Fierce Creatures (Away From Whipplethorn Book Two) Page 4

  Mom blew out a breath and looked at the intricate carvings on the wood of my ceiling. “Please don’t remind me. They have to be pooping somewhere.” Then she narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said. “I have no idea where they poop.”

  “We’ve got to keep them out then. There must be a hole somewhere.” Eunice’s eyes darted around, looking for the offending hole.

  “Whatever. I’m going to check out Grandma Vi’s books.”

  “What for?” asked Eunice.

  “Hopefully, I’ll be able to figure out what Miss Penrose has.”

  Eunice grabbed my shoulder. The color vanished from her face. “Wait. You don’t know what she has?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.

  Eunice dashed out. Mom and I followed her fluttering panic to the front door that had just opened. Gerald came in. “We got everybody home. How’s Miss Penrose?”

  Eunice turned him around and shoved him out the door. “We have to go.”

  “Why? What happened?” Gerald struggled to get back in.

  “Miss Penrose has an unknown disease.”

  “Eunice,” said Mom. “We don’t know she’s contagious.”

  “We don’t know she isn’t.”

  Gerald got his foot on the threshold. “I’m not leaving. I want to help.”

  “You can’t catch whatever she’s got. You’re delicate,” his mother shouted.

  “I’m not delicate. Stop saying that.” Gerald slipped under her arm, but she snatched him back by the wing.

  “We have to go. Let us know when you figure it out.” Eunice forced a red-faced Gerald away from the door and dragged him off.

  “I really could’ve used his help,” I said. “Nobody’s better with research.”

  Mom frowned. “I know, but she’s got a point. Ask Mrs. Zamora if you can go over to her house to get some of Grandma’s books, but don’t wake up the trow.”

  “As if I could.”

  The trow were a nocturnal species and another remnant of our adventure in the antique mall. They’d moved into the Zamora’s house (formally Grandma Vi’s) on the other side of the mantel and stayed, much to the delight of everyone. They slept all day and played music all night. They were supposed to be pretty loud, but I could only hear them when I was right in the room they were playing in. Everyone else got to drift to sleep with music in their ears, but all I got was silence. I hadn’t minded so much before the trow. I hadn’t known any better.

  I found Mrs. Zamora and asked if I could go over. She could only respond with a nod, since Easy was struggling to jump out of her arms to get at Horc.

  “Iris,” I yelled. “Help me get some books from Grandma’s.” I didn’t say get books from the Zamoras. I liked to think of them as Grandma’s guests, not permanent residents as much as I liked them. It made it seem like she was just away for a few days and nothing had really changed.

  Iris peeked around the edge of my room’s door. “When?”

  “Now. What are you doing in there?”

  “Nothing.”

  Horc waved at me from Mom’s hip, looking much more dignified without lizards on his face. “I’m ready to assist you.”

  Easy chirped. He couldn’t talk yet. It was a fairy trait. He wouldn’t talk until he was over two. Spriggans were an exception to that rule. They were verbal at birth and Horc never missed an opportunity to talk.

  Horc eyed Easy and then said, “Easy wants to go. He’s prepared to be very helpful.”

  Easy’s mindbender vow not to listen to others minds didn’t go as far as Horc. The two of them communicated telepathically. A situation Horc wasn’t entirely thrilled about.

  “She knows you can read,” said Horc to Easy. “Stop telling me.”

  “I think you two will stay here,” said Mrs. Zamora. “They can’t carry the books and you. Besides, you have your addition facts to work on.”

  Horc and Easy made faces. I scurried out before they could talk the moms into making us take them. For babies, they were amazingly persuasive.

  Iris followed me over to the other side of the mantel and we hovered outside Grandma’s former front door, now the Zamora and trow’s. We knocked and waited for a minute, just to be polite, and then opened the door.

  “Hi. It’s Matilda and me,” Iris called out. “We just need some books.”

  “Why do you bother?” I stepped into the front hall and held up my palm. A flame erupted in the center and twisted into a column of orange and white, the best for lighting dark spaces, I’d discovered.

