house could clue me in to what was going on.
Ah, the house. So the house was alive. But what did that even mean? It seemed to be sentient, but what level of intelligence was I dealing with? It could move stuff around, and it could communicate with me, at least a little. What else could it do? I needed more info.
I mulled it over and decided to take a combination Dad-and-Mom approach. I’d treat the house like a stray: be kind, learn to communicate, but observe carefully for signs that I was about to be scratched or bitten. At the same time, I was going to try to borrow some of my mom’s spunk and enjoy the heck out it while I could. When was I going to get the chance to play with a living house again?
Although now that I knew about the house, it made me wonder what else was out there. It wasn’t like I was expecting the world to suddenly be full of sentient houses—if there were a whole bunch of talking houses around, the Internet would be going nuts about it. I suspected the house was unique, and that’s why the Fosters were so against visitors. They were trying to keep it secret. But knowing that the house existed just confirmed my conviction that there was a lot of exciting stuff out there in the world for me to encounter. It made me itchy to get on my ship and start exploring.
I put the house out of my head and concentrated on enjoying the forest around me. This place was so different from the desert—so many glorious trees!—and I inhaled the scent of leaves and damp earth, committing them to memory.
The path wound so much that I wasn’t certain how far I was actually walking, but the woods were much bigger than I’d expected. I’d been walking for nearly an hour when I came across a large pond fed by a stream. I crossed the stream at a narrow point and walked along the far side until I reached the edge of the pond. As I stood wondering if anyone went swimming or fishing here, a ripple broke the surface, a head popped up, and something small and furry swam toward the shore. At first I thought it might be an otter or a beaver, but as it came closer, I realized it was Fuzzy, and he had something in his mouth. He strutted onto the shore, shook himself, and dropped his treasure on the ground, where he started eating it.
“Oh God, no, don’t eat that! What is that? Is that a fish? You’re supposed to be eating kitten food, not—oh that’s so gross.”
Fuzzy looked up from the small fish he was devouring, blinked at me, and then went back to eating.
“Fuzzy, what are you even doing out here? You’re not supposed to be outside. And what were you doing in the water? Cats hate water!” I realized then that the door-closing sound I heard earli
er was the house letting Fuzzy out, to go hunt, apparently. That had been over an hour and a half ago, which meant Fuzzy had been out in the woods all by his tiny self this whole time. The thought that I’d have to have some stern words with the house was immediately followed by the thought that I couldn’t believe I’d just thought that.
Fuzzy inhaled the fish. Given the other fish bones nearby, I was guessing it hadn’t been his first.
He padded over to me and dropped the fish’s head at my feet. “Uh, thanks,” I said. I knew it was a sign of affection for him to share his kill with me, and while it was better than mouse guts, I still wasn’t going to eat it.
“What am I going to do with you? You’re soaked.” I picked him up and was relieved to find that he wasn’t as wet as I’d thought he’d be. His coat must dry really fast, thank the wet kitten gods for small favors. “Fuzzy the fisherman. Awesome. The vet will never believe me. C’mon fish breath. We’re taking you home.”
I turned to go and walked a few feet away from the pond, back along the stream. Fuzzy got all stiff in my arms.
“Look, I know you’re the wildman of the water and all that, but the woods are no place for you. It’s dangerous out here, no matter how pretty it looks.”
Fuzzy started vibrating. At first I though he might be cold, but then the vibrating increased to a full growl.
That’s when I noticed it had gotten very quiet in the forest. The welcome-to-the-dawn birdsong that had been playing in the background had stopped. I clutched Fuzzy closer and peered into the woods around us. I didn’t see or hear anything scary approaching through the brush, but then scary things that eat you don’t usually announce themselves, do they?
While I stood there, trying to figure out what to do, it started to rain. On a laugh, I let out the breath I hadn’t even noticed I was holding. The birds had hunkered down to avoid the rain, that’s why it was quiet. I peered down at Fuzzy. “Oh sure, you’ll go swimming, but a little rain makes you freak out? Hah!”
As I spoke, the sound of the rain changed from a gentle pattering to a rapid hammering. From the sound of it, we should have been getting soaked, but where we stood, only a small amount of rain reached us. When I looked up, I could see that the trees were bowing under the force of the rain, creating a natural umbrella that was shielding us from the worst of the downpour.
I had just decided that maybe we should stay where we were until the cloudburst passed, when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see that the stream was swelling. Fast. Flash floods were a dangerous fact of life in the desert, and reflex had me scrambling away as the water surged toward me. The water was rising so fast now that I felt like the water was chasing me as I ran through the trees to escape it. I was going in the wrong direction, running away from the house, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to get clear, and then I could circle back. The water kept coming, surging faster now, so I kept going.
Suddenly, I broke through the tree line and onto someone’s lawn. The wet grass sent me into a skid, and since I was still clinging to Fuzzy, I couldn’t pinwheel my arms for balance. I went down hard on one knee. The wind picked up, and the rain flew sideways, pelting my face so hard that tears formed in my eyes. I ducked my head and folded my body around Fuzzy, trying to protect him the best that I could. I couldn’t hear him over the roaring of the rain, but I could feel him growling. I didn’t blame him.
I struggled to get back up, but the force of the rain and wind combined with the weight of my sodden clothing made it really hard to stand, and I fell back down again. My teeth started to chatter, and I couldn’t tell if the temperature was actually dropping, or if I was just freezing from being so wet. I couldn’t stay there huddled on someone’s front yard, that was for sure. I picked my head up to peer through the rain and saw a house across the lawn. With a surge, I gained my feet and started struggling across the lawn toward the house.
