Wildcat Fireflies (30 page)

We heard the live music—fiddles, guitar, flute—blocks away. Even the pubs and bars on the main strip didn’t outrollick the party happening at Rumi’s studio and
gallery loft. It sounded like an Irish wake—or at least, what I’d always thought one might sound like. Laughter floated by us like strands of spun sugar. I found myself smiling over the nerves in my belly.

From our vantage point across the street, I saw people packed together, clapping with the music, while others held glassware up to the lights and carried their purchases out of the shop. “I think the entire town of Carmel is in there,” I said.

“Hmm.” Tens continually scanned the streets around us. His eyes reminded me of one of those air traffic controller radar wheels. Sweeping, constantly scanning for blips of danger.

“We don’t have to go.” I chewed on my lip. I felt like we had to, but there was a fine line between trusting my instincts and learning to accept Tens’s more powerful ones.

He nudged me to keep walking. “No, let’s keep our eyes open.”

“Peeled. Got it.” I nodded.

Rumi had strung fairy lights from the eaves, wrapping them around the Witch Balls. No one would notice a sudden uptick in the brilliance of the Spirit Stones upon my arrival.

“Clever.” Tens pointed to the strings of lights.

“Sweet.” I nodded.

We made the block and approached his apartment door from the alley.

“There you are.”

I jumped at the voice before I saw Gus, the history
professor we’d met at dinner, sitting in a rocking chair beside the door. He stood, the chair and his joints creaking at the movement. “Rumi asked me to come out here to wait for you.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know, but Faye has front-entrance duty, which I hear she’s turned into a greeter and hostess position. Rumi simply told me your yin was inside and I had to wait here to tell you.”

My what?
“Do you know what he means?”

“No, he was shaky and pale. Seemed very upset, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Just kept repeating to tell you not to come in yet, that ‘yin’ was in there. Is that a person’s name?”

My yin is inside? What is Rumi talking about?

Y
in. Yin. Yin
. I kept repeating the word in my head. Trying to puzzle out what or who Rumi might mean. His vocabulary was so overwhelmingly over my head, I didn’t know if I should take him literally or make a metaphorical leap. Tens immediately went on high alert.

I noticed Tens subtly draw us deeper into the shadows with Gus; Custos appeared at the end of the alley. She sat with her back to us as if on watch.

I asked, “Gus, does ‘yin’ mean anything to you?”

He squinted at us, rubbing his chin in thoughtful
study. “Perhaps the Chinese yin and yang, though that’s a terrible reach. That symbol can’t possibly mean anything to you kids. I can go ask for clarification if you’d like. Maybe Faye knows more. Rumi enjoys his word games, but I don’t think he’s playing around. His expression was ferocious.”

“Okay,” I answered, then paused. Yin and yang. All I knew about it was that hippies and peace freaks tended to wear it on their clothing and treat it as synonymous with the slogan “Make love, not war.”

Tens shrugged off his jacket, draped it over his arm, and pulled his weapon so quietly the movement was nearly invisible. I tried to pretend I was a peace-loving hippie, with no cares in the world, to stop the fear from transferring from me to Gus. I wanted to plug my ears and mutter “la-la-la-la” until the threat passed.

“Shall I stay with you?” Gus asked nervously, glancing at Tens and me in the ambient streetlight and white lights strung along the apartment’s gutters.

Tens placed a sure hand on the man’s shoulder. “Nah, why don’t you go find Faye and buy her a drink?” He gave Gus a salacious wink and his voice was smooth and lazy, immediately breaking the tension around the three of us, popping it like a bubble.

Gus insisted, “Young man, there’s no courting going on.”

“Maybe there should be.” Tens nudged the man politely toward the door.

It didn’t take much prodding before Gus headed back
inside toward the music and, presumably, Faye. I’m not sure if his retreat was because of embarrassment or because he took Tens’s comment to heart.

“What’s my yin?” I whispered.

“Give me a minute.” Tens leaned against the building and closed his eyes.

Careful to stay in the shadows of the alley, I toed a pebble until it peeled free from a clutch of dandelions. I concentrated on trying to sense my way to the interior of the party. I picked up nothing. Where was the damn Fenestra handbook?

