Bramble Burn

by Autumn Dawn

  “Cher-til? Is that Lt. Bjorn’s given name?”

  “Yep. He’s one of the Norse wolves. The local pack likes to keep an eye on the city, and wolves like action, so we’ve got a couple on staff. Hope you like cinnamon rolls.”

  Mia handed her a plate and introduced the day crew. There were four on duty, plus Mia, and all of them had questions.

  “How did you grow a tree that big, that fast?” a large black man, Karl, wanted to know. He was responsible for the cinnamon rolls, and he had a southern drawl.

  “Did you know you were on the news?” Faolán, an Irishman with black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee, wanted to know. He waved a hand at the TV. “Not many tree mages out there.”

  “I’m not a mage,” Juniper protested. “More like a farmer.”

  “That’s a bloody big tree, farm girl,” Faolán remarked. “But you can’t mean to go back there?”

  “I do, yes. I need to fix my tree.”

  “Now that’s crazy talk,” Karl said. He set his coffee aside and leaned closer. “You’ll ruin all of Bjorn’s hard work. What are you going to do the next time a mutant woodchuck sets your tree on fire? You can’t count on rescue every time.”

  Juniper nodded. “Good point. May I have some paper? I need to add it to the list.” She took a pencil and sketched a rough tree diagram. “You’re an expert on safety. What do I need to plan for?”

  Mia peered at her sketch. “For starters, you need to plan for fire. Second, you need something stronger than wood to keep the critters out. You’ve already proven they think of giant trees as chew toys.”

  Juniper drew a picture of a tree burning and stick figures running around, arms in the air. She drew a slash through it. “Tougher skin. I can do that.” She thought about the junk cars and made scales on the trunk. She had plenty of metal to work with. She sketched rain water collection tanks that would be hidden in the walls of the tree and added a greenhouse on top.

  “What’s that?” Karl asked.

  “Greenhouse. I need to grow herbs and stuff,” she said absently.

  “What kind of herbs?” he asked suspiciously.

  She laughed. “The legal kind, like saffron and chocolate. I need to make money, and I need to eat. A garden won’t be safe on the ground right now.”

  “You can grow chocolate?” Mia asked with interest.

  “It doesn’t matter. It will be too vulnerable. You’ll have giant grasshoppers trying to break in,” Karl warned.

  “Bullet proof glass and protective shutters,” Juniper added to her list.

  “What’s to stop something from eating you when you leave your tree?” Faolán wanted to know. “That’s when you’ll be most vulnerable.”

  “Defenses, very important.” Juniper drew a ring of thorns around the tree and studied the picture.

  “Bramble Burn is in the middle of a tough neighborhood,” Mia said seriously. “You can be mugged or worse.”

  Juniper met her eyes. “I could be. Twix is dangerous, but he could be shot. I could be shot. I’ll have to take steps to prevent that.”

  “Kevlar,” Faolán suggested.

  “Bodyguards,” Karl grumped.

  Juniper cocked her head. “Tenants,” she said thoughtfully.

  Karl guffawed. “You think you’re going to get renters in Bramble Burn? You’re crazy, girl.”

  Juniper smiled. “Could be. Anyway, thank you for breakfast. Is there anything I can do to thank you before I go?” She looked at Mia. “I’m sorry about the bed. I’m afraid I can’t “ungrow” a tree, but I can pay for damages.”

  “What’s up with the bed?” Faolán wanted to know.

  Mia grinned. “Go see for yourself. Don’t worry about it, girl. It’s a conversation piece. But if you’re serious about helping out, maybe you could look at the back yard. It’s a sorry bit of concrete, and we could use a tree or something for shade when we grill.”

  Juniper followed her outside and surveyed the back lot. It was a cracked concrete with weedy cracks and a couple of rickety wooden tables and lawn chairs, surrounded by a battered wooden fence. She nodded. “I can do something with this. Did you have anything particular in mind?”

  The crew looked at each other. “Nothing high maintenance,” Karl suggested. “Maybe a tree and some grass.”

  “Can you plant herbs? I love rosemary,” Mia added.

  “No problem. Let me get my seeds. You can go about your work while I do this, and I’ll show you what I’ve done when it’s finished.”

  She was saddling Twix when Lt. Bjorn entered the stable. Thankfully the crew had grabbed her tack and saddlebags when they finished with her tree last night, or she’d be riding bareback. It was less than a mile to the park, but a saddle was welcome.

  “You did the back yard,” he said with a tinge of admiration. His eyes swept over her, as if seeing something new. “I had no idea it could look so good.”

  She smiled. It hadn’t been hard to line the lot with hedges and sprout a climbing oak. It had a branch that would be perfect for a porch swing, and she’d made a bench extend from the trunk for extra seating. The lot was lined with a sturdy hazelnut hedge and she’d used the roots to break up the concrete into pavers. Irish moss grew thick and green in the cracks. She’d planted an herb garden and cherry tree, too. “It was my pleasure.”

  “You could make a fortune in the landscape business. Why put your life in danger over a burned out park?”

  He sounded like her mother. “You wouldn’t get it.”

  “Try me,” he challenged.

  She sighed and petted Twix over the stall wall, swatting when he tried to nibble. “I’m not like your average Jill. I need to feed, and I need to grow things. Big things. Without them, I wither and die. Bramble Park has what I need to thrive.” She struggled for words. “It has the right…current.”

  He didn’t look impressed. “What were your other options?”

  Affordable forest sites didn’t grow on trees. She scowled and opened the stall door to tack up. “Why? Trying to run me off?”

  “I’m trying to save your life. Bramble Burn spawns monsters the way bunnies pop out babies. You’ll fight every day you live there, and the gangs will eat you alive.”

  She didn’t answer, because he was right. To tame Bramble Burn, she’d need every ounce of power and divine grace she could muster. She bridled Twix and led him from the stall. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

  “You’re leaving?” He walked her out of the stable.

  “Yes. I need to get to work.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Karl said you had some ideas to make the tree safer.”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “The first steps are still dangerous, but I have to start somewhere.”

  “Do you think you can do it?”

  “Yep.” She mounted up.

  He looked her over thoughtfully, his eyes still dark. Was he worried about her? “Will the tree be done today?”

  She shook her head. “It will be two days at least, but it will be easy to close the holes today. I’ll have some protection while I work.”

  “I see. Do me a favor; sleep here tonight. I’d rather not be called out to the Burn again.”

  She looked away, considering it.

  “You more than earned it with the yard work. Beside, you’ve given the crew something to talk about, and you already marked your bunk.”

  His smile made her heart beat faster, but she didn’t need romance right now; too much to do. She tried to sound casual. “Okay. Just for tonight. I won’t need it after that. I appreciate the offer.” It would be good to have a place to rest tonight, and she would be dog tired.

  “Cool. See you then.” He stepped back and let her ride away.

  The gangs watched her as she trotted up to the Burn, and this time the neighbors stared, too. She kept an eye on them, but her senses were busy on the tree and the immediate vicinity. The tree rustled with pleasure at her approach and assured her there were no monsters inside. She hurried p
ast the burned carcasses and into the tree, sealing the door. The first thing she did was help the tree repair the bark so she could work safely, though she wouldn’t take that safety for granted. The Bramble had taught her an important lesson, and she would watch her back.

  She settled Twix in his sandy stall and helped the tree “breathe” away the smoke stink. She didn’t want to be distracted while she worked.

  The next bit was harder. She stood in the center of the floor and thought about her battery. She knew the theory of how to make one, but she’d never had access to a power source like Bramble Burn. It took a river of power to make, and it was dangerous. If she got cocky, the battery could explode, taking her, the tree and Twix with it.

