Tamiko and the Two Janitors (Amaranthine Saga Book 3)

by Forthright

  “Who says?”

  She shook her head. “Everyone says.”

  “Not my mentor.” Jiminy arranged himself in a comfortable sprawl on the straw at her side, hands behind his head, eyes shut. “First-sensei regularly deals with all kinds of potent souls, and he developed a technique that allows the essence of two souls to touch while he mediates. He makes it safe for both parties. Nobody can be overwhelmed.”

  “And this works with two reavers?”

  “Sensei didn’t mention trying it, but we could.”

  Melissa pointed out, “It’s not even remotely the same.”

  “Well, no. But doesn’t Sensei’s discovery prove that there are still things we can discover?”

  What was the harm? “Go ahead. Rule me out.”

  “Relax. Take the receptive attitude they teach for tending.” After a lengthy pause, he murmured, “Your personal wards are serious business.”

  He was meddling with her wards? Melissa asked, “Should I take them off?”

  “Would you mind?” Jiminy’s eyes were open, his gaze speculative. “I could get past them, but they’d still limit my access.”

  “To what? My soul?” Melissa undid buckles and braces. “Isn’t there someone else’s soul you can mess with?”

  “No one I know well enough to want to try. Something like this is rather personal, don’t you think?”

  “I do think.” Melissa unfastened the cuff on the shell of her ear.

  Jiminy sat up fast. “There were more?”

  “These only have sigils. No crystals.” She pushed the curls away from her other ear, showing him the other cuff, watching his expression. Melissa preferred underestimation to estimation. It was much more useful in battle and rarely led to personal remarks.

  “You rank, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Does it matter?” She turned to True. “Am I making you uncomfortable? This won’t harm the cubs, will it?”

  “I am here. They are safe.” Doon-wen’s voice came from his bondmate’s other side, where he’d undoubtedly been eavesdropping. “Slip the final ward, Melissa.”

  Jiminy held out a hand, and she dropped the cuffs onto his palm. He explored each carefully while casting surreptitious glances her way. Ignoring them, Melissa tugged up her pantleg, revealing an ankle chain. She undid the clasp and added it to the collection in Jiminy’s palm.

  “This craftsmanship …?”

  “Spider.”

  His low whistle was all appreciation.

  True huffed, and Doon-wen grunted his agreement.

  From his seat near the door, Rook said, “You admire the settings. We see the star.”

  She probably made for a very spiky, violent, biting sort of star. Nevertheless, Melissa blushed under the compliment.

  “Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse.” Jiminy carefully—almost reverently—set aside her wards and resumed his place. “It might not work at all, but I’d still like to try. If you’re willing.”

  Melissa didn’t want to make this a big production. It wouldn’t work.

  Jiminy tentatively extended his hand. “I doubt it’ll work if you don’t trust me at least a little.”

  She gripped his hand firmly and asked, “Will this take long?”

  “No idea.” Shutting his eyes, he repeated, “Relax. And trust me.”

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust him. He made sense once you took his upbringing into account. Jiminy had a wolf’s perspectives and a wolf’s ideology. Admirable things. Useful insights. If only he weren’t so ….

  She struggled to find a word that fit. Cheerful. Talkative. Relaxed. Persistent. But those weren’t necessarily bad qualities. In fact, those were some of the things she loved most about Magda, who never minded that Mother was everything she wasn’t. Reserved. Focused. Direct. Competitive. Their skills were a complement to each other’s both on the battlefield and at home.

  Melissa refused to follow that line of thinking any further.

  Her plans may have undergone a slight shift, but the essence remained. She neither wanted nor needed a man to size up her pedigree and schedule a paternity visit. Her partner would be fiercely faithful, a steady and equal companion, accepting her silences, understanding her shortcomings, and choosing to remain.

  She would accept nothing less.

  If only her inner debate didn’t keep cycling back to Jiminy and his ridiculous assertion. “I can give you those things.”

  What a thing to say.

  What a nice thing to say.

  “Are you all right?” Jiminy’s urgent whisper tickled her hair. When had he moved closer?

