Fierce Creatures (Away From Whipplethorn Book Two) Read online

  Fierce Creatures (Away from Whipplethorn Book 2)

  by A.W. Hartoin

  Copyright 2012 A.W. Hartoin

  Smashwords Edition

  “This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Also By A.W. Hartoin

  Young Adult fantasy

  Flare-up (An Away From Whipplethorn Short)

  A Fairy's Guide To Disaster (Away From Whipplethorn Book One)

  Fierce Creatures (Away From Whipplethorn Book Two)

  A Monster’s Paradise (Away From Whipplethorn Book Three)

  A Wicked Chill (Away From Whipplethorn Book Four)

  Mercy Watts Mysteries

  Novels

  A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book One)

  Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Two)

  Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Three)

  Drop Dead Red (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Four)

  In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Five)

  Short stories

  Coke with a Twist

  Touch and Go

  Nowhere Fast

  Dry Spell

  A Sin and a Shame

  Paranormal

  It Started with a Whisper (Sons of Witches)

  For Connor

  Thanks for the phalanx.

  CHAPTER ONE

  FIRE WAS A friend of mine. I loved how it formed in my palms, pooled, and overflowed, oozing through my fingers to drop down in tiny orange spirals into the basin my father had fashioned out of a metal button. I lay on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, watching my fire, an endlessly fascinating endeavor and a good thing, too. My father was hammering on a needle, trying to make it into hooks for my mother’s pots and pans. It wasn’t going well and I expected to be there for a long time, providing Dad with fire for his forge.

  Dad tapped me on the head, and I looked up. “What?”

  “I need more,” he said, frowning at me from behind the safety mask he’d fashioned out of an acorn shell and some stuff the humans called Plexiglas.

  I formed a fireball the size of my head and dropped it in the basin. Sparks flew out in curlicues and menaced Dad. He jumped back and slipped on his pile of metal shavings.

  “Matilda, you did that on purpose,” he said, narrowing his brown eyes at me.

  “It was an accident.”

  “When it comes to fire, you don’t have accidents.”

  A human face came down beside my dad and grinned at me. Judd was one of the few humans that could see us. It was very unusual for a human to see fairies, but Judd had turned out to be remarkable in many ways. As was his sister, Tess, who’d been the first to see me. The two of them surprised me on a daily basis.

  “You can’t get away with that accident stuff anymore.” Judd pushed back the safety goggles he wore and, in a rare moment, all his long brown hair was held back and I could see his face. The sprinkling of freckles over his nose softened the effect of his square jaw and strong cheekbones, making him seem younger than he would’ve otherwise. Judd was fourteen, like me, and had beautiful eyes when you could see them.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  They both looked at me and I feigned innocence. I could’ve gotten away with it six months ago or even three, but Dad was on to me now and so was everyone else. I’d known I was a kindler since I was eight. Everyone else found out when humans came and ripped our home, the fireplace mantel, off the wall of Whipplethorn Manor. I’d been babysitting on that day and, through circumstances, had to reveal my fire. Even though being thrust into the world of humans with two kids and a baby to look after was terrifying, it was also the best thing that ever happened to me. It was exhausting to hide who I really was all the time and my family took it pretty well, considering we were wood fairies and fire wasn’t exactly our favorite thing.

  Actually, my dad took it better than well. He’d always wanted to get into metalworking, but had no way to heat the metal. But now he had me, his personal forge. And since Miss Penrose was homeschooling me because none of the other parents wanted me in class with their children, I was always available.

  “Matilda, how long do you want to be here today?” Dad asked.

  “I wanted to leave an hour ago.” That wasn’t true. I never wanted to come out in the first place, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He was totally crazy about metalworking and he got all sad when I didn’t want to help him.

  “Mr. Whipplethorn,” said Judd, “did I do this right?”

  Judd picked up a piece of cherrywood from beside my adopted brother. Horc was a spriggan. Picture a mossy boulder with stumpy legs and you’ve got him. Horc wasn’t so much adopted as he was inescapable. I’d ended up with him after the fireplace mantel we lived in got taken out of Whipplethorn Manor and put on sale in an antique mall. The spriggans were thieves whose favorite merchandise was children. It was our bad luck that they were the first species to discover us. They immediately stole the baby I was taking care of and replaced Easy with Horc. I managed to get Easy back and we’d had Horc ever since.

  Dad pulled off his gloves and flew up to take a closer look at Judd’s work. It looked like a giant pencil to me, but Dad seemed impressed. Of course, Dad would’ve been impressed if Judd had shown him a splinter. He was thrilled when we moved into the human’s house, and Judd showed an interest in woodworking. My sister, Iris, and I never did. We were wood fairies and we were supposed to want to carve, but we didn’t. Horc had taken up woodworking when Judd did. He’d decided after being with us for a while that he was no longer a spriggan. He wanted to be a wood fairy and wood fairy meant woodworking. Dad was thrilled. Horc turned out to be a natural carver, which would’ve been great except Horc was still teething and none of his work survived it.

