Wildcat Fireflies (38 page)

All ages paraded through, and those who were confused I comforted with words and stories. A few people blinked toward the window and then disappeared. Chris wanted to play major league baseball. Janice loved her grandkids more than her children. Bob golfed to get away from his wife. There were video-game secrets, unrequited love, and those who’d never tried and regretted it. A few happy souls met their children on the other side. I saw a grocery store, a horse barn, fronts of houses in every economic bracket, a college campus. The taste of a dry martini, the heat of a family’s secret recipe for red sauce that would never be passed on.

“Meridian!” Auntie called me. “You haven’t checked Prunella, 1943. You must. You must unveil her past.” There was an urgency to her.

Juliet’s mother no longer flickered, but her disfigurement hadn’t changed. I think she tried to smile at me.

Time stood still for me at that window, so when I woke it took me a moment to come back to myself.

“She’s awake.” Rumi’s beard tickled my face as he leaned over me and patted my cheek. His face was covered with soot and he smelled of fire and burnt flesh. I flashed to the train derailment. It took a minute for everything to flood back into me.

I coughed, sitting up.

Tens immediately braced me, supporting my weight until the fit passed. He rested his face against my neck and I felt two hot drips of tears against my neck.

“Tens?” My throat was scratchy and hoarse.

“Easy, lassie, here’s a bit of grape soda for you to sip on.” Rumi pushed at Tens to get off the couch. “Go pull yourself together, boy.” He said it gently, but his tone brooked no argument. He stared down at me. “You’re at my place, angel. You’re safe now.”

Tens walked down the hall and I heard a door shut.

I roused myself to a sitting position. A small portable television played breaking news, the volume muted. A reporter stood among smoldering ruins as first responders and investigators scurried around. The official reporting was interspersed with what had to be camera-phone footage and other uploads from spectators. The scene was grisly and stupefying.

“Easy, there.” Rumi steadied me.

“What happened?” I stretched, stiff and sore.

“The newspeople are calling it a terrorist event. A couple of fertilizer bombs at the stage, in the crowded areas. Sounds like suicide bombers. Enough power to set fires around the grounds.”

“They’re still burning?”

“Yes, they’re bringing in tanker trucks and dipping into the Wabash for airdrops, but it’s out in the middle of nowhere, really. Hard to get to for this.”

“People died.”

“A couple dozen or so victims, plus the bombers, and more are missing.”

Those numbers didn’t quite ring true for the souls I’d met. Nocti must have gotten more than a few souls too. It made sense they’d set the blasts, then be there to snatch up the energy of the dying.

“There were heroics, too. People were saved. The historical site itself was unharmed, mainly because the reenactment was still to come.”

My memory was fuzzy, but I think I’d seen souls at the window who hadn’t continued through. Was it possible for them to get to the window and then be pulled back into this life?

“Juliet?”

“I don’t know.” Rumi wiped at his swollen eyes. His face was a mass of small cuts.

“Are you okay? How long has it been?”

“Seven or so hours. Dayspring soon.” Rumi limped to his feet without answering my other question.

I saw a bloody tear in his pants. “You’re hurt.”

“A scratch. Your boy came to find me in the debris. Helped me dig out of the shattered glass. Lucky this is all.”

Very lucky
.

Tens came back into the living room, his face scrubbed
and his hair wet, as if he’d dunked his head under the faucet.

I held my hand out and he laced his fingers with mine.

“I was worried,” he whispered.

There was a knock on the sliding door, the shapes shadowy and hard to see with the glare of light against glass. Rumi tensed, checking with Tens, before they both realized who’d knocked. They’d clearly had a discussion while I was unconscious.

“Rumi? Are you in there? Are you okay?” Gus’s voice shadowed Faye’s as she argued for them to break in to check on their friend.

Rumi opened the door as Tens and I relaxed a bit. Every muscle in my body screamed at the movement. Even mere tensing was painful.

“Are you all right? Children? Were you there too?” Faye sped over to cluck at us.

Gus apologized. “I couldn’t keep her home. She woke to the alarms and the smoke and we knew you’d have been there in the middle of the thing.”

“I thought you were in the camp,” Rumi answered.

