Alaskan Fire (16 page)

Remembering the goosebumps that
had climbed up his arm when she reached out to shake his hand, Blaze said,
“Hold on a sec.  I don’t wear perfume.  I told you that.”  Then she frowned. 
“And what’s that got to do with my garden?”

“Probably nothin,” Jack said,
shrugging his big shoulders.  “Felt like maybe you carried
somethin…special…with ya.  But it was probably just wishful thinkin’.”

Blaze bit her lip, thinking of
the feather neatly stashed between the rafters.  “And this…special…you felt. 
It had to do with growing things?”

Jack laughed.  “Sweetie, you have
no
idea.” 

“What, like fairy dust or
something?” she growled.  She picked up a handful of powdered earth and dropped
it pointedly, letting him see it puff and blow away.

Giving her an irritated look, he
wiped sweat off his brow, then glanced up at the sun.  “Okay, look.  While
you’re out here taking a dirt-nap, I really gotta get back to work on the
chainsaw.  The forty-year-old piece of shit snapped its cord again.” 
Conversation over, he turned and wandered back towards the shop.

He thinks the feather would
help.
  Blaze turned her head, looked at the desiccated rows, watched a lone
ant crawl across the desert that was her garden, then rolled her head to look
up at the sun again.

Drier than Texas for months, then
rains that make the Yentna flood its banks and take boats, gear, and even
houses
with it.  What the hell had she been thinking?

Blaze pushed herself out of the
dirt, struggled to her feet, and, without even bothering to dust herself off,
strode towards the back door of the lodge.  She passed Jack as she went, her
longer stride carrying her across the back yard in ground-eating steps that
quickly left him behind.

“Hey, now,” Jack called after
her, “you aren’t about to go do something stupid, are you?”

Blaze yanked the newly-repaired
back door of the lodge open, then slammed it shut behind her, entering the
wonderfully cool basement.  She took an immediate right, climbing the staircase
into the kitchen, not even bothering to take off her muddy boots.

She heard Jack crack the door
behind her, then groan when he saw the clods of dirt she’d left caking the
steps.  The weasel was, she had discovered, almost OCD in his desire for
cleanliness.  “Oh,
that’s
helpful!” he cried up the stairs at her,
before slamming the door again and disappearing back into the shop.

Blaze ignored him, trodding
across the fancy carpet, right up the stairs to the third story, then storming
up the ladder into the attic like an elephant in a china store.  The ladder
swayed beneath her in rickety complaint as Blaze yanked the layer of insulation
off of her father’s present, stuffed it under her arm, and jumped back down to
the rug, leaving a double-footprint where she landed.  Ignoring it, she stomped
back down the first set of stairs, through the kitchen, down the second set of
stairs, and ripped open the basement door again.

Sending it crashing into the jamb
behind her, she stomped across the weathered floorboards of the back porch,
jumped over the steps, and headed for the shop.

Inside, Jack was bent over a
side-table, back to her, fiddling with a lump of unidentifiable clutter in
front of him, country-music radio blasting in his ear as he worked.  He was
tapping his foot on the cement floor of the shop, whistling in tune with the
song, when Blaze slammed the metal box down on his workbench, scattering parts
everywhere.  The wereverine shrieked and dropped his screwdriver, stumbling
backwards, eyes going slitty on her.

“Tell me what that is,” Blaze
snapped, pointing to the box.

Jack stared at her like she was some
sort of poisonous snake and didn’t even look at the box.  “I have no idea what
that is.  Never seen it in my life.”  Looking irritated as his startlement
faded, he growled, “You know, you just made it so we gotta buy a new chainsaw,
right?  I’m
not
going hunting for all that shit.”  He gestured at the
floor of the shop, which was even then scattered with tiny parts.

“I don’t care about the
chainsaw,” Blaze growled.  “You said it was a forty-year-old piece of crap
anyway.”

“It is,” Jack said, “But that
don’t mean it don’t still get the job done.”

“Tell me,” Blaze gritted, “What
that thing is.”  She jabbed her finger at the box.

For the first time, Jack looked
down at the metal case, but made no effort to touch it.  He sniffed the air,
then wrinkled his nose.  “Uh.  Well, it ain’t got a dead body in it, if that’s
what you’re worried about.  Where’d you find it?”

