Bramble Burn

by Autumn Dawn

  She looked into space, imagining her dream. “You’ve seen what I can do. Imagine a park filled with trees like the oak. I can make things you’ve never dreamed of.”

  He didn’t say anything as he set two plates on the table, waving her to sit when she would have helped. He placed a pot of rice and a pan of green beans, sweet potatoes and ham in gravy between them. “The others are on call, so we might as well dig in.” He took a bite and said, “The guys said you were beefing up security on your tree.”

  “Tomorrow,” she affirmed. “This is good.”

  He nodded. “I’d like to see what you’ve done. I’m curious about your tree; it’s not every day I meet a tree mage.”

  “I’m more of a farmer,” she demurred. “What’s it like being a werewolf?”

  He frowned. “That’s a bit off topic.”

  “And off limits?”

  “No, but you should learn subtly if you want to change the subject.”

  “Okay, new subject. Let’s talk about you. If I let you into my tree, I’m inviting a member of the pack, which isn’t the same as inviting the nice F&R guy who let me stay the night. I don’t know what the pack would do with the information.”

  He blinked. “We already have a good idea. You’re not exactly subtle.”

  She shrugged. “I’m a private person. Territorial, even.” Maybe not as bad as her grandfather, who sometimes let trees eat trespassers, but strangers and crowds were difficult. Her mom forced her to attend all kinds of functions as a kid, thinking she’d outgrown it, but she never had. Parties were noisy, which hurt her ears, and there was too much stimuli. Also, people’s body language often didn’t match their words, and that made her leery. She didn’t know how to play with kids her age, and adults often talked about shallow, unimportant stuff.

  As a kid she couldn’t explain it; as an adult, she understood it was normal for a highly gifted, very intelligent person. Her brain was different, hungry, and that was fine. Despite her mother’s worries, she was perfectly normal for who she was.

  That was another reason she needed Bramble Burn; a book and a sunny garden were hard to beat. That was the end goal, but having a challenge to keep her mind busy was priceless.

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to fight you for the Burn, but fine. I like being a wolf.”

  Werewolves didn’t turn into wolves, although they could communicate with them. They became man-wolf hybrids with superior reflexes and strength. They couldn’t speak in the hybrid form, so they used sign language. They’d been on Earth long before the worlds merged, hiding among the human population. Since the world was already in chaos, it seemed like a good time to reveal their race.

  She knew all that, and she didn’t have anything against them. She admitted she was irritable that the attraction she felt wouldn’t go anywhere. They could reproduce with elves but not humans, though they usually married within their species. Besides, interspecies dating could be complicated.

  God help her, she knew all that and still baited him. “I don’t mind letting you run through the woods when I’m finished, but the tree is for me. Maybe a man, if I have one someday.”

  He raised his brows. “How very wolf-like of you.”

  She shook her head. “I told you, my line is odd. I’ve made peace with it.” She washed their dishes as he silently cleaned the kitchen. He was probably mad, which was for the best. She was very, very busy.

  She was deep in meditation the next day, working on her tree, when Grigori showed up. He’d caught a ride with a tow truck driver, guiding the nervous looking man to the closest junk car. The driver stayed put as Grigori hopped out to check the car.

  Juniper sighed and disconnected. She was dreamy, in no state for company, but a deal was a deal. She joined the men, nodding to the skittish driver. “Hi. Checking for varmints?”

  “Yeah. He won’t pay us until he’s sure there’s nothing alive in there.” Grigori picked up a rock, presumably to chuck it at the car.

  She held up a hand. “I’ve got this.” Still deeply connected to the tree, she sent a pulse through the staff. Oak roots pushed from the soil, lifting the car and slowly rotating. They shook the car upside down, causing a clatter of old cans, trash and a family of ordinary mice to rain down. Satisfied, she put the car back down and looked at the slack jawed driver. “Money?”

  The guy shut his mouth and fished cash from his flannel shirt pocket.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” she said, giving Grigori half. “I’ll see you tomorrow; I’m busy today.” She turned away.

