When the Stars Threw Down Their Spears: The Goblin Wars, Book Three (13 page)

“You’ve got a
hickey!
”

“I already said it’s not a guy problem. Look closer.”

Teagan turned Abby so that the light fell on it. Tiny lines, capillary-thin and blood-red, made a road-map pattern inside the bruise.

“You need to go to the doctor.”

“I already went to the doctor,” Abby said. “Where do you think I’ve been all afternoon? He thought the same thing you did, at first—asked me if I’d ever had a hickey before. I told him something bit me, but it wasn’t a boy.”

“Something bit you?”

“One of your polterbeasts.” Abby let her hair down. “It has to have been the sprite, right? I think I sat on her.”

“You
think
you sat on her?”

“I just sat down, and
wham!
I swear, nothing ever hurt that bad. It itches like crazy now, and I’m seeing, like, spots and flashes.”

“What did you tell the doctor?”

“That an Irish spider bit my . . .
glute
.”

“An Irish spider? And he believed that?”

“He did after he examined the bite. Well, not the Irish part.” Abby shrugged. “He said it was a brown recluse, gave me some prescriptions. Antibioticals and itch creams. Said to call him if it got worse.”

“Has it gotten worse?”

Abby pulled up her shirt and Teagan saw two more blotches on her side.

“They started showing up closer to the bite. The one on my neck appeared a little while ago. But the ringing in my ears went away. That’s good, right?”

“We’re going back to talk to Thomas right now.” Teagan grabbed Abby’s arm and dragged her back up the steps. “He’s got to know something about sprite bites.”

“You think I’ve got one of those viruses like Kyle gave you, Tea? It could turn me into a bug or something?”

“You’re probably having an allergic reaction. Dad had a weird rash once when they’d given him fentanyl.”

“A rash like this one?”

“There were geometric lines, anyway,” Teagan said. “Though his were bigger.”

“Thank God,” Abby said. “Allergic reaction. That’s what the doctor said, too. But I just wanted to make sure. Because I was seeing these flashes, you know?”

“I thought you said spots.” Teagan pushed the door open. “Thomas?” She called. “Could we speak to you for a moment, please?”

“Don’t tell him where—”

Thomas stepped onto the porch.

“Are sprite bites dangerous?” Teagan asked.

“It depends on who is bitten,” Thomas said. “They can be deadly.”

“Abby.” Teagan pulled up Abby’s hair and pointed at the rash.

“When?” Thomas asked.

“Last night,” Abby said. “When I first saw the tree man, I sat down kind of fast.”

“And you waited all this time to tell anybody? You’re tough. I hear sprite bites hurt like the fires of Hades.”

“Teagan needed me,” Abby said. “And I wouldn’t know about Hades. I’m Catholic.”

“When you saw the tree man last night? So, that’s at least twelve hours ago. The good news is you would have died already if you were going to.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“Sprite bites take a long time to heal.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Thomas confirmed. “Where did it—”

“Thank you, Thomas,” Teagan said. “We’re going to go get Aiden now.”

“So I’m going to live,” Abby said as they crossed the street. “Until my mother gets a look at these. Everyone knows I’ve sworn off guys. She’s been telling people I’m going to be a nun. Zia!” Abby shouted as she opened the Santinis’ front door. “It’s me!”

Aiden was on the couch, clutching his light saber. His stocking feet were pulled up, and Lennie was sweeping dirt that had spilled from a fallen planter into a pile. Lucy was hiding in Aiden’s hair. Her eyes flashed lavender at Teagan.

The Santini house usually smelled of rosemary and thyme, and sounded like a Rossini opera. Today, there was a distinct bouquet of boy sneakers, and
Raiders of the Lost Ark
blared from the TV.

Teagan’s throat was suddenly tight. If Fear Doirich wanted to torture Aiden, all he had to do was hurt the Santinis. There was nowhere as wonderful to Aiden as the Santini house, no one outside his family he loved quite so much. And they would be completely helpless against the Sídhe. They couldn’t see the creatures any more than Abby could.

Mrs. Santini stood in the kitchen door with her fists on her wide hips. She blew a piece of hair out of her face.

“Hey, Ab-by,” Lennie said. “You’re in trouuuu-ble.”

“
I’m
in trouble? I didn’t knock over that plant.”

“It was Lennie,” Aiden said. “He whipped it. But we already got yelled at.”

“Your mother called me, Abigail.” Mrs. Santini shook her head.

“Yeah?” Abby said warily. “Why’d she do that?”