  Juniper took a breath and centered herself. The well of power was there, eager to play. It wanted a job to do, and Juniper taught it exciting things. It jumped to do her bidding with the subtly of a runaway train, and she had to coax it to pay attention. She wanted to show it something intricate, but it fought to run wild, showing her images of monsters and crazy carnivorous plants. She ignored the suggestions and waited like a patient teacher, slowly building a matrix to contain the energy. A staff rose from the tree’s heart like an exotic stalk, formed of oak heartwood. Amber “fuel cells” twined around the staff, sinking deep to form beautiful designs. The cells hardened, accepting a carbon infusion that made the staff three times harder than steel, nearly unbreakable.

  Juniper gently grasped the staff and detached it from the tree’s heart. When not in use, it would appear to be ordinary wood with dull brown markings; no sense advertising its value. Not that just anyone could use it: only someone who could harness the power of Bramble Burn could wield the staff.

  She was lightheaded when she finished, so she sat and ate the cinnamon rolls and bacon Karl had packed for her. She admired the staff, stroking the smooth surface. She’d need to make a saddle sheath so she could ride with it. It would be awkward, but she couldn’t leave it lying around. Besides, the staff wasn’t just a tool, it was a weapon, and she needed all the help she could get.

  She was ready to head to the station when the tree sensed a disturbance. She looked out the one-way glass and frowned. Why was there an elf on her doorstep?

  She stepped outside, leading a saddled Twix, and cautiously looked the boy over. In his late teens and lean, with short dark hair, the kid looked cautious, but hopeful. His worn t-shirt and jeans were clean and he wore beat up sneakers. He was armed with twin machetes, a cheap but effective weapon, and very necessary in this neighborhood. If he had a gun, it wasn’t in plain sight. Tucked in his waistband, maybe?

  “What do you want?” She saw no reason to be friendly yet.

  “My name is Grigori. I’m looking for a job. I heard you might need protection.”

  “Is this a shakedown?” she demanded, temper rising. She wasn’t paying the local gangs a dime, and they would regret asking.

  “No! I’m looking for honest work.” He glanced at the park. “You’ve got a lot of heavy lifting to do.” He looked her over quickly, as if gauging her strength. “I’m not afraid of dirty jobs.”

  She considered him. Up close, she could tell he was only half-elf; his shoulders promised to be too wide and he was a bit short for an elf. Also, his ears were pointy, but he had broad features, attractive, but not pretty. “You want to work in Bramble Burn.” Times were hard, true, but was he crazy? Her eyes narrowed. Maybe he was a felon or a user and couldn’t find work. “Are you high?”

  “I don’t use.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’m clean.”

  She gestured with her staff. “I don’t have any money.”

  He nodded to the abandoned cars. “You have tons of scrap metal. I know a guy. What if I sell it for you, get it towed? Would you split the money?”

  She raised a brow. If he could do it, it would save her a lot of trouble and earn badly needed cash. “Maybe. You got any references? How did you hear about me, anyway?”

  He shifted. “My mother heard about it at the salon where she works. You can ask her boss about me; I’ve done some odd jobs for her…look out!”

  She spun to see what put the look of panic on his face and cried out as Twix shied and knocked her over. She rolled with the impact so she wouldn’t land on her staff and hissed as broken glass cut her shoulder. This was no place to roll in the clover.

  Twix screamed in anger, twisting as he tried to throw off the huge saber tooth housecat clinging to his rump. Before she could rise to help, an orange striped tabby jumped for her ankle, jaws gaping. A machete swished, and the cat fell on her leg, spurting blood.

  Juniper swore and scrambled up, ready to beat a cat to death with her staff, but Grigori stabbed the last one with a lightning fast thrust. A frantic glance showed Twix stomping the one who’d played rodeo to paste. Warm, wet blood soaked through her boot and jeans as she surveyed the dead mutant cats, each as big as a bobcat. She shuddered, knowing it had been close.

  Grigori wiped his machetes on a corpse, looking smug. “That could have been bad.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she considered whether he might have sicced the cats on her to prove a point, but she couldn’t see how. He looked like a typical cocky teen, proud of his prowess.

  Unfortunately, the incidence proved a point. “You’re likely to see a lot of more of that and very little money, working for me. But you’re hired.” She checked Twix and decided to treat his cuts at the station. It was best not to ride him now, when he was hurting, or she’d risk worsening the injury. She started walking. “I can always fire you if you annoy me.”

  “What about the bodies? They’ll attract scavengers,” Grigori pointed out.

  “Ugh, right! Give me a minute.” She was exhausted, but her “employee” could use a demonstration that she wasn’t a complete dud. The staff helped a lot, and the amber glowed as she told the oak to pull last night’s bodies, as well as today’s fresh kills, into the ground for compost.

  Grigori took a respectful step back, warily watching the ground.

  She smirked, feeling better, and led Twix away.

  Grigori matched her stride. “I’ll try to get the tow truck out here tomorrow. We might have to check the cars for varmints, though. Maybe we should smoke them out.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t burn down the park.” Her sock squelched, and she grimaced at the tacky feeling of drying blood. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  He shrugged. “Dad took off, so we learned to defend the house ourselves. No loss.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Mom, two brothers, two sisters. I’m oldest.”

  “You got a trade in mind?” she asked.

  He looked at her. “I’m working on it. I want my own salvage yard someday, maybe a welding shop.” He said it defiantly, as if he’d been mocked for it before.

  She laughed. “Yeah? I’ve got lots of junk. Knock yourself out.”

  She made it to the station at dusk and waved goodbye to Grigori. She still didn’t trust him, but time would tell.

  “You made it back,” Lt. Bjorn observed. He was stirring gravy in a pan, the brisk motion doing excellent things to his biceps. He wore his black military pants and a black t-shirt that stretched over his carved chest. He had to be fit for his job, and it looked good on him.

  He turned off the burner and looked her over. “I smell blood.”

  “Yep. I was attacked by a mutant kitty. Fortunately, my teenage sidekick reduced it to sashimi. He’s half elf, and he likes junk cars.” She rambled when she was tired, and today had been a heck of day.

  “You’re bleeding, too.” He breathed deeply and walked around to look at her shoulder with disapproval. “May I?”

  “Sure. I already glued Twix back together.” Coming from a farm, she had lots of experience cleaning and treating wounded animals.

  She grimaced as he gently peeled back the sticky cotton to examine the cut. “It stings, but I don’t think it’s too bad.”

  “Take a
shower and rinse it out, and I’ll get the unicorn glue,” he said gruffly. Named for miraculous unicorn flower and made of natural botanical ingredients, the glue had amazing healing properties and numbing agents.

  Twenty minutes later, Juniper sat at the table with a cup of cocoa while he dug the remaining glass fragments out of her shoulder. It sucked getting dressed, but at least the tank top and jeans were clean. “I appreciate this, Bjorn.” He smelled good, and despite his grouchy demeanor, he had a gentle touch. She had to work hard to remain casual.

  “Call me Kjetil. I think we’re well enough acquainted now,” he said dryly, dropping a glass fragment in the bowl next to him. He set the tweezers aside and put a towel under the gash as he rinsed it with saline. “I don’t think you’ll scar; the glue is good stuff.”

  She almost shrugged, but thought better of it. “It doesn’t matter; I don’t see my shoulder.”

  “Don’t be in a hurry to collect battle scars; you live in Bramble Burn now. There’s plenty of time to build a collection.” He applied the glue and cleaned up his mess. “I work hard to keep the damsels out of distress. You give macho types like me the vapors.”

  She grinned. “I’ll keep smelling salts on hand.”

  He snorted and went back to making dinner. “Why Bramble Burn? With a talent like yours, you could live anywhere. Why the most dangerous place in the city?”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She didn’t want him to think she was a nut. “I’m a quarter elf, and there’s some weirdness in my father’s line. My grandfather and I have a thing for plants; we need them like you need food. A garden’s not enough, and the farm wasn’t big enough. I need my own space, my own trees, and the Burn called to me.” She’d felt it for years, the need growing until it was a compulsion. Her mother never understood, didn’t want to understand, so she’d stopped trying to explain. “We need each other, the Burn and I.”