Wildcat Fireflies (21 page)

“Okay, but do you feel me all the time?”

“I’ve told you, I can’t read your mind.”

“I know you’ve said it’s the emotions, or big stuff like danger, but is it like the stock market scrolly sign on the news? As things change you get updates? An emotional RSS feed?”

“What is that?”

I sometimes forgot that Tens didn’t live in the same popular culture world as most people. “Never mind, techie. Like I know when you’re angry, or worried, or happy and relaxed. Is it like that?”

“Yeah, but how do you know?”

“Well, when you’re angry your decibel level goes up—you get very loud and stop speaking in complete sentences, or your brow furrows between your eyes and gets all folded like the Rockies.”

He shook his head in disagreement. “That’s body language. You’ve learned mine; you’ve picked up on cues like anyone else. How did you know when Sammy was upset?”

“His lip quivered and he started crying.”

“Right. That’s not psychic.”

“Good point.” Disappointed, I knew he was right.

“I cue off your body and your face just like you do with mine. God, Merry, if I knew how I did the psychic thing, maybe I could do it better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Am I supposed to know how to keep you from feeling bad about stuff? I’m your Protector, right? Am I supposed to protect you from everything, or only some things?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way. I can’t imagine your job is to shield me from everything—that would be very unbalanced.”

“Okay, then, what good am I really?”

“What are you talking about? Tens, do you think I could do this without you? I don’t
want
to do this without you.” I reached out and grabbed his knee. “I am incapable of holding it together without knowing you’re there to pick up my pieces. I want to be that for you, too. I just don’t know how to do it if I’m always leaning on you, you know?”

He nodded.

“When did you start feeling me?”

“I think I’ve always felt you. But I didn’t know it. Not until much later.”

“When?” I prodded.

“Early on I called you my imaginary friend. But it was more than that. I knew what you were thinking and doing, but only at certain times,” he said.

“What’s the first thing you remember?”

“The first time I thought I was crazy?” he asked.

Puzzled, I checked his eyes to see if he was joking.
No, very serious face
. “Crazy?”

“It’s not normal to hear conversations other people have or see things through their eyes. Do you remember your sixth birthday party? I was nine.”

I barely remembered. I couldn’t imagine that I wanted to remember. “That was the last time Mom threw a party for me.”

“Do you remember why?”

“No.” I blanked.

“You went ice-skating.” He cued my memory.

“In Portland?”

“It was an inside rink.”

I nodded, details popping up into my mind’s eye.

“There were seven little girls who came with their mommies. You overheard a couple of the moms talking about what a weird kid you were and that they’d only let their daughters come if they were allowed too. You hid under the table.”

“I wouldn’t come out.” I remembered it like it had happened to someone else.

“Right.”

“I had a headache. A really bad headache.”

“And?”

“And one of the little girls, Becky, got in the way of a big kid who was going really fast and showing off.”

“And?”

“And she got pushed out of the way and they fell, twisted together, and Becky hit her head really hard.”

“So hard the ice turned red with the blood.”

I nodded, seeing it like I was right there. “And she lay motionless. I threw up and stayed under the table and saw people’s feet rushing around. An ambulance crew arrived.”

“And all those mommies rushed to get their kids out of there. Your mom left you under the table in all the chaos, and when it was over, she came to find you. Drove you home and didn’t talk to you for a week.”

I rubbed my eyes. My mother could have reassured me. For God’s sake, she knew my ancestry. She pretended I was a mistake that could be fixed by ignoring it.

“Do you remember what happened to Becky?” Tens traced circles on my back.

“No.”

“The fall caused a traumatic brain injury. She broke her neck, too.”

“Died.”

“Not then, not that I know of.”

“She never came back to school.”

“You changed schools.”

“I did?”

“Your mom decided you needed to start fresh.”

“So you felt all this?”

“Saw it happening like I was there. Felt it like I was you. Wanted to fix it. I told my mom all about it. Details. She called my grandfather. And the next thing I knew I was on a plane to Seattle.”

“She sent you away?”

“She thought I was turning into a girl or becoming schizophrenic or something she couldn’t handle, I think.”

“What did she say?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

“That she’d had enough of trying to get me to live in this world and if I wanted to be a crazy kid, then I could go live with crazy people.”

“Her parents?” My heart broke for the little boy.

“Hmm-mmm.” He closed his eyes.

“Seriously? She thought her own parents were insane, so she sent you to them?”

“I guess I’d been talking about you since your birth, and asking about girl toys and wanting to see places and people that she had to look up on the Internet. I think my wanting to go ice-skating so I could save the girl with the broken neck terrified her.”

“But send you away?”

“Sound familiar?”

“You were
nine
.”

“And that makes it worse?”

“Than me?” I huffed out a breath. “Yes, nine is different than sixteen. Plus, I went directly to Auntie, right?”

“J
uliet? What’s wrong?” Nicole tried to grab me when I ran past her toward my space under the stairs. It didn’t matter if there were repercussions; I had to find a dark, quiet place to breathe.

The walls folded in on me. The world spun too fast, with colors too bright for my eyes, sounds too loud in my ears.
The girl from my dream
. The tiny, curly-haired girl with her hands outstretched had just showed up in real life at the creek.
Older than I had dreamed, but the same girl. Her face and eyes felt so familiar.

Maybe I’m still asleep
. “Nico, pinch me. Hard.”

Surprise and disbelief flashed across Nicole’s face. “Uh, no?”

I jiggled from foot to foot, too anxious to stand still. “Am I awake?”

Her brow furrowed, and her voice dipped, “What are you talking about?”

“Are you real?” I knew I sounded like I’d finally lost it, but I couldn’t explain in complete sentences. My brain tried to meld both my dream and the teens by the creek into my reality.

She hugged my shoulders, trying to quiet me. “You’re awake, Juliet. What’s going on?” Concern and pity marred her otherwise beautiful face.

“I can’t talk now—”
What is happening to me? What does it all mean?

We startled at the sound of the intercom button. I braced for Mistress’s screech.

“Where are you, Juliet? Get your lazy self into my office pronto.” Her tone didn’t disappoint.

I was definitely wide awake. I never would have put rescue and Mistress in the same dream. More confused than defeated, I shrugged off Nicole’s grip. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay, but—” She tried to follow, but stopped when I waved her off.

I stumbled into Mistress’s office, my feet not keeping up
with the rest of me. I caught my apology in midbreath. Sorrys made things worse. Instead, I snapped to straight, erect attention. I tried to keep my expression bland and empty.

She glared at me. “We have three new guests arriving. I need you to prepare their rooms. Make sure they’re cleaner than last time. This is a respectable establishment. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I waited. I knew never to turn to leave until I was dismissed. Joining the military, my long-imagined last resort, once again passed through my mind. I took orders well. Stood with my knees locked and head high for hours without breaks. I operated on little sleep.
But they’d turn away an almost-sixteen-year-old girl
.

Five or ten minutes passed. I kept my eyes on the window behind Mistress’s desk. Waiting. There was more. There was always more.

When she’d kept me standing long enough, Mistress finally said, “Ms. Asura asked that you call her. You may use this phone.”

Privacy?
No. Bewildered, I wondered why Ms. Asura wanted to speak to me.

As if to answer my unasked question, Mistress smirked. “February tenth is almost here. Arrangements must be made.”

My birthday. My stomach dropped and my mouth dried thinking about Bodie and Sema trying to survive this insanity. I knew Nicole would do the best she could, but would that be enough? I wanted to leave, but not without the innocents. There was no justice in moving on and leaving them behind. I wanted to curse; I bit my tongue until it bled.

“Do it!” she screamed, lunging into my face.

I flinched more for her benefit than because she startled me.
The more we grovel, the less she picks
. I grasped the phone and she punched the buttons while I held the handset. I’d sprout bruises from the pressure she inflicted.

“Juliet. I’ve been expecting your call.” Ms. Asura sounded pleased to hear from me. As if it was my idea to call her. Mistress glared and shuffled papers.

“Yes?” I questioned, trying to sound both meek and humble at the same time.

Ms. Asura must not have picked up on any of the tension, because her effervescence didn’t diminish. “I’d like to take you for coffee so we can talk about what’s next for you. How does that sound?”

Coffee? All her promised outings never amount to anything but more promises
. She was busy. I understood that. Eventually, I’d learned they were plans she liked to talk about but never follow through on. Who wanted to hang out with kids when your day job was supervising them?

“Sure,” I said.

“Great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven.” She sounded so enthusiastic it was like I’d promised her my kidney.

“Um—” I glanced at Mistress, who’d given up the pretense of doing paperwork and now simply watched me with a scowl.

“It’s okay, I’ve cleared it.” Ms. Asura answered my unspoken question.

Mistress nodded, as if she read my hesitation too.

“Okay.” Did I have a choice? Stay here, or go for coffee like a real teenager? Was there a choice? Even if things were ten times worse when I returned, I’d go.

I heard Ms. Asura clap her hands. “I’m delighted. This will be fun.”

“Okay,” I repeated. Her excitement felt genuine.

“See you in the morning.” She hung up, and I quickly put the handset down.

“Every minute you’re away will be two minutes I expect repaid when you return,” Mistress grouched.

“Yes, ma’am.”
More like ten
.

“Here’s what must be completed before you leave.” She handed me a list of odd tasks—inventorying the pantry and washing the curtains—as well as my usual.

I glanced at the filing cabinet behind her. Wished I were brave enough to try again to get my file.

“Scat!” she yelled, a vein in the middle of her forehead throbbing.

I scurried out of the room to where Nicole waited for me in the shadows.

“What’s going on?” Speaking in low tones, she pressed against my side, matching my stride.

“Ms. Asura is taking me out for coffee tomorrow.”

Nicole’s face fell. “Really?”

“I’ll try to bring you some.” I could try, but odds weren’t good I’d get it back into the house without Mistress dumping it on the floor and making us lick it up.

“No, I don’t care about the coffee part. Just be careful, okay? I have a bad feeling.” Nicole frowned.

I wanted her to stop worrying so much. “Nothing bad can happen at a coffee shop.”

“Maybe, but watch what you say.” Her voice was both careful and demanding.

“She wants to talk about plans.”
What plans? What future?

“Maybe. I don’t like it. Has she ever taken you out before?”

“No.” I didn’t understand why Nicole was so upset.

“Then why now?” She wouldn’t let it go.

“Because I’m turning sixteen?” I snapped.

“Are you sure that’s it? Maybe you should check the files.”

“How?” I wanted to. I really did.

“I’ll help—”

“Enough. I can’t think about this right now.” I shrugged. “Three more arrivals today.”

“Old or young?”

“Guests.”
Old
.

Nicole let me change the subject completely, but her sadness and worry still seemed to take tangible form in the space around us.

T
ens and I wandered into Rumi’s studio. We wanted to talk to him about the box of papers. The artwork wasn’t difficult to interpret, but the writing was another story. We had to trust he indeed was friendly and would translate for us accurately. The Spirit Stones hanging from the windows and rafters once again burst with light. The people in the studio glanced up at them in surprise. Not so subtle an entrance.

“Aren’t these wondrous? The glass and the light have such a concinnity, a harmony. These are the Witch Balls of
the seventeenth century,” Rumi covered, shooing us toward the door that swung into his living quarters. “They throw any stray ray like they are the sun itself. Let me tell you of the magic—don’t we all need a little magic in our lives?”

The door between the studio and his apartment swung shut behind us while Rumi continued on, selling his creations to the rapt customers. The stereo played in the corner, a familiar dance groove that seemed to be Rumi’s favorite.