“Because Mrs. Nitti called her. She said you were seeing the doctor for a social disease.”

“Mrs. Nitti wasn’t there. I’d have seen her in the waiting room.”

“She was in the exam room next door. Those walls are like paper. You think she wouldn’t recognize your voice? She babysat you, Abigail. Your mother’s heart is broken.”

“I’m having an allergic reaction,” Abby said.

“To a boy?”

“Zia, I swear to you—” Abby began, but Mrs. Santini strode across the floor and grabbed her face—making her mouth pucker like a fish—and looked into her eyes.

“You don’t have to swear, Abigail. I know a liar when I see a liar, and”—she narrowed her eyes—“you’re not lying. Lola Nitti is a sow.”

“Thank you, Zia.” Abby scratched at her side.

“Let me see this reaction.”

Abby flipped up her hair.

“Your mother’s hysterical,” Mrs. Santini said, examining the mark. “One of your cousins said something about a boy at school. A soccer player.”

“The Turtles tattle,” Lennie said.

“If they’d had a sister, they’d have learned not to talk so much.” Mrs. Santini tsked. “That does look like a love bite.”

“What’s a love bite?” Aiden asked.

“Never you mind, Aiden. Finish up. Then you can watch your movie. We’re going to the kitchen to do girl stuff.”

Lennie made a gagging noise, but his mother ignored him.

“I’m making soup.” She waved at piles of chopped vegetables on the counter. “The Johnsons down the street are sick and they have those three kids. Who’s going to feed them?” She pulled open a drawer, took out two large spoons and put them in the freezer, then turned back to Abby.

“So, there’s no love bite. What about the boy at school?”

Abby flushed red.

“I want you to know something, Abby. Before I married Lennie’s father? There was a boy. I really loved him, but I let him go. Why? My mama didn’t approve.” She took a deep breath. “I know what it’s like, growing up with the family. If you have any problems, you come to me.” She paused and looked over at Tea.

“You can come too, Teagan. Your young man saved my Lennie, and I haven’t forgotten it. I never forget. Listen. I know something is going on at your house since your mother died.”

Teagan opened her mouth, but Mrs. Santini raised her hand.

“You think I don’t see what’s happening in front of my nose? It’s a neighborhood. We notice people coming and going. Shut doors and closed blinds? Your dad comes running down the street in his slippers and robe, just after the park catches fire? The neighbors are talking, but I told them to shut their face. Then he meets me in the street. Why? Because he don’t want me coming over right now, that’s why. Whatever’s going on, you can count on us. We’ve been neighbors since before you were born.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Santini,” Teagan said.

“Especially if you need any cooking done. Or laundry.”

“Laundry?”

“You’re wearing your pajamas,” Mrs. Santini said. “What? You’re too busy to wash clothes over there? I saw you drive past in that lawyer’s van, then come walking down the street. You wore that to school.”

“I’ve been really, really . . .” What could she say? Busy? No one had done her laundry for her since her mother had died. She felt the tears start, but swallowed them down.

“So that’s how it is.” Mrs. Santini nodded wisely. “Sit, Abigail. Sit.”

Abby perched halfway on a kitchen stool and Teagan settled on another. Mrs. Santini took one of the spoons out of the freezer and pressed the back of it to the mark on Abby’s neck. “You hold it there. We’ll change spoons when it gets warm.”

“This will make it go away?”

“It works with hickeys,” Mrs. Santini said. “It’s best if they’re really fresh. Rashes, I don’t know about. We’ll see. What’s the problem with your young man, Abigail? Why can’t you take him home?”

“He’s not Italian,” Abby said.

“So, he’s what? Greek? Irish?”

“No, Zia. I mean
really
not Italian. His name is Jinghez Khan. His mom’s black and his dad’s Chinese.” Abby’s chin went up. “He’s gorgeous. And smart, Zia. He’s really smart.”

Mrs. Santini went back to her soup. “Does this gorgeous non-Italian have a job?”

“He started a consulting company last year when he was a junior,” Abby said. “Computers.”

“That’s good.” Mrs. Santini nodded. “Like Bill Gates. Does he have a car?”

“A Boss 302 Laguna Seca.”

“That new Mustang?”

“Red on black. He bought it two months ago.”

“So, he has a lot of girls?”

Abby looked at Teagan for help, but she could only shrug. Jing was dating the cheerleaders. Serially, not simultaneously. But still.