  Her confusion doubled when it occurred to her that somehow, somewhere, a boundary had gone missing. This man for whom the wind danced and stones sang had infiltrated the hidden place at her heart.

  Reavers had long been hospitable to the Amaranthine, but this wolf bore little resemblance to Kith or Kindred. They had been described as a vast and formless darkness, longing to be lit by stars. Yet here was brilliance. A star without its setting. A soul in all its splendor. And the brush of a personality that could only be Jiminy.

  “Boundaries,” she whispered. For there were none. Should she be afraid of this?

  “Shh, shh. It’s okay.” His hands moved, cradling her head, her cheek. “My fault, all my fault. But we’ve gotten tangled. Can you let me go?”

  Melissa lifted her hands to show they were empty. She dared not open her eyes. There was too much light behind her eyelids.

  Jiminy threaded his fingers with hers and whispered, “This is beautiful. You are beautiful. But if this continues, I’ll give in, and you’ll be angry.”

  She couldn’t make sense of his words. Why would she be angry when everything about this was luminous and lovely?

  “Please, Melissa.” Jiminy’s lips brushed hers with each word. “It was you all along, and I didn’t know this would happen, and I think we need some help, Rook.”

  A shadow billowed over them, settling like the blanket around Melissa’s shoulders—warm and safe and familiar. In reaching for Rook, she lost touch with Jiminy.

  Her hand tightened, and Jiminy squeezed back.

  “Here I am. Right here.” His voice wavered. “Please, don’t be angry.”

  Melissa kept her eyes firmly shut, like a child who doesn’t want a particularly good dream to end. “I’m not angry.”

  “But I …”

  “Hush.”

  Into the sudden silence, Doon-wen spoke. “Jiminy, perhaps you should go.”

  Jiminy shuffled awkwardly, then whispered, “Melissa, can you let me go?”

  What did he mean? Oh. She had his hands.

  Melissa finally opened her eyes. Jiminy looked half-frantic and full of apologies she didn’t want to hear. “No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think I can. Could you?”

  Eyes wide, he shook his head.

  She loosened her grip and nodded once. Enough said.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Preservationists

  With firm plans finally in place to have dinner with Ash and Kip, Tami had been hoping to leave work on the early side. But shortly after the last buses were pulling away with homebound children, Harrison rapped smartly on her half-open office door.

  “Principal Reaverson?” he called, with more formality—and more volume—than was even remotely necessary. Something had him keyed up. His eyebrows were jumping, and he was patting his heart as if trying to calm it down.

  Mentally bracing herself for a disgruntled parent or another unscheduled inspection by the Office of Ingress, Tami squared her shoulders and folded her hands atop her desk. “Yes, Harrison? I’m here,” she replied, even though he could see that for himself.

  “Some people to see you.” His voice broke.

  Tami couldn’t have been more perplexed. He looked for all the world like a man held at gunpoint. Taking a soothing tone, she said, “Thank you, Harrison. I have time.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he cleare
d his throat. Then, as if playing the part of a butler in some scene for which Tami hadn’t seen the script, he swung the door wide and announced, “Lady Estrella Mettlebright and Dr. Arno Brecht, along with their escort. Dear, me. I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

  “Reaver.”

  Tami wasn’t sure if the stern-faced man was announcing his name or his title.

  The looked like he should be playing professional basketball instead of strolling around in a long duster and combat boots. Either way, he entered the office, scanned it without any change of expression, and stepped aside for an unassuming man who bowed his head as he passed through the door.

  Next to enter was a dainty lady with an abundance of silver hair all done up in glittering combs. Draped in silver and blue, she possessed the ageless beauty—and pointed ears—of an Amaranthine. “Thank you for asking after Ismal.” Her English was excellent, but her accent suggested someplace far from Fletching. “We are not allowed to traipse about without an escort, and he has been exceedingly gracious.”

  Tami noted the we, which implied that Estrella’s companion was also Amaranthine. She took a longer look at the bespectacled male. Dressed all in tweedy browns, he was squarish, creased, and rumpled, with the healthy tan of a perpetual outdoorsman. Meeting her curious gaze, he rocked up on the balls of his feet, then back on his heels, apparently antsy to be introduced.

