by Amber Kizer
“I’m close,” I said, not taking my eyes from the text.
“To what?”
I growled. “I don’t know. Something.” Right there in the fringes, in the mist, an important piece waited for me.
Custos barked and pawed at the front door.
I jumped. “Custos!” She’d been edgy all day.
A demanding knock came a few seconds later.
“That’s just creepy,” I muttered, and grabbed the journal, putting it under the stack of papers and tossing a napkin at the spine. If it fell into Nocti hands …
Tens ambled to the door. “Ready?” I saw a bulge at his back. A weapon?
I skittered away from the table. “Sure.” The visitor was probably just Joi with cookies or leftover Danish.
Tens opened the door a crack, then wider. “Rumi?”
“I come bearing word of your spirit angel.” The man’s voice boomed like a freight train.
How does he know? I sat down. We’d never given him details about who or what we were looking for. Just mentioned a girl, not that she was a Fenestra.
“I think you’d better come in then.” Tens shut the door behind him.
The herbs drying on the ceiling hooks almost smacked Rumi on the head. “Do not worry. I said nothing. She is luminiferous like you. Glows about the edges.” He pointed at me.
“What do you mean, I glow?” I asked.
“As if you stand in front of the sun. You have a lambent, lightsome quality about your outline. It’s fuzzy.” He asked Tens, “Do you not see it?” Without waiting for a response, he turned back to me and asked, “You must see it in the mirror when you’re doing your sonsy makeup and such?”
I shook my head; so did Tens. I might be denying the obvious to Rumi, yet in all honesty I didn’t see the Fenestra in me that way. More like a movement outside of my vision, a brush of something or someone other.
My expression must have read as disbelieving or appalled, because Rumi lowered himself into a carved rocking chair by the fireplace. He appealed to us. “I am not mad. Eccentric, maybe, but not howling bleezed.”
I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “We don’t think you’re crazy. Honest.” He appeared so completely befuddled. “Would you like some tea?” I got him a mug and pulled down the basket of assorted tea bags.
“Sure, always a good time for a cuppa. Though I prefer coffee if you’ve any.”
“Sorry.” I shrugged. We drank the stuff, but usually only if someone else made it.
“Ah, well, then give me something black and strong.”
I grabbed milk and sugar, since I knew he drowned his black in white.
I poured myself grape soda and Tens a Coke.
“Tell us more about the girl.” Tens picked up his drink and settled on the couch next to me.
Rumi gestured behind him toward the propane logs. “Won’t be turning that on later in the week. There’s a warm front coming, something fierce.”
“It’s going to warm up? How do you know?” I sipped.
“How did you know what to eat for breakfast?”
“Tens put it in front of me.” I smiled.
Rumi beamed at me. “Ah, a cynic. I enjoy a good and cunning logodaedalus.”
“The girl?” Tens prompted. Rumi’s conversations wandered on tangents. Then there was his vocabulary, which a dictionary wouldn’t help with; I didn’t have the first clue how to spell most of the words he used.
“Ah, well. I got to thinking, about how to get a lot of people together, you know, so you could ask questions, take their vibes, listen to the chavish. Whatever it is you do.” He shrugged. “I decided to host an open house at the studio to kick off Feast Week. The best way to get numbers of people to cross my path, and perhaps find this girl of yours.”
Tens twitched his lips. I squirmed, trying to keep up.
Rumi took it with good humor. “I appreciate the quest, you understand. Without being trusted with full disclosure. I made a point of visiting establishments housing us elderly types since you said the girl, and the cat, are connected to a nursing home. Correct? People like to talk, so I took invitations around to see what there was to see.” His gaze meandered, as if he was lost in his own thoughts. His expression grew stormy and troubled.
“And?” I prompted, leaning closer to Tens, whose face had cleared to blank alert. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of this story.
Rumi had lost a quotient of his lightness. “She’s a lacerated soul. Sad one, eyes full of sausade. To the point of breaking under the omnistrain. Full of rage.” He shook himself.
