Tamiko and the Two Janitors (Amaranthine Saga Book 3)

by Forthright

  He sighed and nodded.

  “Talk to Cyril.”

  “Guess I better,” Ash conceded.

  “And ….”

  “And?”

  Kip bussed his cheek. “You’re an idiot, and I love you.”

  FOURTEEN

  Foundling

  October was the busiest month of an already busy season, and Joe had been up extra late cleaning the cider press. Even so, he was awake before the sun, escaping into the orchard with a sack of day-old applesauce doughnuts and a thermos of hot milk. It was easier to face neighbors and strangers alike if he faced himself first.

  Otherwise, he’d spend all day out of step and falling behind.

  Joe wasn’t sure why he needed this so badly. Not really.

  True, it first started when Tami left home—school and internships, jobs and conferences. He didn’t like losing sight of his twin, but she had places to go, things to do. At least she still always came home. His sister was part of his balance, but he had to stand on his own two feet.

  Maybe that’s what this was.

  His mornings in the orchard and oak glen—the relative hush of a waking world, the peace he found in puttering among the trees—helped him find his own balance. He needed this little reminder that he was all right, even if he was alone.

  Joe’s breath puffed in the chill morning air, and his boots scuffed through heavy dew. No frost yet, but it wouldn’t be long now. He paced along the boundary, checking fences and keeping an eye out for trouble among the trees.

  He paused to nip dead branches and new suckers, watching for signs of pest or blight. Grandad always said dealing with little problems kept them from becoming big ones.

  When the oak glen came into view, he swerved toward the shining dome that glittered beckoningly. Almost overnight, their mystery tree had turned to gold. He’d bring a few leaves to show Mom. And hadn’t Tami mentioned something about needing an acorn?

  Eyes on the glory of autumn overhead, Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and slowly circled the tree. “Beautiful,” he decreed, though the word fell short.

  Someone giggled.

  Joe caught a flash of movement, but it vanished behind the tree.

  Was someone there?

  He hadn’t imagined it, but he couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was something other people couldn’t see, like his air ribbons and gem snakes. Or maybe even a fairy. The laughter had been small and light, like a person’s. A small person’s.

  Taking care to step softly, Joe edged closer, thinking to come up behind whatever was with him in the glen. His first glimpse took him completely aback. A child sat among the roots of the tree, a little girl with her knees pulled up to her chin.

  “Hello there, little one,” he called softly.

  “Sister?” she asked.

  “I’m not a sister, but I have a sister.” He took a few more steps. “Are you lost?”

  She smiled, and he found himself smiling back.

  Part of his mind was trying to reason out the presence of a child in the middle of their orchard. They were miles from any other house, and the migrant workers had finished with this section more than a week ago. It was too early for customers or tour groups to arrive. So where had she come from? And why wasn’t she wearing any clothes?

  Shedding his jacket, he swung it around her thin shoulders. She was small, no bigger than a kindergartener, and her wide eyes held no trace of worry or fear. In fact, she lifted her arms in a silent plea.

  He picked her up, tucking his jacket more snugly around her while trying to make sense of what he was seeing. This had to be a Rivven child. Her skin was unusually pale, and her thickly-lashed eyes were dark green. Her ears came to points, but it was her hair that threw him for a loop. Well, not hair, really. Joe tentatively touched the golden leaves that rustled softly on her head. Delicate as tissue and definitely attached, the leaves were growing on her head just as surely as they grew on their mystery tree.

  “Are your mommy and daddy close by?”

  Her brow puckered in confusion. “Sister?”

  “Were you with your sister?” Joe shook his head. “Do you have a name, chick-a-biddie?”

  She giggled and rested her head on his shoulder.

  Now what? He’d never been very good with kids in the first place, and he was feeling more than a little panicky. This probably looked really bad. What if the girl’s parents accused him of kidnapping … or worse? Could he start an international incident?

  “Maybe we should go to my house. Would you like to meet my mom and dad?”

