Wildcat Fireflies

by Amber Kizer

  “We should hurry,” I said, tying my shoelaces and grabbing a spring jacket. The temperatures had stayed unseasonably warm since we’d last seen the fireflies. On March 1, the temps were in the sixties and holding, but no amount of warm weather would bring the fireflies out early. I could hardly wait to have them twinkle every evening.

  “Everyone going to be there?” Tens asked, grabbing the car keys.

  The aftermath of the tornado and the confrontation had solidified our friendships. I’d told Joi the truth, the whole story, over tea and cake. She took to the truth like a compulsive shopper to a sale. She never batted an eyelash in disbelief and she was relieved that Tens and I weren’t a couple of rebellious teens running from caring parents. When Enid was released from the hospital there was no question where she’d land—Joi didn’t give her a choice but to come live with her family. And Joi’s empty nest was once again full with Bodie and Sema in residence as well. They often came over to the cottage to hang out and play video games with Tens or I’d babysit them after school.

  It turned out that Sema didn’t speak much, but she read like a maniac and loved books. They were what kept her from hiding in the curtains.

  Tens worked regularly for Joi in the yard and fixing the aging faucets and furniture around Helios. I cleaned and stocked in the off-hours—when it was less likely for me to stumble across a soul who was ready to transition. As Joi put it, “People will get the wrong idea.”

  Tony moved into a town house in Carmel large enough for him and Juliet. It was close enough for her to walk over to the cottage whenever she wanted to. He’d already begun the adoption proceedings, but he gave her space and the freedom she needed to ease into a more normal life. According to him, she didn’t get out of bed until six in the morning and that was huge progress. I think he’d be thrilled if she slept till noon, blasted rap music, pierced her body, and was moody—all what he considered normal behavior for a sixteen-year-old girl.

  Instead, she and I spent a lot of time together working on her practice. March 21 would be here in only three weeks and she needed to be ready. She was putting the pieces of her memories together. Tony knew how to help her deal with and process what he called the posttraumatic stress of the past decade.

  Minerva came and went between all of us, but spent the most time with Juliet. I didn’t feel slighted since I still wasn’t sure Mini liked me. Custos was Tens’s companion through and through, though she tolerated Bodie and Sema dressing her up in the doggie fashions Joi stocked in the shop.

  Rumi’s was our Sunday together place. He’d restocked and sold more of his Spirit Stones as word spread that they brought good luck to those who hung them. We planned to meet every Sunday to check in and move forward together. We were loud and boisterous and everything I imagined a family could be.

  We’d voted to wait to enlighten Gus, Faye, and Sidika, but told Nelli almost immediately after rescuing Bodie and Sema. She took the news with a quiet determination and began unraveling a lot of the Nocti’s illegal child-smuggling operation. Lots of kids over the last thirty years disappeared out of the system in the Midwest. She was trying to compile a list of the missing. It gave us a place to start looking for both Fenestra and Nocti.

  The cellar at DG had been stuffed with files and papers documenting the four decades of procedures they’d used. Mistress was only the latest in a long list of greedy, malleable humans who ran the home for Nocti. Turned out Ms. Asura was years and years older than she appeared; in fact, she was the woman who’d hunted down Roshana and taken her away.

  The creepiest information we’d found was Roshana’s file. She’d been a kid who grew up at DG. When she vanished, so did a boy named Argi. We thought maybe he was Juliet’s father, but we were still hunting.

  We’d also found an explanation for the numbers of children’s ghosts I’d helped cross over. The Nocti could use a Fenestra child’s death to force the transition to Nocti. It made me wonder if we could do the reverse.

  No one saw or heard of Ms. Asura again, but I knew we hadn’t killed her. We assumed she’d gone into hiding to heal, but that she’d return. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would take defeat lightly. We had no idea how many Nocti were still out there.

  Before Juliet’s sixteenth birthday I knew we had work to do. Hard work.

  “Ready?” Tens asked.

  “Ready. Remind me to talk to Rumi about getting grave markers for Auntie and Roshana.” I wanted a place I could go to sit and visit with Auntie that wasn’t while a person died. I wanted to try to see her at will, and with Juliet’s help we were going to practice opening the window together. But first Juliet had to survive her transition.

  “Sure.” Tens held the door for me.

  We were better than ever. The sum of us seemed infinite. “One-four-three.” I kissed him. I’d been able to release some of my fear that he’d leave. I no longer waited for him to decide this was too hard. He’d also begun sharing more of his history with me and the journal he’d kept while traveling to Auntie’s. I was beginning to understand why he’d been so guarded when I’d arrived at Auntie’s. He’d survived a hundred lifetimes of adventure on his way to Revelation. I wished I’d met Tyee. I knew he’d be proud of Tens and the man he’d become.

  “One-four-three-two.” Tens smiled down at me, tucking my hair behind my ears.

  The empty journal on the kitchen table called to me as I walked past it. Auntie’s quilts. Juliet’s food. Maybe words were my way of dealing with soul dust. It was something to think about; there was plenty of time.

  Author’s Note

  I love Indiana. My roots there go back several generations. It’s where I’ve spent some of my most glorious and also my most heartbreaking days. Summers in Indy included firefly hunting, catfish dinners, frozen custard, and Wildcat Creek.

  I was thrilled to write about a setting so dear to my heart, but because it’s fiction, I made a few tweaks for story flow and continuity. I’ve also played with the geography to make it work for me. I beg the forgiveness of Hoosiers who notice the changes. Landmarks like the Wabash River, Wildcat Creek, Fort Ouiatenon, Eiteljorg Museum, and Prophetstown really do exist and can be visited, though they’re not quite as close together as I’ve made them.