“You got all that by squinting at her?” I asked.
“No, of course not. She’s tall, gifted with a body built to survive hard physical labor and childbirth, broad shoulders, broad hips—perhaps with the right diet she’d bloom to zaftig. She’s solid. Built to withstand, you see? Long hair, longest I’ve seen on a girl in some time; I’d wager she’s never cut more than a little at a time. Golden hair, the kind of real blond that no chemical or salon can make. Strands were white like fresh butter, others a deep burnished wheat at harvest, still more caught the light and turned lemony. Her eyes were unexpected. Those threw me a skosh.”
“Blue? Green?”
“Golden brown. Glandaceous, like ripe acorns. I don’t see that color often in eyes. I look into everyone’s eyes—they’re like glass if you’re paying attention. Clear or cloudy, bright or damp. They speak. If eyes are windows into someone’s soul, hers are shuttered and battened down for the big one.” Rumi shivered dramatically. “But that place—Lord help the souls in there. Or maybe I should say you help the souls in there. I have an idea of a friend to call, but they’ll need the second coming of pick-your-savior. You’ll do, I suspect.”
I blanched. “I’m not God.” I am so not godlike.
“Ah, so that’s the first time you’ve told me anything about yourself.” He appeared pleased with himself, as if he’d tricked me into revealing an important detail.
I rolled my eyes, echoing Tens’s grin earlier, not able to contain myself. There was an intangible quality about Rumi that persuaded me, on a very elemental level, to confide all my secrets and truths. As if he is a designated secret keeper. Like the Señora.
He continued. “Her name is Juliet. She is a foster child. She took the flyers I gave her, but I have the distinct impression she threw them away. There’s fear in that place, a compulsion to self-protect, an ambsace. Now, what do we do? Are we on a rescue mission? I have this friend—”
Here was my most honest impulse. “I have no idea.” I didn’t. I’d been so concerned with finding her, I had no idea what to do once we did.
Rumi shuddered, dismissing my response. “You must have some idea. Even if it’s desipient. Why are you looking for her in the first place?”
Tens broke in and told him the story we’d made up about my adoption and the quest for my biological family. It was a lie, a huge one, but the one we both could remember. I knew who my family was and I wasn’t a kidney patient needing a donor, but people believed us and so we stuck with that story. I felt bad lying, but it was a necessary evil to protect ourselves. I hoped we could learn to trust Rumi, because he might very well be the most delighted person in the world to find out the truth.
Rumi set his mug of tea on the table and first looked Tens square in the eye, then me. “Now, I understand you don’t know if you can trust me. I honestly do apperceive that. It disappoints me, but I can work with that reality. I can also moil helping you—without knowing why, or what—if there’s a larger picture we’re bringing to light. But under no circumstances do I want lies.” He pointed at me. “You were sick, yes, but it was soul sickness, not some kidney problem and you’re well on your way to whole. Simply tell ol’ Rumi you can’t answer, but don’t lie to me. Fair enough?”
Tens nodded. “Fair enough.”
I stuttered, torn by the inexplicable feeling that given a chance, I could trust him. “I want to—”
“And s
omeday you will trust me. Someday, I will beg you to shut up, I’m sure, but until then we will be about getting to know each other. I brought you some of my Nain’s artwork to look at. They may prove helpful. Or not. I’ll leave them for you so you can react without my audience.”
Thoughtful. “Thank you.”
“Do not mention it, but return them to me tomorrow night at seven.” He stood.
“Seven?” I asked.
“I’m having a dinner party to introduce you to several local folks who can be counted on.”
I panicked. “I don’t know—”
He brushed aside my reluctance. “Small. Just a few people. They may be helpful. They may not. But it is a place to inchoate, to start, while you decide if you’re going to help me rescue that poor girl or if I’m going to have to act rashly and artistically.”