  The girl threw her arms around his neck and cooed, “Joey-boy!”

  That’s what Grandad used to call him, but how would she know that? He started toward home with long strides. “That’s right. I’m Joe. What’s your name?”

  “Chick-a-biddie!”

  He was definitely out of his depth. With luck, Tami was still home. She’d learned about Rivven at her conference, and she was great with kids. As he hurried along, she craned her neck, looking back the way they’d come.

  “Where are we going?” she asked worriedly.

  “To see my sister.”

  “Sister?”

  “Yes, she’s my twin.” He offered a tentative smile. “You’ll love Tami, and she’ll love you.”

  The girl nodded and nestled down in his arms, an expression of serene trust on her dainty features. She startled him by reaching up to touch his cheek. “Joe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hurry.”

  Tami turned at the sound of her name and the thud of boots up the porch steps. Her brother rushed into the kitchen, eyes wide and breath coming in gasps. “You’re still here.”

  “Just on my way out.” She lifted her car keys.

  To her dismay, Joe sank to his knees on the floor. That’s when she noticed a pair of eyes peeping at her from the bundle in his arms.

  “I found a girl,” Joe said, all in a rush. “I think she’s … well, with the leaves and her skin. People don’t usually have woodgrain, you know?”

  Tami set down her keys, travel mug, and lunch bag. Joe was babbling, and Joe didn’t babble. Usually he was the one to calm her down when something had her riled.

  “You found a girl,” she repeated, crossing to the door, which flapped open behind him. “In the orchard?”

  A child wriggled free and skipped around the kitchen.

  Joe stated the obvious. “She’s not human.”

  “She’s not dressed.”

  “That’s how I found her.” Joe’s gaze pleaded for help. “I couldn’t leave her out in the cold.”

  “Where did she come from?” Tami watched the child tiptoe and twirl from appliance to window, touching knobs and exploring textures.

  “She was under our tree.” He caught her hand. “She knew my name.”

  Quite the mystery. But Tami needed to take charge, preferably before Dad and Grandad found a baby dryad frolicking between the oatmeal bowls. “Grab her,” she ordered.

  Joe obediently scooped her off the kitchen table while Tami ducked into the mud room, where their washer and dryer lived. From the basket on the folding table, she snagged a pink T-shirt and returned. “Hands up.”

  The girl complied, and Tami gently pulled the soft shirt over the girl’s leafy head. “Do you have a name, little miss?”

  “Chick-a-biddie!”

  Joe winced. “I called her that when I found her. Sorry.”

  Tami laughed softly and held out her hands, as much to rescue her blushing brother as to get a closer look at the girl. “From everything I’ve heard, Amaranthine are incredibly protective of their children. What clan are you from, sweetheart?”

  “Chick-a-biddie,” the girl corrected.

  “All right, Miss Biddie,” Tami conceded. What was the harm in a silly nickname? “Now where did you come from?”

  She caressed the girl’s cheek, which was the waxen hue of flower petals. Up close, Tami could detect a faint pattern. Joe was right. Biddie look
ed as if she’d been carved from wood, but she was warm and pliant and animated as any child should be. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

  Deep green eyes sparkled, and thin arms twined around Tami’s neck. “Sister?”

  Thinking this was how Joe had explained her, Tami hummed an affirmative.

  Just then, Grandad scuffed into the room. “What’s going on out here?” he grumbled. Catching sight of Biddie, he went very still.

  Tami was about to explain, but the girl suddenly framed her face with small hands.

  “Joey-boy said you would love me, and I will love you.” Biddie pressed her lips to Tami’s and declared, “You are my Lisbet.”

  Grandad make a strangled noise. That had been his twin sister’s name.

  She didn’t like to disappoint the child, but neither would she lie. “That’s close, little one. I’m Tamiko Lisbet Reaverson. Most people call me Tami.”

  Biddie gave a small shrug and a sweet smile. “Love you, my Tami.”