“
That
,” Blaze said, “Is
what my father
willed
to me when he died.”

 Jack seemed to relax.  “Oh, all
right,” he said, reaching for it.  “What’d the old fart leave you?” he asked,
as he opened the latch, “Some mummified monkey’s peni—
Oh my shit!
”  He
jumped backwards, hitting the far wall of the shop, making tools rattle off of
their hooks and clatter to the floor.

His reaction left Blaze feeling
both vindicated and utterly terrified she’d just made the biggest mistake of
her life.  “So you know what it is?” she demanded, biting down her fear that he
was about to rip her head off and use her neck like a popsicle stick.

The wereverine tore his gaze from
the feather and looked at her, his mouth hanging open.

When he offered up nothing else,
Blaze urged, “You
do
know, right?”

The wereverine swallowed, glanced
at the doors of the shop, then returned his eyes to the feather and swallowed
again.  Very carefully, he said, “Honey, you said your father is
dead
?”

Blaze squinted at him.  “I put
flowers on his casket.”

“But he’s
dead
?” Jack
demanded.  “You’re
sure
?”

She remembered seeing her
father’s dead body, stretched out in a nice black suit.  A few days later,
she’d been called in to the lawyer’s office and gotten that sweet little story
of the poor, abandoned babe in the woods and how, oh, by the way, you’re
adopted and
that’s
why you were always ugly.  Her face hardening, she
said, “I kissed his cheek and cried over his corpse.” 
And put myself in the
hospital again…

Jack blinked at her, looking a
little surprised.  “Oh.”  A tiny knot formed in his forehead.  “So that wasn’t
his feather?”

“Of course it was,” Blaze said.

“But he’s
dead
?” Jack
demanded.

“Well, that’s a stupid question,”
Blaze snapped.  “Of course he’s dead.  What the hell does that have to do with
anything?”

Jack seemed to be having some
sort of aneurysm.  “So…your dad…where did
he
get it?”

“How the Hell should I know?”
Blaze demanded.  “He collected old, weird shit all the time.  Had a whole
basement full of junk when he died.  What is it?”

Jack was still pressed up against
the far wall like he thought the feather was gonna bite him.  “Uh.  Just really
special, that’s what.”

“So that’s what you were feeling
when I showed up?” Blaze demanded.  “And don’t try to lie, I saw you sniffin at
me whenever you thought I wasn’t looking.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, almost in a
pant.  He was sweating, his face glinting in the shop light, “That’s probably
part of it.”

“Okay,” Blaze said, “So what is
it, and what are we gonna do with it?”  She cocked her head at him.  “You said
it could make stuff
grow
?”

Still backed up against the far
wall, the wereverine made a nervous sound.  “You, uh, mind taking it out of the
box, then, there Boss?  I gotta get a good look at it, and those things don’t,
uh,
like
the moon-kissed…”

Blaze narrowed her eyes at him. 
“So basically, if it explodes, it’ll turn
me
into a puddle of blood and
gore, while you watch safely from afar?”

Jack jerked to peer at her.  “You
mean you ain’t touched it yet?”

“Of course not!” Blaze cried,
gesturing to the tendrils floating out of the case.  “
Look
at that
thing.  It looks
alive
.”  She glanced back to the feather and
shuddered.  “Hell, the damn thing’s basically
whispering
to me.”  Even
then, there was a nagging sensation that she should reach out, should pick it
up, should
do
something with it…

Jack’s eyes suddenly narrowed
with some sort of recognition.  “Whispering, huh?”

Blaze gave him a long, hard look,
waiting for the wereverine to divulge some more information.  When he didn’t,
she growled, “Fine.  I’ll just go throw it in the river.”  She slapped the case
shut and tucked it under her arm.

“No!” Jack cried, leaping forward
to catch the case in one hand, her shoulder in the other.  Very carefully, he
twisted her back around and made her set the case back on the workbench.  “All
right, tootz,” he said.  “That…” he took a deep breath, scanning her eyes,
then, as solemnly as a man pronouncing an entire city’s doom, looked up at her
and said, “…is a magic feather.”

“Oh, for chrissakes!” Blaze
snapped, disgusted.  She reached for the case again. 

In a flash, Jack grabbed her hand
and held it against the workbench, pinned.  “Listen, honey,” Jack said evenly. 
“Maybe it
is
yours, but you
ain’t
throwin that in a river. 
Wars
have been fought over feathers like that.”

