Firebug (27 page)

I bet she woke up looking that way too. What a jerk.

Lock leaned over and kissed her on the forehead as the girl examined the rest of us. “What have you brought us this time, my love?” She said the last part while she looked at me, as if to gauge my reaction. I raised an eyebrow, but she didn't do anything but stare at me. Could she tell I was a firebug, or was this some weird protective thing over Lock?

“I'll explain later. Can you take me to her?”

The girl gave a little bob, almost a curtsy, and said, “Of course.”

“Thanks, Auntie Mar.” She didn't look like an auntie. How big was Lock's family, exactly? I hate meeting families. It never goes well.

She patted his cheek and turned, leading us back into the forest. “Anything for my favorite nephew.”

 

 

BIG FAMILIES
make me a little uncomfortable. It's not hard to guess why. My family has stayed at a pretty constant me plus one my whole life. So when I meet people with cousins and aunties and siblings and what have you, I'm never quite sure how to act. What do you do with so many people?

We soon entered a more open forest area. There were still tons of spruce and pine, but the undergrowth was thin and seemed to want to keep out of the way. One giant maple dominated the center, its branches reaching out over us like an umbrella.

And then there were the girls. They were everywhere. In the branches, sitting on rocks, leaning against tree trunks, and all of them swarmed Lock. There was a lot of cooing and hugging, and they all addressed him as their nephew, though the tone they used was better suited for a young boy than for a guy with a five o'clock shadow who towered over them.

Some of the girls looked over Olive and tutted in sympathy. Ezra had a constant swarm. A few admired Sid, making him straighten up and then yelp as the duct tape pulled on his wound. “Serves you right,” Ikka whispered. As for Ikka and myself, we were either examined as if we were something stinky that Lock had tracked in, or ignored completely.

The group included every type of girl imaginable—thin and wispy, short and squat, birch white and walnut brown. It was like a woodland sorority convention. Despite the cold, none of them were dressed in very much clothing. And there was nary a goose bump between them. The only other thing they seemed to have in common—besides Lock—was that weird and striking natural beauty that Mar possessed. There was a sense of proportion about them—of rightness. Like they were exactly how they were meant to be, and the effect was beautiful.

It was kind of weird.

“What are they?” Ikka asked me under her breath.

I looked around at the girls, the trees, and Lock. “Dryads,” I said. “They have to be dryads.”

“Where are all the guys?” she asked.

I could only shrug. I didn't know a whole hell of a lot about Lock's relatives, except that he was raised by his grandma, and that when he talked about his summers with his mom, I didn't remember him mentioning any guys.

“I need to see her,” Lock said firmly to one of his aunts. “It's important.” He nodded at Olive.

A few of the girls nodded and ran off. It wasn't long before the group parted and a woman, obviously their leader, walked through. She was maybe in her twenties, with hair mostly the crimson red of fall leaves. She had part of it pulled back, and as she moved I could see locks of shimmering green, yellow, and rich brown in the light. Even in the khaki shorts and shirt of a forest ranger, she was a knockout.

She faced Lock and crossed her arms, eyeing the bundle in his arms. “Don't tell me you finally relented and brought me a grandchild?”

Our heads swiveled toward Lock with what I think was a combination of curiosity and shock. Well, except for Sid. He was staring after the redhead with open lust.

Lock rolled his eyes. “She's eleven. I'm pretty sure it would have been biologically impossible for me to father a child while I was in elementary school.”

The woman pouted in acceptance. “I see. Well, one can hope. Don't just stand there, then. Let's get her looked at.”

The dryads disbanded, or at least lost interest in us, though a few trailed after Sid, lightly brushing their fingers through his hair or down his arm while they made eyes at him, and Ezra remained in the center of his personal horde. Ikka and I followed Lock and the redhead. “That's your
mom
?” I whispered. He nodded. “How old was she when she had you? Three?”

“I can hear you, you know,” the woman said over her shoulder. “And your astonishment is very complimentary—I'll be eighty-four this spring.”

I stopped short; Ikka bumped into me, and Sid bumped into her. We were one stooge away from a comedy act. “Eighty-four?”

“You don't look a day over twenty,” Sid said, his tone fawning.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” his sister snarled.

But Lock's mom just smiled. “We live as the trees live, dear.”

She led us to a small glade, the kind you see in paintings in cheap hotel rooms—picturesque and vaguely unreal. A small cottage was nestled at the end of it.

Ikka bent close to me. “Am I the only one who thinks that thing should be made of gingerbread and frosting?” I didn't answer her, but then, I didn't have to. It looked exactly like a gingerbread house. Where, exactly, was Lock taking us? And were we going to be a side dish when we got there?

“Don't get into any pots filled with chopped veggies and boiling water—just in case,” I said.

Lock paused in front of me, readjusting Olive's weight.

“You should let someone else hold her,” I said. He shook his head. “Sid can't because of his shoulder. Ikka's banged up pretty good too. And Ezra is … distracted.”

“I can take her,” I said.

“Trust me, things will go more smoothly if I carry her in. Besides, we're almost there.”

A gnarled old lady greeted us at the door. She squinted at us, and when that didn't seem to help, she grabbed a chain around her neck, pulling up a pair of battered eyeglasses. “What have you brought me today, Angela?”

“You remember my son, Lock?”

The old woman's glasses were now perched on the bridge of her nose, and she blinked owlishly at Lock. “You used to hide in my broom cupboard.”

“It was the only place the girls wouldn't look for me.”

“Hmm, yes, well.” She waved us into the house. “Generally the saplings stay where they're supposed to. I suppose it was difficult being the only boy, though, eh?” She didn't wait for an answer. “Of course, I also remember that you used to sweep my floor once you came out of the cupboard. Who are your friends?”

“This is Sid, Ikka, Ava, Ezra, and the little one is Olive. We got into a bit of a scrape earlier and could use some help. Everyone, this is Grandma Rose.”

Grandma Rose shooed away the last of the dryads except for Lock's mom before she had Lock lay Olive down on what looked suspiciously like a medical table. It was padded, but also vinyl—easy to wipe down. “Pertinents, dear,” Rose said as she examined Olive's face.

“The girl is a were-hare—she usually has fast healing abilities but met up with some sort of vodyanoy. I'd never seen ones like these. They spit acid or poison or something. It seems to be interfering.”

“Yes, it does look rather corrosive, doesn't it?” She checked the girl's pulse and listened to her heart with a stethoscope. “Sit her up, please.”

Lock pulled Olive up gently and carefully grasped her chin, pulling her mouth open. Grandma Rose helped Olive drink a thick liquid that we were informed was for the pain. After most of it had made it down, Olive gagging and choking out the rest, Lock laid her back down on the table. Grandma Rose had Lock hold Olive down on one side while Ikka took the other.

“I've got to clean the wound. The corrosive is inhibiting her natural abilities. But if I clean it and salve it, she'll be right as rain in the morning.”

“In the morning?” I asked before I could stop myself, which earned me a hard glare from the old woman.

“You have something more important than healing this little one, missy?”

My first impulse was to say yes, because Cade was the center of my wobbly universe, and we were hemorrhaging time. But there was nothing I could do for Cade right now. The drove was looking for him, our message was delivered—if Venus showed up at my home in the meantime, the drove would let us know. I had to put my fear aside and help Olive.

I shook my head. “No, ma'am. I just need to warn some friends is all.” That seemed to pacify her for the moment. She got everything ready—various liquids and ointments and gauze, then she gave everyone one last look. “Now, this is going to hurt, even with what I gave her. But I have to do it, understand?” Ikka and Sid nodded, though Ikka bit her lip as she did so. “Okay, then. Hold her steady.”

I don't know what she used to clean the wound, but Olive screamed. Lock and Ikka fought to hold the little girl down as her body twisted and jumped underneath them. Ezra pinned her ankles, trying to keep her from moving. Sid took one of Olive's hands, then squatted down so he could be closer to her ear and started murmuring reassurances to her. She calmed, though it was obvious she was still hurting.