  And something happened. A whole pile of emotions tumbled over Tami in a cascade—fear and relief, longing and contentment, wanting and finding. The only thing she was sure about was their source—Biddie.

  “I … I think I’d better call in sick,” Tami whispered.

  “Something’s changed,” Joe said, pale and frowning. “What just happened?”

  Tami had no idea.

  A kitchen chair squeaked, and Grandad lowered himself into it. His chin was trembling, and his eyes were moist. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he mumbled.

  “Grandad?” Tami asked. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  He hauled out a red handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, then polished his glasses. “I suppose I do,” he said softly. “Where’s that cousin of yours?”

  “Melissa left already for Bellwether.”

  “Best get her back here,” said Grandad.

  “Why?”

  But Dad emerged, all astonishment and exclamations, and Mom came to see what all the fuss was about, and Grandad refused to say another word.

  FIFTEEN

  New Girl

  Jiminy smothered a yawn, then grinned sheepishly at his mentor. “Sorry, First-sensei.”

  “Lessons have run long. My fault entirely. What’s the time there?”

  On the other side of the world, a cup of tea slid into view, and an honest-to-goodness butler eased into camera range to eye Jiminy critically. “Michael, you’re a beast, nattering through the wee hours of his morning. There are far more interesting ways to wear a man out.”

  “Hey there, Jacques.” Jiminy wriggled his fingers in a friendly wave.

  “Mister Foster,” he returned with a haughty formality that seemed funny coming from a man in his twenties.

  Jacques might put on airs, but he also always showed up at some point during Jiminy’s lessons. Michael had confided that their French-English butler still didn’t know much Japanese, so he was greedy for conversation … even if it came with an American accent.

  Another hand appeared and whisked away the tea cup.

  Jacques puffed up. “That was the American’s tea!”

  Well, now. Jiminy had suspected someone was sitting in on this session. They’d covered a lot of ground, and the range of topics had felt scripted. Like an exam.

  From off camera, a voice drawled, “While he can appreciate the gesture, I can appreciate the blend.”

  Jiminy’s stomach flipped. Not just any eavesdropper. “Good day to you, Lord Mettlebright.”

  “Tsk.” The spokesperson for the fox clans strolled into view, tea cup in one hand, sleeping child propped against the opposite shoulder. “Argent will do. Here, Smythe. Take him.”

  Although Jiminy spotted his moue of distaste, Jacques said, “Yes, my lord. Come, Master Arnaud. You are required in the nap room.”

  The toddler, whose long, spotted tail matched the mottling on his fuzzy ears, babbled something in French, which the butler answered with a crisp, “Non.”

  Once they were gone, Argent Mettlebright spoke again. “Your sigilcraft is … interesting.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  Shaking his head, the Amaranthine said, “Michael should not indulge your tendency for improvisation. Apprentices should apply themselves to the basics; masters indulge in creative application.”

  Jiminy couldn’t have been more surprised. “Are you calling me a master?”

  Michael hid a smile.

  The fox arched a brow. “There are many things I could call you.”

  “Now, now, old friend,” interjected Michael. “My apprentice has endured enough and needs his rest.”

  Argent inclined his head and withdrew.

  “I’ll draw up a written assessment for your file. Your copy should arrive in a week or so.” Michael leaned closer to his screen, eyes alight. “Give some more thought to an appropriate challenge for your attainment.”

  Jiminy wryly asked, “You didn’t like my list?”

  Michael hesitated. “As Argent pointed out, we’re testing your grasp of the basics, not your ingenuity … impressive though it may be. Now, rest.”

  “I’ll catch a nap soon,” he promised. “Thanks, First-sensei.”

  “Until next time, Kourogi-kun.”

  Jiminy signed off, then stood to stretch. Normally, he would have had to content himself with training under whatever ward was close. The Emergence had revolutionized the In-between, making technology—and overseas apprenticeships—safe. With the danger of accidental outing over, reavers could connect freely.