“Wars, huh?” Blaze asked, peering
down at him.

“Yeah,” Jack said, utterly
serious.  “Wars.”

Blaze frowned.  “That why
Thunderbird looked at it?”

Jack froze, and she watched fur
slide out the pores of his face.  “What?”

“He dug it out of the freezer,”
Blaze said, shrugging. 

“And you forced him to put it
down
?”
Jack cried, in disbelief.

“He handed it to me,” Blaze
said.  “Then walked away.”

Jack frowned.  For a long moment,
he just stared at her.  Then, gruffly, he said, “Okay, sweetheart, you got some
sort of high-grade rocket-propelled nuclear warhead I don’t know about?”

She blinked at him.

He waved a disgusted arm in the
general direction of the forest.  “Then how the hell you get the glorified
turkey to put the damn thing down?” he demanded.  “I can think of a dozen ways
he could’ve used it.  Not that he needs any of them.  Hell, probably would’ve
braided it into his hair, the arrogant prick.”

“That’s why he visited, then?”
Blaze demanded.  “Just to see it?”

Jack made a disgusted grunt. 
“The nosy bastard probably wanted to know the source of the magic seeping into
his neighbor’s land.”

Blaze glanced down at the
feather’s case, impressed.  “So it
is
magic.”

“It is,” Jack said.  “We’re gonna
bury it,
soon
, before it attracts something more dangerous…like the
fey.  The ground will help mute the power a bit, spread it out more evenly,
instead of letting it sink into the ley-lines and hit the whole damn network.”

“Okay,” Blaze said, “this magic
feather…what’s it
do
?”

Jack gave a nervous laugh and
glanced at the door.  “Keep your voice down, sister.”

“What’s it do?” she hissed.  “Can
it help my plants?”

“Can it help…” he stared at her
as if she’d asked one of the most retarded questions he’d ever heard.  “You
really
don’t know what it is, do you?”

“Would I be here asking you, if I
did?” Blaze growled.

Jack released her hand and,
giving her a nervous look, pushed the lid of the case open.  “You said you
ain’t picked it up?”

“Would
you
?”

He gestured at her.  “Go ahead. 
It’s not gonna bite.”  The pale, sweaty look on his face, however, told her
that the wereverine was lying through his teeth.

“You pick it up first,” Blaze
growled.

Jack’s eyes widened at her and he
licked his lips, then glanced down at the feather.  Instead of arguing, though,
he tenderly reached down, and as if he were picking up spun glass, lifted the
mass of red, orange, and gold filaments from its nest.  It didn’t turn him to a
frog, as Blaze half-expected.

“Here,” he said, offering it to
her.  “It’s your garden.  You’re gonna need to work the magic.”

“Hey now,” Blaze said, holding up
her palms warily.  “I don’t know the first thing about ma—”  But Jack grabbed
her hand, flipped it over, palm-up, and settled the feather into it.

Instantly, the thing flared to
life, the iridescent filaments suddenly
blazing
in glowy strands of red,
orange, and gold.

“Jaaaack…” Blaze managed through
clenched teeth as the feather lit up the room like a glow-stick.  “What the
fuck
did you just do?”

But the wereverine was staring at
her, a slack look on his face.  “You’re…”

“Let,” Blaze gritted, biting out
every word, “Go.  Of.  My.  Hand.”  She could feel the feather
crawling
on her, caressing her skin like it was some sort of little gremlin made of
goose down.  When Jack didn’t let go, and she could almost
feel
the
tendrils digging into her skin, heating up her blood, making her heart suddenly
start throbbing as embers began tracing their way through her veins, she
screamed, “
Now
!”

Jack released her suddenly,
stepping back so quickly that he tripped over a can of used oil and set it
sloshing over the pristine floor of ‘his’ shop.  He landed on his ass nearby,
staring up at her in perfect horror.

Blaze quickly detached the thing
from her palm and set it back into the box it had come in, then gave it a wide
berth.  She stood there, watching it, for several moments before she said,
“It’s still glowing.”

“Yeah, uh,” Jack said.  “I’m
pretty sure you just activated it.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Blaze said.  “Is
that like, what, arming the detonator on a wad of C-4?”