Wood Sprites (21 page)

Aunt Kitty was in the kitchen the next morning, making French toast, her one and only dish. She was wearing three-inch heels, tight black leather pants, and a bright yellow blouse that accented her dark ebony skin. “You have to not let her get to you.” Aunt Kitty waved a spatula, making all her many gold bracelets chime like a tambourine. “You control how you feel, not her. She can try and make you feel things, but if you don’t let her, then she’s not going to succeed.”

Louise paused on the stair’s landing, aware that she was interrupting a private conversation. She sat down on the top step, leaning forward so she could see her mother standing in the corner, glaring into her coffee.

“Do not quote my mother to me.” Her mother was dressed for work in a quiet business suit and low heels. She was still half a foot taller than her “adopted” sister.

“Why not? She was the smartest woman I ever met.” Aunt Kitty lifted a corner of the toast and checked to see how done it was. “Anna Desmarais is simply a paranoid racist. You control you, and you’re not going to allow yourself to sink to her level.”

“And I’m not supposed to be angry that she’s involved my kids?”

“Oh, come on, you’re saying that your girls wouldn’t jump at a chance to go to this? You know how much Jillian likes everything connected to movies. And they wanted to go to the
Today Show
to see Nigel Reid and you wouldn’t let them. You know how much Louise would have loved to meet him. You’re going to tell her that you’ve got tickets to this and you’re not taking her?”

Louise yelped with excitement and charged down to the kitchen. “What tickets? To some kind of event? Will Nigel Reid be there?”

Her mother sighed loudly, shaking her head. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

Aunt Kitty laughed and flipped the French toast.

“Mom!” Louise cried.

“Anna Desmarais has given me four tickets to NBC’s charity gala in June. They’re going to have a lot of their network stars there and a handful of ‘special appearances’ like Nigel Reid.”

“Really?” Louise squealed. It was hard to rein in her excitement, but obviously her mother didn’t think it was wonderful news. “What’s wrong with the tickets? Are they fake?”

“They’re real tickets.” Their mother sighed into her coffee. “Honey, sometimes when people suddenly start acting all nice to your face, you have to start looking for knives behind their backs. After all this . . .” She caught herself about to swear and covered by sipping her coffee. “After calling me a thief, and dragging us through two audits in an attempt to find proof, Desmarais gave me nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of tickets.”

“The woman is married to a billionaire,” Aunt Kitty pointed out with her spatula. “Everywhere she goes, she rides in that big limo with two drivers when the car can bloody drive itself. A thousand dollars is nothing to her. It’s probably what she pays to keep her hair that blond and beautiful at her age.”

“She says she doesn’t dye her hair.”

Aunt Kitty snorted. “You know what your mother would say to that? ‘Maybe she was born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.’ Seventy and still blond? No, she dyes.”

Her mother pointed at Louise. “Don’t you ever repeat that.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Aunt Kitty served out the toast to Louise and her mother and started a second batch.

Louise wanted to beg and plead to go to the event. It would be the perfect opportunity to give Nigel the gossamer call without the risk of meeting him privately someplace. (Not that she was scared he would do anything, but their mother would simply kill them if she found out.) “Maybe Mrs. Desmarais is sorry about how she treated you, and that’s why she gave you the tickets.”

Her mother sighed, drank the rest of her coffee, and rolled up her French toast so she could carry it. “I need to go. We’ll talk about this later.” She kissed Louise on the forehead and waved the toast at Aunt Kitty. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” In the foyer, she paused to shout upstairs. “George, you’re going to be late. Jillian, come down for breakfast!”

Normally she would have left without waiting for Jillian to answer, but instead she stood at the bottom of the steps until Jillian came trotting down with Tesla on her heels. She kissed Jillian good-bye and gave her a hug.

Jillian came into the kitchen, so bright-eyed that she positively radiated “I’ve got a plan.” She came to lean against the back of Louise’s chair, presenting a united front. “Aunt Kitty, can we go to the Museum of Natural History today?”

“The museum? Really? I thought you would want to relax at home or go to the movies.”

“Nothing good is playing,” Jillian complained truthfully. “And the museum has this exhibit on the Alpha Centauri colony that we just found out about.” Again, truthfully as they had started to research the AMNH just two days ago. “It’s only there for a few more weeks. We really want to see it!”

Aunt Kitty looked to Louise to see if it was truly a joint decision.

Louise nodded slowly. They had planned to go alone to the museum to examine camera placements and security measures—things not easily found on the Internet. The bombing changed everything. The image of people scattered on the ground like broken dolls flashed through her mind and she shuddered.

“Are you okay, Lou?” Aunt Kitty gathered Louise into a hug.

“I’m fine.” Louise had to be okay or everyone would start watching them closely. Normally the television would have been on, playing their parents’ newsfeed. Obviously it was off because all the news was focused on the bombing and their parents didn’t want them upset by it. “I just want something to think about that doesn’t have anything to do with—with that.”

Aunt Kitty hugged her tighter. “It’s okay to be upset. Most people would be.”

“We’re fine,” Jillian said in Peter Pan’s carefree voice. “None of our friends were hurt. It was a bad thing, but it’s over.”

Their father careened into the kitchen, hair sticking out in every direction, looking like a startled scarecrow. “Louise. Jillian. Are you two okay? Is everything all right?”

“We’re fine, Daddy,” they said.

He combed both hands through his straw hair, making it stick out even more. “I should stay home.”

