Bramble Burn Page 4

  Juniper snorted. “You can keep the city. I’m a perfectionist, and trying to manage a city full of people would drive me crazy.” She suspected her answers would go further than Mia, and that was fine. Everything she said was true.

  She was replaying the conversation as she drifted off, so it was on her mind when she sat up with a jolt at the tree’s alarm. At first she thought the city council might be after her, and she pictured men in suits waving papers, and her system flooded with dread. After a moment she realized something was burrowing under the roots.

  She sagged in relief. Thank God, it was only a monster! Lawyers scared her.

  Mia must have been a light sleeper, for she woke when Juniper sat up. She sounded surprisingly coherent for the wee hours. “What is it?”

  “Something’s under the tree. Just a minute.” Juniper focused on the roots and found a large grub burrowing toward the floor. With a thought, she instructed the tree to squish it, and any of its friends that might visit. She lay back. “We’re good. I took care of it.”

  Since the windows were shuttered, it was pitch black, so she couldn’t see Mia’s face, but she heard the rustle and presumed Mia settled down. Juniper was awake now, and she thought about what small thing she could work on to help her sleep, something that would make the tree safer. She tinkered a bit, and smiled as she drifted to sleep. Some people counted sheep; she played with magic.

  Chapter 3

  “There’s a hedge of flowers around the tree,” Mia reported the next day. She was looking out the one-way glass, and she sounded strained.

  Juniper yawned. By the light, it was just after dawn. “Roses and non-suckering blackberries. I haven’t decided what to do for a gate, so I just left a gap.”

  “You did that in your sleep?”

  “It was just before. I needed something to relax me after the bug. You can look at it if you like; I don’t sense any movement, but be careful.” She could feel the vibrations through the root network now, and it would come in handy as an early warning system.

  She used the bathroom while Mia went out, frowning at the thought of trail mix for breakfast. She needed to go the store and pick up supplies. She was calculating how much she could afford to spend when she felt a disturbance. Two sets of footsteps approached the tree, and a glance out the window showed Mia and Kjetil. He was carrying a paper bag and a thermos, so she opened the door. There was a chance he had breakfast in there.

  “I brought Danish, bacon, homemade rolls and plum jam. Can I come in?” Kjetil raised his brows enquiringly, for all the world like a casual friend. The Kevlar and rifle slung over his shoulder would have looked out of place, but this was Bramble Burn. Her visitors wouldn’t last long if they weren’t tough.

  “I can be bought.” Juniper let him in and allowed him to set up shop at her counter, nearly drooling at the succulent smells. She accepted a paper cup of orange juice, chasing it with coffee. She was thirsty.

  He handed her a paper plate as they stood around the counter, since she hadn’t made stools. “You look rested.”

  “Yep. Gotta run errands,, and stock up today.” She made a happy sound as she crunched the bacon. She definitely needed to make an ice chest so she could store breakfast stuff. An insulated box with ice on top and cool stuff below, it would work like an old fashioned fridge. While she was at it, she needed a camp stove, too. Who knew when she would get electricity. The city might be reluctant to run it to Bramble Burn, and she couldn’t afford it, anyway. “Nice of you to let Mia babysit, but you can relax now. I’m going to be fine.”

  “You’re welcome. I hear you plan to ring the park with trees.”

  “That’s the deal I made when I bought Bramble Burn. The city thought it was a long shot, but that’s why I could afford the land. Stabilizing the park was a condition of the sale.” She’d pointed out that not only was it bringing down the property value in the neighborhood, they’d already spent a fortune trying to stop the expansion. It was a smoking deal for both parties.

  “Right. What’s your plan to deal with monsters?”

  She frowned, hating to admit reality. “I’m making it up as I go.”

  He nodded. “What about the locals? You’ve been lucky, but what will you do when they approach you?”

  “I take it you have a plan.” A man like him always did, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. It would involve doing something for her own good, something she might not be inclined to do.

  He topped off her coffee. Too late, she remembered that wolves tended to be dominant. Feeding was something a dominant did for someone under their care. Did he view her as his responsibility? That could cause problems.

