by Forthright
“Seems so.”
How could he be so blasé about something that looked like honest-to-goodness magic? And then there were the greetings still being exchanged by the Amaranthine. It was like a meeting of dignitaries—local and foreign. But Joe seemed more interested in the selection of pizzas.
Kip caught her attention then, not on purpose, but simply because she’d been watching Ismal so closely. So when Kip strolled over, spoke a few words, and began helping the man, there was no discounting the obvious. His sigils were brighter, more intricate, and often spun off into space rather than affixing themselves to the walls. Kip wasn’t human. He never had been.
Joe slid pizza onto her plate. “Grandad’s pretty excited. That’s Argent Mettlebright’s mom.”
She’d recognized Lady Estrella’s clan name, of course, and assumed she was related to the Spokesperson for the fox clans. Estrella chatted easily with Cyril, who looked out of place, yet right at home in their small-town pizzeria.
“Worlds collide,” she murmured.
“They connect,” countered Joe.
“In surprising ways.” Tami turned her attention back to Kip only to catch his wistful glance.
She thought she understood. They’d missed their chance to talk. She’d guessed he was Amaranthine by association. Kip probably would have liked to tell her his secret personally instead of having the truth made plain by circumstances out of his control.
Remembering the gestures he’d coached her through back when they first met, Tami carefully worked through her repertoire. We’re good, right? No worries, friend. Take it easy. Everything’s fine.
Kip’s expression softened, and he offered a solemn wink.
Everything was fine.
Doon-wen and Kip rearranged tables so they formed a square in the center of the room. When Tami tried to sit with Joe, Melissa stopped her, explaining, “This is a formal meeting, so you need to remain with your escorts. Although, technically, you’re theirs.”
“I don’t know what to do. Are there protocols to follow? Rules or etiquette?”
Her cousin smiled. “Doon-wen and Cyril have the authority here and will act as hosts. All you really have to do is eat pizza and answer any questions directed specifically to you.”
Ash already sat at the table, and when she came around, he gave the chair next to his a little push and pat. “Saved you a spot.”
“Apparently, I’m your escort for the evening.”
He turned his wrist and placed an upturned hand under his heart. “It is an honor.”
“Very authentic.”
Ash rolled his eyes toward Cyril. “My manners are excellent, if a bit rusty. I don’t need them to unstop toilets.”
She was a little startled by his obvious calm. But maybe she shouldn’t have been. “You understand all this?”
He tugged her chair a little closer to his. Fishing in the pocket of his jeans, he came up with a slim rod of blue crystal, pale as ice and etched with symbols. “This was meant for later, but it’ll come in handy now.”
Placing the stone on her palm, he covered it with his own. Sandwiched between them, the crystal shivered with a faint note, almost too high to hear.
And then it stopped.
Something had happened, but nothing had changed. Tami whispered, “Well?”
“That’s done it,” said Ash at a more moderate level. “This stone can ward conversations, making them private. When we use it like this, we can talk without being overheard, even by the sharpest ears.”
His courting gift.
“It’s safe to talk?” she asked.
“Yep.” He tangled his fingers with hers. “You should eat, though.”
Eating piping hot pizza one-handed was a challenge she wasn’t ready to face. Reaching for the provided water glass, she pulled the torn paper cuff off her straw and took a sip. “Why the assigned seating?”
“This is a friendly council.” Ash pointed to each table in turn. “Doon-wen and Cyril represent Bellwether enclave, and you have three generations of Reaversons to represent Red Gate Farm. The professor and the lady emissary came at us sideways. Very bad manners, but how were they supposed to know about an alliance that’s barely a week old?”
“And we represent … Landmark Elementary?”
“We’re here for Biddie.” Ash gave their joined hands a small squeeze. “Tamiko, if you don’t eat something, I might embarrass us both by feeding you.”
She searched his face. He wasn’t kidding. “You want to feed me?”
“Really do, but also really don’t. At least, not in front of our fathers.”