  “Are you high?” Grigori called.

  “What?” she asked irritably.

  “Your eyes are dilated,” he said smugly, no doubt enjoying throwing her comment back in her face.

  She shook her head in disgust. “You interrupted my meditation, kid. Scram! I have a tree to remodel.”

  “You added on,” he commented, nodding to the aerial roots that formed a bump out.

  “Twix needed a stable,” she said, offhand. She was itching to finish her project and in no mood to chat, so she hurried inside and sealed the door.

  Grigori and the driver hooked up the car, working fast. The driver didn’t want to linger, and he suddenly stiffened and stared. “What the…?”

  Grigori blinked as tree roots snaked over an old army truck. The roots glowed green and the truck shrank, absorbed by the roots. Astonished, he watched the gray sheen of metal crawl up the trunk, slowly coating the bark.

  The driver thumbed his dirty ball cap back and shook his head. “Kid, the money’s good, but this place is weirder than granny on crack. You’re going to have to find another driver from here on out.”

  Grigori shook his head. “No guts, no glory.”

  “You’re nuts, kid.”

  Iron climbed the tree until it sheathed it completely. Spectators (people as far as a mile away, some with binoculars) watched as a golden bulb sprouted on top. It slowly grew to the size of a house, developing stained glass panels supported by amber ribs. The garden themed art on the panels was translucent, but prevented anyone from seeing inside.

  “What’s she thinking?” Grigori muttered. “Anything could break that glass.”

  As if in response, the curled sepals, or the pointy leaf things that sit under flowers to protect them before they bloom, uncurled, becoming iron shutters that covered the bulb. The iron dome looked like leaves of brushed steel. Water shot from the bulb’s top in a geyser and settled into a living fountain. It lasted a minute before drying up.

  Grigori shut his mouth. “Oh.”

  Dozens of vines grew from the tree, dangling within easy picking distance, each with an acorn on the end. The acorns had a flattened base and ranged in size from mug to canister. The men took a wary step back, but one of the acorns followed Grigori and swayed invitingly. The words, “Open me,” appeared on the acorn.

  The driver took a big step back. “It’s for you, kid.”

  Grigori shot him a look, but reached for the nut. It easily detached from the vine, and he found the cap was a screw top. Instead of a nut, there was a buttery, semi-solid oil. On the inside of the cap, it read, “Acorn oil. Good for cooking, frying or fuel.”

  Since Grigori hadn’t exploded, the driver crowded in for closer look. “I’ll be danged.”

  An acorn swayed in front of the driver. Print appeared on it, too. “A gift. If you’re willing to return, I’ll give you more next time.”

  The driver accepted the acorn, but said, “Thanks. I’ll think about it.” He admired the acorn and admitted, “My girlfriend likes to collect canisters. She’ll go crazy over this one.”

  Grigori waited until the guy left and said, “You doing okay? That was something, lady.”

  Silence. He waited a long moment and wove through the hanging acorns until he reached the steel-sheathed door and banged the acorn knocker. “Are you all right, Juniper? Answer me!”

  A moment went by before the door silently opened, revealing the well-lit, airy in
terior. Tall, narrow stained glass windows lined the upper walls, and there was an arch leading to Twix’s stable. The floor was polished oak, and a platform bed sat in a corner. Burled wood shelves and a counter made up the otherwise bare kitchen, and the sink consisted of two sunken wooden basins with a wooden spout and knobs. A partition hid what he presumed was a bathroom, for he could see a rain-type shower fixture.

  Juniper slumped in the middle of the floor, her face ashen. Her staff lay next to her, a length of dull wood. Swearing, he hurried to help, supporting her when her knees tried to fold. He got her to the bed, absently noting the mattress was made of a canvas-like, buff colored fabric and filled with something oddly springy, like coconut fiber. “You overdid it, didn’t you?”

  “Trail mix in my pack,” she whispered, and he hurried to grab it. She ate with an effort, gradually regaining color.

  He handed her a canteen. “You look like crap.”

  She closed her eyes and lay on the naked mattress. “I miscalculated, ran out of juice. Was too much fun.” The desire to keep going made her ignore her body’s warning signals. Like a child, she played too hard and crashed.

  She couldn’t afford to crash in the Bramble.

  He laughed without humor. “Great. Do you need a doctor?”

  “Good question,” a dark voice said from the door. Grigori whirled, his machetes out to confront the man. “Who are you?”

  Juniper scowled. “Kjetil. What are doing here?” Once again the hot soldier had dropped in while she was at her worst. Would it kill him to wait until she was on her feet? She might not be interested in pursuing him, but she had a normal woman’s vanity. She didn’t want him to see her as weak.

  He ignored the question and came closer. “Relax. I want to check her pulse.” He looked at Juniper with displeasure. “Before she tries to die on me again.”

  “I’m not dying,” she protested. Everyone was a drama queen. “I work hard, that’s all.”

  The guys exchanged glances, and Grigori sheathed his blades.

  Kjetil checked her wrist and looked at her eyes. “There’s probably a news team on the way. You’re headline news tonight…again.”

  She sighed. “I’ll lock the door.”

  He frowned. “You aren’t staying by yourself.”

  “I’m too tired to argue. What’s the point of making a fortress if I don’t use it?”

  “I hate to agree with him, but he’s right. Like I said, you look like crap,” Grigori said helpfully. “I should stay with you.”

  Kjetil stared at him.

  “I’m working for her,” Grigori said defensively.

  Kjetil looked at her, and she suddenly remembered telling him that the only one who would get inside her tree was “her man”. She scowled. “I’m employing him, but nobody needs to stay. Did you see what I did? I’m no lightweight.”

  “Maybe when you’re healthy,” Kjetil said calmly. “Did you wonder why I’m here? I got called out to check on the “disturbance”. My superiors want to know what’s going on with this tree, and they aren’t the only ones who’ll wonder if you’re a threat. My team’s outside.”

  She groaned. “I have a headache. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  “The elves sent investigators, too. Should I tell my team let them in?”

  “What do you want?” she growled, recognizing blackmail when she heard it. She was tapped, but she had enough juice to eject him and seal the door if she had to. After all, he was trespassing.

  “Sleep at the station tonight, and you can come back tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “I can stay,” Grigori offered.

  “Let Mia stay,” Kjetil countered. “You know her. She won’t mind, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

  She flung an arm over her face. So much for privacy. “Fine! Whatever. But nobody else.” It was her property and apparently horticulture was frowned on. What next? Was the city going to charge her with building code violations? Her head pounded in protest when she tried to ponder the implications, so she gave up.

  Grigori waited until Kjetil left to make arrangements. “So, you want me to come back tomorrow?” He sounded miffed. He probably thought she should have let him stay, but really, how well did she know him?

  Of course, she barely knew Mia, but she picked her battles. “Fine, but I don’t know what you’ll do yet.”

  He shrugged. “I can get another car, maybe.” His eyes narrowed in calculation. “Or maybe I can find a way to sell your acorn oil. How much do you want for it?”

  She sighed. Somebody save her from teenagers with work ethics. “Check the stores, see what cooking oil is going for.”

  He left, deep in thought; probably going over marketing strategies.

  “Hello, Juniper! I hear we’re having a girl’s night. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered takeout. It’s Korean, but we can get pizza if you prefer.” Mia shut the door, put her jump bag on the kitchen floor and her big gun on the counter.

  Juniper opened one eye. “Korean is fine. Are we heading into a gunfight?”

  Mia grinned. “I’d rather have one and not need it, than need it and not have it. Nice digs. The guys are green that I get to see your tree and they don’t. There are reporters outside, by the way.”

  “I heard. Maybe the squirrels will eat them.”

  “We can only hope. Mind if I look around?”

  She couldn’t get into the greenhouse; the floor was sealed, and there were no valuable plants yet. Even if she did, she probably wouldn’t know saffron from safflower, and she wouldn’t see anything important on this floor. “Fine.” Juniper rolled over and drifted, not quite napping. She was too exhausted for sleep, but she still jumped when Mia announced dinner. Blurry, she sat up as Mia put a takeout container in her lap.