“Don’t.” Tens put his hand on Rumi’s massive forearm. “Give us until then to talk things through. There are many pieces to this—”
“And many things that could go wrong, a schlimmbesserung, if we’re not careful. Fair enough.” Rumi let Custos clean his hands, then he left, whistling a jaunty tune that belonged on the sea.
I blew out a breath as the door shut behind him. “Wow, um …”
“He’s a force of nature.” Tens’s tone reflected my own feelings.
I paused. “Do you think really?”
“No, an expression. But he’s definitely demanding and used to getting his way. He makes me feel really dumb.”
“He doesn’t mean to, but I think he’d make everyone feel stupid and babbling.”
“A good ally, perhaps?”
“Maybe. I think so.”
I started to unfold the pages in the wooden box Rumi had left. The pages were brittle and browning; most were black ink line drawings, others were colored in with watercolors or pastels.
All windows.
“Tens.” My tone must have imparted warning, because he was at my side in a blink.
All the windows were the same. A large rectangle topped with a half circle. Each window was divided into four panes with cross bracing, and the half circle was filled with a sun, its rays unfurled like flower petals to fill the space.
Tens exhaled as he took one page after another from my hands.
The scenery beyond the windows was tiny. Intricate views, a few even showing people waiting on the other side. As if by viewing these pieces of parchment, we also saw a soul’s personal window. They were images so similar to things I’d experienced, to ones Auntie had shared with us or that were mentioned in the family journal, my breath hitched. Dumbstruck, I stared for a moment. Rumi knows things. His knowledge is about Fenestras. Spirit angels. Good Death. All synonyms?
“He’s right,” Tens concluded, flipping through the pages once, twice, and again.
“He really is.” Disbelief that we’d found someone, anyone, who could add to our knowledge of Fenestras settled into a tangible tension. Relief. Fear. Excitement.
Custos whined.
“He said there were writings, too, right?”
“Yes, but they’re not in English,” Tens cautioned, as he held a piece of parchment up.
“So, we have him translate it for us,” I said.
“That’ll mean trusting him.”
“We have to.” I sat staring at the art, trying to take in this revelation. “Let’s go find Juliet.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“No, but I can feel that we’re in the right place.”
“Good enough.” Tens shrugged and picked up the truck keys. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Custos crouched behind us, every so often turning her nose to the air or the ground and puffing like a bellows.
“We should see if Bodie’s out here first.” I hoped he would be.
“Then what? We knock on the front door?”
“Maybe.” I didn’t think so. Not yet.
I prayed Bodie would be hiding up in his tree so we could get him to bring Juliet out to us, rather than risk knocking on the door and coming face to face with a Nocti or worse. We tell her we’re friends. She’ll know it instinctively and she’ll come with us. That’s how it will play out. That’s how it has to play out.
Hours ticked by while we waited along the creek side. I think I dozed a little, until my legs cramped up from sitting still for so long. “He’s not coming out.” I was disappointed.
“He doesn’t know we’re here.” Tens flexed his feet and knees.
“Should we try again in the morning?” I started to stand.
“Wait, I see movement.” Tens put his hand on my arm.
Custos’s tail beat an excited thump. An animal pranced from the shadows and purred while it rubbed itself along her legs. Custos sniffed it all over and licked its face.
“Is that a cat?” It looked more like walking furniture, an ottoman, or even a horse. It looked at me like it completely understood my thoughts. “Is that the cat from the news—”
“That’s the cat I saw before.” Tens reached out a hand to touch it. When his fingers met the cat’s fur he froze.
“Tens! Tens!” I couldn’t break their contact. The cat too stilled, in midstretch.
Tens didn’t breathe, didn’t move. What do I do? What do I do? Break their contact. I have to break their contact.
I tackled him. It was like running into a concrete wall, but he dropped to the ground with a whoosh. The cat twitched its tail, coiling and uncoiling, while it glared at me.
Tens lay there gasping for breath, coughing oxygen back into his lungs.
“What the hell was that?” I touched his face and chest, and shooed at the cat, trying to get space. Custos seemed completely unperturbed. Bad kitty. Bad, bad kitty.
“Wow. Give me a minute.” Tens blinked, inhaling deep breaths.
“What happened?” I kept myself between him and the cat, ready to intrude before the creature did any even crazier freezing.
“What did it look like?” Tens asked, not moving his head, staring up at the sky.
“You froze like in a cartoon.” Like a scary Medusa-turning-to-stone, crazy abandon-me thing.
His breathing evened out, but I watched his pulse flutter like a hummingbird hovering at the base of his throat. “That’s what it felt like. Only more like a download.”
“What?” I glanced at the cat. Computer cat?
“Minerva. The cat’s name is Minerva. She’s of the Creator. She scolded us for taking so long.”
I shot the cat a dirty look. “Really.”
“She says Juliet is who we’re here to help. And it’s getting dicey.”
“Oh? Did you tell her if we’d had GPS coordinates, or a special forces team to command, maybe this wouldn’t have taken so long?” I paused, getting in his face. “Are you making this up? Playing with me?” This is a really bad time for Tens to get a sense of humor.
Tens didn’t respond, just gripped my hand.
Okay, not playing. “What else?” I asked.
“Minerva and Custos go way back.” He blinked, and tears dripped from the corners of his eyes, not tears from crying, but like tears from peering at the sun too long.
“They know each other?”
“Yeah, they do.”
I nodded. “Custos is more than—”
“She’s a Protector’s animal to call.”
“And the cat is a Fenestra’s? Is that why Custos found you?” Hmm, at least it was nice to know more of the truth rather than having to fill in the blanks with guesses.
“More like sought me out, maybe?”
“Interesting.”
“Minerva says there’s another of the Creator in there helping, keeping Juliet alive. But there’s a Nocti, too, a powerful, ancient evil, coming and going.”
I refused to consider the fact we were now talking to animals and taking their words at face value. What did it say about us that a cat and a wolf were our guides?
I blew out a disappointed breath. Does there have to be a
Nocti in there too?
“She says we’re to come back tomorrow. Be here in the morning, before the sun.”
With that the cat gave Tens another swat with her paw, twitched her tail at me, and trotted back into the bushes. Custos rolled over on her back and wagged her tail with her tongue touching the ground. She barked, looking at us upside down, and scratched her back by wiggling in the grass.
When we looked back, Minerva was gone. I hoped she’d left to make Juliet’s life a bit more bearable. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say the Creators have a sense of humor.”
Tens rolled to his feet, moving slowly.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I hugged his side to steady him.
“I feel like I ran headfirst into a wall. Wow.” He leaned on me as we wandered back down the path.
“So we come back in the morning?”
Come back and do what? Specifics, Minerva? Is that asking too much?
I rested at a house bearing our welcome ornament. Those who can see have the kindest hearts.
Lucinda Myer
1786
CHAPTER 13
I drove us back to the cottage, snatching glances at Tens. When we arrived, he collapsed on the bed.
“Stop staring at me, I’m fine,” he mumbled against the pillows, his eyes squeezed shut.
I turned my back and tried to noiselessly tidy up the kitchen. The space was tight and I found it impossible to be quiet. The more I tried, the louder I became. Finally, I dropped a glass and it shattered. Cleaning it up was even noisier.
Tens covered his head with a pillow and growled, “Too much noise. Go shopping, wander—buy something to wear tonight.”
“Rumi’s dinner party? I don’t think so. I’m canceling.” I’d forgotten about it, but no way was Tens up to being social.
“No, you’re not. I’ll be fine once I get some sleep. Go away for a little while. Please?” He whined the last bit.
He was right in a weird way. The only clothes I had were ones we’d picked up at chain stores. Things that came in packages of three or were under five bucks a pop, items that we could grab and go. Jeans didn’t quite fit; T-shirts either hung loose or were too tight. Not a skirt to see, since I’d ditched my old private-school uniform at Auntie’s. “Are you sure?”