Yin? Yang? Yin? Yang?

“You are yang. Someone is yin. If you’re the white part of the symbol—”

“Then someone else is the black,” I gasped. “Oh my God.” I felt the back of my knees tremble. Nocti. “How?”

“How did he know?” Tens drew me toward him. We’d told Rumi some of the truth about us and our reality. We hadn’t lied, since he’d asked us not to. But we hadn’t told him there was evil out there. We hadn’t mentioned the Nocti. “He must have read more in the notes.”

It made sense to me that if his ancestors wrote about the Good Death, then they probably wrote about the bad one, too.

“Let’s go in—odds are on our side nothing will happen.”

“If it does there are a lot of innocent people in there.”

“Yeah, but the Nocti knows who we are, or at least who Juliet is. We’re at a disadvantage.”

“Okay, but how did Rumi recognize him?” Or her? The only Nocti I’d seen was Perimo. His believers were both men and women, but I wasn’t sure if any of them were actually official Nocti. They seemed more like pathetic victims of a cult.

“Um, kids?” Gus opened the back door slightly, not seeing how quickly Tens dashed in front of me and pointed the gun as the door creaked. “All clear from the man himself. I wish you’d let me in on the game—you forget that I’ve led our reenactor troupe for decades. I’m quite good at role-playing.”

Tens resheathed the gun and took my hand as Gus babbled on about his soldiers and camp followers. Tens tugged me behind him. “Let’s go in.”

Gus disappeared into the studio space, but Tens and I took our time, heading from the apartment out toward the front, and the crowd. The scents of cigarette smoke, tightly crammed people, and wood smoke hung in the air.

Perimo had scared me, terrified me, made me feel like a rat trapped in a sinking box with no way out. I didn’t have that gut feeling now, but had I felt that way because he was Nocti, or because he threatened everyone I loved? I wasn’t picking up on anything, but I couldn’t assume I’d feel something every time Nocti were around.

Tens dropped my hand, keeping me behind him, as we edged into the studio. Carefully edging the periphery, with our backs to each other or the outside walls, I marveled at the number of people, packed shoulder to shoulder, in the gallery.

Most hands clutched champagne flutes decorated with swirly rainbows or clear glasses with colored polka dots or ones shaped like calla lilies. Items for sale, including those glasses, were stacked on tables along with vases of all sizes and bowls sized for everything from baby food to bread making. There were plenty more creations meant to sit on shelves and catch the eye in fancy. Delicate winged creatures perched on grapevine wreaths and a tree was decorated with glass fireflies and ornaments of Indiana’s landmarks. Lights shone through the chandeliers and glass sculptures hanging from the ceiling, refracting colors across guests and displays. More Spirit Stones, in deep purples and bloody reds, golden ambers and princess pinks, hung in the front windows with tiny white lights surrounding them. I wanted to gaze at the glass and daydream. There was something magical about seeing it all in one place and lit from within. But I didn’t let myself lose focus.

The sound of laughter, chatter, and greetings competed with the live Celtic music.

I grabbed a bottle of water; Tens shook his head when I offered him one. We browsed, but no one appeared dangerous; we were people-watching more than anything else. I scanned the faces of the crowd. All ages.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. This was the kind of thing I imagined my parents going to, without me. Joi and her husband mingled and gossiped as if they knew everyone in the room. They probably did. She waved at us. Rumi’s other dinner guests were here, including the social
worker, Nelli. I wondered if she might know anything about Dunklebarger and Juliet. I tried to make my way toward her, but there didn’t seem to be a good time to catch her in conversation.

I searched the eyes around me for the blank void of Dark. Where was the Nocti? Had he left or was it a false alarm? I caught myself looking specifically for Perimo, even though he was supposedly dead. He wasn’t here, so who was?
What does this Nocti look like?

Rumi glanced in our direction, and his okay signal assured me the danger was past. That didn’t stop Tens from questioning the intentions of everyone here. His whispered comments to me told me he assessed, dismissed, and moved on to the next person without pause. Even the friendliest demeanors were not above his suspicion. I wished there was another way for us to live.