  “They had bottled juice; I remembered you like apple, and you could use the electrolytes.”

  “Thanks.” Juniper wolfed down the daikon salad and shredded potatoes, then tucked into the pot stickers and fried lotus root.

  “If I’d known you liked the sides, I would have ordered more,” Mia commented. She ate a bite of bulgogi and chased it with kimchee.

  “Sorry. I should have left you some,” Juniper said guiltily. “Thanks for getting it.”

  “No worries. I bought plenty, and I don’t see a fridge here.”

  “There isn’t one yet. I planned on getting a cooler.” She blinked. “I suppose I can make an old-school ice box and buy enchanted dry ice, too. I haven’t had time to think about cooking gear.” The elves said magic was another kind of science, but that hadn’t impressed most humans. Magic was a good word for things people didn’t understand. All most people knew was that elvish dry ice lasted weeks and kept steak cold.

  Unfortunately, meat and ice cost money. She’d have to be careful to budget what she had, and steak was out of the question.

  “No wonder. You realize this is incredible, right? You even have running water.”

  Juniper shrugged. “Thanks. If I’d known it would invite hordes of gawkers, I might have done something smaller.”

  “Really?” Mia looked skeptical.

  Juniper grinned. “Okay, maybe not.”

  “I always thought it would be cool to live in a tree,” Mia mused. “Even the elves build houses. I’ve never heard of anyone who could do this.”

  Juniper went to the counter and dished some noodles, slurping them expertly with disposable wooden chopsticks. She didn’t have much silverware, so maybe she’d make some of these and save money. For that matter, she could shape spoons, too. “Yep. Now I just have to do it a hundred times or so.”

  “What! That’s crazy. This tree nearly killed you twice. Why would you try again?”

  The food was helping, but Juniper was still exhausted. “That’s how I’ll keep the Bramble from expanding. I’m going to pin it with trees. The roots should anchor the magic, keep it confined to the park.”

  “Should?”

  Juniper shrugged. She wouldn’t k
now until she tried. “None of the other trees will be as elaborate, and they won’t all be houses. This one had to be strong.” She didn’t want to become monster chow.

  “It’s still dangerous. So much can go wrong, and there’s no guarantee you won’t push too far again. You need someone to watch you, or an alarm or something.”

  Juniper tilted her head thoughtfully. “I don’t think a person could tell when I was running low on juice, but there might be a monitor of some kind. Not that I could pay for it.” She didn’t have a trash can, so she gathered the empty cartons and took them to the wooden toilet. She tossed them in and told the tree to mulch them as it would any waste. Presto! It turned the paper into rich, odor free earth.

  Mia followed her, carrying an empty drink carton. “That’s incredible! Can I try?” She tossed the paper in and grinned when it mulched. “I’ve never been impressed by a toilet before.”

  Juniper smirked and showed her a slot in the wall that produced a steady stream of soft, buff colored paper. “Then you’ll love the endless toilet paper. No more being trapped on the throne without a shred of dignity.”

  Mia laughed. “That’s genius! Too bad you couldn’t market it.”

  Pleased, Juniper returned to the bed and gestured for Mia to seat herself on the end, since she didn’t have chairs. “Like I said, the money will be in stuff like ginseng and truffles. Do you know what truffles cost? Luckily, I can manipulate fungi and accelerate plant growth. I just have to find a market.”

  Mia sat Indian style and listened intently. “So you really are a farmer.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Mia looked around, admiring the living walls and one-way window “glass”. “I guess you can grow any food you like. That will help the grocery bill.”

  Juniper stifled a yawn. “Yeah, but I like bacon. Besides, grain needs to be cut, threshed and ground, and you have to bake the bread. I want to buy my bread, because I don’t have time to cook if I’m growing trees. I’m a businesswoman, not a pioneer.”

  “That makes sense. So it’s not ‘Bramble Burn, then world domination’?”