Bramble Burn

by Autumn Dawn

  The streetlight shocked her with a bolt of lightning. She didn’t have time for surprise before she was sizzled, the energy passing through her and into the ground. Her hair stood on end and her insides felt fried. It was worse than the time she grabbed a live wire in an electrified fence as a kid; it felt like being zapped in a microwave oven.

  Later, she deduced her staff saved her, absorbed some of the energy. Well, that and Twix, who attacked the light like a rabid dog. His horns struck sparks off the lamp as he rammed it, denting the pole. The base of the black pole split, revealing a screaming, toothy mouth, and he hammered it with a kick that crushed the metal exoskeleton, shoving the lower jaw into the mouth.

  The little lights squealed and rushed her, mouths chomping in anticipation like baby birds. She stood there, paralyzed; her mind on holiday while Twix trampled them like beer cans, trumpeting his defiance.

  She was sketchy on how she got home, but it involved a zombie-like shuffle. By the time she saw the oak, the adrenaline had worn off and she felt sore, her organs baked like one of grandma’s meatloaves.

  She also had company.

  A tall blond elf, dressed in the elf version of an expensive charcoal business suit, appraised her as she approached her gate. His cool confidence announced he was no flunky, and the two elven body guards screamed he was an Important Person. A chauffeured black car waited on the street behind him.

  “Miss Baily,” he said as she limped into range. “Do you need assistance?”

  She paused and stared, aware that she probably looked as bad as she felt, but it had been ingrained in her not to owe favors to elves. Also, she couldn’t think what to say, probably due to the roasted mush that was her brain. She blinked at him instead, squinting against the light reflected from his wide golden necklace. Made of polished squares, it reminded her of something an ancient Egyptian would wear.

  “My name is Haythen Thornshadow, a representative of the city council. I came to discuss business, and I’m happy to offer my assistance.”

  Twix shook his horns at him.

  Juniper nodded blearily and trudged past him, allowing Twix to put himself between her and the elves. The elf said a few more things, but she tuned him out. It occurred to her if Kjetil were here, he’d simply scoop her up and take her to a doctor, Black Adder or not.

  The oak sensed her approach and seemed to understand her need. The door opened and a shallow, steaming pool of mud formed in the middle of the floor. She fumbled her clothes off, instinctively understanding the mud had healing properties. When she felt better, she might analyze the beneficial minerals, fungi and bacteria, but at the moment it was all she could do to lie in the submerged lounge seat. She shuddered at the welcome heat and closed her eyes, allowing her body to heal.

  “Your phone was off.” Grigori looked her over, noting her haggard appearance. A night in the mud helped, but she still felt sore.

  She grunted and sipped her coffee. “It got cooked.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you need a doctor?”

  She glanced at the place where the pool used to be. There was only bare floor now, but she’d spent most of the night in the rejuvenating slurry. “No, but now I need a phone and a solar charger. I might as well find the library, too.”

  “Okay, I can help with that. What happened to you? I saw you on the news last night. Did you run yourself down again?” He glanced at her bracelet, which had miraculously escaped unscathed.

  She sighed and explained the stupidity with the streetlights.

  He winced in sympathy. “You sure you want to ride today? Maybe you should take a bus. There’s a stop a few blocks from here.”

  She didn’t want to do anything, but she needed a phone.

  Grigori studied her. “You know what? Why don’t you take it easy, and I’ll go grab lunch. Mind if I get some saffron and herbs?”

  She could care less if he ransacked the greenhouse, which was a bad sign. Maybe she did need to rest. “Grab a bag from the kitchen. No curry.”

  She woke from a nap a little while later to the sound of a motorcycle. Curious, she got up to let Grigori in and blinked at the sight of the battered old bike. The chipped paint used to be white, the cracked seat was duct taped, and it had a wire basket on the front. He must have traded greenhouse goodies for its use today.

  He fetched a bag from the insulated food box on the back and grinned. “I brought food and transportation, boss. Do I get a raise?”

