Chapter 30. Jenny
Jenny
One Year Later
“I still think you should have killed him.” Ronnie finished watering Alex’s life-support system, then began checking him for bedsores.
I adjusted the curtains to allow more sunlight onto the three dwarf maple trees potted around Alex’s bed.
Branches circled his arm and both legs. Another snaked down his throat.
It was disturbing, but when Temple’s dryad friend Phile had first set it up, he’d assured me it was less invasive and more humane than a traditional feeding tube.
The trees sustained Alex’s body on a kind of magical maple syrup.
“It’s not like he’s going to wake up and suddenly be a good guy again,” Ronnie continued. “How long will you keep him here?”
“As long as he needs.”
“He doesn’t deserve your help.”
“We’re not doing it for him.” It was an old argument, a familiar track we’d run around again and again over the past year. “It’s about who we choose to be.”
Ronnie’s opinions about Alex were set in stone, but since coming to live with us, he’d begun to see the rest of the world with a little more nuance.
He’d even befriended Hjálmar. Well, befriended might be too strong of a word, but they played racquetball together twice a week.
Very competitive, very aggressive racquetball.
Ronnie had put on a little weight and muscle in recent months, making him look more like the adult he was becoming. Or it would have, if not for the rather ridiculous blond goatee he’d recently started sporting.
“What will you choose to do if he recovers?” he asked.
I HAVE SEVERAL CREATIVE IDEAS.
“Hush, you,” I said silently.
I’d thought about that question a lot, and I didn’t have a good answer yet. “Ava suggested we find a spell in Temple’s library to turn him into a turtle. We could keep him in a tank in the shop.”
I LIKE THAT. AND THEN YOU COULD MAKE SOUP FROM HIM.
“We’ve already got a mutant cat,” said Ronnie. “Why not a cursed turtle, too?” He shot one final scowl Alex’s way, then turned to me. “When are we going to practice sword work again?”
I couldn’t keep the grin from my face. “Very soon.”
He retreated a step. “Uh-oh. You sound way too happy.”
“Did you forget what day it was?” My smile grew. “It’s been a year and a day since we closed the door on Ringo.”
“Oh, shit. The contract.”
Annette had been bouncing with anticipation and excitement all last night. Apparently do no harm had also interfered with her recently rekindled relationship with Duke. Specifically their sex life. Which was way too much information, but I was happy for them.
Ronnie grimaced. “Well, I’m ready when you are.”
“Not so fast. Did you get those miniature gargoyles onto the shelf?” We’d begun selling some of Duke’s sculptures. The dragon with the witch’s hat was especially popular.
He rolled his eyes. “I put those out this morning before we opened.”
“What about the dishes in the sink?”
“Done.”
“And Squidward’s litter box?”
He grimaced. “I’ll get to that later this afternoon.”
“Then we’ll practice sword work later this afternoon. After Squidward’s facilities are clean. You know what happens when the box isn’t up to her high standards. Besides, the odds of you ever having to use an actual sword in the field in the twenty-first century are almost nil.”
I knew Ronnie wouldn’t stay with us forever, but I’d found that I enjoyed having a trainee, both for in-shop work and saving-the-world stuff. “You haven’t had any more prophetic dreams, have you?”
“Nothing.” He sounded disappointed. “Who’d have thought Salem could be so boring?”
“Don’t knock the peaceful times. They never last long enough.”
“I think Ma’s been blocking my dreams so we can stay here. Her and me and Temple. When I took the trash out last night, the van was rocking. I’m going to need therapy.”
I did my best to keep from laughing. “In this line of work, we all need therapy. There’s a merman in Maryland who does remote sessions, if you’re interested.”
“I’d rather clean cat litter.” He gave a mock shudder and left the room.
I shut the door and pulled a stool up next to Alex’s bed. Once there, I closed my eyes and concentrated. I could hear Annette and her grandkids in the shop. Ronnie descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. I heard him yank open the fridge and rustle around for a snack.
It was more than just my enhanced senses.
I felt them, just as I could feel Temple and Margaret and the rosebushes and even the mice, who had recently begun shooting tiny fireballs at Squidward whenever she got too close to the attic door.
Thankfully, the cat’s slimy skin appeared to be fireproof, and the house was quick to extinguish itself.
What I had was only a fraction of the connection Temple used to have, but it was real. I felt the house’s contentment, its strength and protectiveness, its love for everyone and everything that lived here.
I opened my eyes and turned my attention to Alex. “I talked to Emily over the weekend.” I had no idea if he could hear me, or if anything of Alex even survived. “Her youngest kid will be going to UCLA in the fall. Oh, and Thalia texted she got that job at the Cedar Rapids Museum of Art.”
I hadn’t told either of them the whole story about Alex, only that he’d gotten mixed up in something ugly and I was looking after him here in Salem until he recovered. Both of my old friends said they were going to come visit. Who knew, maybe this time they even would.
Morgan’s shout filled the house. “Aunt Jenny? That hearth devil is here again. Grandma says he needs healing.”
To Alex, I said, “I’ll fill you in on the rest later.” As I went downstairs, I called back, “What did Hob do to himself now?”
“Nothing yet. But Grandma says if he keeps talking to her like that, she’s going to rip off his—she’s going to hurt him a lot.”
Hob’s raspy voice echoed through the house. “I’m just here for the latest fucking Beckett novel.”
Hob’s addiction to spicy romance novels wasn’t a problem. His need to offend staff and customers alike was another matter. Devil or not, we couldn’t have him driving people away.
I reached the shop just in time to see a book rise from the special-orders shelf behind the counter and spin across the room to strike Hob in the forehead.
“Thank you, Temple,” I said.
“Asshole.” Hob clutched his book in both hands.
“You know the rules, Hob. You harass my staff or my customers, and you’re cut off.”
“Your staff?” Annette was going through a box of used books we’d picked up at an estate sale last week. “What part of joint proprietress do you not understand?”
I grinned. “Maybe if you spent more time working here and less time at the Gauntlet—”
“I thought you’d appreciate how diligently I’m working to develop and maintain a good relationship with one of our more popular suppliers,” Annette said with mock indignity.
“Not half as much as he appreciates it, I’m sure,” I said.
Hob opened his mouth, caught my warning stare, and closed it again. As he left the shop, he paused in the open doorway to say, “There’s a pukwudgie coming this way. They’re all bundled up in a hoodie and poncho, but I’d recognize that waddling gait anywhere. Looks like they’ve got a fucked-up leg.”
“I’ll bring them in,” said Annette. “Jenny, you get the exam room ready.”
“Ronnie’s in the kitchen if you need any help up front.” I gave the wall a fond pat, then headed back to set up. I was a Hunter and a Healer of Artemis. It was time to get to work.