  “An appropriate challenge.” Jiminy yawned and stretched and double-checked the time.

  He usually grabbed a long nap after sessions with his mentor, but he’d barely make it through his rounds before his shift started. A long shower and a large coffee would have to see him through.

  The reaver girl was back.

  Rook had warned Jiminy off, so he watched her from a safe distance. Miss Armstrong, battler class, was taller than average, but not so much that her height made her stand out. If anything, she was blending in more than a newbie should. She worked carefully, quietly, and with a seriousness that would probably endear her to Doon-wen.

  Her blonde hair had been hacked short, fanning out around her head in disobedient waves. He had to wonder how her hair found the courage to appear in her mirror in such an unruly state. Did she disapprove of its carefree nature as much as she disapproved of him?

  Jiminy had begun a private tally of stern looks. He’d earned four already, and he hadn’t even clocked in.

  Leaning against the back counter, sipping an extra-strong coffee, he contemplated her nose. How did someone who never cracked a smile get away with such a pert nose? Its slight upturn belonged with someone sassy or playful. Yet Melissa worked in silence, keeping entirely to herself. Well, almost. She’d made one remarkable exception.

  Rook.

  Many young women were taken by Rook, but this was the first time Jiminy had ever seen Rook take back. The wolf was all soft smiles and fleeting touches and subtle shows of consideration. Most human girls would have been flattered or flustered, for he was as attentive as a suitor, but Melissa seemed to understand that his interest wasn’t pursuit.

  She was being treated as pack, and Jiminy would have loved to know why. But Rook had warned him off.

  It was strange, being on the wrong side of Rook’s considerable protective streak.

  Why her?

  Jiminy poured himself a second cup and pondered the possibilities, only to be caught looking. That earned him his fifth stern look of the morning. He was still paying for that disastrous first impression.

  “Good morning, Melissa.”

  “Good morning, Jiminy.”

  Oooh, he liked that. More than he probably should, since she couldn’t grasp the significance of using his nickname. Rather than be embarrassed by the handle, Jiminy had embraced it so fully, they’d put it on his name badge. It was part of his identity within the pack, an endearment that m
eant he belonged.

  Most co-workers and customers shortened it to “Jim,” but not Melissa. She determinedly granted him the full measure.

  Did she like it? Did she pity him?

  She was wholly immune to his usual arsenal of winks and smiles. Every other girl who frequented their shop could be depended on to react, but Melissa was calm, cool, collected … and disappointing. Not that he was discouraged.

  Today, he’d coax for lesser prizes. Like eye contact.

  He sidled up to her and said, “I could teach you.”

  Melissa’s grip shifted subtly on her broom, no doubt readying it as a weapon.

  “I know all about wolves and pack life.” Jiminy pointedly took a receptive stance, yielding the initiative to her. “I could teach you how to respond to Rook.”

  “I don’t need you. Rook can teach me.”

  “That’s true.” He nodded even as he countered, “But it would make a pleasant surprise.”

  Very slowly, her gaze lifted to his.

  Eye contact achieved!

  Melissa asked, “What would?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” he hedged. “Much easier to demonstrate.”

  She hesitated, clearly torn. And in her anxious expression, Jiminy saw how much his offer meant to her. This wasn’t the time or place for teasing.

  “A simple thing,” he promised. “I’ll only touch your arm.”

  With a nod, Melissa gave him the chance he needed.

  “Have you noticed he does this?” Jiminy asked, lightly pressing the flat of his hand to her upper arm, then sliding downward to give her elbow a squeeze.

  Her gaze turned inward, and she nodded again.

  “There’s a way to answer in kind.” Jiminy edged as close as he dared. “You first this time.”

  She mirrored the contact.

  “Just right,” he encouraged. “This means something like, ‘I’m here. Stay near. Aren’t you glad we’re together?’ It makes sense. Rook’s beyond thrilled to have you here, and it shows.”