  “What, and actually make money?” She shook her head and let him in. “They don’t need to make deliveries today?”

  He shook his head. “They stopped after the last delivery boy got eaten by a monster. It was sitting in a shed.”

  The bike barely fit two, but she was grateful someone else was driving. It was several miles to the phone store, and she was wiped by the time she had signed up at the library and grabbed a couple of books.

  “I want to stop by the gun store,” Grigori said on the way home. “We have a couple at home, but they’re only for home defense. If I’m going to hang out with you, I need something better than a couple of machetes.”

  That didn’t sound too taxing, and she should probably take a look. Her rifle wasn’t as good as a handgun at short range, and while magic was a good defense, it was useless when she was tired.

  The proprietor was a grizzled vet whose sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. Balding, probably in his fifties, he was dressed in a short sleeved, button down navy shirt with his store logo on the pocket. “You looking for something special, kid?” He kept an eye on Grigori, but his attention was on her.

  She could tell he recognized her, probably from the news, so she acknowledged him with a nod and perused the gun case without interest. She was just looking today.

  “How about that one?” Grigori pointed to a gun.

  The owner, presumably the “Ed” of Ed’s Gun Shop, removed it from the case and set it on the glass. He looked at Juniper. “You’re that tree mage from Bramble Burn, aren’t you? I suppose you don’t need a gun.” His eyes were watchful as he took her measure.

  “Everybody needs a gun,” she said, smothering a yawn. It was all she could do to focus. “But I can’t afford one today.”

  His eyes narrowed in speculation. “That so? It happens I have two trees by my front porch. One’s dead and the other’s dying, and the wife’s afraid they’re going to come down on our roof. Called the tree removal service, but they charge an arm and a leg.”

  She nodded.

  “Anyway, I’m willing to trade some of my private gun collection if you’re interested.”

  Grigori perked up, but he let her do the talking.

  She thought about it. “What kind of guns?”

  “Pistols, rifles, semi-automatics. Good guns, not junk.”

  “When?”

  Early the next morning, she and Grigori stood on Ed’s suburban front lawn. She considered the old oaks, feeling where the roots burrowed deep under the house. “You’re right; these things are about to go.”

  Evelyn, Ed’s wife, sighed. A plump, gray haired lady with an apron over her jeans and t-shirt, she’d been cleaning the kitchen when they showed up and made sure they had coffee and biscuits. “I’d hoped we could save them. There are so many memories, and the kids always loved them.”

  “Hm. Planting a tree so close to the house isn’t a good idea, but I may be able to do something else. We can always mulch it if you don’t like it.”

  It took more energy than she’d planned (after all, this was not Bramble Burn with deep wells of magic) but she finished shaping the tree a half hour later. The unused wood lay in manageable logs on the lawn, awaiting the attention of a chainsaw, but it was the remodeled tree that Juniper called Evelyn out to see.

  Evelyn stepped onto the porch and gasped. “It’s…it’s a tree house!” A polished oak trunk sat where the old tree had been, a spiral staircase carved into the trunk providing access to the treehouse. There was a deck with a railing, and a swing hung from one
of the branches.

  “You like it?” Juniper asked, smiling.

  Evelyn took her husband’s hand, her eyes shining. “It’s beautiful. Thank you!”

  Ed grinned, clearly happy for the gift to his wife.

  Grigori all but rubbed his hands together. He’d been looking at Ed’s guns while Juniper worked, and he probably had a couple already picked out. Maybe they could get Ed to throw in some bullets.

  Juniper was putting on her new-to-her shoulder harness when Ed noticed the bandage on her arm. “Someone wing you?”

  She glanced at it. “Yeah. Local boys tried a shakedown. It went south on them.”

  He frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

  “That’s a good choice,” Evelyn said, bagging cookies she insisted they needed. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and brown sugar. “Not too heavy, but packs a wallop. Ed got me one for Christmas.” She looked up as Ed entered the room and smiled with approval. “Good thinking, dear! That’s just what she needs.”