  “Welcome to Landmark Elementary,” Tami offered with as much poise as she could muster. “What can I do for you?”

  “A small matter of some urgency.” Lady Mettlebright indicated her companion. “Dr. Brecht is a professor of botany, quite well known in certain circles. For his protection, he is traveling incognito.”

  Dr. Brecht stepped forward with a little click of his heels. “May I manifest more fully before you? Not unlike the wolves, my clan retains an aspect of our animal counterparts.”

  “You have a tail?” Harrison lingered in the door, clearly fascinated.

  “Not in speaking form.” Dr. Brecht’s laugh had a fluting quality. “I belong to what is jokingly referred to as the hoof-and-antler set. My people wear a crown.”

  So saying, he removed his glasses, slipped them into an inner pocket, and pulled a watch on a chain from another. Flicking it open, he fiddled with its interior. The change was both immediate and startling. His wrinkles smoothed away, his irises lightened to a ruddy amber, and his ears took on the characteristic elfin point. But the showstopper was indeed a crown.

  “Antlers!” Harrison edged further into the room and offered his hands to Dr. Brecht. “What kind of clan are you from?”

  “Deer.” He met Harrison’s palms. “You may have heard of my clan, which has recently risen in notoriety. In truth, my name is Arno Silverprong.”

  Tami made the connection. “Tenna Silverprong was one of the Five’s two new appointees!”

  “My elder sister.” He turned to offer his palms to her and leaned in to inquire, “PrinceTam, I presume?”

  She drew a blank, but only for a moment. It was the name she’d used when signing onto the arborist’s forum.

  “Might we have a private word, Miss Reaverson?” asked Estrella. “We’ve come a long way.”

  Tami’s smile faded. What should she do? Call Cyril? Try to get ahold of the Nightspangle pack? Reeling through options and their viability, she slowly said, “Thank you, Harrison. I’ll take it from here.”

  “If you’re sure.” He didn’t move to go.

  “Head on home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Slipping his phone from his back pocket, the eagerly asked, “Could I get a picture first?”

  Tami tucked her chin to hide her smile. He was just so Harrison.

  “Arno cannot, but I should be delighted.” Estrella insinuated herself into Harrison’s side and posed for the selfie. Tilting her head at a saucy angle to put one pointed ear on full display, she looked every inch a vixen.

  Harrison excused himself with a dazed wave.

  Ismal moved to close the door behind him, but a booted foot prevented him. A freckled hand closed around the door’s edge, slowly pushing it wide, despite Ismal’s resistance. Kip’s expression was neutral, which Tami found a little scary. Ash shouldered past him and took her arm, tugging her to the corner opposite Ismal’s post.

  “This is unexpected.” Kip tipped his head to one side. “What business do you have with Bellwether Enclave?”

  Arno’s confusion was apparent, and he looked to his companions for help.

  “Undisclosed urban enclave,” supplied Ismal.

  “Not to those who call it home,” Kip countered. “Or to those who live under its protection.”

  “Our information came through unusual channels, and it is far from complete.” Estrella’s fingers flicked her shoulder in a gesture Tami recognized. “We had cause to believe Miss Reaverson might be unregistered … or at least ignorant.”

  “Both,” Tami admitted. “Or I never would have posted those pictures.”

  Ash’s arm slipped around Tami’s waist, and he said, “This is our territory, and you are guests. Bring your manners, and we’ll show ours.”

  Kip still seemed angry. “Even an under-the-table meeting has to have equal sides.”

  “Granted.” Estrella lowered her gaze, but her tone had clipped edges. “But do you boys realize what’s at stake?”

  Ash and Kip traded looks, and Tami realized they had no idea what was going on. They’d jumped in blind. She blurted, “It’s okay. She’s safe.”

  “She?” Arno practically pounced on the word. “You’ve verified that the tree is female?”

  Tami nodded, but she wasn’t sure how much more she should say.

