WereHuman - The Witch's Daughter: Consortium Battle book 1 (Wyrdos)

by Gwendolyn Druyor

  The third time they landed she was awake and did not throw up. But she curled up in her bed with her nose tucked by the ginger bottle when Clark told her they were descending. Clark held the water tub up for her after he shut the plane down and before he unstrapped.

  “This is the powwow, little girl,” Clark said. “I hope you don’t remember what happened last time. But Hardknock won’t be here.” He unbuckled his harness and added, “And I don’t care how much anybody likes you, you’re coming home with me.” He leaned over and nuzzled his face into her fur, growling, and mushing an ear between his lips.

  Laylea twisted her head up to lick his face off. She whined back at him and wiggled into his touch.

  A knock on her door startled them both. Still kissing the top of Laylea’s head, Clark reached over to push the door open.

  “Hi Mithter Capitan. You brought Elgy!” Mickey offered her hand to the puppy. Laylea flipped around, smacking Clark in the face with her butt. She crawled out of her bed and tried to climb down out of the cockpit onto Mickey’s head.

  “Hang on there, beaver.” Minnie jogged up to assist Laylea to the ground where she wrestled with Mickey under the plane. “Hi Captain. I take it LG is doing well. Oof.” Minnie grunted as Laylea bounced off her legs.

  “She’s feeling much better. Thank you for thinking of her.” Clark unbuckled and got out to organize the deliveries.

  Maggie and her partner, Trey, piled a hundred pounds of flour onto a travois and dragged it over to the campfire where the kids were put to work dividing it into seven bundles. When the flour was repackaged Flower and Judah, Ahab’s eldest, hauled the bags over to the clearing where Clark had laid out each family’s goodies. Mickey tried to explore the piles, but before any adult even noticed, Laylea herded her away.

  When he’d been paid and the return goods locked away in the plane, Clark carried the last three items over to where Laylea was being buried in flowers.

  “Hey Mickey.” Clark crouched. “Do you still make pine cone bird feeders?”

  The tow-headed little trouble maker looked up at him with enormous eyes and nodded.

  “Great.” He showed her the books in his hands. “I would like to offer you a trade.”

  Mickey squealed and reached for the books but Clark stood.

  “This is a proper trade. I’ve got to see your product first.” He gestured for the girl to lead the way and when she figured that out, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her family’s tent, weaving through the woodsfolk transferring all of their newly acquired goods.

  An unfamiliar hermit approached the center of the clearing once everyone else had gathered their belongings. He sported a neatly trimmed beard and had dyed his Consortium issue pants with red leaf buds. With the nearly white beard and green snap front shirt, the kids had dubbed him St. Nicholas. But the short hermit himself had so far refused to choose a name. Hardknock remained the only rescued CF to remember his real name.

  St. Nick paid for his camping backpack with camelback insert and basic survival kit in medicinal herbs. Before he would let Clark pack them away he’d used Clark’s gifted pen and paper to label each bundle, stressing in his note that he didn’t know what they were for, just what they were called. He also wrote a promissory note for the extra goods he felt he owed for the unexpected tent. Clark tried to explain that the tent was a gift but the old man wouldn’t discuss it. He walked away.

  While everyone else organized their deliveries or did Bela’s bidding at the campfire, this man crouched in the clearing redistributing his worldly goods into his new pack.

  Laylea shook the weeds out of her fur. She trotted over to the plane and retrieved her toy from behind one wheel. Stalking up on the silent hermit, she dropped the lizard on his sack of flour. She bounded backwards and stuck her butt in the air, growling. The hermit brushed the toy off and fit the flour in his backpack. Laylea leaped forward and grabbed the lizard, shaking it madly. She lost hold of it and the stuffed animal flew over to land on the hermit’s tent roll. She bounded after it, startled when the roll rolled and teddy lizard fell off the far side. She dropped low and growled at the tent. She stalked it from side to side, dashing in to nip at the green fabric.