  Ed handed Juniper a leather vest. It was black with black embroidery around the zipper and orange piping around the arm holes. It had a mandarin collar and was surprisingly heavy. “Is this motorcycle armor?” she asked, and then noticed the small patched bullet hole in the back, about where a kidney would be.

  Ed shook his head. “Body armor, bullet proof. I got it for the missus back when she was a bounty hunter. It’s good stuff, but it doesn’t look tactical, and most people mistake it for motorcycle gear. You wear that; it might save your life.”

  Juniper looked at Evelyn with wide eyes. Evelyn looked like she might work in a bakery, and it was impossible to imagine her in black leather. “Bounty hunter?”

  “A long time and thirty pounds ago,” Evelyn said with a grin. “You seem like a nice girl, and I’d feel better knowing you had some protection.”

  “Thank you,” Juniper said, pleased. She knew the vest was expensive, but she wasn’t going to turn down the gift.

  Evelyn handed her the bag of cookies. “You stop by and visit if you’re in the neighborhood, now. I always have a pot of coffee on.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Ed.”

  They’d barely cleared the driveway when Grigori crowed, “We made out like bandits! Do you know how much that vest is worth?” He had a new/used gun, too, and couldn’t wait to try it.

  “They were generous, but Ed’s no fool. It was a good deal for him, too.”

  “You’re too practical,” Grigori lamented, sounding like the teen he was for once.

  Twix had agreed, after much persuasion, to let him ride double, but he let them know his opinion of it with much sighing and snorting, and he refused to move faster than a walk. Grigori really needed his own ride. “Do you have a line on a used motorcycle? If you’re going to hang out with me, we have to get you at least a bicycle. I might have to move fast.”

  “I run fast,” he protested, but they both knew she was right. Even a half-elf had limits. “Most of the money goes to fixing mom’s car, but yeah, I’d like a motorcycle. It’s cheaper than a car and uses less gas. I can’t afford it yet, though.”

  “We’ll work on it,” she said, calculating. “Any luck getting a new tow truck driver?” The last one decided Bramble Burn was too weird for his taste.

  “I’m working on it. If I could keep the monsters off me, I could strip the parts and sell them.”

  “That’s a thought,” she murmured, guiding Twix around a smoking pothole. They were entering the city again, and traffic was picking up. A mix of cars, horses and exotic animals bearing riders and pulling carts filled the road. Elven steeds could easily keep up with a race car, but they weren’t cheap, and a Black Adder was a rare steed, so that was out. She already knew Grigori was a motorhead…

  An enormous black shadow blotted out the sun, and she looked up, her lip curling. The wind from its wings blew her hair back, as the dragon skimmed the roofline, close enough she could count the belly scales. She could smell the hot, musky scent of predator that panicked the carthorses.

  Twix trumpeted a challenge, and she threw her weight forward when he reared. “Jerk,” she yelled to the retreating dragon as other drivers cursed. They knew better than to pull a stunt like that, and she hoped a traffic cop spotted him. An elf could make his life dodgy indeed, and there would be a lot of complaints filed over this. A panicked horse could cause lots of damage.

  “You don’t like dragons? I always thought they were cool. Scary, but cool,” Grigori admitted.

  No, she didn’t like dragons. She had too many in the family.

  Her father died when she was eight, and her mother was sad for a long time. Then a pair of dragon twins came to the village, and her mother developed feelings for one of them, Indris. Nothing would have come of it, but his twin, Chaldaic, pretended to be his brother and seduced her mother. Her line was supernaturally fertile, and she conceived.

  Indris stepped up and preserved his family honor by marrying her when his brother refused. They named the child Gilly Indris-Chaldaic Hsstat, after her adopted father, true father and father’s line, according to dragon custom.

  Her mother’s name remained Margaret Baily, because dragon custom didn’t recognize her as her mate’s wife.

  No, Juniper didn’t care for dragons.

