Wildcat Fireflies

by Amber Kizer

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You’re having an allergic reaction. I’m serious. Undergarments, cream, pill, and mittens. And here are new sheets. Wrap yourselves in them, drape the furniture—that way it won’t matter what the greasy lotion touches. Here are ice packs. Put them on the worst places—it’ll cool the itch a little.”

  “Is this a common thing?” I asked.

  “Among children, yes.” Joi smiled at me. “And travelers who don’t know much about the woods. I would have thought you’d recognize it. These are the worst blister cases I’ve seen, though. Like you rolled around in the stuff.” She raised her eyebrows and glanced at Tens. “You didn’t roll about in the ivy, did you?”

  He cracked a smile, but shook his head. “No, ma’am. We were a little too busy to, um …” He trailed off in embarrassment.

  “Just checking.” She went back to her bags and pulled out containers for the fridge. “I’ll leave you food so you can eat if you get hungry. One of you must go shower now. Tens, go.” She barked like a mom.

  He raced toward the bathroom.

  “Put your clothes in a trash bag,” she yelled at his back. “And you, how are you doing?”

  I dropped my eyes. I felt like she could see too much. “I’m okay.”

  “Do we need to get you to a hospital? Is this going to make things worse? I really don’t like the looks of your rash. Promise me you’ll see a doctor if it gets worse? Even a little bit?”

  For a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about, then I remembered our cover story: I was recovering from an illness. “No, this won’t make me worse. But, yes, I’ll see a doctor if I don’t start getting better quickly.”

  “Promise you’ll tell me?”

  “I promise.”

  “Is your family somewhere I should call?”

  “No. We’re on our own.”

  She grew more concerned. “You’re young to be so alone.”

  “We’ve got each other.”

  “I see that. You love each other. You look out for each other. And there’s no criminal activity. Any dolt can see that. But will you tell me if you need help? Or decide to go home?”

  “Joi, please. Leave us be. We’re not hurting anyone,” I pleaded. “But, yes, we’ll come to you if we need something. My home is with Tens, though; there’s no place to go back to.”

  She frowned. “Things can change. I just want you to have support.”

  I thought fast. “Rumi is helping us.”

  “The glass artist?”

  “Yeah, he knows what’s going on. He’s helping us with the search.”

  “For your biological parents?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, then. You need anything else from me, you tell me. Anything. I’m handy on a computer too.”

  “I will. We will.”

  With that she air-kissed me, careful not to touch me. She winked as she walked toward the door. “Remember, cold shower, undies, cream, pill—”

  “And mittens,” I finished with a smile.

  After Joi left, Tens finished in the bathroom, walking out in boxer briefs that rode low. If I weren’t so itchy, well, the blisters weren’t my idea of sexy, but he managed to stay delicious even with them. “Shower, then if you can, help me?” He pointed at his back. “I can’t reach.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t realize how bad the rash was until I pulled off all my clothes and turned every which way in the mirror. It looked like the vines had made stick-figure handprints all over my skin. It creeped me out. I could visualize the ivy vines trailing along my skin, leaving the poison behind. The itch made me want to rub against the walls like Tens had. I turned the water to icy and got in. My teeth chattered and my fingertips started to turn blue, but my skin felt relieved—the chill cut the burn.

  “Merry? You okay?” Tens knocked on the door. “You’ve been in there a while.”

  I loathed the idea of getting out. “Yeah. Fine.” I turned off the spray and patted dry with a towel, resisting the urge to scrape the terry cloth against my skin.

  “This sucks!” I yelled through the bathroom door.

  “Yep.” Tens sounded defeated in his agreement.

  I tugged on boy shorts and a bra that was more like a bikini top, with ties around the back and neck. I hated the confines of bras, since for most of my life I’d had no breasts to cover up. Now that my cleavage was growing, I still wasn’t sure what to do with it. I opted for camisole sport bras or things like this that weren’t restricting. I wasn’t a lingerie angel.

  I wrapped the sheet around myself. With all we’d been through, I still wanted to look my best when Tens was around. Stupid, but true. And oozing blisters didn’t peg anyone’s sexy meter. He managed to look wounded and uncomfortable, yet stay sexy as hell.

  I spread the cream on his rash, which spread like tree branches along his back. He too had a few oddly recognizable handprints. When I was finished I handed him the tube and pulled on my mittens, feeling like a fool.

  “Thanks. But—wait—can you—right there—scratch it—please?” He broke almost every word.

  I shook my head. “We’re not supposed to scratch them.”

  “Do it!” He bit the words at me over his shoulder.

  I used the back of my mitten to scratch at a red patch that wasn’t blistered up yet. “There?”

  “Hmm …”

  “More?”

  “Hmm … don’t stop.”

  I gave up when my arm wore out.

  “Don’t stop.”

  “I have to.” My own rash was begging for attention. “My turn. Goop me up?” I turned my back and listened to him sigh and rearrange himself.

  The heat of his hands against my bare skin could have been the start of something more. But there wasn’t more than a tug of regret with both of us sitting here half naked. I was too uncomfortable to consider seduction of any kind. Participating or initiating.

  An hour later, the ointment had dried and cracked, new rash had spread, and the ice packs were room temp. I thought about taking another cold shower, but I’d have to start over on the cream application. The damn mittens kept getting in the way of me getting a good scratch and I wasn’t the least bit drowsy. I wiggled on the sheets and huffed. I stared up at the ceiling, filled with frustration.

  “Why didn’t you know about this, Mr. Protector?” I was snippy and I didn’t care. My neck, back, hands, and arms were on fire.

  “Damn.” Tens didn’t move from his position on the couch.

  “Shouldn’t you have knowledge about this kind of thing since you trekked across country from Seattle to Colorado? By yourself? Camping?” I couldn’t let it go.

  “I know poison ivy, but it was dark. I’m sorry.”

  “Can you sense what I’m feeling right now? The inside of my left ear is itchy and I can’t get to the damn thing with this freakin’ mitten on. Can you feel that? Are you in twice the agony?”

  “Meridian, stop. I wouldn’t have let you go into it, you know that—”

  “Do I? You let me go first—”

  “Please just shut up. Let me die in silence.”

  That ivy warning Bodie gave us? We should have paid attention.

  The knock at the door had Custos wagging her tail and standing up to look out the little window with joy.

  “I don’t care who’s there.” I had a sheet lightly covering my bra and panties. The less to stick to, the better.

  “I’ll try to get it.” Tens stood up and weaved his way over to the door in his boxer briefs.

  “Oh, hex my hiney! You’re flagellated!” Rumi’s booming voice relaxed me. He was like a grandpa, and even though we’d known him for so short time I felt completely safe in his presence. Tens must have felt similarly because he made his way back to the sheet-covered couch and reclined.

  “Look at the two of you.” Rumi whistled disbelief as he bent over me to air-kiss my forehead. “When Joi called and said you had a case of the ivy I thought you’d be a little rashy, but this is
brutal. You be sure it’s poison ivy?”

  I grunted.

  Tens answered, “We think.”

  “Ah, you never heard ‘leaves of three, let ’em be’?”

  “Rumi?” I asked in a tone that warned him to step back. “If we’d known that little ditty don’t you think we’d have avoided it?”

  “True, true.” He sighed, his expression forlorn. “So, you won’t be coming tonight.”

  I sat up too quickly. “No, we want to come.” In reality, I’d forgotten the open house in my wallowing. I rubbed my mittened hands against the comforter.

  “You’ll scare off the guests looking like that.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Yes’m.”

  I lay back with a sigh, relieved he’d made the decision for me. I didn’t want to be gutless, but at the moment I might even walk up to the Nocti and ask them to make it stop.

  “I’ll report back to you when all is said and done. I brought roast chicken and potatoes from the pub down the block for your lunch. Robust food for hearty healing. Joi will float you away with all the soup.”

