When the Stars Threw Down Their Spears: The Goblin Wars, Book Three (19 page)

“What’s germssss?”

“Little bugs,” Teagan explained. She would check the cultures she’d taken from Maggot Cat’s pus before he died, just to make sure she was right about what caused his infection. “Why did you take care of Roisin and my mom?”

“I heard the tree’s whisper,” the
cat-sídhe
said.

“Yggdrasil’s?”

“Yggdrasil.” The word sounded completely natural when he said it. “I hunted in the woods of Vanaheimr when the whisper came.”

Nordic. Her dad had said Yggdrasil was the Nordic name for the world tree. She was fairly certain Vanaheimr was one of the worlds at the roots of Yggdrasil—the icy world where the Nordic gods lived.
Sleep warm, Bill Bailey
. Because
cat-sídhe
came from a very cold place.

“Have you ever heard of Old Deuteronomy?” Teagan asked.

“Nnnnoooow.” Grendal shook his head.

“Do you have three names?”

Grendal opened his brilliant eyes wide.

“An everyday name, a name for your family, and a name that only you know?”

“Yess.”

The
cat-sídhe
were homesick for a place they couldn’t quite remember. They were filling in the blanks around their glimories with bits and pieces of a play.

“What was the tree whispering?”

“‘Help. Someone to help.’ I’m someone.” The
cat-sídhe
shrugged. “Ssso I went. I found the kitt . . . girls and brought them to the tree. We kept them safe.”

“Weren’t you afraid of Fear Doirich when you went to get them? Of Mab?”

“I am a child of Bergljót, and Fróði. I am not afraid to die.”

“Why were you—”

Grendal growled. “Hákon always ask questions. ‘Why are you, how are you, what are you!’”

“What is a Hákon?”

“You are. Aileen was. Mab is. Curiosity killed the Hákon. That’s what we say.”

“Really?” Teagan smiled. “How does ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ sound? That’s our saying.”

“The words sound right,” Grendal said. “But Hákon are more than cats.”

“More curious?”

“Yes.” Grendal’s tail twitched once this time.
“Hákon hunt answers instead of mice, so they get no supper!”

“Well, I need to go hunt some answers that will help you,” Teagan said, “supper or not.”

She found Mr. Wylltson standing at the kitchen window watching Joe rip up handfuls of lawn, shake the soil from the roots, then throw the grass over the back wall.

“What on earth . . . ?” Teagan asked.

“I asked him that,” Mr. Wylltson said. “He told me he is cleaning up the abomination. Making this bit of soil what it was meant to be.”

“Weedy?” Teagan guessed, turning on the faucet and lathering her hands with soap.

“He says they’re all here: prairie trillium, columbine, foxglove, beardtongue, fire pink. They’re not gone. Just tucked down deep. He’s calling them up. We’ll not only have all the goblins of hell after us, but the neighborhood association as well.”

Teagan dried her hands and leaned back against the sink. “Have you ever heard of Bergljót, and Fróði?”

“The king and queen of the Nordic fairy cats,” Mr. Wylltson said. “They pull Freyja the Norse goddess’s chariot. Why do you ask?”

“What would you say if I told you that the invisible cat living with us is a royal prince who risked his life to save Mom and Roisin?”

“I’d say nothing could surprise me. Not after the last few months.”

“And what if I said the royal prince has mange, and I need to go down to the zoo to get him some medicine?”

“I’d say no.”

Teagan lowered her voice. “He has the disease that killed the cat we found on the sidewalk, Dad. It is progressing unusually fast. It will very likely be fatal.”

“It is too dangerous for you to go alone.”

“If I survive this school year, I’m going to college next fall. I won’t have a bodyguard sitting with me in my classes.”

“I remember college,” Mr. Wylltson said. “If I could arrange a bodyguard, I would.”

“You met Mom in college!”

“That’s what I was remembering.”

Something popped behind them, and a puff of air lifted Teagan’s hair. It smelled like fresh grass clippings. Raynor was standing beside his motorbike.

“They were gone,” he said.

“Probably to sleep off their meal somewhere quieter,” Teagan said. “Maintenance had just started mowing the cemetery when we left.”

“I’d like your opinion on something, Raynor,” Mr. Wylltson said.

“I don’t give my opinions. People always take them too seriously.”

“I see your point. I was going to ask what you thought of Teagan going down to the zoo by herself. But I’ll go with her.”

“Then she’ll have to take care of you as well as herself,” Raynor said without looking up from his rag.

“I thought you never gave opinions.”

“That’s not an opinion. It’s a fact. There are things you can’t do, John Wylltson, and this is one of them. Either she can make good decisions or she can’t. There is no such thing as safe. There never has been.”

Mr. Wylltson looked from Raynor to Teagan.

“Okay,” he said after a long moment. “You can go. You’ve been making good decisions for a long time now.”

Seventeen

T
EAGAN
took a skin scraping from Grendal’s neck with a tongue depressor, sealed it up in a plastic bottle, then transferred nitrile gloves, hand sanitizer, and Q-Tips from her medical kit to her backpack. If the hairless
cat-sídhe
got close enough, perhaps she could talk it into letting her have some samples as well. The more information she had, the more likely she’d be able to help Grendal.

“You have your phone?” Mr. Wylltson asked as she started out the back door.

She checked her pocket, then crossed the room and gave him a kiss on top of his head.

“Be careful, Rosebud,” he said. “I mean it. Anything seems strange, anything at all, you call home.”

Joe was making good progress on his lawn destruction. He didn’t look up as she went past. Gil was curled in a ball in the corner of the yard, fast asleep. She sincerely hoped the Dump Dogs were sleeping just as soundly wherever they were.

Teagan caught a glimpse of the hairless
cat-sídhe
out of the corner of her eye as she started down the alley. It followed her, dodging from hiding place to hiding place, peeking from behind telephone poles and piles of trash. Which was a good sign, as Finn would say, because she couldn’t be completely sure the Dump Dogs were sleeping. If they were here, though, the
cat-sídhe
probably wouldn’t be here. It followed her all the way down the alley.

When she reached the street, she hesitated. There were two buses she could take. One stop was a little farther away, but to get there she would pass the Black Feather coffee shop. Hákon might be more fond of answers than of mice, but this Hákon was also fond of coffee, and hadn’t had any yet today. She lost sight of the pink
cat-sídhe
on the busy street, but it reappeared when she was waiting in line inside the shop. She saw it peering in the window, its hands cupped to its face.

Teagan wiggled her fingers at it, and it ducked out of sight.

She reached the counter and ordered a double latte, then stepped aside to wait. When it came, she sipped foam from the top, then settled the plastic lid on tight. The
cat-sídhe
ducked when she stepped out onto the sidewalk, but followed after her again down the street.

Teagan was surprised to find commuters waiting at the bus stop this late in the morning: three businessmen in suits and two women sitting on the bench. There was just enough room for her to sit down and settle her drink beside her while she dug in her backpack for her bus pass.

She was just pulling it out when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. A pink-gray scabby arm reached around the back of the bench, and the
cat-sídhe
’s pawlike hand hooked around her latte cup. Teagan pretended to search while the
cat-sídhe
scooted the cup closer to the edge . . . closer . . . Then the creature popped up, grabbed it with its two little hands, and disappeared behind the bench. Apparently Highborn were not the only Sídhe who liked a little caffeine now and then. The cup reappeared as Teagan zipped up her backpack. She picked it up and shook it. There was definitely less latte in it than there had been before.

She rubbed her lips, thinking of all the times she’d left cups of coffee or cans of soda unattended only to come back and find them emptier than she’d thought they should be. She’d probably been slurping secondhand
cat-sídhe
kisses her whole life.

She pretended to take another drink, careful not to let her lips actually touch the cup, then hung her arm over the back of the bench, holding the cup lightly with her fingertips.

“You can have the rest,” she said.

“What?” The woman next to her turned and stared at her suspiciously. “I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, no. I was just talking to a friend,” Teagan said, hoping the woman would assume she was wearing a Bluetooth. It might have worked if her hair hadn’t been pulled back, exposing both her ears. The woman stood up as if she needed to look down the road for the bus, and didn’t sit down again.

Teagan shook the cup again, sloshing the liquid around. This time she felt warm little fingers touching hers, and then the
cat-sídhe
took the cup from her hand.