Her attention jumped to the neighboring table. Kip had taken his place on her other side, and he was crowding the corner, talking animatedly with Joe. Or at least at Joe, who said little but smiled more than he usually did in public. Empty plates and even a couple of empty pizza pans stacked haphazardly in front of the redhead, forming a sort of barricade. Over which her father was watching closely.
Tami didn’t think he could tell they were holding hands, but she couldn’t have been sitting any closer to Ash. Dad might not see the wing curving possessively, but he couldn’t miss the arm resting along the back of her chair.
Dad leaned over to ask Joe something.
Both Joe and Kip turned to look at her.
Ash’s body tensed, but he didn’t retreat.
Joe said something to Dad, and his surprise took a few moments to decide where to go next. The glimmer of interest was promising, and Dad might have come right around the table to introduce himself to Ash, but Cyril interrupted all conversation by clinking a butter knife on the edge of his plate.
He stood and made the same gesture Ash had earlier, if with a bit more flourish. “Tonight’s honor may have been unexpected, but it is welcomed on all sides!”
As all attention swung to Cyril, Ash pressed a piece of chicken in alfredo sauce between her lips. “Tamiko, please just take a bite,” he begged.
She stifled a laugh, pocketed her gift, and applied herself to her pizza while Cyril rambled through some preliminaries. He introduced everyone at the tables except their esteemed guests, then urged them to take the floor.
“I am Lady Estrella Mettlebright of the winter fox clans, and I am here—in a general sense—at the behest of Spokesperson Twineshaft, who enlisted my aid in all matters pertaining to the old groves.”
Grandad asked, “Because of your close familial connection to the Five?”
“No, sir. It seems the old cat learned the secrets of my past.” With a nod to her companion, Estrella said, “There is a remote enclave where rare and unique varieties of Amaranthine trees have been gathered, nurtured, and propagated. I spent my childhood among the trees and their kin, alongside other Amaranthine protectors, including members of the Silverprong clan.”
Arno stood then, offering the barest of introductions. “I have often served as a university professor in order to stay current with research and rumors, experiments and exploration. Lone trees, such as your own, do crop up from time to time. Seeds do travel, as is their wont and—I daresay—their design. But such trees cannot be left to languish alone. Would you indulge me, good sir?”
He was talking to Grandad, who straightened in his chair. “Well?”
“How long has your family been orchardists?”
“We’ve been here four generations, beginning with my parents.”
“And before?” Arno leaned forward. “Were they always in the business of tending trees?”
Grandad pursed his lips. “Can’t say for sure. What does it matter?”
Tami’s heart began to beat faster. They’d grown up on stories about the founding of the farm, of its expansion and their innovations. All their family stories began and ended right here in Archer. Grandad had never—openly—talked about a before.
“You do remember where you came from …?” Arno prompted. “By your accounts, you were old enough.”
“Sure, I remember,” Grandad grumbled. “I’d n
ever forget.”
Tami could see how hard this was. Secrets kept this long weren’t easily spoken. She glanced Melissa’s way, and her cousin offered a small smile.
She knew.
Of course, she knew. She’d looked it all up when researching their family ties. But she’d never said anything.
Her father touched Grandad’s shoulder. “Where are we from, Dad? I’d like to know myself.”
“Wardenclave.” Pride tinged George Reaverson’s grudging admission. “We’re originally from Wardenclave.”
THIRTY-NINE
Full Display
After the wolf dismissed them in order to bring the visiting dignitaries back to his lair—or whatever they called it—Joe accidentally cornered Ash by the pinball machines. “Need a quarter?” Joe offered.
“Next time?” Ash asked, his gaze soft and serious. Like he was worried there wouldn’t be a next time, but he wouldn’t blame anyone for steering clear.
Joe didn’t want for things to be awkward, and that meant saying something. But historically, that was just another kind of awkward. Still, it helped that he wasn’t seven anymore. “We still come pretty often. Mostly on Mondays.”
Ash’s head tilted. “Is that an invitation?”
“Sure.” Joe hoped that was enough, because he couldn’t think of anything to add.
But it was the same with Ash as it had been with Mr. Black. He understood all the stuff that was hard to say, even if Joe never got around to saying it.
Ash reached out to touch his arm. “Eight o’clock. Tag along with your sister. Kip will be there, too.”
Joe nodded too many times, but he was excited to be asked. Even so, he couldn’t help mumbling, “Are you sure?”
“Of you? You bet. Of myself? Not so much.” He sucked in a breath and puffed out his cheeks, only to exhale on a weak chuckle. “One thing kind of cheers me up, though.”
“Yeah?”
“If she’ll have me, we’ll be brothers.”
They’d only been home five minutes when Dad announced, “Family meeting! We’re past due, and we’re all here. Let’s do this!”
Joe cringed. Reaverson family meetings were a round-robin affair, during which everyone took a turn revealing information. He’d always suspected that his parents cooked the whole thing up in order to figure out what was on his mind. Because everyone had to contribute something. Which meant Joe needed to figure out what to say.
“If it won’t take too long,” said Tami, her eyes on the clock.
She’d come home with them—making this the third time she’d abandoned her car in town—in order to get ready for whatever was meant to happen at eight. Since Kip was involved, Joe figured it had something to do with sigils.
It was hard not to wonder how much Ash’s happiness was hurting Kip. He’d been nothing but cheerful at the restaurant. Downed enough pizza to feed a family of four. Ran interference with Dad over Ash. Even challenged the fox lady to air hockey. She’d won.
Grandad, who’d grabbed up the television remote, pocketed it with a grumble. “Documentary at eight,” he said.
Tami immediately relaxed. “I’ll bring Biddie down.”
Mom did a doubletake. “How did you know she was upstairs?”
Probably the same way Joe had known. It was a little sad that so many of his ties to Tami weren’t really twin-sense. Then again, Melissa was a reaver, and he wasn’t nearly as sensitive to her. Grandad, either. And it was pretty obvious now that his grandfather had to be a reaver. He’d even been born in the most famous reaver village in the world, the birthplace of the In-between.
“Should I give you some space?” asked Melissa.
“Nonsense. You’re family,” Mom insisted, then launched into an explanation of how to participate.
Dad and Mom liked news, so everyone was supposed to share something that nobody else at the table could know. Plans, updates, events, and gossip. Joe usually stuck to farm-based news—harvest tallies, chick hatchings, tractor repairs, critter sightings. Ever since the Emergence, Grandad had seized these opportunities to regale them with random facts about the Rivven and reavers. They’d always assumed he was quoting some documentary or news report. In retrospect, Joe had to wonder if he’d been speaking from experience.
Joe slid into his usual seat next to Tami, who had Biddie on her lap.
Dad called the meeting to order and launched straight into gossip. “I suspect that our Tami is in love.”
Mom laughed and one-upped him. “I suspect that our Melissa is in love.”
Tami wrinkled her nose at Dad, but she was obviously happy to report, “He’s wonderful, and I can’t wait to introduce you properly.”
The session took a rabbit trail while Mom coaxed for more details. Tami stuck to basics. Met at work. Good with kids. Handsome and handy.
Melissa had to wait for her chance to refute Mom’s claim. “I just attended the birth of a litter of Kith wolf cubs.” With an uneasy smile, she said, “I guess that makes it puppy love.”
More asides, this time courtesy of Grandad, who wanted to know more about the litter. If this kept up, they might not even get around to Joe. Fine by him. No such luck.
What to tell?
Most of his news—the really interesting details—all pointed to the fact that he was a reaver, too. And he wasn’t ready to tell all of them. Only Tami. He’d never keep secrets from Tami. “Umm … I made a friend who’s always hungry. Any ideas on what to feed him?”
He submitted to Mom’s quizzing, since she loved that part. Yes, he meant Kip. Yes, they got along fine. Yes, he was to blame for the missing meatloaf a while back.
Biddie seemed to be enjoying their game. Slipping from Tami’s lap, she leaned into Joe’s side. “Is Joey-boy in love?”
“Not me, Chick-a-biddie. We’ll leave that to Tami.” He scooped her up and gravely announced, “I’m a late bloomer.”
The tree-girl cuddled right in and whispered in his ear. “Kip is here.”
His heart leapt, and her eyes laughed. He hushed her, saying, “It’s Grandad’s turn.”
Biddie turned toward him and crooned, “Georgie-boy.”
When the old man actually blushed, Joe hid his smile behind her leaves. Grandad loved Biddie. She was all that remained of his boyhood. She was a lifelong hope, a dream come true. And she loved him right back.
Clearing his throat, Grandad said, “That meeting tonight. They were feeling things out, but both sides looked plenty pleased. And that means Red Gate Farm will be more than an enclave.”
Tami frowned, “I must have missed something.”
“No,” said Melissa. “Nothing was discussed openly.”
“Lady Mettlebright told me herself. They’re going to arrange for a Scattering.”
Dad raised a hand. “I haven’t heard that one.”
“Anything to do with trees isn’t broadcast news.” Grandad tapped the table with a finger. “They’ll bring a group here. Think of them as colonists. All young—children or teens—and all looking for a good place to plant their golden seed.”
“Tree-kin?” asked Tami.
Grandad beamed. “Red Gate Farm is going to become an Amaranthine grove.”
Tami tried to slip outside unnoticed, but Joe waylaid her.
“Can I be there?” he asked.
She grabbed his hand, and they escaped the house together. They didn’t make it far, though. The door opened again, and small feet pattered along the sidewalk after them. Which was perfect, really. Ash needed to meet Biddie.
“All together,” Tami said with satisfaction. Joe swung the little girl onto his shoulders, and they hastened toward shelter. She asked, “Do you like Ash?”
“Not as much as you do.”
Hooking her arm through his, she hauled him to a standstill. “Still think he’s a keeper?”
Joe’s smile was shy. “I’m glad it’s him.”
As usual, Joe’s happiness had a way of doubling hers. Hand-in-hand, they rushed for the barn, all
but tumbling through the door in their haste. Only to stop in astonishment, for softly colored light was spilling from the haymow.
“Did you notice from outside?” Tami whispered.
Joe lifted Biddie down and murmured, “We wouldn’t have. It’s warded.”
“How do you know?”
Her brother shrugged. “It’s Kip. Did you know he helped Jiminy with the wards for the oak glen?”
She wheeled on him, but words failed.
Touching her arm, Joe revealed, “I could tell he wasn’t human, so he showed himself to me.”
Tami didn’t like that her twin had been keeping secrets from her. Then again, this hadn’t been Joe’s secret.
“Please, don’t tell on me. I don’t want anyone to find out I’m a reaver.” Joe bent close, his forehead touching hers. “I won’t risk them sending me away.”
The very idea unnerved Tami. In opening the way for the Amaranthine, had she endangered her brother’s happiness? Why had no one mentioned that Joe was a reaver? “Nobody knows?”
“Just us.” He glanced toward Biddie, who was halfway up the ladder to the haymow. “Three twins and two janitors.”
“Won’t the rest easily find out?” Tami’s mind raced through their day. Joe had been in the same room as a wolf, a fox … and Cyril, for that matter. “Why haven’t they found out?”
“Kip.”
“Kip,” she echoed faintly.
Joe stepped back and smiled. Tami marveled at the strength—and simplicity—of his conviction. Without another word, he preceded her up the ladder.
She emerged into a wonderland of fairy lights. Or so it seemed. Kip slouched among the bales of straw, booted feet crossed at the ankles. His hands were busy, effortlessly weaving another of the sigils she’d admired earlier, but these were different, decorative. As he finished the luminous form, he reached for something at his side.
On a square of cloth lay a handful of stones, no bigger than peas. Selecting one, Kip set it on one fingertip, held it in the center of his sigil, and murmured something, as if telling it a secret. The crystal lit from within, and with a flick of his claws, he sent the whole construction spinning toward all the other stones twirling amidst the rafters.