Mrs. Santini stopped chopping. “This guy’s some kind of Casanova? Tell me the truth, Tea.”

“He says he’s biding time with other girls because Abby won’t date him,” Teagan said. It hadn’t sounded quite so ridiculous when Jing said it.
Biding time until she’s mine
.

Mrs. Santini checked the spoon on Abby’s neck. “See, that’s too warm now. You have to keep it cold.” She traded it for the other one from the freezer. “You bring him around here. I’ll let you know what I think. Now, Teagan, you got yourself under control?”

Teagan nodded.

“You’re having problems with Finn?”

“Not problems, exactly,” Teagan said. “I love him. I just don’t know if we want the same things.”

“What does he want?”

“Me.” Teagan sighed. “A peaceful life. Maybe to beat someone up once in a while. I think that’s just a habit.”

Mrs. Santini nodded. “He’s a good boy. And what do you want? Your education, right?”

“Right.” And to keep her brother alive, and her friends safe. To stop what was happening in Mag Mell.

“Wait a minute!” Abby said. “How come you’re all, ‘Does Jing have a job?’ What about Finn?”

“What are you going to do with your life, Abigail?”

“I’m going to be an artist.”

“So, you need someone with money.”

“A famous artist.”

“Yeah? So was van Gogh. He died poor. Teagan’s going to be a
scientist
. She can afford a harem if she wants one. Listen.” She pulled up another stool. “All this Hollywood stuff about love? They never show you what happens after people fall into bed. I’ll tell you what happens. They start thinking with their brains again, that’s what. About what they want in life, about their dreams. No matter how much you want that boy right now, you think about that before you do something that’s going to take away those dreams.

“You could be a poor, single artist. You could be a rich, married artist. But if you marry a boy who’s so full of himself that there’s no room for your dreams, you’re gonna wish you were dead.” She wiped her hands on her apron, then put the spoon away and examined Abby’s neck. “Lennie!” she bellowed. “Bring me my comb and hand mirror from the bathroom!”

Lennie appeared with the comb and mirror, and Aiden peeked around the door as Mrs. Santini took them.

“What are you doing?” Aiden asked.

Lennie shook his head. “Never ask girls that. Never, never, never.” They went back to the living room, and Teagan could hear them both making gagging noises. Mrs. Santini took the comb and brushed it gently over Abby’s neck.

“What are you doing now, Zia?”

“Spreading out the last of the blood. You know I’m not saying anything against this Jing. I’m just saying take your time, Abby.”

Teagan nodded.

“You find someone who believes in you as much as you believe in him—that’s the one you want. If I had a daughter, I’d tell her the same thing.” Mrs. Santini put the comb down, ran a clean dishcloth under warm water, wrung it out, then held it to Abby’s neck.

“Zia,” Abby said, “what was your dream?”

“I wanted to own a restaurant,” Mrs. Santini said. “I love feeding people. I got Lennie to think of now, though. I love him, but he’s not like other boys. I’m never going to be done raising him.” She tossed the rag in the sink. “Dreams are breakable. Sometimes you can’t help what happens. I had my Lennie; he needed someone to love him.” She looked up and caught Teagan studying her.

“So, I dreamed a new dream. Life does that to all of us. You think your father wanted to go on raising you without your mom? No. Stuff happens, and you gather up your love and dream a new dream.”

Abby reached for the hand mirror.

“What do you think?” Mrs. Santini asked.

Teagan walked over to look, too.

“That’s amazing,” Abby said. The bruised look was gone, leaving only the darker lines. It didn’t look anything like a hickey anymore.

“You put a little foundation on that,” Mrs. Santini said. “It’ll cover it right up.”

“Where did you learn to do that, Zia?”

“Your mama showed me.”

“My mother?” Abby said.

“We went to Catholic school, but that didn’t make us saints. We weren’t supposed to be dating, but . . .” She shrugged. “Sometimes we did. Your mother more than most of us. You know why she’s screaming at you, Abby? Because she loves you, that’s why. She knows what it’s like to wake up in a cage because she made stupid choices. Nobody likes a cage, even if they build it themselves. She don’t want that for you.”

“Thank you, Zia,” Abby said. “You know I love her too, right?”

Mrs. Santini patted her cheek. “I know it. Now get Aiden out of here before those boys break something else. And bring that young man over, Abby. If I like him, I’ll see what I can do. And Teagan”—she rounded on her—“I meant what I said. I know something’s going on.” She glared at Abby. “More than anybody’s telling me. We’re neighbors. We can help.”