Faye appeared sheepish but relieved. “He would have been there, but I had a headache and Gus was nursing me.”

“Damn lucky headache, I say.” Gus grinned at her.

“You look a mess, Rumi.” Faye patted my hand while peering at Rumi.

“We’re fine. We’re fine.” Rumi sank into a chair, going pale.

I shook my head a fraction, not liking the shock I saw starting to bleed the edges of Rumi’s calm.

Faye caught my movement and attached to it like a dog with a juicy bone. “No, you’re not. We’re taking you to the doctor. Your leg is bleeding. Gus, bring the car around.”

“No, no, the kids are here.” Rumi tried to use us as his excuse.

Tens wrapped an afghan over my shoulders. “We’re heading home.”

Faye shook her head. “You should come too. Make sure you didn’t hit your head or anything.”

“No, ma’am, we’re fine.” Tens helped me to my feet. “I’ve got the truck.”

“Are you sure? I don’t like this.” Faye frowned. “Rumi, you
will
go to the hospital with us, even if I have to drag you there. How much blood have you lost?”

“Go,” I said.

Rumi nodded and stopped arguing with Faye. We loaded them into the car and Tens helped me into the truck. Custos laid her head on my shoulder.

Tens and I didn’t speak until we got back to the cottage. He kept sneaking surreptitious glances at me. We stank of fire, smoke, and the tinny note of death.

“Shower?” I asked, heading straight for the bathroom.

We dropped our shoes and boots and he turned the water to scalding. We climbed under the spray together, still clothed. I wanted to wash all of the night away.

With the world shut out around us, with only the sound of water spray, the room lit only by a tiny night-light, I let
the tears come. What if Juliet died? Were we supposed to thwart the Nocti’s plan? Were we supposed to know they’d been planning this? How?
I failed
.

I leaned into Tens’s chest. He dropped his chin onto the top of my head and mumbled against my hair, “I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t get you out of there fast enough. And Rumi, he was knocked out by a falling beam.”

“Shhh.” I tried to soothe him, even as he comforted me. What a mess.

“I had to put you down to get him out. Was that okay? I was afraid no one would see him under the glass and boards. I put you down for a second.”

“Of course. You saved Rumi. I’m fine,” I whispered.

His lips moved along my hairline, across my forehead, seeking solace, peace.

My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until he tore the buttons apart. I pressed my cheek against his chest and sighed. Alive. We were alive.

What if we’d failed Juliet? Auntie? The innocent?

I turned my face up. Water dripped down over us, washing away the stink of evil, of chaos, of malevolent destruction.

He pressed his lips against my cheeks, my chin, I kissed him back until our mouths blended. I sighed into him. His kiss chased the cold away.

His fingers found the skin between the bottom of my T-shirt and my jeans. They burned across my stomach. He tugged, and my T-shirt plopped into the tub behind us. I
pushed his shirt down, off his arms, momentarily breaking contact.

I ran my palms over his chest, his stomach, each finger finding a groove to claim. We melted into each other. I unhooked my bra and he maneuvered it off my shoulders. My nipples pebbled with sensation, mirroring his.

I reveled when his hands cupped my breasts. Up until this moment I hadn’t thought my body was enough; it was more than the flatness of a month ago, yet not enough to spill over or out. But the way he parted his lips and closed his eyes while touching me made me feel perfect, not just adequate.

I wanted more. I didn’t know if it was only the wet clothing that made me feel pulled down, weighted toward the floor, but I wanted it gone.

I hooked my fingers under his waistband. Thumbed the button, felt his erection ridged against the zipper under my hands, against my belly. His breath raspy and shallow, he heaved in deep concentration. I wanted to touch him, see him even in the dim light of this magical moment.

As if by unspoken mutual agreement, he undid the zipper on my jeans while I undid his.

I tugged and pushed my pants down and off while he did the same with his. We stood in the shower, steam cocooning us, clad only in underwear. His was wet and plastered to his body, the deep indent of his buttocks concaved. The boxer briefs rode low, like a second skin. It felt like he was more naked than if I’d looked at him without
the underwear. Fascinated by our differences, I wanted to turn the light on to get a better look. But that would mean leaving the shower, and I couldn’t do that.

