Firebug (28 page)

I'D LIKE TO SAY
I just needed a breath of fresh air and some time to collect myself. That would have been nice. I would have enjoyed being calm and collected when Lock eventually found me—a pretty picture amongst a few brave fireflies willing to shake their stuff this evening. Maybe I could have been sitting underneath some sort of weeping willow looking every inch a brave, though conflicted, heroine. Instead, Lock found me sobbing uncontrollably into the mossy floor around a rather gnarled oak tree, and I'm almost positive that my swollen eyes and runny nose did not a pretty picture make. Plus, I had dirt on my face.

Lock nudged me until I was mostly propped up against the trunk. He handed me a handkerchief, which I immediately befouled by blowing my nose. “How did you know to bring a handkerchief?” I asked with a hiccup. Even though I wasn't crying anymore, my body wasn't quite done with the whole sobbing/spasming thing yet.

“Grandma Rose has that effect on people,” he said, lowering himself down to join me under the tree.

“She's right,” I said. “I'm endangering all of you, and it's not okay. This should be my battle—not yours. Not Olive's. That girl should be at home playing with dolls and, I don't know, making cookies or something.”

“Please, it's Olive. She'd be home picking pockets and sharpening her knife collection.”

I laughed, suddenly and surprised, spitting a little as I did. So attractive. Since Lock's handkerchief was absolutely disgusting, I had to use the edge of my shirt to finish cleaning off my face. I supposed I should have been embarrassed, but really, Lock had seen me at my absolute worst. What was a little dirt and mucus?

“What, exactly, did Rose say?”

I recited the short conversation for him. He considered it, watching the fireflies in front of him. They liked Lock and kept swooping closer, until I could see his face in the flashes of their light. “She's both right and wrong, you know. Yes, it's your fight, but please don't try to tell me it's not mine, too. How many nights have I joined you guys for movie night? I spend more time with Cade that I do with my mom, Aves. He's family. I'm going to be part of this whether you want me to or not. So deal with it.”

“But—”

He shushed me with a wave of his hand. “As for the drove, c'mon—Venus put a hit out on Duncan. Even if they didn't like you, they'd damn well fight to get Venus back for that. They can't just let her come in and kill the guy they're protecting. Besides what it would do to their reputation, I think they consider Duncan to be one of their own. No way they're sitting idly by, especially since they'd lose their home if they lost Duncan. As for Ez, I'm sure if anyone but us asked him, he'd lie and say he was doing it for kicks. But we both know that's all show. We're a team. We're family. It doesn't really matter what title you put on it, the meaning is the same. You're in trouble, we're all in trouble. If the situation were reversed, you'd be doing the exact same thing. So, I'm sorry if it interrupts your grand guilt fest, but this isn't just about you. It's about all of us. Get over yourself.”

“You can be such an asshole sometimes,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Who doesn't?”

I smacked him, one-handed, but didn't move from my position. Being closer to Lock meant being closer to the fireflies—an unexpected but wonderful consequence. A rather enterprising one landed in Lock's hair, where it continued to shine like it had landed on a small outcropping of grass.

I was overcome with fits of giggles, and the startled bug flew off.

“Now what's wrong with you?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” I said, wiping away another tear, this one coming from happier origins. “It's just that I realized I could mostly see you because of the fireflies—because you were surrounded by butt lights. For some reason I found that to be very funny.”

“I can't imagine why,” he said drily. More fireflies floated around him, and I flew into another fit of laughter. Lock sighed and put an arm around me, drawing my giggle-twitching body closer to his. “I love you, too,” he said.

“Of course you do,” I said.

“Now who's the asshole?”

 

 

I SLEPT
a restless night on a cot. Every time Olive whimpered in her sleep or Sid snored—or Ikka cursed at Sid for snoring—I woke up. Ezra was still roaming about the forest, as far as I knew. The hares seemed to be used to sleeping so many in a room. Ikka barely woke to swear and hit Sid, and his eyes didn't open when he smacked her with a pillow in retaliation. But I wasn't used to it. I was used to quiet night sounds and maybe the sound of Cade getting up for a drink of water. It could get so quiet in our cabin that it was almost disruptive—like you could feel the weight of that silence pressing in on your ears.

