Dandelion Fire (18 page)

“You both could see my burn,” Henry said. “So you have the second sight, too?”

“I have six older brothers, though none still in the flesh,” Ron said. “For a woman, it is different.”

“Yes,” Nella said. “What we see is not always the same, but I have the twain sight as well. It does not come to a woman by birth, but as it wills. And it comes without the violence and spasms.”

Ron put his hands on his knees and straightened up on his bench. “I am glad you flew to me, Henry York, and you must tell us the story of your escape tonight. We will have guests who would hear it as well. But now I will find you some clothes. There will be time for stories in days to come. You still have need of much rest.”

“Oh,” Henry said. “But I really need to get home. I should go today. I'm feeling fine. I need to get to the post office.”

Ron stood. His brows furrowed. “You said that to me when you fell. I checked inside your bag and found nothing that needed posting. Your hand, and the cuts on your stomach, show you are no mere messenger.”

“I'm from someplace else,” Henry said. “There's a doorway in the post office. I don't know how I'm going to get through it, but I have to try.”

“We know,” Nella said. Her eyes were worried. “You forget that we can see. But your spasms are fresh, your eyes are still fragile, and your mind is not used to its sight. We have done what we can to strengthen you, but there are some things only time can heal, and others even beyond its strengths.”

“What do you mean?” Henry asked.

Nella reached out and touched his face. She ran her fingers along his jaw, over his old burns, and then looked at her fingertips and back up into his eyes. Deep into his eyes. After a moment, Henry thought she was going to cry.

“You are fatherless,” she said. “Unnamed. Here you are safe. Leave, and you walk toward an old enemy gathering strength like a whirlpool and a new enemy who wields it. You walk toward destruction. Your blood father is—I can see nothing but a blade spinning toward him. The mother of your birth is strong, like a deep-rooted tree, but she bends beneath a wind that could split stone. Moments of joy await you, but beyond them lie betrayal, fear, rage, and horror. Believe your dreams. Yours tell you no lies. There the threads tangle. I can read nothing more.”

Nella sat back up and wiped her eyes.

“I don't understand,” Henry said. It sounded hollow. “I do have a name,” he added.

“You are unchristened,” Nella said.

“But I have a name.”

Ron's arms were crossed. “We'll find you clothes,” he said. “And fill your belly. Do not let us tempt you any more with rest. If you know your path is true, then we will help you on your way.”

Henry stood and walked to the low wall. Ron stood beside him. Henry looked down at the clouded city and back to the old man. His beard was rustling in the breeze.

“My fathers built this city,” Ron said. “It was mine to defend. I could not fight off the rot.” He glanced at Henry and then back over the valley. “When Darius came, I pitied him. He was lost, without direction and without an anchor. He babbled on about his own inadequacy and wretchedness. He could not speak without hurling insults at himself. He begged to call me father, and I was fool enough to let him. He reached his strength. But he never could control it. He fed off the fear of others and confused it with respect. He is the influence in my city now. His fingers drift through the streets like the smoke.” He sighed. “I will not pity you, Henry York. My pity is a destroyer.”

“Is your name really Ron?” Henry asked.

The old man laughed. “I was christened Ronaldo Thomas Xavier Valpraise, seventh son of Justinian
Valpraise, Lord Mayor of Byzanthamum. I was a hospitaller and architect, patron of pauper sons and orphans. My hospitals are now morgues and factories. I have outlived all my children, and my patronage has created a den of wizardry and darkness. Why have I been left alive? Perhaps only for this moment, Henry York, to wander into the city after years away and catch a falling star before it lodged in hell.” He turned and looked Henry in the eyes. He was smiling. “Can you be the redemption for my life?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Henry said. “You already saved mine.”

Ron didn't say anything. Henry looked back over his shoulder. Nella was gone, and the balcony was empty.

“Why were you in the city?” Henry asked. “Why did I fall at just the right time and land on just the right spot?”

The wind suddenly picked up, swirling around Henry's limbs, rustling in his hair.

When Ron spoke, his voice was somber.

“Nella was given dreams,” he said. “She dreamt of your falling. She dreamt of Darius, wielding more power than even he could have imagined and spreading his rot through worlds. Your blood, in you and others, was all that stood against him. She did not want it spilled in our streets and wasted.”

Henry's burnt palm itched. He rubbed it with his thumb. “I don't think I like that dream much,” he said. “What happened to Darius? Did he lose?”

Ron was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.
“Sometimes standing against evil is more important than defeating it. The greatest heroes stand because it is right to do so, not because they believe they will walk away with their lives. Such selfless courage is a victory in itself.”

Henry felt his stomach tightening. His breath was short. “Do Nella's dreams always come true?” he asked.

“In her dream,” Ronaldo said quietly, “no one caught you when you fell.”

turned his burned face away from the fire. It, and a few patches on his arms and chest, were producing their own heat. The rest of him was near shivering.

Sleeping in the lawn in Kansas never would have been this cold.

In an ill-fated moment, he had stored the family's sleeping bags in the barn—which was no longer with them. But it wasn't like he could have anticipated that.

Richard had a sleeping bag. Frank had dragged that down from the attic, damp end and all. The rest of the family, along with Sergeant Simmons, were bundled in layers of clothes and wrapped in blankets, lying in a circle around a fire of window frames, trim, and one dining room chair that had been broken, anyway. Frank had been ready to burn everything, but Dotty had not yet been able to process the permanence of their situation. Frank had been lying behind Dotty, but now he had his back against hers and was looking out at the grass bending beneath the sky's very cold breath and stars he didn't recognize. His face was happy. But he could feel his
thighs beginning to twitch. And they weren't checking with him first.

