Tamiko and the Two Janitors (Amaranthine Saga Book 3)

by Forthright

  The other barista stepped up. “I do beg your pardon, miss. Did his antics unsettle you?” Pressing one large hand to the back of Jiminy’s head, his voice deepened to a growl. “He knows better.”

  Jiminy whined, “Sorry, Rook.”

  “I am not the one you should be apologizing to.”

  The young man’s eye rolled to the hand still pinning his wrist, then lifted his gaze to Melissa’s. With an apologetic smile, he said, “The third stone’s a pink, isn’t it?”

  He co-worker added pressure.

  “Sorry!” he gasped. “You have my most abject and piteous pleas for mercy and forgiveness for my thoughtless act of trespass.”

  Melissa snatched back her hand. “Peace, please. No harm done.”

  The one called Rook hauled Jiminy upright and gave him a gentle push toward the array of coffee-making equipment. “Make yourself useful. I’ll take care of our guest.”

  Jiminy reluctantly obeyed, casting a longing look at her over his shoulder.

  Not sure why it should matter so much, Melissa pulled back her sleeve and raised her arm, showing him the three crystals that anchored her personal wards. They were indeed blue, green, and a rare pink.

  His eyes lit up, and he gave a little fist pump.

  Rook, who’d been watching closely, rolled his eyes. “Sorry about that boy’s nonsense. He’s under strict orders to stay on this side of the counter. He’s too uninhibited, and our only excuse doesn’t make much sense to most.”

  She shook her head. “He has an excuse?”

  Leaning forward, Rook whispered, “Raised by wolves.”

  Melissa was so relieved to be in the right place, she giggled.

  “You’re new.” He offered his hand in the human fashion. “I’m Lou Booker, one of the owners here.”

  Her gaze dropped to his nametag—LOU. “Jiminy called you Rook.”

  “In a family like ours, nicknames are a part of belonging. You may call me Rook. And you are?”

  “Melissa Armstrong.”

  “I thought as much. You look very like Chris.”

  She eased closer to the counter, thrilled to have found people her father probably counted as kin. “Did you know I was coming?”

  “I might have heard a little gossip from one of the squirrels next door. Not much happens in this enclave without it putting a twitch in his whiskers or a flick in his tail.” Rook searched her face and warmly added, “Your arrival today is a welcome surprise. Do you have a place to stay?”

  “I’m rooming with relatives while I train at Bellwether.”

  “Your classification?”

  “Battler.”

  Nodding toward Jiminy, Rook asked, “Could you take him? If necessary.”

  “His height and reach exceed mine, but he was quickly subdued. He’s no battler.”

  Rook chuckled. “He’s a handful in his own way, but you’re right. Jiminy’s our enclave’s primary anchor. He’s a fine ward.”

  That explained his fascination with her accessories. Melissa almost felt bad for taking his interest the wrong way.

  “Would you consider working here?”

  She tightened her hold on his hand. “Yes.”

  “Even if it means coming over onto this side of the counter?”

  “May I rebuff your ward if he oversteps his bounds?”

  Rook’s smile widened. “Whenever necessary. You can have whatever hours you need, and we can work around your training schedule. I’ll pay more if you can work mornings.”

  “I can be here as early as you need.” Melissa could hardly believe her good fortune. “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me, young lady, you are the only one who may have second thoughts. And he’s the one most likely to inspire them.”

  Rook turned toward Jiminy, who carried over a brimming cup and set it before her. Coffee and foam created the silhouette of a howling wolf against a moonless night sky, a latte art depiction of the Nightspangle crest.

  Jiminy said, “My treat.”

  “Melissa has just agreed to work with us,” said Rook. “Don’t scare her off.”

  Dramatically favoring his wrist, Jiminy promised, “I learned my lesson. Best behavior.”

  When he moved to the other register to help a new customer, Melissa tried to back up and do things properly. “May I ask about your name, Rook?”