The wind decided I was its chew toy, tugging and tossing me this way and that across the lawn, as I staggered, looking like a drunk after a bender. I realized it really was getting colder when it started to hail. It hurt like hell when the little bits of ice hit me, and I was pretty sure I was going to be polka-dotted with bruises by the time this was over. I thought that was bad, but then the little hail’s older brothers decided to join the party. Huge pieces of ice came thundering down, and the grass around me started looking like a driving range covered in icy golf balls and baseballs. As I neared the porch stairs, a baseball-sized chunk of hail slammed into my head so hard, I nearly went down again. I felt a hot rush where it hit my scalp and got really dizzy.
I stumbled up the stairs onto the covered porch. The door opened, a hand reached out, and I was yanked inside.
Chapter Fifteen
I jerked to a stop. I was standing in a cheery foyer surrounded by white wainscoting and flowered wallpaper. The abrupt shift from “flee the killer hail” to “happy sunny cottage” was too much for my brain, and it locked up. So, I just stood there dripping, gasping for air, and clinging to Fuzzy, while I waited for the lady who’d yanked us inside to say something.
The cheerful surroundings were in direct contrast to the scowl on her face. She had dark, dreadlocked hair that was loosely gathered into a messy bun. She was wearing some kind of drapey sweater thing, and she was standing in front of me, arms crossed.
Her expression changed to alarm, when I started swaying.
She sighed, said, “Come on,” stepped forward, and guided me to the left into a kitchen.
“Sit,” she said and plunked me down at a table just inside the kitchen door. The table was in a breakfast nook in front of a big window that looked out over the front yard, which was currently covered in so much hail that there was more ice than lawn.
The woman followed my gaze and made a sound that I could only describe as a growl. “If they damaged any of my plants, they’re gonna pay.” I cringed back into my chair. Her tone of voice made me think that whoever “they” were, they wouldn’t be paying with money. But that didn’t make any sense. Who did you make pay for the weather? The clouds?
Fuzzy meowed, and I let up on the death grip I had on him.
“Are you okay?” I asked. I put him on my lap and ran my hands over him to check for injuries. He had no cuts, and from his purr, he was no worse for the wear. I, on the other hand, started to shake so hard I nearly bounced him off my lap.
“He looks fine,” the lady said. “You, on the other hand, are not only soaked, you’re bleeding.” She went to a cupboard, got a towel, and came back to me. “Don’t bleed on my floor. I just cleaned,” she said, holding the towel to my head.
“Uh, okay.”
“What’s your name?”
“Finn…and this is Fuzzy.”
She snorted and looked at Fuzzy. “Really? You gonna put up with that name?”
Fuzzy gave her a look and then started to groom a paw. She shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You can call me Zo.”
“Zo. Rhymes with No. Which is like Nor—she’s next door!” I said in a singsong. “Uh oh, did I just say that aloud?”
“You may have a mild concussion. At the very least, you’re sounding like you’re a little shocky.”
“Shock? Oh not again. Well, at least I didn’t start counting your dreadlocks to find out how old you are, so it’s probably not that bad.” She was looking at me like I was mental, so I said, “Um, I think I might need to stop talking now.”
She took one of my hands and put it on the towel so I was holding it in place on my head. Then, she hurried off to the sink, where she put some water in a kettle, which she set on the stove.
It occurred to me that this was the second time in recent weeks that someone had yanked me through a door to safety. This whole being out and about in the world was proving to be kind of treacherous. Or maybe I was just danger prone.
Zo looked irritated. I couldn’t blame her. We’d totally just bur
st in, and now she was stuck taking care of us. I said, “Thanks so much for helping us out. I’m sorry to barge in on you. I know it’s early.”
She looked over at me, and I must’ve looked pretty pitiful because her face softened and she said, “I was up.”
She came back to my side and took control of the towel again. “I’ll get the bleeding stopped, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to need stitches.”
Shaking my head to disagree turned out to be a bad idea. The pain that stabbed me made the room swim a bit, and my vision grayed around the edges.
“Easy now. Slow deep breaths. That’s it.”
She lifted the towel off my head again and gave a “Hmph,” which I took to mean I wasn’t bleeding anymore, because she put the towel on a counter and left the room. She came back with a blanket, which she wrapped around me. It was warm, like it had just come out of the dryer.
As she returned to the stove and began making tea, I snuggled into the heat of the blanket, still shivering, but less violently. The warmth felt so good that it felt like the water was evaporating off my clothes. I half expected to find a cloud of fog hanging around me, but when I looked down at Fuzzy, he was fog-free and kneading the blanket. I looked up again when Zo placed a steaming cup of tea in front of me.
“Drink.” Reaching out to Fuzzy, she asked, “May I?” Before I could answer, he started climbing across the blanket toward her, and she picked him up. She went and grabbed a tea towel, then came back and sat across from me and began toweling Fuzzy off. It couldn’t have been an easy job, what with him trying to eat the towel as she wiped him down. When she started drying one of his paws, she stopped, then leaned closer.
“Oh crap. Did he get cut?” I asked, craning my neck to see.
“He’s fine. He’s just…a little unusual. His toes are webbed.”
“Huh. I found him swimming just now. Before the storm. I’ve never seen a cat swim, nevermind one with webbed toes.”
“It happens. Drink.” She pointed at my mug and then resumed toweling him.
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