by Jim C. Hines
“But I haven’t drained the hose yet,” I said innocently. A delighted giggle escaped my lips when he blushed beneath his beard. I could feel his desire. It had followed me from the very first time he saw me. Instinctively, I pulled that desire into myself, twined it into my own, and sent it back, strong enough to make him gasp.
“I’ll take care of that. You get yourself inside.” He slapped my ass to send me on my way, and the pleasure of that sharp blow made me gasp and bite my lip. I blew him a kiss and scurried away.
I stripped off the T-shirt and pulled on a too-large red flannel, shivering as the heavy fabric brushed my skin. I had only fastened the third button when I heard Frank enter the barn behind me. I moistened my lips with my tongue and smiled, but didn’t turn around until his arms encircled me, his rough hands tugging the shirt away to grab my breasts. I breathed in the smell of coffee and cigarettes as he kissed my neck.
I was home.
WE WERE STILL STANDING in the garden when I heard Nidhi pull up on the motorcycle. Lena’s leather jacket hung loosely on her shoulders as she ran into the backyard to join us. I brought her up to speed while Lena paced circles around her tree.
“How many of these things are inside of her?” Nidhi asked.
“Twenty-eight.” Lena shuddered. “I’ve tried to crush them, to seal the bark around their bodies, but nothing works. I’ve hardened the core of the tree the best I can, and they’re not strong enough to get there yet, but they burrow through the bark and the outer layers of wood like it’s made of balsa. And when I try to enter the tree myself…” She held up her hands. Blood welled from tiny cuts and gouges on her palm and fingers.
“That shouldn’t even be possible.” I knew it was a stupid complaint as soon as the words left my mouth. Possible or not, it was happening. But Lena wasn’t physically shoving her hands and body into the oak like a butterfly crawling back into a cocoon; she became the tree. Her physical body was something she doffed and donned again as she entered and left her oak. How the hell could these things attack her within her own tree?
Unless it was an attack on the tree itself, one which somehow translated into wounds of the flesh? I didn’t understand enough about how Lena’s bond with her tree worked. “If they’re mostly hiding below the bark, what if we peeled the bark back to get to them?”
“Skin me alive, you mean?” Lena asked, her tone deceptively mild.
I winced. “Sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s all right.” She moved her hand over the tree. Bits of bark fell away as the insects burrowed through the wood to follow. “They’re too quick anyway. They’d just move to another spot.”
“What else have you tried?” Nidhi asked.
“We haven’t,” I admitted. “Without knowing what they’re made of, it’s hard to know what weapons would work best. They looked metal, which means there’s a chance a magnetic blast might affect them. I could also try to strengthen the tree itself.”
Lena frowned. “Strengthen it how?”
I waved a hand toward the house. “Tamora Pierce’s Circle of Magic series has characters who can empower plants and make them grow at ridiculous speeds. If I can tap into that book like I did with the Asimov story—”
“Then you could char another book and knock yourself into a coma,” Lena finished.
“Not to mention the question of control.” Nidhi moved to stand between me and the tree, her arms folded. “You have no idea what that would do to Lena’s oak. To her.”
“I could call Nicola Pallas and request an automaton.” Gutenberg had constructed his magical golems as bodyguards five centuries ago, armoring them in spells and metal keys from his printing press, essentially turning them into living books. Among their various powers, they had the ability to drain magic from others. I was certain they could kill these insects, but I had no idea what such an attack would do to Lena’s tree.
“No automatons,” Lena said firmly.
“Why attack Lena’s tree like this, and why now?” Nidhi asked. “They could have waited in the branches and swarmed down as she approached, or let her enter the tree then burrowed in after her.”
“Please don’t give the magical dryad-eating bugs any ideas,” Lena said.
They hadn’t just attacked Lena’s tree. After burrowing into my house, they had also attacked my computer, which had layer upon layer of Porter spells protecting it. My e-reader probably had a lingering taste of magic as well, thanks to Jeneta using it to pull raisins from a poem. “They’re drawn to magic. Like overgrown, spell-sucking mosquitoes.” Which meant magic might lure them out of Lena’s oak.