I've lived in tons of places, and I've had to get used to lots of different kinds of night noises—the chatter of cicadas when we lived in the south, the honk of cars in a big city—but the lack of sound in Currant had been the hardest for me to grow accustomed to.

And now I missed it.

My nightmares alternated between Cade being tortured and locked in a cell and Ryan taking me on our first date. We were on top of a hill. He'd picked up food from the deli, packed it into his parents' wicker picnic basket, and brought an old sheet. From up on the hill we could watch the sailboats go by as we stretched out on the thin sheet and talked. I'd thought the date might be awkward, but Ryan was easy to talk to, and I didn't usually have the chance to get to know someone new. When I'd prepared for the evening, I was sure I was going to come home early, disenchanted after the first thirty minutes. But we'd stayed out late, and I'd spent most of the time smiling. I'd had fun. I didn't often get to have fun.

In my dream Ryan leaned back on the sheet, his elbows digging into the ground beneath, and in a voice pitched husky and soft, he told me it had all been an act and how stupid I was to fall for it. I woke up, sweaty and shaking.

By dawn I decided I'd rather be tired than see those images anymore. I changed my clothes in Rose's bathroom, the walls of which were covered in hand-painted butterflies, with mats and towels in a bright purple jewel tone. A claw-footed tub took up most of the space, and it tempted me like all get-out. I wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a good night's sleep. I sighed and turned my back on the tub.

In the kitchen, Grandma Rose was already up. Like the not-all-together-sweet angel of mercy that she is, she handed me a steaming cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Something must have shown on my face, because she laughed as she sat down across from me.

“No doubt you're wondering why I'm not handing you a proper breakfast—eggs, bacon, whatnot?”

I grimaced. “I'm that transparent, huh?” And presumptuous, apparently. “I didn't mean to insult your hospitality.”

She blew on her coffee, the steam parting and framing her wrinkled face. “I wish for the same thing every morning. But it's the dryads, you see.”

I didn't.

She leaned forward with a conspirator's air. “Think about it, dear. You're in the middle of a forest. One must think of one's hosts.”

“So—no bacon?”

“Limited fire, and a practically vegan lifestyle.” She pushed a honey pot my way, gesturing toward the porridge. “They allow me some honey, and they look the other way for cheese. I love cheese.”

“Who doesn't?” I dropped a liberal amount of honey into my oatmeal.

“And they pretend not to notice when I go into town and come back smelling of lobster rolls.” She sighed happily.

I couldn't help smiling back at her. Despite her criticism last night, I liked Grandma Rose. In fact, I think I liked her more for saying those things. I value people who care enough to give you the truth, who make you examine the dark and nasty sides of yourself. It shows true heart.

I took a long swig of my coffee, the warmth going down to my toes and making me feel almost human. I tucked into my food. “Thank you,” I said between mouthfuls. “For everything.”

“It's my job, dear.” She took the honey pot back, drizzling some into her coffee. I'd never thought to do that, so I repeated her action and found that I liked it. “I am a healer—I can be nothing else. Did you think about what I said last night?”

“I did.”

“And?”

I thought for a moment, my oatmeal spoon hovering between bowl and mouth. Finally, I jabbed the air with it. “It's just…” I shrugged, dripping a smidgen of oatmeal onto the table. “I'm a firebug—I can't be anything else either. The drove is the drove—it can't be anything else. And Lock and Ezra are my team, and where one of us goes, the others follow. We can't turn away. For very different reasons, we have to see this through.” I tapped my spoon on the side of my bowl. “Does that make sense? Or am I only justifying my actions?”

Rose leaned forward with a napkin and wiped up the blob of oatmeal. “I think as long as everyone is aware of the mess and willing to help clean it up, then you're being about as honest as you can be.”