  St. Nick saw a patch job in his future. He left his packing and fetched the lizard from behind the tent roll. The colorful lizard soared through the air. Laylea barked and bounded off to catch it. She was too slow. Scooping the patchwork lizard up, she ran it right back to the hermit. Dropped it at his feet. He ignored it. She growled. She bowed. She darted in, leaping away before she could grab it. He ignored her. She leaped around his legs, nipping at her lizard. He found it hard to avoid stepping on her. So he picked up the lizard and sent it flying farther.

  It took her five returns before the hermit gave up his packing. Laylea sang when he sat on his tent roll. She dropped to her back and showed him her belly for an instant before leaping to her feet again.

  They played tug-of-war. One of them was a bit rough with her teeth and the lizard’s side seam ripped open. St. Nick confiscated the toy. Laylea tried to get it from him but he put his hand up flat in the stay gesture. She dropped her butt. He pulled a matchbook sized container from a side pouch on the backpack. Laylea watched as closely as she could from her seat. She tilted her head and craned her neck forward. The hermit threaded a needle and did a delicate patch job on the lizard. He was just tying off the knot when Clark set a campstool down on the other side of the backpack and offered the hermit a beer. The older man looked at it suspiciously for a moment. Laylea twisted the top half of her body to look back at Clark without lifting her butt from her seat. She sang out with a musical growl.

  Clark laughed and released her. “Okay.”

  She ran over and licked at his nose then returned to her spot to watch the hermit. He’d watched her with an admiring smile on his lips. He tossed the patched lizard at Laylea’s feet and took the beer. She cleaned every inch of her toy and then trotted over to drop it at the man’s feet.

  The hermit picked up the lizard and stood. He tilted his head at Clark much as the puppy would have and raised an eyebrow.

  “I’d love to.” Clark stood and the two of them walked over to the campfire.

  The hermit dangled teddy lizard just out of Laylea’s reach. She could have stolen it from him when he sat on a log beside Jay Doe, but she was distracted by the smells of all the incredible food she couldn’t share. To keep from begging, she hunkered down against Clark’s feet until Flower and Mickey lured her away.

  They soaked her kibble in a lake of broth and with the captain’s permission, even added a few chunks of rabbit meat.

  Dinner was cheerful, filling, and lasted long past Laylea’s bedtime. She played with every person in the encampment except Feranda. When the little kids grew too tired to play, she napped with them by the fire until they were sent to their tents. Ahab carried Laylea to his wife’s lap. When she had to go settle a fight between her boys, Laylea was traded to Maggie’s care. Bela even took her for a bit when the stewpot was cleaned. But at the end of the night, she lay cuddled in the dad’s belly soothed by the whistling noise of his deviated septum.

  She leapt out of their tent in the morning. While Clark took care of his boring human morning things, she bounded around the field searching for the nameless hermit. She tumbled with Mickey for a bit. She let Maggie carry her over to the campfire for breakfast and chewed on the woman’s irresistible curls. She ate the kibble Flower mixed with a spoonful of oatmeal. But her head stayed on a swivel the whole time, searching for her friend.

  “Morning, LG.” Jay Doe snuck up behind her. “The new guy said you left this with him last night. Didn’t want you to forget it.”

  He sat on the ground and set teddy lizard by her bowl. She glanced at it while she snatched up the last bits of food.

  “He’s a different kind of guy. So afraid of what might come out of his mouth that he won’t talk at all.” He played with a leather knife sheath as he chatted with her. H
e tightened the decorative braiding on the closure and drew the knife to trim the extra. “He freaked when I gave him his knife.” Jay flicked his thumb on the blade. He poured river water from his own canteen into Laylea’s bowl. “Didn’t want to take it at first. And he asked me to hold it for him during the powwow.”

  Laylea finished the water.

  “I made this. Panned for the metal. Built a little forge. Pounded it into shape. I’ve caught Elk before but this antler came from a buck who lost it in a mating fight. He won the fight so I guess that’s good luck for the knife. Right? I’ve been working on this weapon for seven years. Can’t wait to see what the Captain gets for it.”

  “I’m not selling that knife, you idiot.” Clark approached the pair.

  “You have to. It’s my payment.”

  Clark bit into a crisp red apple. He picked up Laylea’s bowl and popped it flat before he hooked it to a belt loop. “Oh, I’m taking the knife. But there is no way I’m letting that go to a stranger.”

  “What do you need with another knife?”

  “What do I need with another dog? But she’s mine and I’m hers and we’re gonna take your knife and go home now. Want to come?”

  While Jay considered the offer, Laylea took Lizard’s tail in her mouth and dragged it over to the log St. Nick had stayed on throughout the evening, throughout the singing and stories and camaraderie. She cleaned the new stitches.

  “Sounds good.” Jay sheathed his knife and handed it off to Clark. “But the new guy needs looking after. Hardknock randomly comes to me for rebooting. And with what Maggie and Feranda did to each other last week, thanks, maybe another time.”

  “Any time you like. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  “I won’t get to my equipment by tomorrow. Dusk after?”

  “You got it.”

  “Tell the Sh . . . folks at home I’d love to see them.” Jay pushed to his feet. Laylea turned her big sad eyes up as he moved but kept her head down on the lizard. “Look at that. Think she remembers the hermit sat there?”

  “Definitely,” Clark tucked the exquisite knife into his belt. “That is one smart little dog.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Laylea’s ears grew up and flopped over. The light blond of her coat darkened into a light fawn, setting off her one dark brown paw and the white triangle over her eyes. Her tail looked like she could be part Fox Hound. Her thin body and face called Chihuahuas to mind, while her stout, muscled legs let her leap like a Jack Russell. Clearly though, she was bred from the smartest dogs of whichever breeds made up her genetics.

  She topped out at twelve pounds, small enough that she continued climbing under the covers to curl up in Bailey’s armpit throughout the winter and well into the chilly spring to keep from shivering.

  “Hi Lee.” Bailey flung the blankets over his head and snuggled down to kiss Laylea on the nose.

  She licked him back. He kissed her. She licked him. It was a good game and they kept it up until Bailey yawned and Laylea got a swipe at the inside of his mouth.

  “Ewwwww!”

  Laylea yawned. She stretched her paws out and then tucked her nose back under Bailey’s arm.

  “No!” He sat up, letting cold air in. “Don’t you know what day it is?”

  Laylea rolled over and laid her muzzle on his neck. She blinked sleepily at him and let her eyes drift shut.

  “Wake up, Laylea! It’s your adoptionversary. You joined the family three years ago today.”

  Laylea sat up. She watched Bailey dart about the room. He yanked his hiking pants from the chest of drawers and grabbed a stinky t-shirt from the floor. His excitement was infectious. The dog dropped her jaw, her tail shaking her entire body.

  A knock at the door set her tail spinning.

  “Morning kiddo. You ready?”

  “In a minute, Dad. Laylea tried to sleep witch me.”

  “Sleep witch?”

  “Yeah.” Bailey dropped to the floor to pull on a pair of socks he found under the bed. They didn’t match. “She gets all cute and yawny and lays her head on my shoulder so I can’t get up without disturbing her. It's like she wants to woogie me back to sleep.”

  “Ah, and that’s why you’re late for breakfast every day?” Sher leaned in the doorway. “Get fresh socks. Your green wool ones are clean. Then get downstairs. I’m mixing up shmancakes and you’re manning the grill.” She turned away, calling over her shoulder, "And you're magical, not her. So who's been sleep witching who?"

  Bailey dropped his socks. "I don't use magic on Laylea, Dad."

  Clark tossed him the green ones. "I know you don't. She knows you don't." He turned to Laylea." Good morning, adopt—“ Clark looked to his son.

  “Adoptionversary, Dad.”

  “Good morning, adoptionversary girl. You want a crane all the way downstairs?”

  Laylea picked her way over the piled up blankets to the edge of the bed. She had to be careful because her wagging tail threw off her balance. Woodford never seemed to have a problem with his tail. He was a good dog.

  The dad slipped his hand between her front legs and lifted her off the bed. “Stop helping, little girl.”

  He said that every time. Laylea couldn’t help it. She loved his one handed carries and like her tail spinning, she couldn’t help but hop up and down when she saw the crane coming. She flew with Clark on all his trips and though she had bad days where she had to spend the entire flight with her nose tucked into Bailey’s ginger bottle, most of the trips were hours long cranes, looking at the instruments and staring at the clouds in the dad’s firm grip.

  “If you don’t hurry, Bails, I’m gonna get the spatula.”

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” Bailey lay on the floor by his dresser, pulling on the fresh socks.

  “Dad!” Bailey cut the whine off in mid D. He repeated the word in a tone that Laylea knew meant he was about to apply logic. “Dad.”

  Clark recognized the tone as well. He backed out of the room and dashed down the stairs like a kid. The bells jangled on the front door as he grabbed a jacket and Laylea’s leash from the coat tree in the front hall. He stepped back to let Sher in. She handed him a basket of sweet cherries to hold while she shed her poncho and hung it on the tree.

  “The Rucker boys are here.”

  “Here?” Clark asked, “on our front porch?”

  “Here,” Sher took the basket, “visiting their grandmother.”

  “Good. It’s spring. She probably has a long list of chores she won’t let me help her with.”

  Clark slipped out the door and shut it without jangling the bells. It was a trick Bailey was trying to master. Laylea had seen Sher changing the bells just so Bailey couldn’t leave silently. But Clark never had any trouble.

  He set Laylea in the grass. She expected him to slip her collar over her head while she did her business. He didn’t. She looked up at him in confusion when she was done dancing at the pee. He glanced over at the Old Lady Rucker’s yard.

  Her grandsons waved. They were throwing around a football. Clark glanced down at Laylea and swung the leash and collar in his hand as he walked away towards the brothers.

  “Hey boys. Parker, you have doubled in size since I last saw you. How old are you?”

  “I’m seventeen, sir. Davis turned fourteen last week.”

  Parker had grown his hair out. It stood like a halo of tight curls two inches from his head. His little brother was trying to imitate the afro but only had a fringe of hair. Davis wore the same green and yellow shorts as his brother and though his shirt was different, it advertised the same band. Laylea wished she could dress like her big brother to show him how much she loved him. Her collar wasn’t even the same color. Her collar was light blue. Her collar was swinging from the dad’s hand.

  Laylea perked up. Then she pinned back her ears and ran for the rose bushes. Scents of lilac and clove dripped on her head with the dew. Moss rose in the scent floor and she thought she detected an undertone matching the mom’s rare glas
s of red wine.

  “Mr. Hillen?” Davis’ shy tone wasn’t enough to get Clark’s attention.

  “And has Davis joined you on the football team, Parker?”

  “Excuse me. Mr. Hillen?” Davis tried again.

  “Davis, I told you to call me Clark.”

  “Oh shit!” Parker corrected himself instantly. “Shoot. Oh shoot, Laylea’s in the roses, Mr. Hillen.”

  “Clark,” Clark insisted.

  Laylea took advantage of every second he stalled. She sniffed the petals and the leaves and the dirt and covered her nose in yellow pollen buried deep into the center of an open bud.

  “Oh no. I am so sorry.” Clark put a hand on Laylea’s scruff. She backed out. “You didn’t do any damage to Mrs. Rucker’s prize roses, did you, little girl?”

  “She never does no damage to my roses.” The boys stood up straighter as their grandmother, just an inch taller than Davis, let the screen door slam behind her. “She never digs like your other dog.”

  “I’m sorry, Letitia. Has Woodford gotten into your roses recently?”

  “Not for about a year now, I don’t think,” Mrs. Rucker drawled. “He’s learning.” She brushed dirt out of Davis’ hair and straightened Parker’s shirt as she passed her grandsons. “And this little terror hasn’t watered my roses once since we had our little conversation. She knows where she’s to do her business.”

  Laylea shook the dew from her fur. She trotted three feet over to squat by the Rick’s deep pink azalea bushes.