  I smiled, even though it made the sores on my cheeks crack under the calamine. “Thanks.”

  Rumi left amid our promises to take it easy and rest.

  * * *

  After applying layers of lotion and taking several Benadryl, I lay staring up at the ceiling feeling miserable and aching for a distraction. I read more pages in Auntie’s journal, searching for the entry about Prunella that Auntie had instructed me to find. I found a Prudence, but no Prunella. Tens was surfing on the laptop watching goofy videos and shopping for new boots.

  The knock on the door was polite and too tentative to be either Joi’s or Rumi’s.

  Tens waited to open the door until I’d thrown a nightshirt over myself. “Father Anthony?”

  Father Anthony appeared sheepish, then shocked. “Tens. What happened to you?”

  “Poison ivy. Come on in.”

  “Ah, then this makes more sense.” He held a rolled-up piece of construction paper and a jar that seemed to glow. “Are you sure it’s poison ivy? Terrible case. Oh, Meridian, you too?” He walked over to me, clearly upset. “What can I do for you two?”

  I went to the fridge and got out drinks. “We’re not contagious, right?”

  “No, poison ivy isn’t like a cold.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’d like to talk to you. If that’s okay.”

  Tens gestured to the couch and chairs. “Sure, Father Anthony. What’s up?”

  We sat on the couch across from him as he shook his head and said, “I joined the priesthood because my faith is what saved me. I don’t want the title of Father, because that was bestowed on me by man, not God, not Christ. I work for God, not the church, so please just call me Tony.”

  “Okay.” Tens nodded.

  I added, “Got it.”

  Tony paused. “I don’t know where to start. I’m so used to being on the listening end of things. I need to tell you something that I’ve never told another person. Tyee and I never spoke of it. Never said the words aloud. Even now I’m not sure of myself.”

  I threw him an opening. “Sometimes we can’t second-guess everything. Some things defy our puny human logic.”

  Tony smiled. “Good point. Tyee felt things: he’d know when particular soldiers or marines were at their breaking point. He’d know where an enemy was. Men wanted to go into battle with him because he had a sixth sense. But it was more than instincts. It went beyond that.”

  “That makes perfect sense to me,” Tens said.

  I nodded. At Auntie’s house, I’d snooped and found letters from Tyee to Auntie about Tens. Tyee talked about how his visions were fading and clouding. Maybe it ran in the family. Maybe Tyee’s visions were a different kind than Tens’s. Or maybe Tens would grow into his own.

  “I need you to know that I owe your grandfather my life.”

  I sat straighter, not expecting to hear that.

  Tens asked, “What?”

  “Vietnam. I volunteered to go to the front, where we were taking heavy hits—I thought I’d best serve God and man among the dying and wounded. Tyee asked me to get a drink with him the night before. He started talking to me about faith and God. It was the most in-depth conversation I’d had about religion and the afterlife. Death. Most of my time was spent in prayer or listening to confession, unpacking the contents of the burdens each man carried with him to lighten his load. Tyee probed with his questions and pushed me.” He shook his head with a frown. “He asked if I was ready to die. He said it with such a serious face I knew this wasn’t an idle question.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I thought about my answer carefully and said that I was always prepared for death, but that I hoped I had more days on this earth to do the Lord’s work. He asked me to check on the wounded in the hospital on our way back. There was a horribly burned soldier, in incredible pain, who grabbed my hand and made me promise not to leave him. He died three hours after the group heading out left. None of the men returned. We never even found their bodies. I could have put it down to coincidence, I did for a while, but there were too many of those events. Tyee spoke and men paid attention.”

  “I thought so too.” Tens smiled. “He didn’t say a lot; it was as if every word carried the weight of twenty.”

  I felt left out. I wished I’d known Tyee if only because it seemed like Tens was similar to his grandfather in so many ways.

  “I tell you that story because I believe in things difficult to explain.”