He returned my stare while I crossed my arms over my chest. He gazed at my body. I looked down at myself, trying to see through his eyes. My cheap white boy shorts, now utterly transparent, drew attention to my hips, my thighs. My pubic hair was black and coarse against the cotton, reminding me I hadn’t shaved my legs. Or ever waxed my bikini line. There’d been no need to. I didn’t know if that was only necessary in Hollywood movies or if he’d expect me to be hairless as a baby mouse.

I felt vulnerable. Open. My spine no longer jutted with each vertebra. My ribs could be felt but didn’t protrude. My collarbones didn’t sit up on my frame like a set of shoulder pads. My thighs were curved up to hips that had finally started to look more like a girl’s than a young boy’s.

I felt stronger, more muscular, healthier than I’d ever been, but what if I wasn’t enough?

I dropped my eyes toward the drain and Tens stepped in front of the spray, blocking it with his shoulders. He lifted my face with a single finger under my chin. His eyes were hooded and deep in shadows. His face flushed, his cheekbones seemed to chisel even stronger angles.

“I love you. As you were. As you are. As you will be,” he said.

I blinked. “I love you, too. You make me want to be better than I am. To be like you.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Or you give
me too much.” His eyes were serious, but his lips twitched. He shivered. “Don’t be alarmed, but we’ve used up all the hot water.”

“Oh my God!” I noticed the icicles my toes were fast becoming. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were having a moment.” He sounded perplexed.

I collapsed in laughter against him, while he fumbled to turn off the water without hitting me with cold spray. “A moment?” I said.

His expression flashed hurt before he joined my laughter.

We grabbed fresh towels and wrapped each other in them, staying in the steamy bathroom until all the warmth seeped out and we needed clothes.

I stood on my tiptoes and leaned up to kiss him. “I love you.”

He wrapped me tight in his arms and swung me up. “Always.”

B
linding light and fire flew through the sky, spinning the earth off her axis. My ears ringing and deafened, I stumbled over debris and my own feet. I ran from the screaming, hollering panic, following the mass exodus. Heat flared and seared my face and hands. Running, rocked and jostled by terrified people, I tried to stay upright. Coats and shoes dropped where people ran out of them and kept going.

Dizziness hit me in waves, sharp pain slashed my insides.
The chaos turned the world on its side and made placing my feet on solid ground impossible. I tried to hold on to trees or cars or other stationary objects to get my bearings. The further away from the disaster I moved, the clearer my head, the calmer my heart.

“Need a ride?” A group of teens with wide eyes and pale faces, in tatters of costumes in the back of a truck, slowed as they drove past me. “Where are you headed?”

I called out an address near DG, reluctant, but unable to think of a good reason to turn down their offer of help.

“Get up.” A girl in combat boots and what might have been a flannel nightgown helped me into the back of the truck.

No one spoke. Shock echoed around us and there was simply nothing to say. The crisp night air cleared my head, but all I smelled were smoke, burning plastics, acrid chemicals, and charred flesh. “Thanks,” I said. The same girl helped me down and went back to huddling with her friends as they drove away.

I coughed until I thought I’d hack up a lung. I felt dirty. Filthy. Nasty. I cut through the copse toward Wildcat Creek. My shoes already ruined, I waded straight into the heart of the running water. I sat down, letting the shakes rock me, letting the water gurgle a lullaby. I used gravel and sand to scrub the soot off my skin. I peeled off my clothes, not caring who might be watching or how I’d explain my nakedness at the house.
Bring it on, Mistress
.

I floated in the creek until the water felt warm and the air temperature balmy. My eyes kept fluttering closed and it was
tempting, oh so tempting, to drift off, float away down the creek, float toward sleep and the oblivion of nothing.

“Juliet.” My name was accompanied by a stinging slap. “Juliet!”

I opened my eyes. Nicole dragged me through the water toward the shore, where Bodie and Sema huddled together, their faces pure fear.

I tried to get my legs under me, but they wouldn’t cooperate. “Wait, I can walk.”

“Some half-assed guardian angel I am,” Nicole muttered.