  “Yes. Soon.” He pointed to the latte. “Find a table. Enjoy your drink while it’s hot. I’ll join you when there’s a lull, and we’ll lay a better foundation for the future.”

  NINE

  Urban Enclave

  As if he’d been waiting for her to finish, Rook came to Melissa’s booth at the same time she finished her coffee. “Thank you,” she murmured as he collected the cup.

  “Things have quieted down. Will you join me in the back?” He slid a brass disk across the table. “And if you could hold onto this? We don’t want anyone wondering why Mr. Booker is keeping company with a pretty young lady.”

  Melissa turned the coin, admiring the delicacy of the sigils. Wards like these helped a Betweener move around without attracting notice. “We mostly use ceramic for these,” she said.

  “We’re on good terms with an enclave that works a forge.” Rook led her to the big marble counter at the front and through a little swinging door at its side. “You’ll come through here whenever you’re scheduled for work. We employ several outsiders, so the back rooms are still considered public territory.”

  He pointed out the time clock, changing room, break room, restrooms, and two cramped offices—his and his brother’s. At the end of the short hall, they turned a corner and faced another line of doors.

  “Cleaning supplies, paper products, cold room, and my brother’s lab. Very locked. He’s fussy about his coffee beans, so he keeps all his equipment and experimental blends under wraps.”

  She nodded, but her attention was fixed on what she assumed was their destination. The end of the hall fairly buzzed with the strength of a barrier.

  “Some of Jiminy’s handiwork.” Rook took her hand. “First time through will get your back up, but once these wards recognize you, they won’t give you any more grief.”

  Stepping through the barrier gave her a head-to-toe tingle, followed by a snap like static electricity. She stopped to check the size and color the anchoring stones, running her fingers through her hair, which did indeed feel as if it were standing on end.

  Rook said, “I’m almost positive he found a way to set the barrier against fleas.”

  “How … thorough?” Melissa wondered if the Amaranthine found the addition of that particular feature insulting.

  “Let’s just say the boy expresses his affection in strange ways.” He backed along a much wider hall with curving walls, beckoning her to follow. It was like walking through a stonework pipe. “Now we’re behind wards. Only Betweeners can enter these passages, which lead down into the enclave’s network of burrows and dens. My home is in my brother’s den.”

  He lifted aside a thick drapery of fur, and she stepped into a spacious apartment. Modestly furnished. With windows offering a street-level view of foot traffic on Fourth.

  Melissa’s surprise must have shown

  “We work alongside humans, and we have to pass as humans. The illusion is much easier to maintain if we live like humans.”

  “But you’re wolves.”

  “Through and through. Which accounts for an unconventional upbringing for the youngsters we’ve fostered over the years, your father included.” With a careless wave, he added, “Away from academy, this was his home.”

  “He lived with you?”

  Rook nodded. “Christopher grew up in our den. He bussed tables in the coffee shop. He worked part-time in the bakery next door. He trained at Bellwether with Roonta, and he pined after every cub in every litter born to this enclave. When Cove chose him, we couldn’t have been prouder.”

  Melissa was still processing this sudden revelation. Rook wasn’t just an acquaintance from th
e enclave where Christopher Armstrong grew up. “You’re my father’s parent?”

  “And you are your father’s daughter. See? We’re already connected.” He offered his palms and asked, “Are you comfortable with tending?”

  “Of course,” she assured. “I’ve been through the training, and I know what to expect.”

  Rook led her to a sofa and perched close by, without touching. “That sounds like more theory than practice.”

  She hesitated, cheeks coloring. “I’ve tended many Kith, but I’ve never had much personal interaction with the High Amaranthine. Not one-on-one.”

  “You’re not discomfited.” A statement of fact, entirely based on scent, no doubt.

  Rook slipped a simple bracelet from his wrist, then loosened his bowtie. Melissa wasn’t sure how the two items worked together to create an illusion of humanity, but with both gone, she found herself seated beside a wolf clansman.