  “Us too,” I said, while Tens nodded agreement.

  Tony lifted the paper and the glowing jar. “Your friend asked me to deliver this.”

  I froze in astonishment.

  “Okay. Which friend?” Carefully taking the paper and the jar, Tens raised his eyebrows at me.

  “You probably wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try us. Don’t leave anything out, even if it feels ridiculous.” Tens’s face darkened with attention.

  Tony fidgeted. “I was in Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral, downtown. It’s on Meridian Street.”

  “The same Meridian Street as up here?”

  He nodded. “Meridian continues downtown.”

  “Go on,” I prompted.

  “When I can, I pray in the chapel there. I knelt, prayed my usual, and when I glanced up a man walked out from the altar.”

  “From behind it?” I tried to clarify.

  “No, there’s nothing but a wall behind it.”

  “From the altar itself?” Tens asked.

  “In light. The brightest light.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Very tall. Broad. Skin the color of plums and crushed obsidian.”

  I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Trench coat? Sunglasses?”

  “That’s him.” Tony’s eyes widened with relief.

  “His name is Josiah. Did he speak to you?”

  “Yes, in a lovely accent. Masai maybe? He didn’t say enough for me to recognize his ancestry. Is he African?”

  “Well …,” I hedged.

  “He’s an angel. A warrior angel, a Sangre,” Tens said.

  “So I assumed.” Father Anthony nodded. “That explains the coming and going.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tony shrugged. “Churches, altars in particular, have long been thought to provide doorways, rips in the time continuum. It’s thought that it’s one of the ways God moves his earthly forms from place to place. Like an elevator to heaven. Of course, no one will corroborate this information. It’s strictly off-limits to even whisper about it. But many church writings talk about the messengers from God arriving and leaving from the altars themselves. It used to be taught that priests weren’t to approach the altar without a witness.”

  “A safety buddy?” I snorted.

  “Yes, someone to report that a disappearance of a priest was God’s work. It’s thought
that John Paul II—”

  “The pope?”

  He nodded. “Deceased now. One of his miracles was walking between the Vatican and a parish in Brazil that desperately needed him after mud slides.”

  “Wow.” Learn something new every day.

  “So this Josiah wanted you to have these.”

  The jar glowed, and as I took it from Tens I could feel the warmth through the glass. It looked like someone had poured a light stick inside.

  Tony smiled as I turned it around in my hands. “I thought it was a jar of fireflies when he first handed it to me.”

  “Do you know what it is?” I asked.

  “Josiah said to use it to combat the poison in your skin,” Tony answered.

  Tens nodded. “So it’s for the ivy rash?”

  “That would be my guess. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I glanced at Tens. What if we weren’t dealing with just any plant? What if this was associated with the Nocti? Josiah wouldn’t make an appearance and bring medicine because of a rash. Would he? “Why does everyone keep asking if we’re sure it’s poison ivy?”

  Tens shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  Tony glanced between Tens and me. “Do you trust Josiah?”

  “Absolutely,” we said in unison.

  “Then have faith that whatever you’re dealing with, he thinks you need this lotion.”

  “I guess we spread it over the sores?” I twisted off the lid and sniffed. It smelled like baking cake, spring earth in warm sun, clean sheets. I held the jar out to Tens. “What’s it smell like to you?”

  He sniffed, “Jasmine, roast chicken on the grill, fir forests of the Cascade mountains.”

  I smelled none of those. Curious, I held it out to Tony. “And you?”

  He sniffed, then inhaled deeper with a smile. “The ocean, strawberries in the sun, and pumpkin pie.”

  “All good things?” I asked.

  We nodded at each other and I poked a finger into the jar. The ointment resisted, the way marshmallow cream stuck and oozed. There was a heat, a soothing aspect to it that made me want to pour it all over my body, to bathe and dance in it. I put a little on my finger and leaned toward Tens. I smeared it on his cheek and his eyes widened.