  “What do you think, Matilda?” asked Judd.

  “Looks great,” I said. “Very...smooth.”

  Judd beamed at me and put down his goggles. He went back to making whatever it was that he was making. Behind him, Horc examined the elegant swan he’d been carving and chomped on its head. Dad sighed at Horc and then scowled at me.

  “What? I said it was great.”

  “But you didn’t mean it. You could be more supportive.”

  “That was supportive. I don’t even know what it is.”

  “At least he’s trying.”

  I dropped a huge ball of fire in the basin and Dad had to fly out of the way of the heat blast.

  “Matilda!”

  “I was trying!”

  Dad ignored that one and went back to work on his needle. It looked like a dead worm on a sidewalk. I settled back in and practiced forming flame spirals until Dad stopped work and flipped up his mask. He turned around and looked at the garage door. It took me a second to realize someone was coming because, unlike Dad, I couldn’t hear it. Snail pox took most of my hearing when I was two and I got by with lip-reading, a skill my grandmother taught me.

  A cool wind blew my long black hair out of my face as the garage door opened. Judd’s mom’s minivan backed up to the door, and his dad, Evan, hopped out.

  “Judd! Come help me,” he said in his booming human voice that even I could hear.

  “With what?” asked Judd.

  “I got the new dishwash
er.”

  Evan opened the van’s backdoor and they lifted a large grey metal box onto the floor.

  “I got a great deal,” said Evan. “It’s a floor model.”

  “Cool,” said Judd as he turned back to the workbench.

  “What are you up to over there?”

  “I’m carving a pen for Mom’s birthday.”

  “I’ll never understand where this sudden interest in woodworking came from.”

  Judd looked at me and Dad. I exploded a huge fireball over our heads into a million sparkly flames. Judd whistled and looked at his dad for a sign he’d seen my handiwork.

  “What are you whistling for?” asked Evan, looking at his son like he might need a doctor’s evaluation.

  “Nothing, Dad,” said Judd. “I just can’t believe how much I got done today.”

  “Good. Then you can stop and give me a hand.” Evan turned back to the dishwasher.

  My dad shrugged at me. “It just isn’t going to happen, Matilda. Evan’s not going to see us. We’ve tried everything.”

  I knew Dad was right. We had tried everything we could think of since we arrived inside our mantel six months ago after the humans purchased it. We’d sung to Evan, flocked around his head, poking his ears and nose. And it wasn’t just our size; the average wood fairy was well under a centimeter and Evan just wasn’t capable of seeing us.

  Judd took off his goggles. The two of them bent over the back of the dishwasher and studied the tubes and wires coming out of it.

  Dad gave me a look. I dropped another fireball into his basin and he went back to hammering the needle to death. I rolled on my side and watched Judd and Evan poke at various tubes.

  “We could hire someone,” said Judd.

  “It’s a dishwasher. How hard can it be?” asked Evan.

  “Where are the directions?”

  “The store lost them.”

  They went on, discussing supply lines and waste lines until my eyelids drooped. Dad poked me and I dropped another fireball for him, and as I did I saw something inside a hole on the back of the dishwasher. I blinked and there was more movement.

  Horc waddled over on his little legs, his sharp eyes trained on the dishwasher. “Very interesting.”

  “Can you tell what it is?” I asked.

  “I cannot,” said Horc with another chomp on the remains of his swan. He spat out a wad of splinters, hitting my foot.

  “Would you stop doing that?”

  “I can’t. I’m teething.”

  “You’ve been teething for as long as I’ve known you.”

  “That is because I only have one row in.” Horc open his wide mouth and showed me his jagged yellow teeth. A second row was emerging behind the first.

  “Come on,” I said with a shudder. “How many rows are you going to get?”

  “Three with proper gnawing.”

  “You want three rows of teeth?”

  “Naturally. Better for biting,” said Horc.

  “Can’t you use the biting sticks Dad made for you?” I asked, pointing to a basket filled with strips of hickory.

  “I could, but this is more satisfying, wouldn’t you agree?” Horc fished a swan foot from between his two front teeth and examined it.

  “I don’t gnaw on wood, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “You should try it. Good for the jaws and hence the biting.”

  “I don’t bite that much, so no.”

  Horc looked back at the hole in the dishwasher. “Whatever it is, there are several. I hope they’re tasty.”

  “They’re alive,” I said.

  Horc showed me his teeth again. “And you consider this important because...”

  “Because wood fairies are vegetarians,” I said.

  “I think we might be flexible on that point,” he said, licking his green lips.

  “We’re not flexible.”

  “Pity.”

  “Dad,” I said.

  He looked up from his pin. “Not now. I almost have it.”

  “But you have to see this.”

  “I told you not now.”