  She didn’t feel like fast food, so she picked up bread and chicken on the way home and made chicken salad sandwiches with a side of cherry tomatoes, baby carrots and radishes. She handed Grigori a pencil and pad of paper and told him to sketch a shop tree while they ate.

  His eyes lit up. “No kidding? Wait, are you up for this? You had a long day.” He looked suspiciously at her bracelet.

  She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be done today, but soon. Trading helps and the money is good, but I can’t spend a lot of time on tree removal. I have a schedule to maintain.” She nodded at the paper. “Basic is all you get. I can do space and work benches, but tools and equipment are up to you. I don’t know much about mechanics, but I know that stuff is expensive. Oh, and there’s no electricity. I guess you could get a generator.”

  “Which costs money. You know I can’t draw worth beans, right?” He tried anyway, making a vague tree and stick figures.

  She watched with interest. “What’s that hole in the floor?”

  “A car pit. It makes it a lot easier to work under a car.” He made some hash marks to pass for shelves and workbenches and frowned. “Tools cost thousands.”

  “Welcome to the world of business.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes. “I can make the tree fireproof, set it up to deal with garbage and maybe drag cars in and out. I’ll put an apartment on top and you can use that for your office. Unless you buy it later, the tree is mine, but you can rent it from me with half your profits. Deal?”

  “Excellent deal,” he said, shaking hands on it.

  She smirked. “You know you get to pay taxes now, right? Assuming you ever make a profit.” She crunched a carrot as he groaned. It was good to have renter, but she had questions, too. “Grigori…”

  “Yeah?” he asked warily, alerted by her tone.

  “You’re a halfling. Why haven’t I seen you do magic?”

  He stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  She waved her hand, indicating the tree and the park beyond. “The Bramble drew you here. You’re a smart guy. Why don’t you have a job?”

  “I work for you.”

  “Yeah. You know where I’m going with this.” She used her stepfather’s favorite technique and waited him out. She wouldn’t force it out of him if he didn’t want to talk, but there were things she needed to know. She wanted to know if he wanted a piece of her turf…or all of it.

  He looked at his hands, slowly flexed them. “You want to know if I’m going to stab you in the back.”

  She got up and refilled their coffee cups, taking her time to stir chocolate syrup, cinnamon and a splash of coconut milk in hers. “My grandpa is an old, old elf. He took the time to drill politics into me, and he s
aid, “Child, there are good people out there. Not many, but some. You need to know when someone is helping you because of who they are, and when they help because of what they want. What do you want, Grigori?”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you.” His eyes burned with pride and…something else. Grigori had a crush on her.

  “I believe you,” she said softly. He was too young for her and probably knew it, but she respected his feelings. He might be too young, but he was still a man.

  He tapped his fingers. “I was in a gang; it made sense at the time. We did stuff I’m not proud of, but I got out. It was tough, and they weren’t happy. They’ve been hassling my family, and we can’t afford to move.”

  He leaned closer. “You grew a tree house, Juniper. In one day. You’ve been burnt out, attacked, and shot at, and you survived. You scare the crap out of the locals, and the gangs walk softly around you. They call you the Mage of Bramble Burn. My family would have a chance here.”

  She laughed with disbelief. “I can’t protect them, Grigori! I can barely protect myself.”

  “It won’t be worse than where we are, trust me. We can protect ourselves.”

  “Grigori…” She had to refuse. He was nuts if he thought this was a good place for children. How many siblings did he have, anyway?

  “They tried to rape my sister!” he shouted. He fought for calm. “My brothers got there in time, but it was close. She’s only twelve, and so scared… Please, Juniper.”

  She closed her eyes. Twelve. “You never answered my first question. Why don’t you do magic?”

  He gave her a miserable look. “My signature is all over…someplace it shouldn’t be. If they trace it, there could be problems. My family needs me.”

  If he’d left magical evidence at a crime scene, elves could trace it, no problem. He couldn’t afford to leave a magical trail.