We found Sidika and spoke with her about the book she was working on. I listened and Tens glanced around the room, glowering at those around us.

Rumi hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Stick around. It’s important.” Then another patron demanded his attention.

Around eleven, the band gave way to a lone flutist and the crowd retired in a seemingly choreographed retreat. We continued to pick our way around the demolished food tables and admire Rumi’s glasswork.

I picked up a small green turtle and thought of Sammy. He’d tuck this creature in his pocket and carry it everywhere. I watched light, every shade from lime to deep pine, bounce around the inside giving life.

Tens never left my side. By the time the last of Rumi’s friends and admirers left, most of his inventory was sold. “Well, I’d best get back to moil tomorrow,” he sighed, surveying how little of his work was left. He locked the front door and flicked off the lights. Immediately, the Spirit Stones lit up like a night-light. “Let’s talk in the back. Away from all these windows.”

Tens and I followed him. While Rumi brewed a fresh pot of coffee, I sipped leftover champagne. I loved the way the bubbles tickled my nose.

“You shouldn’t drink.” Tens frowned at me.

“Thanks, Dad.” I gulped to prove my point and knew I’d regret it later. My head quickly felt detached and floating.

Rumi sat with us, and for the first time I saw the lines on his face, betraying his years. His skin lacked luster and verve. “There were two of them here. A woman, with old eyes and a young face, and a male teenager, maybe your age.” He gestured at Tens. “They came in at the same time, and left together, but they didn’t speak the whole time they were here. I might not have even noticed them, except I happened to be watching the door when they entered.”

“If they didn’t speak to each other, how do you know they were together?” I asked.

He knit his fingers, pressing his thumbs. “The way two people are comfortable near each other—they walked in too close to be strangers. And she brushed his arm as she came toward me and he walked the other way.” He frowned. “She zeroed in on me like she knew exactly who
I was. And I might have thought she was the friendliest person in the world except—” He broke off, shook his head at some internal conversation, and sighed.

“Except what, Rumi?” I sat forward in my chair.

“The Stones, they blackened.”

I gasped.

On alert, Tens straightened, leaning off the edge of the sofa. “What?”

Fear filled Rumi’s eyes when they met mine. “When they entered, the trees in the balls turned black, black like light never reached them. The balls dimmed. Around you, Meridian, they gain a clarity, but here the opposite was true.”

Silence fell for a moment as we digested this information.

Rumi closed his eyes in a long blink. “I thought Good Death was the opposite of a regular death, but I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

I saw no reason to lie to him at this point, so I nodded.

“I should have known. I should have recognized that there is balance in all things in the universe. All things. Someday, you’ll tell me what you call them.”

Tens cleared his throat. “Is that all?”

“Dear child, if that were all, I wouldn’t be graying before your eyes. She came at me, for all the world like a neighbor or a friend. She leaned toward me and she clutched my hand. I felt my heart stutter with cold and there was a strength in her grip that I’ve never experienced, even from a man. As if she could crush my bones, without even trying.”

“What did she say?” I asked, afraid to know.

His gaze drifted off. “Hmm?”

I repeated, “What did she say to you? Who is she? What’s her connection? How did she find out about you?”

“Easy, I’ll tell you what I know. She asked me why I was interfering with her pets.”

Tens snorted. “Pets?”

“She wouldn’t tell me her name, and although she was friendly enough to everyone else, no one seemed to know her. She said Shakespeare wrote tragedies for a reason and to keep my distance from a certain leading lady.”

“So she knows Juliet.” I cringed. “What did she look like? Was she girthy?”

“She means morbidly obese.” Tens quirked an eyebrow at my attempt at politeness.

Rumi didn’t notice. “No, very stylish. Very thin. Too thin, I think. I may be wrong, but—”

“Tell us,” I pleaded.

“I think her eyes disappeared at one point. I haven’t seen anything about these demons—are they demons? If you’re angels, they must be demons.”

“They’re called Aternocti, Nocti,” I answered him. “I don’t know what they are, but I think they’re angels, too. Or were. Just a different sort.”

He nodded. “And you’re a—”

“Fenestra. A human with a dash of angel to help souls find their heaven. I’m the window.”