  I dropped another fireball to hold him for a while and flew over to the dishwasher, landing on top. I looked over the edge and saw a little creature climb out of the hole. It jumped and landed on the garage’s concrete floor. Another followed and another and another until there were five total standing perilously close to Evan’s feet.

  “Judd!” I yelled.

  He glanced up and I pointed at the creatures. Judd jumped to his feet and said, “Hey, Dad. Why don’t you go and find the directions online?”

  Evan stood up and stretched. “Might as well. It looks like something’s missing on that waste line. Your mom isn’t going to be happy.”

  He turned around, narrowly missing the creatures and went into the house. Judd dropped to his knees and I flew down, landing close but not too close. The creatures didn’t even notice me. They were muttering and looking around with critical eyes. Judd and I exchanged a glance. The creatures were fairies, but not a species I recognized. They were a little taller than me with brown hair and no wings. They wore blue overalls with pocket patches on them with various single letters. The fairies looked a lot alike but weren’t an identical species, a phenomenon that sometimes happens in the fairy world.

  I stepped forward. “Hello.”

  They ignored me and pulled out tape measures and held them up like they were measuring the room.

  “Hello,” said Judd, probably thinking that a hello from a human might make more of an impression, but he was wrong. They got in a line and started marching toward Evan’s red toolboxes.

  I flew up ahead of them and made a dramatic landing in front of them. I was good at that with my big purple and green wings glowing in the dim light of the garage. The lead fairy stopped and finally focused on me.

  “Hello,” I repeated.

  “Yes,” it said.

  Judd flattened himself on the garage floor. “Hi.”

  The fairy looked at us and then attempted to walk around me.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Matilda Whipplethorn. I live here.”

  “Ah, yes. The kindler. We’ve heard about you.”

  The fairy attempted to skirt me again. Judd stopped him with a hand.

  “I’m Judd. I can see you.”

  If Judd expected an amazed reaction, he was disappointed. The fairy merely stared at him.

  “What kind of fairies are you?” asked Judd.

  “We’re from the Home Depot,” it said with a completely blank expression. If it was interested in us, it didn’t show it.

  “We gathered that, since you climbed out of the back of our new dishwasher, but what species are you?”

  “We’re from the Home Depot.”

  “That’s a place, not a species. What are you?” I asked.

  “We’re from the Home Depot.”

  Judd put his head closer to me. “You better get your dad.”

  I flew up to the workbench and tried to get Dad’s attention. He was still banging away on his mutilated needle. He’d assumed that his stellar woodworking skills would transfer over to metalworking. But with a ridiculous amount of practice, he was actually getting worse.

  “Dad!”

  He waved me away and stuck the needle in the still flaming basin. He turned it over, trying to get it to his favorite cherry red, which I suspected was too hot.

  I yelled at him again and when he didn’t respond, I snapped my fingers. The flames extinguished in an instant. It was a new trick I’d recently mastered and one that Dad didn’t appreciate.

  He threw up his mask. “Matilda!”

  “We have visitors,” I said.

  His face brightened. “The club?”

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said, feeling two blocks of guilt land on my shoulders. “It’s not them.”

  Dad struggled to keep his cheerful expression, but it was precarious. “Well, all
right then. Let’s go see who it is.”

  I pointed to the new fairies. Dad took off, spreading his brown and purple wings. Brown sounded dull until you saw Dad’s wings. They had about fifty shades of brown with touches of my purple and a little of my sister’s blue mixed in.

  Dad floated down and I stood watching, biting my trembling lip. Dad still hadn’t given up on his woodworking club and it was my fault that he’d eventually have to. Few fairies accepted my abilities and Dad’s club weren’t among them. They didn’t trust me around their wood or their families. Dad wasn’t officially kicked out of the club, but he wasn’t invited to dinners or to play cards because they were afraid he might bring me along. So Dad was stuck. He couldn’t change me and he couldn’t change them.

  I jumped off the edge of the workbench and glided down slowly. I blinked like crazy trying to get rid of the tears that filled my eyes. I landed beside Dad, and Judd eyed me. His giant face softened and he extended an index finger. I put my hand on the callused tip and felt the intense warmth he always radiated. Judd understood. I wouldn’t have expected a boy his age to have such tender feelings, but beneath his messy, smelly, loud boy exterior beat a compassionate heart.

  I leaned on Judd’s finger and listened to Dad talk to the new fairies.

  “So you’re saying that other fairies know that we’ve been seen?” asked Dad.

  “Yes,” the lead fairy replied.

  Dad craned his head sideways to look at the others in the line. They nodded.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t recognize your species. May I ask which one you are?”

  “We’re from the Home Depot,” it said, looking just as disinterested as before.

  “So you’ve said. I’m asking about your species.”

  “We’re from the Home Depot.”

  Dad looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and I shrugged.

  “Do you have names?” Dad asked slowly like he thought they might have a hard time following four whole words.

  “I’m D,” said the first.

  The rest followed suit, reciting the letters on their overalls.