“Dad,” Penelope said. “I'm freezing. Can we burn anything else?”

“I'll look around in a bit,” Frank said.

“I think we should sleep inside,” said Anastasia.

Richard sniffed. “I don't want to.”

Anastasia sat up, holding her blankets tight. “Well, you're in my sleeping bag,” she said. “I mean it, Dad. If something comes through the cupboards, it can get us out here, too.”

Frank rolled back toward the fire, and Dotty looked up at him. Her lips were pinched tight.

“Zeke?” Frank asked. “How're you doing?”

“Fine, Mr. Willis,” Zeke said. “The girls could have one of my blankets if they want.”

Penelope didn't say anything. Anastasia laughed. “Zeke's showing off,” she said. “He's just as cold as we are.”

Frank shivered and tried to hide it. “What do you think, Ken?”

Sergeant Simmons's mound of blankets was the highest. Not because he had the most, just because he was beneath it. “I've been worse,” he said. “One nice thing is that I can't feel my foot.”

“Can I just go inside?” Anastasia asked. “No one else would have to come in.”

“No.” Dotty's voice was firm and quick. “Zeke and
Ken can do what they like. Lord knows your father will. But you girls are not sleeping near those doors. You're not going to go near them.”

Frank pulled in a deep breath. It was sharp in his lungs. It may as well happen now. No one was sleeping. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we're crawlin' through Grandfather's cupboard.”

He'd expected Dotty to wheel on him. She didn't. No one said anything. Not even Anastasia.

“The way I figure,” Frank began, “we can't stay here. There's only what's left in the toilets for drinking water, and Pen already flushed one.”

“Sorry,” Penelope said.

Anastasia snorted. “I wouldn't drink it, anyway.”

Frank ignored both of them. “There's a bit of milk left, but with the fridge not working, who knows how long that will last. We've got a box of crackers, some dry cereal, a jar of pickles, and Dot's jams and sauces. That's just about the far limit of things that won't go bad anytime too soon.”

“What about Henry?” Zeke asked.

“Well,” Frank said. “Going off Richard's story, it feels like Henry was taken. Then Henrietta tried to follow. Can't say if they're in the same cupboard. But something tells me they're not. The wizard came through looking for Henry, so at least he didn't have him. Yet. I don't want to go anywhere near resetting the cupboard combinations. We leave ‘em be, and we go through to wherever they lead and hope we find one of them. If we find
someplace safe, with food and water, then I'll come back and start looking through other doors.”

“Dad,” Penelope said. “The guy who came through the cupboards, the guy who did all this, he didn't say he was looking for Henry. He said he was looking for his son.”

“Whoa.” Anastasia shivered. “Was that Henry's real dad? He'll want to go back to Boston.”

Frank listened to the wind, and he watched his wife breathe beneath her blankets. He looked from shape to shape around the fire.

“I don't think so,” he said.

“I'll come back with you,” Zeke said.

“Maybe,” said Frank.

Richard rustled in his bag. “I will as well.”

“No,” said Frank. “What you think, Ken? See any other choices?”

Sergeant Simmons spoke slowly. “I don't understand any of this. But I have a wife and kids. My boy is starting third base this year. My daughter has a piano recital in August. My baby sister is due with twins in Tulsa. Whatever you do, Frank, I trust you. And I'll follow you. But I can't give up on Kansas. Not for a long time yet. If then. If ever. I'd be alive, but life'd be dead.”

Frank didn't say anything. Dotty's arm slipped back beneath the blankets and found his hand.

“My mom will be worrying already,” Zeke said. “She'll be sick. But we can't stay here. Not unless Anastasia starts drinking toilet water.”

“In the morning, then,” Sergeant Simmons said. “There's not much choice.”

Dotty sat up. She looked around the fire and then twisted so she could see Frank.

“Why not now?” she asked. “No one's asleep, and I'd rather get it over with than lie here for hours thinking about it.”

Two hours later, Anastasia was talking in excitement. Penelope said she felt queasy. Frank thought he might have to carry Richard. Zeke wasn't talking at all. His jaw was set, and he was lost in his own thoughts.

Sergeant Simmons limped in place.

They all stood in Grandfather's room, and Dotty was handing out pillowcases. Frank was holding a long black police flashlight and his shotgun. Each pillowcase contained one blanket and various food items wrapped up inside that didn't seem necessarily useful—dry spaghetti noodles, shortening, split peas, kosher salt. Everyone was still in multiple layers of clothes, so they didn't pack any more. Sergeant Simmons was bulging out of a red Christmas sweater of Frank's. He held his pillowcase over one shoulder and his shotgun over the other.

“All right,” Frank said. “I'm first. When I holler, slide me your gear and then come on after. Ken brings up the rear.”

“Wait,” Anastasia said. “Where's the raggant? We can't leave him behind.”

Frank smiled. “He blazed the trail. We're playing catch-up.”

Taking a pillowcase from Dotty, Frank crouched. He slung it into the cupboard and then pushed it through with the shotgun. Holding the flashlight and sliding his gun, Frank squirmed through.

In Grandfather's room, there was only darkness, a cold wind in the empty windows, and the sound of nervous breathing.

After a moment, they heard Frank's voice. It sounded distant.