  “May I ask how?” He was practically trembling with excitement.

  Kip gave a little nod and pulled out his phone.

  Relaxing into Ash’s stalwart presence, Tami smiled. “We knew Biddie was a girl because she was naked when my brother found her.”

  “A female!” The Silverprong clansman babbled to Estrella in another language.

  The fox lady laughed and patted his arm, then sought Tami’s gaze. “This is excellent news. And she is safe, the tree and her twin?”

  Tami slipped her hand into Ash’s and said, “Completely.”

  Kip flashed a grin that was much more usual and pocketed his phone. “All set. Who wants pizza?”

  “Here?” Tami whispered. “Are you sure this is the right sort of place to be taking important people?”

  “We planned to take you here,” said Kip, pulling Coach into an open space.

  Their dinner date. With all the excitement, she’d completely forgotten.

  “You don’t like pizza?” Ash gently disentangled her ruffled hair. Travel by jeep had left her somewhat windblown.

  Ricky’s Roadhouse was Archer’s best—and only—pizza place. A staple of her childhood, but probably not up to international standards. Still, she smiled and said, “Everybody likes pizza.”

  “Exactly,” said Kip. “If they’re going to horn in, then they’re just going to have to eat where the locals eat.”

  Kip waved at Ismal, who looked to be on high alert, as if the locals might be staging an ambush. Or at the very least, a protest. Arno’s antlers were back in hiding, and Estrella no longer looked Amaranthine.

  Inside was dim, and off to one side was a long room with dozens of old arcade games, pinball machines, and an ice hockey table. Blinking lights and a tinny chorus of sound effects had been coaxing quarters from kids for decades.

  “Welcome,” said a waitress wearing a t-shirt with a tuxedo front printed on it. “How many?”

  “Reaverson party,” announced Kip. “We have a reservation.”

  “Oh!” She ogled the group with interest, then singled out Tami. “Didn’t see you there. Come on back!”

  As they filed through, Rick Junior called a greeting from the pass-through to the kitchen. “Hey-o, Tami. Back room’s all set for you. Give a holler if you need anything.”

 
; Twice, Tami stopped to greet others she knew. Friends and neighbors. All curious about her guests. And about this year’s corn maze. And about the selection of Rivven teachers for their schools.

  She didn’t mind. This was familiar territory. Both the people and this place.

  The back room wasn’t decorated any different than the rest of the restaurant—plastic red and white checked tablecloths, matted low-pile carpeting, red glass candleholders, and stained-glass swag lamps over the tables. But the staff had pulled together several tables along one wall, and they were filling up fast with pizzas.

  “Since when does Ricky’s offer a buffet?”

  Kip grinned. “They don’t. I ordered ahead.”

  “All this for us?” she protested.

  “Don’t underestimate Kip’s appetite.” Ash hooked his arm through hers, and she could feel the brush of a wing against her back.

  “We’ll have help.” Kip’s gaze flew to the door. “And proper representation.”

  No kidding.

  Doon-wen Nightspangle cut an imposing figure in a three-piece suit. His glasses gleamed as he took in the room and its occupants. Cyril Bellamy strolled in next, closely followed by Melissa.

  She ignored the Amaranthine stand-off, hurrying instead to Tami. Pulling her into a fierce hug, Melissa whispered, “Everything’s fine. Better than fine. They can help.”

  Tami sagged against her. “I didn’t mess up?”

  “Well, maybe a little. But it’s going to work out.”

  Kip tapped their shoulders and cheerfully said, “Added reinforcements. Local representation. Times three.”

  Tami swiveled in time to see Grandad walk in, followed by her dad and Joe.

  Her brother immediately veered her way, and she nearly collided with him in her need to connect.

  “Hey,” he said. That was all. Yet it calmed her.

  “This is it,” announced Kip. “All present and accounted for.”

  Ismal immediately began warding the room. Not with stones, as Jiminy had done with the oak glen, but with strange, shimmering symbols he drew on the walls with his finger.

  “Security?” she whispered to Joe, who guided her into line for food.