  “The Pack is very interested in the possibility of your success. If you pull this off, there would be a large forest in the middle of the city, perfect for those of us who live and work here. We would pay for the privilege of training here.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “You want to play in Bramble Burn? Even if I pull this off, it will never be the safest forest. We’re in the middle of a magic well; anything can spawn here.”

  “That’s what makes it perfect. We don’t want civilized; we need a touch of wild. Hunting monsters would be a pleasure for us and a bonus for you.” He waved a hand. “But that’s for later. We’re concerned that without help, you might not survive. We’d like to offer that help.”

  She sighed. It was way too early for wheeling and dealing, but at least there was coffee. She waved them away from the bar. “I see this is going to take a while, so we might as well get comfortable.” She drew three bar stools from the floor, one after the other. They were formed of a column of twisted tree roots and coated in a light resin for durability. She added a thick layer of spongy cork for comfort and carried a seat to the opposite side of the bar so she could comfortably look at her guests. The whole thing only took a couple of minutes, and a trickle of power. “Proceed.”

  Her guests studied the stools and cautiously complied.

  Mia wiggled experimentally. “These are comfortable.”

  “Thanks. You were saying?” She looked at Kjetil. She hoped he was thinking about how easy it was for her to shape wood, and about what else she might be able to do with it…as a weapon, for instance. She wasn’t helpless, and she wanted him to realize that as he tried to bargain with her.

  He nodded respectfully, his eyes warm with appreciation. He got it. “As you’ve demonstrated, you can do amazing things. If you let us provide security, you can concentrate on doing that, and not on whether or not something has you in its sights.”

  Okay, that wasn’t nearly as patronizing at it could have been. “What do you want in return? Free access to my property?”

  He shook his head. “You would designate the times and area you’d allow visitors. We could have a lawyer draw up papers.”

  Ugh. Lawyers. He’d just made the idea unpalatable. “I’m going to have to think about that. Meanwhile, I have stuff I need to do.” She slid off the stool and gathered the empty containers. “Breakfast was great. I appreciate it.”

  He stood, taking the hint. “Will we see you at the station? We’re having a barbeque in the back yard soon. You’re invited.”

  She thought about it. Food was good, and so far the firefighters seemed like a decent bunch. She wasn’t super social, but she wouldn’t get far in life if she didn’t make connections. “Sure. Grab a couple of acorn oil pods on the way out as my contribution.”

  He raised a brow. “The cooks will like that.”

  Juniper saddled Twix after they left, buckling on saddle bags. She had a list, but she’d see what city prices were and prioritize for food and cooking gear. She could live (reluctantly) without books, but a chef knife was essential.

  “Hi! I got you a deal.” Grigori strode up, perky and alert. “I got an Indian place called the Kebab Palace to agree to use your oil in exchange for free meals. It’s owned by Mr. and Mrs. Chandra, and one of them is always there.”

  Juniper winced. Sh
e hated Indian food. “I’m not fond of curry.”

  He shrugged. “Take what you can get. Also, the hardware store will trade oil for Black Adder chow. Ask for Bob, the owner, and tell him I sent you.”

  She nodded. “Helpful. I appreciate that.”

  “Mom says she likes the oil,” he said, handing her a sack of cookies. “She used it to make these, and she likes it as well as butter. If you want, she’ll take some to work and tell her clients about acorn oil, and I’ll sell it for a cut.”

  “Nice! I like it. I’d appreciate a sample of the things she makes with it, so I can see for myself how they turn out.” She put the sack in her house, taking two for the road. His mom was a good baker.

  Juniper checked up on him. The salon owner said he was a decent kid, a hard worker. His human mom had five kids and his dad had run off, so the family could use the money. The Russian mom spoke heavily-accented English, but the salon owner said her clients liked her. She also told Juniper she should come in for a haircut.

  “Where are we going?” Grigori picked two acorn pods and handed them to her as she approached Twix. Twix was watching the tall hedge that separated the Iron Oak from the rest of the park.

  Juniper raised a hand and listened to the grunting, snorting noise. Whatever it was didn’t care for the thorns, but she would be careful as they left the park. There was nothing to stop whatever it was from leaving her property.

  “What’s this?” she accepted the oil absently, tucking them in her saddle bags.

  “You might be able to trade,” he said, one eye on the hedge. He fell in beside her as she mounted and rode out the gate. “You shouldn’t leave home without samples.”

  “I’m not an Avon lady,” she grumbled. It wouldn’t do to become complacent; this was a bad neighborhood, and not only because of monsters. Derelict buildings were everywhere, crumbling to dust, and the slums didn’t breed softness. She hadn’t been approached by a gang, but it was only a matter of time.

  There might be a way to make the trip safer, however. She fished a couple of cherry pits from her pocket and tossed them on a strip of weedy ground next to the crumbling concrete. She touched her staff and sent a pulse of power into the fruit. The seeds sprouted, rapidly growing into young cherry trees loaded with ripe fruit. A wooden sign dangled from each tree that said, “Cherries.”

  “You know this is gang territory, right? Why would you stop to plant trees?” Grigori didn’t say she was nuts, but he clearly wondered.

  She nudged Twix. “Self-defense comes in many forms.” The trees would magically replicate until they formed a predetermined row. Next time she would plant apples, and so on.

  “So what? You think if you give the gangs free fruit, they’ll leave you alone?” Grigori had a rapid walk, but it would be nice if he were mounted, too.

  She smirked. “No. The people who think that way won’t move in until later, when the place is safer.”

  “When will that be?” he asked skeptically.

  “I’m a farmer, not a fortuneteller. Wait and see.” She was a long range planner, but the trees would serve an immediate purpose. They might look innocent, but the trees would be as much help in a fight as her oak.

  They stopped at the hardware store and she made arrangements with the chatty owner to pick up Twix’s food last. She also traded an oil pod for a pair of work gloves and looked at camp stoves.

  “Why don’t you just make a fireplace in your tree?” Grigori demanded. “Anyone who can cover a tree in metal can make a wood stove, for that matter.”

  “I don’t know how to make a stove, and I’m afraid I’d burn down my tree or die of smoke inhalation. We had a neighbor who lost their house from a chimney fire.”

  “Ask that F&R dude how to make one. He likes you.”

  She wrinkled her nose and calculated how much it would take to buy propane. “I’m not going there.”

  “Look, I can make you a hobo stove out of a gallon tin can. Save the bucks for food; I know you’re not loaded.”

  “Oh? How?”

  He looked at her worn clothes, nodding to the peeling boot sole. “You need to replace those, and eventually you’ll want heat in your tree. The winters are cold, and it’s no fun huddling in sweaters. You can ask the cute fire girl how to make a stove.”

  “She’s too old for you.”

  “Whatever. I’ll make the hobo stove today; it will probably last longer than the propane junker. You can buy the can of beans; Mom likes baked beans, but chili will do. Do you have a cooking pot? We can make one out of another can if you like.”

  “What’s a hobo stove?”

  The store sold a limited amount of bulk canned goods, so Grigori traced a rectangle on the bottom of a can. “You cut a hole for the sticks and make a row of vent holes on the top. The pan sits on top of the can like a little stove, and the fire cooks your food. Slick, huh?”

  It sounded chintzy, but she couldn’t argue with cheap. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned, selecting a small pot and a frying pan, and wicks for homemade pickle jar lamps. At least she could use acorn oil for the lamp. She bought trail mix, jerky and dehydrated camper’s food over Grigori’s protests. “I know it’s expensive, but sometimes I have to eat and I won’t have time or energy for cooking.”

  Honestly, he nagged like an old woman.

  She packed her stuff into Twix’s saddle bags and headed to the grocery, where she bought ice, staples and delicious smelling bread. She didn’t worry about anyone stealing her stuff or Twix while she was inside; no one in their right mind bothered a Black Adder.

  She handed Grigori a carton of juice and a doughnut while she ate hers. “You’ll have to jog on the way back. I don’t want to linger when I’m hauling stuff.”