  “It doesn’t seem right to walk in while they’re sleeping,” said Iris, her round face puckering in a frown.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t. But we have a job to do.”

  I took a deep breath and soaked in the smell of Grandma’s house. So many things had stayed the same, it really seemed like she’d be back at any moment. Mom had given grandma’s stuff to the Zamoras. Her furniture was there; her eggshell tea sets still arranged in her best china cupboard. I smiled at Grandma’s favorite cashmere cape hung on a peg in the hall just where she always put it. I knew Mrs. Zamora kept it there just for me.

  We went upstairs and peeked in on the trow in the music room. They slept in a heap in the middle. If you didn’t know there were multiple creatures in the pile, you’d have thought it was only one. Their soft brown hair concealed much.

  “I love the way they snore,” said Iris.

  I cocked an ear toward the pile. Nothing. “Do you think I could hear it if I got really close?”

  Iris bit her lip. “It’s very soft.”

  That was Iris’s way of saying no. She had to say no to me a lot. I really should’ve learned not to ask because it hurt her to answer.

  We went on to Grandma’s old library. Stacks of books went from floor to ceiling, neatly arranged alphabetically and by healer. I came from a long line of healers. Grandma Vi would be the last one, unless I found a way to get myself trained up properly.

  “Start here?” Iris pointed to a shelf with the name Viola carved into it.

  “No. I don’t think so. Grandma told me about her most interesting cases. I’m sure she would’ve mentioned something like what Miss Penrose has. Let’s skip the individual case notes and diaries altogether. Until we know what it is, it won’t help to know individual treatments.”

  I took a super thick tome off a shelf labeled “Diagnostics”. The book was marked A. Iris grabbed B and C. I took D as well. That was as much as we could carry. We stomped down the stairs and were barely able to fly over to our side of the mantel with so much weight. The books made Horc and Easy seem light.

  We took the books into the kitchen and dropped them on the acorn-top table. Mom came over and flipped a few pages in A. “Just this one book is for diseases that start with A? Suddenly I’m glad I didn’t get the healing gift. Gardening is much simpler.” She kissed me on the forehead and went back to snipping her homegrown herbs into a pot. I opened A to the first page and read, “aardvark, allergy to.” I groaned. This was going to take forever.

  “It’s alright,” said Mrs. Zamora, picking up C. “I’ll help.”

  Iris opened B and we started. By the time I got to awkward eye movement, I’d started to think my ancestors’ disease-naming skills were highly overrated. Mom loaded a plate of pea pesto gratin for Miss Penrose and filled glasses with elderberry tea for the rest of us.

  “They really should’ve done it by symptoms,” said Mom.

  “I guess it looked like a good idea in—” I looked at the cover of A. “1742.”

  “Do you think anyone still gets boulder butt?” asked Iris, frowning at B.

  “I certainly hope not,” said Mom, holding up her hand. “And don’t tell me what it is. If I have it, I’d rather not know.”

  Just then my chair shook and then it shook again. I looked down to find Horc biting on the leg. “Horc!”

  Mom pried his jaws off. “You have to stop doing that.” Mom handed him a
biting stick.

  Horc sized the stick up and then chomped on it so hard it snapped in half.

  Iris grinned. “I think you need stronger sticks, Mom.”

  “And more,” said Horc, splinters dropping off his lips.

  “There’s drool on Matilda’s chair leg,” said Iris.

  Mom plopped Horc next to the biting stick basket and threatened to sell him back to the spriggans if he didn’t stop ruining all the furniture. Horc didn’t look worried. He just chomped another stick.

  I picked up D, which was even thicker than A. How many diseases could possibly start with D? Seriously. I couldn’t think of any.

  “This system stinks,” I said.

  “Don’t knock your ancestors’ work,” said Mrs. Zamora, looking up from C.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I found it.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WE SAT AROUND the table, waiting for Dad to come home so we could have dinner. Mrs. Zamora had taken Easy home after kissing me on the forehead with tears in her eyes. Miss Penrose slept on in the guest bedroom, unaware of her diagnosis. I would be the one to tell her. It was my job. Mom would’ve done it, but I refused that suggestion.