I turned toward the house, but Nidhi was faster, stepping into the garden’s archway and blocking my path. “How much magic will it take to draw them to you? What do you intend to do to them once they’re out? Lena had to carry you out of the woods earlier today because you burned yourself out with your time-travel spell.”
“Time-viewing spell.”
She ignored my correction. “If you blow your mental fuses trying to pull those things from Lena’s tree, you’ll only make things worse for all of us.”
“Stop derailing my plans with logic and reason,” I snapped. If I could track down a children’s book with one of those cartoonishly powerful supermagnets, I might be able to rip the bugs out of Lena’s tree, but it would probably tear up the wood in the process. Not to mention I’d need a trip to the library or bookstore. My collection didn’t include many books for that age group.
Not many, but there was one that might work. And it had the bonus of being awesome. “When the Porters need to shut down electronics, they use a book to generate an electromagnetic pulse. You don’t have to manipulate the energy like I did with the chronoscope, and energy is actually easier to create than matter.”
“We don’t know that these things are electronic,” Nidhi said.
“Different kind of energy.” I gave up on trying not to grin. “We think they’re metal, right? Ever see what happens when you put silverware in a microwave?”
I ran into the house and grabbed Why Sh*t Happens: The Science of a Really Bad Day. We’d still need to get them to poke their heads out of the tree, but once they did, microwave radiation should be as effective as a bug zapper.
As I turned to leave, Smudge raced down my arm, every step like a droplet of boiling water on my skin. He jumped onto the side of the shelves and sprinted toward the ceiling. Once there, he clung to the plaster and crept forward, his attention fixed on a pencil-sized hole.
“Be careful.” I opened the book and skimmed the section that explained how a metal-rimmed plate could do very bad things to your microwave pizza. If there were stragglers in the roof, this was the perfect opportunity for a test run.
Smudge crawled back and forth, never stepping directly over the opening as he laid down one gossamer strand after another.
“You were there when those things drilled through metal and glass, right?” Spider silk was strong, and Smudge was laying it on pretty thick, but—
Three insects shot out of the hole, tearing through the web as if it weren’t even there. The first was a ladybug the size of an almond nut, with what looked like brass rivets for spots. It cleared the way for the rest, but at a cost. Webbing tangled its wings, causing it to fly erratically back to the ceiling. Delicate legs gripped the edge of the hole as it scraped its wings together, trying to rid itself of web.
The second was built like a dragonfly. The third, more waspish in shape, flew for the back door.
I tracked the dragonfly, touched the book’s magic, and pointed the pages at the ceiling.
The magic wasn’t as spectacular as I had hoped, but results were what mattered. The insect flashed orange, like a tiny light bulb burning out, then dropped to the floor.
I turned to get the ladybug, but Smudge was too close. He circled the struggling insect, like a predator playing with his meal.
He struck too quickly for me to see. The web clinging to the ladybug went up like gas-s
oaked rags. The flame didn’t hurt the metal, but whatever the wings were made of, they weren’t as strong. One broke away and fluttered, smoldering, to the floor.
The ladybug charged Smudge, who left a blackened path along my ceiling as he retreated. The insect darted in again and again. I couldn’t see what it was doing, but every missed strike caused a thread of white dust to fall from the plaster.
Smudge raised his front four legs, waving them like tiny flaming swords. The ladybug hesitated, then sealed its shell and ran directly into the fire.
Smudge flared blue and fell. I lunged without thinking, catching him in an outstretched hand before he hit the floor.
Pain travels quickly along the nerves. I had a moment of clarity as I realized what I had just done, and then I was screaming, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” through my teeth and fighting the urge to fling the burning spider away. I ran to the kitchen and transferred him to the tile floor.
The ladybug was burrowing back into the hole. Keeping my burnt hand curled against my body, I raised the book with my other hand. But the ladybug disappeared before I could get the shot.
An angry buzzing sound warned me as the wasp swooped toward my eyes. I dropped to the floor. Forget guns and books, I needed a laser-powered fly swatter. I searched the shelves, trying to see where it had landed. It hadn’t followed its buddy into the ceiling, and the room was silent, which meant it was creeping around, waiting for a better chance to attack.
The back door slid open. Lena gripped one of her bokken with both hands. “Don’t move.”
She was staring at a spot on my back. I slowly twisted my head until I spotted the wasp perched on the waist of my jeans. “Aw, crap.”
Lena’s bokken whipped past, close enough to tug my hair in its wake. The insect shattered into fragments, and her weapon embedded itself in the floor. She wrenched it free and leaned against the shelves.
“There’s another one,” I said. “It burrowed into the ceiling. I want it in one piece.”
“Why?”
“So I can take it apart.”
I grabbed a metal spatula and used it to carry Smudge to the kitchen sink where I could examine his injuries. Clear fluid that smelled faintly like diesel oozed from cuts on his forelegs. Blue flame danced over the cuts, never actually touching the fluid. Like gasoline, it was probably only flammable when it evaporated. Leaving the book on the counter, I returned to my library.
My classification was loosely based on the system we used at the Copper River Library, but in addition to sorting books by genre and author, mine were also classified by magic. Healing texts were on the end of the middle shelf, where they would be easy to get to in case of emergency. I picked out a copy of Household Tales by the Brothers Grimm and flipped pages one-handed until I came to “The Water of Life.”
My hand throbbed, the pain growing worse with every beat. My palm was red and blistered, with blood oozing from the edges, but it was the blackened skin in the middle that most worried me. The pain wasn’t bad there, which suggested nerve damage.
Shock threatened to make me drop the book. I sat on the floor, resting it in my lap. “It springs from a fountain in the courtyard of an enchanted castle,” I read softly, imagining the scene in my mind. The prince hurrying to get to the spring before the clock chimed twelve, grasping the cup in one hand, reaching…
Through the yellowed pages, I touched the hammered metal cup in the prince’s hand. I eased the cup from his grip and carefully pulled it free. I spilled half the water onto my shirt. Lena caught my hand, guiding the cup to my lips.
A single swallow of the cool water was enough. The blisters dried, and the charred skin sloughed away from my palm. I used my fingernails to scrape away the worst of the dead skin and dried blood.
My arm was trembling, and sweat streamed down my face and neck. I pulled myself up and brought the cup to the kitchen. I spilled several drops into the sink where Smudge was resting. He didn’t move.
“Come on, buddy.” I reached down, but yanked my hand back when his flames flared higher. I grabbed the spatula and tried to nudge him toward the water. He just twitched and curled into a tighter ball.
Lena slipped a hand into my pants pocket and pulled out my box of Red Hots. She took one of the candies between her thumb and forefinger, dipped it into the cup, and placed it in the sink in front of Smudge. A single droplet clung to the candy’s surface.
Smudge slowly uncurled his legs and crept forward. His two front legs hung like snapped twigs ready to break away. The cuts had stopped burning, leaving only a tarry, blackish scab on each leg. His mandibles closed around the end of the candy.
“Thank you,” I said, surprised at how difficult it was to get the words out past the knot in my throat.
She kissed my cheek. “You’re welcome.”
I didn’t look away until Smudge began to move his forelegs again. A ripple of red fire spread over his body, vanishing as quickly as it had begun, except for the scabs on his legs. Those continued to burn, smelling like burnt hair and oil, until both legs were clean and whole once more.
I left Smudge in the sink with another piece of candy and picked up Why Sh*t Happens. “I’d call that a successful proof of concept. Let’s go clean up your tree.”
I circled the oak to make sure stray microwaves wouldn’t accidentally fry anything behind the tree. “Where are they?”
Lena pointed with one of her bokken. “The lowest is dug in at knee level.” She tapped the bark with her weapon, marking each of the twenty-eight insects. The highest was a good twelve feet up.
“This will probably hurt,” I warned her.
Nidhi clasped Lena’s hand and said, “Think of it as radiation treatment to burn away a tumor.”
“The dragonfly in the house cooked fast.” I reread the pages I had used before. “I’ll need you to lure them to the surface.”
Lena nodded and dragged her fingers through the bark. It wasn’t long before she jerked her hand away.
I aimed the book at the tiny pincers, which sparked and popped. Lena hissed in pain, but when I pulled the book away, she said, “Don’t stop. It’s working.”
I cooked the insect until Lena confirmed it was dead. I didn’t want to linger too long in one spot, as the microwaves could also boil the water in the tree, drying and cracking the wood. Lena touched the tree again, luring a second insect to the surface.
“They’re burrowing,” Lena said.
I aimed the book skyward while I waited for her to bait the next. “You said they couldn’t get to the heart of the tree.”
“They’re not going deeper. They’re trying to get out.”
She pointed to where the first insect was emerging, and I cooked it in place, but they were digging free on all sides. I got two more, and then they were flying toward me. I stumbled back, trying not to trip over the pumpkins. For someone who rarely ate vegetables, she grew an awful lot of produce. I moved the book back and forth, trying to blast insects out of the air. A miniature lightning bolt jumped between two of the bugs, and both fell like tiny burning meteorites.
A beetle landed on my arm. Pincers dug through my shirt and the skin beneath. Another attacked the back of my hand.
Lena’s bokken hummed through the air. Nidhi tried to grab the bugs off of my skin, but for every one she ripped free, three more found me. Others landed on the book and began chewing through the cover and paper.
I ended the spell and flung the book to the ground. Lena joined Nidhi, and crushed several of the things in her bare hands, but by the time we tugged the last one off of me, the rest had returned to the tree.
They had bored numerous holes through Why Sh*t Happens. The spine had suffered the most damage. When I picked the book from the dirt, half of the pages tore free.
“How many?” I asked.
“I can feel nineteen crawling around.”
I picked a metal horsefly from the ground. The microwave had been a little too effective, warping and melting the delicate metal.
Once inside, I pulled The Demon Trapper’s Daughter by Jana Oliver off of the shelves. I had cataloged this book for the Porters several years ago, and I knew exactly which scene I wanted.
My hands tightened around the cover as I recalled the opening pages of the story, in which the protagonist tried to capture a Biblio-Fiend, a small, mischievous demon who liked to urinate on books. No way in hell I was letting that into my living room. But later on, when she faced the larger demons…
I flipped to the chapter I needed, shoved my hand into the story, and pulled out a glass sphere the size of a softball. “Let’s see what happens if we freeze them.” Looking at the hole where the ladybug had vanished, I added, “Assuming we can find the damn things.”
“They go after magic, right?” Lena jammed her bokken into the ceiling and gripped the hilt with both hands. Her fingers sank into the wood. Tiny spikes split away from the blade, sprouting buds that uncurled into small, waxy leaves.
I hefted the sphere. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Get ready.” Lena flinched. “That stings,” she muttered, then yanked hard. Chunks of plaster ripped free, exposing broken slats and insulation. The end of Lena’s wooden blade had grown like a bonsai tree on superfertilizer. The ladybug was burrowing into the wood, but as I drew back to throw, it took flight, swirling erratically toward the back door.
Lena yanked her tree—sword—whatever it was now out of the way, and I hurled the sphere at the fleeing bug. Glass smashed against the doorframe. Magic spread like liquid nitrogen, creating a white cloud. The door frosted over, and a web of cracks spread downward.
Lena stepped back and brushed a shard of curved glass off of her arm. Tiny slivers shone in her hair and clothes.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” she said. She pulled a piece of glass over her hand to demonstrate. The shard dented her skin, but didn’t cut her. “Tough as bark.”
The living room felt like a meat locker. I had never used Oliver’s books before. Those things were more potent than I had expected. I hurried into the kitchen to check on Smudge, who was huddling protectively over his half-eaten candy, his body burning merrily against the chill. The water pooled in the other dishes was frozen around the edges. Once I knew he was safe, I returned to the library and joined Lena in searching for the ladybug.