I wanted to help. Everyone else was helping. But what could I do? I'd never spent much time around children. Okay, barring a few following their parents into the bookstore, I'd never spent
any
time with children. But I liked Olive, and she was hurt because of me. I reached for her hand, hesitated, and moved back. Angela watched me, and I was reminded of a cat keeping an eye on the mouse to see what it would do next. Grandma Rose snorted, grabbed my hand, and set in on top of Olive's. “It helps more than you know,” she murmured, but it had the ring of a reprimand.

After the wound was cleaned, Grandma Rose applied a thick ointment to Olive's face. Sid eyed it warily. “That looks like Neosporin, but with … things in it.”

The old woman shrugged. “Similar, I suppose. It will keep the skin pliant while she heals.” Grandma Rose started putting away her tools, some of them going into a sink for cleaning. “Rest—that's what she needs now.” She ordered Lock to carry the girl into a small guest room. The room held several cots and was painted a soft lilac color. The sheets were clean, and the blankets were cozy-looking quilts, but I knew a hospital room when I saw one. After Olive was tucked in and Ikka promised to stay with her until she was asleep, Rose ordered us back into her operating room. Sid and Lock still needed attention, now that Olive was taken care of.

Grandma Rose cleaned, then sutured in Lock's case and bandaged in Sid's, talking only when she needed to order one of the boys to stop moving or when she needed me to fetch something. I don't like being ordered about, but it felt good to be doing something. It felt good to heal for once.

When everything was done, Sid went outside to call in and report—and to tell Les that we weren't going to be at my house until the next day. Hopefully Venus wouldn't rush to take our bait. Lock went to bring our stuff in, since we'd be bunking with Rose for the night. When he got back, we realized that Ezra had disappeared.

Lock was pissed. “I specifically told him not to. Stupid fox—”

Angela cut him off. “You brought a fox into his habitat and told him not to be a fox? Who are you calling stupid, exactly?”

“But—”

Angela patted his cheek, smiling at his expression of chagrin. “I will tell the girls to keep an eye on him. We'll keep him out of trouble.”

“Or get him into it,” Lock mumbled after she left. Then he carried our stuff deeper into the cottage without another word.

I stayed behind in the workroom to see if there was anything more I could help with.

Grandma Rose set me to work with some natural disinfectant, water, and a cloth. Everything had to be cleaned, but the dryads wouldn't let her bring bleach into the cabin. The silence stretched between us as I worked, the bite of the cleaner wafting its way into my nose.

“Are they going to be okay?” I finally asked.

“Yes, if they can manage to stay out of trouble. The weres heal well, but they don't always listen.” She opened a drawer full of bandages, needles, and assorted medical stock so she could put away the items she hadn't used.

I handed her the bottle of cleaner and the cloth, and she handed me a mop and a bucket of water. From the smell of it, the water contained the same stuff. “‘Trouble' meaning me?”

Grandma Rose harrumphed. “Hares will make trouble. Love to tussle, those ones. Foxes? Worse.” She dumped her rinsed tools into a plastic tub to soak before they went into a small whirring machine that she'd informed me was an autoclave. Then she turned my way, assessing me as she dried her hands on a towel. “But you need to be careful what opportunities you present to them. Always think what you ask of people, what you're
really
asking them to do for you, before you tempt them with it. That goes for weres, and for others, too.”

I knew she meant Lock. If Grandma Rose had known anything about me, she'd have known that I didn't really need a lecture on collateral damage. I was an expert. Or was I? I looked at the soaking tools, the water slightly pink from blood, at the crimson pile of used gauze already turning brown from time and oxygen. Had I really thought about what I was asking of Lock? Of the drove? No, I hadn't. Just like I hadn't really thought of what I was asking of Ryan merely by spending time with him. Suddenly it was too much. I managed to get the mop in the vicinity of the bucket before I rushed outside, away from Rose's suffocating accusations.

14

I
F
I
'M
G
OING
TO
G
O
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HROUGH
H
ELL,
T
HERE
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HOULD
AT
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EAST
B
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OME
B
ACON