  I toyed with my fork as I ran over all the ways to say it, coming to the conclusion that there really wasn’t any good way to tell this news. Congestive heart failure. It had such a final sound to it. Failure. Was there anything worse? I would fail to save her. It was right in the name.

  Mom touched my hand. “Matilda, it’s not over. There’s hope.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t mean it. According to the book, I’d chosen the right medicine to treat Miss Penrose’s symptoms, but they wouldn’t cure her and she would die. The disease was so rare it had never been seen in Whipplethorn and the only believed cure was a rumor that my great great grandmother Evangeline had heard about from a healer just passing through. Distillation of the kaki persimmon root. The healer told Evangeline there was something special about the distillation process, but didn’t know what it was. It didn’t really matter because we didn’t have kaki persimmon root. Mom knew everything about plants and she’d never heard of it. I’d gone through Grandma’s supplies twice and the only other mention of it was under anti-inflammatories with a little note that said it wasn’t the best choice to treat our species since it was so strong.

  Grandma Vi had kept records of all the traders who came to Whipplethorn carrying medical supplies. They left her with lists of the herbs, roots, and leaves they carried or could get. There were twenty such lists on Grandma’s shelves. Kaki persimmon root wasn’t on any of them.

  “Dad’s home,” announced Iris, which meant he could be at the doorstep or a mile away. Iris’ hearing was so good she’d know if he carried a heavy load that slowed his wing beats or if his stomach was empty.

  Dad stomped into the kitchen a minute later, his blond hair standing on end and his hands in fists. “This situation is intolerable, Adele. Absolutely intolerable.”

  “I agree,” Mom said, getting the pot of potato-leek soup she’d made. “We’ll do everything we can, of course.”

  “We’ll do more than that. I know you won’t like it, but I’m getting Judd involved.”

  “Judd?”

  “He’s our greatest weapon and he’s really not a child. He’s fourteen.”

  Mom and I looked at each other.

  “What can Judd do that I can’t?” I asked.

  “You?” Dad asked. “You aren’t to be involved.”

  “Matilda has to be involved, Ambrose,” said Mom. “She’s more knowledgeable than the rest of us combined.”

  “She’s been in one battle.” Dad banged his fist on the table and Horc looked up from his half-gnawed biting stick in surprise. “This is going to take planning, strategy, fortitude, I tell you.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” asked Mom.

  “Those fairies. Those ignorant fairies that don’t even know their own species.”

  “Oh,” we all said together.

  “We thought you were talking about Penrose,” said Mom.

  “Penrose? Oh, yes. We sent messages out for a fully trained healer. In the meantime, we can’t have those idiots moving in on our territory.”

  “I think we have more pressing problems, Ambrose.”

  “There’s nothing more pressing. They’re moving in. Acting like I can’t take care of this house. Saying I need help. They don’t even know what kind of fairies they are.” Dad sat in his big chair and glared at us.

  “They’re Home Depot fairies, Dad,” said Iris.

  “Home Depot is a store. It’s like saying we’re Wood Crazy fairies,” said Dad.

  “That’s not a bad description of us,” I said. “We are wood crazy.”

  “That’s not the point. Doesn’t anyone see the point?”

  Mom ladled soup into Dad’s bowl. “We see your point, Ambrose. We just don’t care at the moment.”

  “Don’t care? We could lose our home. We—”

  Mom cut him off. “Penrose is very ill.”

  “I know. I told you we sent messages. Should hear back in a few days, at most a week.”

  “She doesn’t have a week, Dad,” I said.

  “You don’t even know what it is. It could just be a bad cold or a minor infection.”

  “It could be, but it isn’t. It’s congestive heart failure and it’s treated with a medicine that we’ve never had and no trader has ever sold it.”

  Dad sat back. “Don’t look so glum. Someone’s bound to have it. We’ll send out another message.”