A few moments later, the creature crept around the end of the bench without the cup. It looked even more like a Donskoy up close; a female Donskoy with huge china-blue eyes. The gray tinge to her skin was probably caused by dead layers like those she had felt under Grendal’s chin, and the wrinkles from rapid weight loss. If something didn’t change soon, this cat was going to die.

“Mowr?” The
cat-sídhe
asked, hopefully licking its whiskers.

“There is no more,” Teagan said. “I’m Teagan.”

The commuters were all studiously ignoring her now.

“I knowww,” the
cat-sídhe
said. “I cha
hiss
ed you.”

Surely she didn’t expect Teagan to remember. A lot of
cat-sídhe
had chased them. “I had more hair,” the
cat-sídhe
said helpfully. “Mac Cumhaill kicked me.”

“Ah,” Teagan said. “I do remember. What can I call you?”

“Gri
hiss
abella,” the cat said, as if testing the name. “Gri
hiss
abella!” she said more firmly.

Grizabella. In
Cats
, she was the outcast who was eventually welcomed back.

The bus arrived and Teagan stepped back, letting the other people board first. She wasn’t going to have time to take any samples.

“Are you going to be here when I get back?”

“Nowww. Put me up,” Grizabella said. She pointed at the roof of the bus and made a throwing motion.

“No,” Teagan said. “That would be dangerous. What if you fell into traffic?”

The last businessman to board the bus met her eye, clearly concerned. She smiled at him, and he turned away with a better-not-to-get-involved expression on his face.

“If you meet me when I come back, maybe I’ll be able to help you,” Teagan said as she started up the steps. Grizabella apparently didn’t want to wait. She lashed her hairless tail, then jumped up the steps after Teagan. Every seat was taken by morning commuters. The
cat-sídhe
climbed up on Teagan’s shoe and wrapped her skinny arms, legs, and tail around Teagan’s calf to avoid the feet around her.

Teagan held on to a bar to keep from lurching against the man behind her as the bus started. Grizabella blinked up at her, then turned to the young man sitting on the left.

“Get up,” she told him. The young man fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. “Give Teagan your seat.”

“Don’t do that,” Teagan said. “I can stand.”

The young man looked at her and frowned.

“Sam?” the girl next to the young man said. “Do you know her?”

“Ssssaaam!” Grizabella said, delighted to have his name. “Get up. Nnnowww!”

Teagan could feel the power in the command even though it wasn’t directed at her. Apparently Sam could as well. He stood up, threw a worried look at Teagan, and motioned for her to sit down.

“Wait,” his girlfriend said. “What are you doing? I don’t want to sit by a crazy girl! Do you know her, or what?”

The bus hissed to a stop, and instead of anyone getting off, four more people crowded on, pushing against Sam, who was holding them back, waiting for Teagan to sit.

“Thank you,” Teagan said, and sat down. Sam’s girlfriend gave him a desperate look as he was pushed down the aisle.

Grizabella jumped into Teagan’s lap.

“I helped you!”

“Don’t help me anymore,” Teagan said, but the
cat-sídhe
leaned over and peered intently at Sam’s girlfriend.

“Tell me your name.”

“Don’t tell me your name,” Teagan said to her quickly, and then to the
cat-sídhe
, “Leave her alone.”

The girl pressed herself into the corner, face away from Teagan. The other passengers were definitely avoiding eye contact as well. Fine. Since she’d been established as a mental case, she might as well try to help the creature. She took her small first-aid kit out of her backpack and pulled on a pair of purple gloves.

“What are you doing?” Grizabella asked.

“I think I can help you,” Teagan said, thankful that she was wearing long sleeves. “But I don’t want to catch what you have. Do you itch?”

The girl beside them made a strangling noise and jumped to her feet. “Let me out of here!”

Teagan moved her legs to let her past, then slid to the window seat, taking Grizabella with her. A baldheaded man in a business suit took the vacated seat. He settled his briefcase like an impermeable barrier between them.

“I itch all over,” Grizabella said.

“May I look in your ears?”

The
cat-sídhe
’s tail twitched once. The edges of the ears were thickened and crusty, and the insides were black with oil and dirt, but Teagan didn’t find any ear mites. “May I see your gums?”