  “Maybe you’d like an escort,” a man said, and she turned to scowl at Kjetil. He didn’t have the rifle today, but he was armed with two guns and a tactical knife. His black t-shirt and blue jeans made her think he was off duty. “Are you following me?”

  “Yes,” he said without embarrassment. “I talked with one of our EMTs, and she had an idea. Thanks to her, I have a solution to your fainting problem.” He showed her a bracelet. “It’s a medic alert bracelet that monitors your vital signs. It will buzz when you’re approaching your limit.”

  Juniper looked at it dubiously. “It looks like a tracking device.”

  “You could think like that. You could also assume that we’re already keeping tabs on your location. You’re a Person of Interest. Get over it.”

  “May I?” Grigori examined the silver bracelet with the simple medic alert logo. “I’ve seen these on TV. They advertise them to old people who’ve ‘fallen and can’t get up’. Is it a gift or a loan?”

  “It’s a gift,” Kjetil said with a glint in his eye. “From the F&R, in appreciation for our yard. We figured we owed you for that.”

  Juniper shifted uneasily. A personal gift from him would be problematic, hinting at an interest she wasn’t prepared to return. A gift from the department she could handle, but she would feel the need to repay it. Maybe she could rejuvenate their front yard, too. They could do with some flowering trees.

  Grigori wiggled the bracelet temptingly. “How many times have you passed out in the last week? This will help, and Captain Romance here won’t have to come to your rescue.” It was clear he was used to negotiating with younger siblings.

  Kjetil growled. His menacing stare pinned Grigori, warning him to back off. Whatever his motives, he wasn’t going to let the younger man challenge him.

  Grigori bared his teeth, but dropped his eyes.

  Juniper held up a hand. She hated confrontations, and the wolf was making her nervous. She hated to admit it, but Grigori was right. Given time, she might be able to find her limits without help, but she was under pressure now and would push herself to the limit. She needed the bracelet. “I appreciate the gesture. I accept, on the condition that I improve your front yard when I go to your barbeque.”

  Kjetil smil
ed. “Can you give us a magic oak tree? Your acorn oil is a big hit.”

  She blinked. “Um, I’m not sure. I was thinking a nut tree, or some flowering stuff.”

  Kjetil shrugged. “That’s fine, too.”

  They didn’t talk much on the way to the oak. They approached her cherry trees (there were twelve of them now). There was a crack in the side of the road that hadn’t been there before, about six by two feet, and it was glowing pink.

  Great. Had she stirred something with her cherry trees? That wasn’t good. She glanced at Kjetil to comment and flinched.

  Kjetil had shifted. His face was a meld of wolf and man, his body covered in fur. He was unmistakably deadly, his new form mute, but stronger and faster than a human, and armed with claws and teeth. Even the gangs would hesitate to confront him.

  She looked away, uneasy. She’d known what he was, but there weren’t any weres where she was from. She reminded herself that he was the same person, but it didn’t help. Her instincts screamed he was dangerous.

  “It looks like a twa…er, lady bits,” Grigori said, looking suspiciously at the glowing crack. It was oozing pink fluid, and the light pulsed ominously.

  “Ew! Thanks, I needed that image,” she protested, and recoiled as things crawled from the slit. Pink, hairless and translucent, they looked like a cross between a rat and a rabbit and were covered in slime. “Not good,” she protested, urging Twix back a step. His ears were twitching eagerly, and she was afraid he was thinking lunch. “Ick, Twix! You don’t need any.”

  One of the creatures looked at her with pink eyes and hissed. She backed up and it followed, and dropped as Kjetil shot it. The other rat things pounced and started to feast.

  “I don’t like these things,” Grigori said, machetes out. “Can you close the crack?”

  “Let’s see.” She specialized in trees, not earth, but tree roots could move dirt. She gripped her staff and sent the roots through the soil, testing the size and depth. It was deep, far deeper than the root system, but she didn’t think it appeared because of anything she’d done. Planting her trees might have been intuitive, or maybe Bramble Burn was giving her a subconscious heads-up. She began to weave roots around the crack.