“I got this covered,” Aunt Kitty said. “Go on. The last thing this family needs is one of you losing your job.”

He gazed at the twins as if they’d been horribly wounded by the bomb.

“Daddy, go!” Louise pulled out of Aunt Kitty’s hug to give him a push. “We’re not even going to stay home. We’re going to the museum.”

“Aunt Kitty is going to get us each something from the gift shop!” Jillian stated as fact.

Aunt Kitty laughed. “Oh, am I?”

“And we’ll have pizza for lunch!” Jillian continued with the list of treats for the day. “And we’ll bring home Thai takeout.”

Louise looked at her twin with surprise. What was this greediness?

“Guess I can’t compete with that.” Their father nevertheless looked more relaxed at the idea of leaving. Jillian must have guessed that the adults would believe they weren’t too upset if they were trying to milk the day for all it was worth. He took out his phone. “Here, let me give you some money to cover—”

Aunt Kitty waved off the offer. “No, this my treat to them. I missed their birthday because I was buried in work. Let me play best aunt ever.”

“Thank you. Call if there’s any problems.” He gathered them both into one big hug, kissed them each on the temple, and went without breakfast or coffee.

* * *

It was impossible to avoid news on the bombing. Everyplace they went had newsfeeds spilling out updates. Everyone they brushed up against was talking about it. By the time they reached the 59th Street–Columbus Circle Station, they had learned that authorities had determined that the bomb had been in a truck rented by Vance Roycroft, who had ties to the radical group Earth for Humans. His target apparently had been an art gallery about to open in the building across from their school. Because of the riots, the owners had been careful not to draw attention to the fact they would be selling only artwork from Elfhome. There had been crate upon crate of elf-made pottery, woodcarvings, and clothing. The newsfeeds carried photographs of the artwork. As with most things Elvish, the pieces were exquisite and one-of-a-kind, handcrafted by people that had forever to master their art and the time to create stunning individual pieces.

Roycroft had attempted to pull into the alley behind the art gallery. Finding it blocked by a broken-down garbage truck, he’d double-parked in front of the building and walked away. Judging by the remains of the truck, police were able to determine that the bomb had been in a shipping crate identical to the ones that gallery used, complete with EIA paperwork from the Pittsburgh border. They theorized that Roycroft initially meant to deliver the bomb as a package delayed by customs. They also believed that detonation was controlled remotely by someone other than Roycroft who didn’t realize that the delivery had gone astray. While the blast had been designed to do structural damage, it didn’t contain shrapnel to cause harm to humans. If the bomb had detonated inside the gallery, police speculated, there would have been no loss of life.

Citing this “limited scope of intended damage” and the fact that authorities had already traced Roycroft’s movements to Adirondack Park in upstate New York, the authorities had decided not to shut down the city.

Ironically, none of the targeted artwork had been damaged. The shipping crates and a state-of-the-art fire-suppression system had protected all the pieces. There was an odd undercurrent to the words used to describe the art gallery. The newsfeed repeatedly mentioned that the gallery was empty—except for the art—and heavily insured because of the riots.

“They’re not saying it in so many words, but it’s like they think the original plan would have been acceptable,” Louise grumbled as they waited for the C train. Vance Roycroft’s face remained on the wall while the feed continued with updates on the manhunt for him, along with factoids on the massive state park.

“Why blow up an art gallery in the first place?” Jillian complained. “It’s stupid.”

Aunt Kitty agreed. “Um-hmm. If they were smart, they would have figured out a better way to make their point than with a bomb. The Waldorf Astoria and the UN building are both well protected. They must have decided that the art gallery was a safe Elfhome substitute.”

“Safe for them,” Jillian muttered darkly and then leaned close to Louise for comfort. It made Louise angry that this stranger had blindly lashed out in such a stupid, selfish way.

“The elves won’t ever know about this bomb!” Louise cried. “Humans bought the artwork on Elfhome and brought it to New York City. The elves were already paid; they’re out of the equation. The only people who are going to be impacted are humans. And besides, the elves have nothing to do with how big the quarantine zone is—the UN negotiated the space between the United States and the rest of Earth’s countries.”

“Exactly,” Aunt Kitty said. “The terrorists are protesting the expansion of the zone, and that’s controlled by a vote of the United Nations ambassadors, who are all right here in New York City.”

“They’re trying to control the vote? By blowing up children? If I was an ambassador, I’d be pissed off that someone nearly hurt my kid.”

The C train rumbled into the station, blocking the annoying newsfeed. For a few minutes they focused on getting on. Interestingly, the change in security level made Tesla much more aggressive in keeping between them and other people.

Once they got settled, Aunt Kitty asked, “Are there children of ambassadors in your school?”

“Yes. Several,” Louise answered. “We’re one of the top private schools in the city. I certainly wouldn’t vote in favor of anything if my kid were one of the kindergarteners hit by flying glass. Certainly everyone knows that if their kid was running late for school, they could have been killed in the street. When I was asked to vote, I’d say ‘screw those idiots’ and expand the quarantine zone. It wasn’t the elves that put Pittsburgh on Elfhome. It wasn’t elves that were logging the quarantine zone. It wasn’t elves that brought that artwork to New York. This is all a mess that humans made.”

Aunt Kitty nodded and gathered Louise close. “I know, honey bear. People don’t always think that clearly when it comes to hate. These terrorists hate elves, so their first target will always be something related to them.”