  “You don’t understand. This disease is really rare. No Whipplethorn fairy has ever had it before. She’ll die if we don’t do something fast.”

  “We’ve already done something fast. Help is on the way.”

  “Help that won’t know what to do, if they even show up,” I said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. We can’t use our regular methods. This isn’t regular,” I said.

  Iris stood up. “Somebody’s at the door.”

  “Is it someone from the club?” asked Dad.

  Iris’s forehead creased. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. They’re alone.”

  “It must be Gregor. He’s probably heard something already.”

  I picked up Horc and we followed Dad down the hall. He swung the door open with a huge smile, but it wasn’t Gregor standing on our doorstep. It was a little old fairy, carrying a large handbag made of worn-out carpet. She had white hair pulled back into a bun and a pair of shriveled wings in faded orange. The strong scent of lavender invaded our hallway and made my nose run.

  “You called?” she asked with a sweet smile.

  Dad didn’t say anything for a moment. His smile was still plastered to his face, but his eyes held an astonished look I’d never seen in them before.

  Mom stepped in front of him. “We called you?”

  “Oh, yes. I do hope so. You are Ambrose and Adele Whipplethorn?” the old lady asked.

  “Yes,” said Dad, recovering and dropping his smile.

  “I’m Lucrece...” She paused for a moment, “the Meek.”

  “What kind of name is that?” I asked as Horc made a rumbling in his chest.

  “Mine, of course. You did send for a healer?”

  “We sent out the message not three hours ago,” I said.

  She pushed her way in and said, “I was in the neighborhood.”

  “You were in this neighborhood?”

  She laid a beady eye on me, which quickly turned to a warm expression. “Yes, dear. I was in the neighborhood. What’s the trouble?”

  Dad took Lucrece the Meek’s bag. “Thank goodness. We were just getting ourselves all worked up. The patient is this way.”

  Mom and Dad led Lucrece down the hall to Miss Penrose’s room. Lucrece glanced back at me. “Aren’t you coming, dear?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said.

  Horc rumbled again.


  “What is it?”

  “This is a big coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” asked Horc.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Iris. “She seems very nice, even if she wears way too much perfume.”

  “It’s not about the perfume,” I said. “Horc is right. It’s a bit too coincidental that she showed up so quickly.”

  “I thought we wanted a healer. This is good,” said Iris.

  “Maybe. If she is a healer,” said Horc.

  We went into Miss Penrose’s room and stood by the door. Lucrece examined Miss Penrose’s feet, touching and sniffing her toes. Miss Penrose had gotten back some of her color, but her lips were still a faint blue. She raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged.

  “Very simple,” declared Lucrece. “It’s a severe allergy to milkweed. Nothing more. We’ll have you right as rigor mortis in no time.”

  Iris whispered to me and Horc, “Doesn’t rigor mortis mean you’re dead?”

  I nodded, handed Horc to Iris, and took Miss Penrose’s hand. “I don’t think this is an allergy.”

  “Your training is incomplete, my dear,” said Lucrece.

  “What do you know about my training? And where were you trained?”

  “Under the Great Eudora.” She shoved a roll of parchment under my nose.

  It was a certificate of graduation under the Great Eudora, also with no last name. She could’ve been Eudora the Quack for all we knew.

  Mom took the parchment out of my hand and gave me a stern look. “Matilda, this is a fully trained healer with good news. We like good news.”

  “What are you going to treat this allergy with?” I asked.

  “Rest. It’s the most powerful medicine, you know,” said Lucrece.

  “I would’ve thought medicine would be the most powerful medicine.”

  “That’s not all, my dear.” Lucrece eyed me over her little round glasses. I didn’t think she looked all that friendly, but Mom was beaming at her. “I’ll also send for some special elixirs to speed the healing process.”

  “What elixirs?”

  “Oh, this and that. I don’t want to trouble you with technical names.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Matilda, don’t talk back to your elders,” said Mom. “Now, Lucrece, how long will it take to get what you need?”