  My grandmother, Connie Wick, was instrumental in stopping the creation of a dam in Wildcat Creek that would have flooded farmland and been an environmental disaster for the state. So the Creek has been part of my family’s history for many years, and it felt right to have Juliet find solace along its banks.

  Carmel is a real town, and was home to an actual Helios Tea Room. I changed the store’s layout, its merchandise, its design and decorations, and how it’s operated. While Joi is its fictional owner, Kathy Kraft was Helios’s actual proprietor. Unfortunately, between the writing of this story and its publication, Kathy lost her battle with cancer and Helios was closed.

  Feast of the Fireflies is not real, but Feast of the Hunters’ Moon happens each year in October, near West Lafayette, at the real Fort Ouiatenon. It is a full reenactment and does have food, merchandise and crafts demonstrations. As the song says, I do so love to be “Back Home Again in Indiana” when I visit.

  Acknowledgments

  Every book has a team of people who work extremely hard to bring it to readers. I’d like to thank Stephanie Elliott for helping me shine the light of this Fenestra world so brightly, and my agent, Rosemary Stimola, who keeps track of numerous threads. Thanks to Krista Vitola for her work, Emily Pourciau for spearheading the fantastic PR, Angela Carlino for such a wonderful vision, and Chad Michael Ward for the beautiful cover art. I am grateful to Richelle Mead and Gena Showalter, who were willing to give my work a chance and then lend their words to it. I know how busy you are and it means so much to me! To Mark, Kate, Tim, Sarah and Kris LaMar, who wandered the Feast to get the flavor for me—thank you! Sarah Diers for being the best Sherpa and chauffeur these bad legs could imagine. You made many things possible.

  Every au
thor needs cheerleaders, and I have some of the best: Barney and Beth Wick, Tara Kelly, Katie Ott, Jennifer Rasmussen, Trudi and Bill Trueit, Erika and Scott Jones, Becky Breeze, Carolyn McClamroch, Bob and Amy Kraft, the Veatches, Misty and Donnie Bittinger, Greg Edson, Diana McFadden, Mark Wick, Keith Wick, Sue Wiant, Pete Kizer. To Kari Yadro, who makes Barnes & Noble look good every day with her awesome dedication and professionalism: you are the best! To those who made the publication of Meridian so memorable: Lisa Bjork and the SWSF board, Linda Racicot, Mary McCleod, the Georges, the Kistlers, Lynn James, Robin Roberts, Pete O’Dell, Vanessa Link, the LMS Corduroy Bear Kids, the Reeds, LMS musicians with Jess Foley, Lynne Malecki, Molly and David Waterman, Susan Shira. The Lundgrens for the H1N1 rescue dinner, thank you. To GZL for every bit of inspiration I poured into Mistress. To my fantastic fans, who share their delight, their stories, and their connections with me, thank you—especially Aurora Momcilovich, Lindsay Sergi, Louisse Ang, and Maria Cabal. To the international agents, publishers, and translators who’ve helped bring my stories to readers around the globe: I am indebted to you for your enthusiasm. Thanks to the men and women of our military who served and protected while I wrote, especially Carl Herring, Jeff Morris, Amy Smith, Jane Miller, Demetrius Bussey, Linda Davis, Evan Davies, Naomi Lewis, Stephen Drake, Emanul Carter, Dennis Caliyo. Thanks to Brent and Joan Zefkeles, who supported the Puget Sound Area USO and shared their beloved Nicole Rachel Lehtinen with me. Eugene Ehrlich’s The Highly Selective Thesaurus for the Extraordinarily Literate and Simon Hertnon’s Endangered Words were both instrumental and pivotal for Rumi’s vocabulary. Thanks to the B-52s and the True Colors Tour, whose “Juliet of the Spirits” seeded my Juliet. Mom, thank you for all the candle sniffing, newspaper clipping, driving, listening, and loving. I am blessed.

  Amber Kizer has always found fireflies an enchanting part of the Midwestern summer. She was thrilled to write about a place and people who are so dear to her heart. For Wildcat Fireflies, Amber drew on years of family stories and favorite places to introduce Meridian and Tens to the bright soul-lights she’s known in Indiana. She wrote this story while burning an Early Sunrise–scented candle and listening to a sound track that included the B-52s, Owl City, Within Temptation, Ophelia of the Spirits, Enya, Angels & Airwaves, and Áine Minogue.

  The first book in the Meridian saga, Meridian, is available in several languages and an audio version. Wildcat Fireflies is the second Meridian book; two more are forthcoming. Amber’s series Gert Garibaldi’s Rants and Raves follows an American teen’s frank and funny adventures while growing up. One Butt Cheek at a Time, the first book in that series, was named a New York Public Library Best Book for the Teen Age; the second Gert Garibaldi book is 7 Kinds of Ordinary Catastrophes.

  Often reading from a towering stack of books that could bury her alive if it tipped the wrong way, Amber knows that life will never be long enough to read all the amazing stories in this world. Hard at work on her next novel, she lives with her family near Seattle. She takes breaks to watch reality TV; bake tasty, bad-for-you desserts; and herd chickens. Find her on Facebook, Goodreads, and her own sites, amberkizer.com, meridian sozu.com, and onebuttcheek.com. She loves to hear from readers; email her at Amber@amberkizer.com.