  Short, black hair was subtly shaggier, and his ears came to elegant points. Light brown eyes changed to the deep yellow of amber glass, with characteristic slit pupils. And the hands he offered were graced by claws that gleamed like ivory against the deep brown of his skin. His tail was visible now, too—long and lavish, pure black with a subtle sheen that suggested reddish tips. Rook would be dramatic in his truest form.

  “I’ve worked with young reavers many times. You will find me a patient partner.”

  Melissa quickly met his palms. “Yes, please. May I ask about your name? Or names, since you’ve given two already.”

  Rook’s grin now showed a flash of fang. “I am Kinloo-fel Nightspangle. In the language of wolves, my name means ‘blue moon child.’ Can there be peace between us?”

  “Yes.”

  “And trust enough for tending?” he gently pressed.

  “Yes, please.”

  His hands moved into a supportive position, then simply cradled hers. Thumbs brushing her skin, he soothed, “No reason to be nervous. You’re sharp and bright, but I’m tougher than I look. You cannot overwhelm me.”

  “You can tell?”

  “Your wards are impressive, but we’re touching.” Rook explained, “It’s similar to my leading you by the hand through our barriers. You’ve let me through. I’m on the inside now, and your dazzling crystals are keeping us both safe.”

  Melissa hadn’t known her stones had any sort of defensive capability. “I can hide you, shield you, amplify your strength?”

  “I think it’s possible. With practice.” Rook eased a little closer. “I wish Doon-wen could be here. He’s a cranky so-and-so, but he has his reasons. Once he’s back from his trip, don’t let his grumping get you down. He’s as soft as he is ornery.”

  His low tones worked against her fleeting uneasiness, and the more she relaxed, the more he made the little approving noises she recognized from working with Kith. Without much warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She lowered her gaze, but there was no hiding from superior senses.

  “Homesick?” he asked. “Lots of students are drawn to Founders because they need the comfort of other people, a warm drink, a friendly smile, a listening ear. They’re lonesome, but we can’t nestle them all. With reavers, we’re allowed to do what comes naturally. No need to hold back, you know?”

  Melissa leaned into Rook, who continued speaking in mellow tones, unhurried and uninhibited. Little stories about when her father was a boy. More warnings about his cantankerous older brother. Unstinting praise for the bakery next door, with a brief caveat to remind her that squirrels numbered among the trickster clans.

  Rook stroked her hair, and she smiled at the idea that her father had been similarly cuddled and comforted. She asked, “Did my father consider you his dad?”

  The wolf stilled.

  She glanced up, worried she’d blundered.

  But Rook patted her head and offered a lopsided smile. “You’ll find out eventually. Might as well be from me. I’m teased for it often enough.”

  “If you don’t want to ….”

  “Peace, Melissa. It’s fine.” He pulled her in so her head rested against his shoulder. Her cheek pressed against the starched white of his shirt, and his cheek rested atop her head. “When Christopher was very small, he called Doon-wen Daddy, which was really very brave. And I was Momma, which was really very cute.”

  Melissa giggled.

  Rook’s amusement was a rumble deep in his chest. With a nudge to her hair that Melissa suspected was a kiss, he asked, “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” Melissa focused on the person at her side, searching for the connection that would allow him to touch her soul. With Kith, she had to keep a tight rein on her innate strength. Battlers tended to have an offensive aptitude, and a surge of raw power could devastate an Amaranthine. But Rook was no Kith.

  Faint impressions sharpened into clarity and left her in awe. The person who held her so carefully was vast. Her stellar ranking was a pebble compared to the mountain that was Kinloo-fel Nightspangle. She whispered, “You’re very old, aren’t you?”

  “Very.”

  She’d never been this close to any of her academy teachers. Despite the length of their lifespans, their time was limited. They were like parents with too many children eager for attention. Much like the wolf cubs in the Kith shelter, for every apprentice chosen, ten or twenty or fifty were left wanting.

  Melissa hadn’t truly understood the opportunities that an enclave might provide. Barely an hour ago, she’d been mourning her lack of prospects. “I think I’ve always wanted something like this,” she whispered.

  “Friendship? Kinship?”

  She nodded. “The Amaranthine at our school were outnumbered, but that didn’t stop me from wishing one of them would single me out.”

  “But you were never chosen?”

  “Not even once.”

  Rook murmured a strange word that felt like an endearment. “May I make an intensely personal observation with regards to the nature of your soul?”

  Melissa fidgeted. “Yes?”

  “Most Amaranthine of my acquaintance are most comfortable with a pliant soul. They value softness and sweetness, the elation of tending without a thought to the danger.” Rook said, “You have a piquant quality.”

  “I’m … sour?”

  “No. You remind me of strong coffee—alluring, bold, and bitter enough to scald the uninitiated. Commanding a powerful response and assuring a lifelong addiction.”

  “I’m bitter.”

  Rook laughed. “Leave it to a female to pick the insult out of a rhapsody of praise. Melissa, I’m saying that you’re an acquired taste.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  He hummed then asked, “What is the difference between a wolf and a dog?”

  “The dog clans are more closely aligned with human society. Some say they domesticated themselves.”

  “In the same way, those pliant, pleasing reavers offer an Amaranthine a nice, tame tending experience.” Rook shook his head. “You, my dear, have a wild soul, fierce and fraught with danger. Can you guess what sort of Amaranthine might understand your appeal?”

  Melissa peered hopefully into his eyes. “A wolf who likes coffee?”

  “If you can track down something so rare, I’m quite sure they’d be smitten.”

  She hugged him hard.

  “There’s my girl.” He rocked her back and forth. “You may consider yourself my apprentice if you like. I can teach you the delicate alchemy of brewing coffee.”

  An Amaranthine mentor. What would Mom say if her daughter traded her battler classification for a barista’s? Right now, it hardly mattered. Melissa sighed and said, “You smell like coffee.”

  “Everyone who works here does. Except the squirrels. I’d swear they bathe in nutmeg.”

  “I accept—the job, the apprenticeship, everything.” She shyly added, “I’m glad I came.”

  “Excellent. Next time you come in, I’ll show you the entrance to our Kith shelter.”

  “The enclave has a
separate one?”

  Rook shook his head. “Ours is private. It’s Doon-wen’s. Can you come in the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “That should be enough time for her to get used to the idea.”

  Melissa wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  Rook smoothed her hair and said, “Don’t worry. She’ll like you. Eventually.”

  “Who …?”

  “True.” He chuckled and clarified, “I’m going to introduce you to a Kith named True.”

  TEN

  Safety First

  Tami arrived early at work. Not early enough that Coach wasn’t already parked in the back corner, but early. She’d been meaning to organize all the literature she’d dumped into a fat file after the Amaranthine conference. All of it had to be important, but she wouldn’t be sure which information was applicable to elementary students unless she went through the stack.

  An hour later, she had six piles and was waffling on starting a seventh. Only she was waylaid by an interesting set of cribbed notes, purportedly put together by Kimiko Miyabe herself, on the etiquette of non-verbal communication.

  Tami frowned as she tried a series of greetings, then expressions of gratitude. The concept reminded her of sign language, but this was nothing like fingerspelling. The diagrams emphasized the importance of posture and expression, which added necessary nuance to the smallest of gestures.

  “This can’t be right,” she mumbled, trying to decide if the notes meant she was supposed to tap or flick her right shoulder.

  “Planning to umpire the next staff softball game?” Kip leaned in the doorway, a bemused expression on his face.

  “Not quite.” She waved a brochure at him. “Just looking over some of the information they gave me at the conference.”

  “Ahhh. I’ve seen that sort of thing before.” He strolled over, poking through the pile of glossy advice. “Nice to see you making an effort. I’m sure the new staff will appreciate it.”