I nodded. “I think that's where we're at.”

“Good. Now eat your food before it gets cold.”

 

 

AFTER
the rest of the group stumbled in and ate a ridiculous amount of food, Rose examined everyone. Due to Grandma Rose's expert care and their own natural healing abilities, the bandages all came off. Olive and Sid both had some shiny red scar tissue, but I was told that would be gone soon enough. Lock was left to heal his stitches on his own, and his bandages were replaced with new ones. His few sutures would dissolve in a week or so. I was given a jar of the ointment and told to keep an eye on my friend or I'd suffer some dire consequences. Coming from the mouth of the wizened old woman, her eyes blinking at me from behind glasses, I found myself believing her.

Ezra stumbled in halfway through the examination progress. He had twigs and bits of leaves in his hair, and he had no shirt on. In fact, he'd lost everything except for his pants, and he was pretty dirty. He was also looking rather smug.

Lock grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water, handing it to our friend. “You had that same smile when I found you passed out in that gas station parking lot, half-naked and covered in glitter.”

Ezra looked wistful for a second as he washed. “That was a pretty great night. What I remember of it, anyway.”

“I don't want to know,” Lock said.

“Still?” Ezra asked.

“Still. I want you to take that story to your grave.” Ezra went back to washing and let the subject drop.

After a long and tearful good-bye for the boys and Olive—Ikka and I were still largely ignored by the dryads—we were finally ready to go. Most of the dryads dissolved back into the forest, but Lock's mother, Angela, stayed. She reached out, her strong hands holding the jacket the dryads had found for him to wear. We really were going through a lot of clothing lately.

“I wish you'd stay,” she said, not looking him in the eyes.

“I know.”

She let go of the jacket. “And while we're at it, I wish you'd stop wearing dead animals, putting chemicals in your hair, and not fathering any babies.”

“Yes, Mom, I know.”

“I'll let the rest of it go if you make some babies.” He didn't roll his eyes, even though I would have. “I'm serious, Lock. We could use some fresh blood out there. We can hardly keep up with these humans destroying the trees as quickly as they do.” She gave me the stink eye like I was to answer for all the humans everywhere.

“So get on it—meet a nice girl and knock her up. In fact, I'd like you to meet several.”

Lock put his hands on her shoulders and looked down—he was more than a few inches taller than his mother. “Mom, I'm too young. I'm not ready to become the oak version of Johnny Appleseed.”

“Too young,” she muttered. “Your cousin started having children at thirteen. You've been ready for years. Years! You must be lazy. That's the only thing I can think of. You're handsome enough.” She stared me down. “You. Girl. Isn't my son handsome?”

“Yes?” I said, looking at Lock helplessly. From his expression I could guess that this was not a new conversation. Well, it was new to me. Some help would be welcome.

“Then why aren't you pregnant yet?”

“Don't answer that, Ava,” Lock said.

Like I was going to jump to and answer
that
loaded question.

He squeezed his mother's shoulders. “Mom, my cousins are all dryads—of course they're having babies at thirteen. But I'm half-human. And partly raised by a human. And I can tell you quite honestly that teen pregnancy is generally frowned upon in this country. I'm not capable of handling rug rats right now. You'll just have to accept that.”

She pouted. “It's not like you'd have to raise them. Just bring the baby here. The mother could come too, I guess.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “No.”

She sighed, and the trees sighed with her. “Fine. For now. I'm not giving up.”

“Oh, how I know,” he said. Then he let her go and we made our way toward the van.

We managed to get back onto the main access road before Sid opened his mouth to make a crack. Lock, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed, growled at him. “Not a word. Not a damn word.”

Sid closed his mouth, but I could tell it was an effort for him to do so.

Olive, however, completely ignored Lock's demands. “You should knock up a nice drove girl. We put out babies like nobody's business.” She gave an exaggerated wink, even though it pulled the shiny scar tissue taut and probably hurt. “We're hares, remember? They have sayings about us and babies.”

Lock glowered at her, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh.