Stray Magic Page 3

  There were two men working in the garage, one lingering outside it smoking a cigarette, and two more strolling through the junkyard where the dogs were shut in.

  “Can we talk privately?” Stella asked.

  Mike’s eyes narrowed, but that was the only indication of surprise he gave. “My office.”

  The two men who’d been bent over an engine gave us sideways looks.

  The smoker ground out his cigarette and tossed it in a can. He was a bit younger than Mike, probably in his early forties, and unlike with Mike, there was no flab covering his muscle. He was tall, dark haired and intimidating.

  Inside the office, Stella introduced me briefly, and laid out her requirements for a decent man who’d be willing to shoot others in order to protect the homestead.

  Mike leaned back in his chair. “Damn dragons. Never thought I’d be glad my boys didn’t follow me into the army, but I am now. Things like this, something too big for people to grasp, the idiots in Washington will send in the troops. Although where they’d send them is the question, isn’t it?” He didn’t look at us for answers. “Alston is the one you want. Alston Graves. Everyone calls him Digger.”

  Gravedigger. What passed for humor sometimes was plain sad.

  “He was the one smoking out front.”

  Stella looked at me, checking that I’d be all right with sharing the house with the man.

  Alston was intimidating, but he didn’t give me a bad vibe. I nodded slightly.

  “Digger’s got a dog. He’ll want to bring it with him.”

  “A dog would be a bonus,” Stella said.

  Mike nodded. “My boys are making their way home. You know how they brawl when they’re all together?”

  “Yes,” Stella said. Her tone made it clear that brawling was an understatement.

  “How’d you feel about housing Jarod?”

  “Pick of the bunch,” Stella replied smartly.

  Mike grinned, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “He was always your favorite. And you with him. I’ll send him over when he gets here.”

  “Thank you, Mike.”

  “You’re good people, Stella. I’ll tell Digger that. Will you wait here while I talk to him?”

  “Yes.”

  Mike strode out of his office with new energy.

  Stella watched him. “People need plans and hope. And don’t worry about Jarod. You’ll like him. He might be trouble, but there’s not a mean bone in his body, and his romantic entanglements are with men, not women.” She looked at me then. “That bother you?”

  “Reassures me.”

  “Good girl.”

  I flicked through messages and news on my phone, but felt strangely divorced from my friends’ hashtags and humor concerning dragons and other magical creatures. They all seemed to think that the government would resolve the situation, whatever the situation was. I put my phone away. I was less inclined to believe in easy solutions.

  Alston Graves walked into the office, shoulders straight, footsteps almost silent. “Mrs. Thornton?”

  “Stella.”

  He nodded. “Mike says you live in the old farmhouse with the green roof. Nice place, but no near neighbors. If you’re willing to house my dog as well as me, I’m happy to provide protection. I served twenty years in the army. I can kill if I have to.”

  I gulped.

  He noticed. He’d said what he did to judge our reactions.

  Stella remained unflustered. “As long as your dog recognizes us as friends, it’s welcome in the back porch through summer and we’ll find it an out of the way place in the kitchen for winter. I’m not having it wandering the house adding to our cleaning.”

  “Fair.” Digger held out his hand.

  Stella shook it.

  Then he held out his hand to me. His clasp was firm, but not meant to hurt. He was taking my measure as he stared at me. There was a pale scar slicing down from the end of his left eyebrow. “Allies.”

  I smiled. “The same term occurred to me, yesterday. Happy to meet you.”

  “Not allies,” Stella said. “Till this dragon situation sorts itself out, we’re family. No one comes before the three of us.”

  There was a weight but also a reassurance to her pronouncement. “Family,” I said tentatively.

  Digger was just old enough to be my father. Perhaps he thought that, too, or just sensed my nervousness. “Family,” he said firmly. “You’d better come meet Tabby.”

  The large brindled dog was no particular breed, just massive. Her loyalty to Digger was obvious, but she deigned to sniff Stella and my hands, and to accept her master’s statement that we were friends.

  “I’ll join you at the house,” Digger said. “I need to collect my gear.”

  I waited till we were in Stella’s car and slowly accelerating away before I spoke. “I like him. I bet he was a sergeant in the army.” There’d been a guy like him at one of the camps I’d attended. He was accustomed to giving orders, but reasonable orders. I didn’t mind doing as Stella and Digger said. They’d have to sort out between them who was boss. Probably Stella, unless and until we had an emergency. With all the work and unknowns in front of us, I anticipated I’d have plenty of opportunity to use my initiative whoever was boss.

  Back at the house, I hung out the curtains from my room to dry and put on a load of sheets to freshen. Washing machines and me were becoming best friends. Stella had promised Digger room and board, and it was obvious that his expertise and muscle could be put to better use than in cleaning his room. It made sense to clean both of the two remaining bedrooms, since Jarod would turn up at some point.

  Digger found me balancing on a stepladder, taking down the curtains in his room.

  “Leave your gear outside the door till I’ve finished cleaning,” I suggested.

  “Thanks for this.” He sounded a fraction less assured than usual.

  I grinned at him. “Stella has plans for you. There’s a tiller that needs some help starting, and then, garden beds to turn over. I figured you could handle that better than me.”

  “I guess I’ve got my orders.”

  We all met up over lunch, which Stella put together. The ham and salad sandwiches were good, but the chocolate chip cookies were heaven. I ate heartily. I couldn’t work out who was dirtier: Digger from the garden or me from cleaning two bedrooms. Digger’s room had been relatively easy, but with Jarod’s I’d had to carry a lot of junk up to the attic before I could even begin cleaning.

  I spent the afternoon in the garden under Stella’s supervision and discovered that spreading fertilizer over the newly turned garden beds so that Digger could till them a final time won the dirty jobs title. The fertilizer was well-aged fowl manure from the farmer next door. After that, a shower and clean clothes was essential so that the washing drying on the line stayed clean when I brought it in.

  Digger put the tiller away and showered before helping me hang the curtains.

  I left him to make up his bed, and went to make up what would be Jarod’s. I collapsed backwards on it. I was exhausted and it wasn’t even dinnertime. I pulled out my phone and checked the news. More creatures had been sighted in different places. There were more riots and even regime changes in some countries as political and social unrest burst out under the pressure of our collective uncertainty.

  What did these creatures mean? What did they want? How were things going to change?

  There were no messages from my parents, and my friends were still exclaiming and being clever, or else—like me—going silent. Everything was too uncertain. Concentrating on physical tasks reduced my anxiety. We were in a waiting period, but getting ready for the worst.

  I heaved myself up off Jarod’s bed and went downstairs to see about dinner, but Stella had everything under control. A chicken was roasting in the oven.

  Tabby was as close as she could get to the action, sitting on the porch-side of the kitchen’s security mesh door. Her short ears pricked up when she saw me.

  “Hey, Tab
by.” We’d made friends through the afternoon as she supervised our gardening activities. From wary acceptance, I was now one of her pack. Tummy rubs were allowed.

  Her tail wagged in response to my greeting.

  I’d never had a pet. It was interesting how the dog’s happiness in seeing me made me happy.

  “She’s a good dog,” Stella said. “Ugly as sin, but a loyal temperament. There you are.” The last sentence was for Digger, not his dog. “There’s whisky in the top cupboard. I don’t hold with drunkenness, but this isn’t a teetotaler’s house.”

  “I don’t drink while on active service. This feels like active service.”

  And just like that, the relaxed vibe vanished.

  “Forty minutes till dinner,” Stella said. “Time for a council of war.” She got a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge and poured us all glasses.

  We carried them out to the porch, joining Tabby, who lay down happily at Digger’s feet. He and Stella sat on sturdy wooden rocking chairs. I sat on an old cane chair with a thin cushion. It was satisfying to look through the porch screens and view our work. The garden beds were tidy now and the air smelled of fresh dirt.

  “Bud, my late husband, preferred the taste of our well water to the town supply. The windmill pumps water up to the tank sufficient to supply the house, the garden, and livestock. If we imagine the worst happens and electricity and other supplies are cut, we’ll have water. Amy bought up candles like they were going out of fashion.”

  I blushed.

  “Which is good. We’ll have light through winter. What we need is wood for the cooking stove and the living room fireplace. If we keep those two fires burning and the doors open, the pipes won’t freeze. There’s also an old copper in the laundry. Heating water in it for washing and bathing might become necessary. There ought to be an old tub in one of the sheds that we can clean up and haul into the laundry. Cold showers are fine in summer, but I’m too old to suffer them in winter.”

  I didn’t welcome the thought of a cold shower any time of year, but I stayed silent.

  “The sheds, barn and attic all need to be gone through. There’ll be things in there we can use, but they can wait. Garden and security, first. We’ll all work on the garden, under my direction. Digger is in charge of security. Amy and I will go through the pantry and basement together to assess our food situation and plan meals. I wouldn’t say I’m a hoarder, but what the garden provides, I don’t like to waste, so we have food enough till harvest even if we don’t get other supplies.”

  “Toilet paper,” Digger contributed. He glanced at me. “Tampons.”

  “Not for me. I use a menstrual cup.” And I’d brought a spare with me to camp.

  “A what?” It was Stella who was confused.

  Digger stared out at the garden, cutting out of the conversation.

  “A silicon cup that fits in my vagina. It’s reusable, easy to clean, and comfortable. Better than tampons or pads.”

  “Huh.”

  Evidently planning to survive a dystopian event could be derailed by discussion of menstruation.

  “No pads for me, either. I’m not incontinent,” Stella said. “Which is a plus.”

  Digger snorted a laugh.

  Giggles overcame me.

  Stella smiled a small smile. She also dragged the discussion back on track. “Toilet paper, sugar, salt. Vinegar we can get from the cider makers around here. Sugar, salt and vinegar are all preservatives.”

  “Oil,” I said. “For cooking. I’ve got a comprehensive first aid kit, but painkillers and broad spectrum antibiotics would be good.”

  Digger nudged Tabby with a foot. “Everyone’ll be after those, and gas for the vehicles. Mike’s talking of rationing what he has. We all need to fill up, and rustle up some gas cans for diesel for the tiller and any other power tools.” His voice grew heavy. “Weapons.”

  “I kept Bud’s two hunting rifles and his pistol. There’s ammunition in the gun cabinet…not a lot. I can shoot a pistol. Badly,” Stella added.

  “I can shoot a pistol or rifle,” I said. “I’ve also got a crossbow and arrows, and I bought a couple of throwing knives that I want to learn to use. With Stella’s permission, I’d like to set up a target and practice.”

  Digger agreed. “Target practice for both of us. Mike’s son, too, when he turns up. Anything else on the list of must-haves?”

  “Livestock,” Stella said. “But I’ll trade for them, tomorrow.”

  I had a thought. “Does anyone have geese? I read somewhere that they’re as good as watch dogs. We’ve got Tabby, but if we could spare her from being out there where she might be a target…”

  “Geese,” Stella said in the tone of someone adding it to a list.

  “Soap?” I asked.

  “I have thirteen lifetime’s supply.” Stella stopped rocking and stood. “People have been gifting it to me for years. And Bud was considering starting up a soap-making business before he died, so there are soap supplies in one of the sheds. Now, the chicken’ll be ready, so let’s eat.”

  We kicked around ideas for other things we might need, but they were good-to-haves, rather than must-haves. Except for pet food and grain.

  “Grain of any kind,” Stella said. “We can use some as seed, either this year or next.” She was planning long-term, which was scary. “Eat it or feed it to the animals.”

  After dinner, Digger left Tabby with us. “I’ll see about getting us supplies.”

  He returned the next morning while we were eating breakfast. The grim, sick look in his eyes silenced our questions unasked. He unloaded toilet paper as well as sacks of salt and sugar and a few bottles of olive and sunflower oil. “Better than nothing.”

  “It’s great, thanks,” I said uncertainly.

  His face soften fractionally. “It’s okay, Amy. I just never thought I’d see this sort of desperation in America. We’ll be all right. I couldn’t get your medical supplies, though.”

  “We’ll get by. Stella is growing herbs.” Herbs weren’t the same as antibiotics. We needed to stay healthy, which meant eating well and not getting injured.

  The guns and ammunition that he brought inside and secured in the gun cabinet in the office passed without comment.

  But I recalled his statement last night. Digger believed he was on active service. Even peacekeeping missions could be bloody.

  He snatched a couple of hours sleep while Jake Seeborne plowed the field and gossiped with Stella.

  I was an unknown quantity in Jake’s eyes, and rather than strain Stella’s negotiations with him, I took Tabby and went out to plant the seed potatoes as Stella had demonstrated. It was dirty, heavy work, and I was glad I’d taken her advice and worn the full-length leather apron she’d found for me in the barn. It protected my new clothes.

  Jake departed on his tractor and Digger emerged from the house, yawning.

  He and Stella joined me. She was flushed with triumph.

  Tabby leaned against Digger’s legs. He was strong. He didn’t stumble. I knew from when she’d tried leaning against me just how much she weighed.

  “I’ve been on the phone. We’ll have a dozen geese arriving this afternoon and two piglets for raising, courtesy of Jake’s neighbor, Colleen. She’s not sure of being able to manage all her animals so we didn’t have to trade anything for them. She just wants them rehomed so she can focus on her husband. Ethan…has problems at the best of times.” And these weren’t the best of times.

  Stella’s voice picked up strength, again. “Angus next door is going to bring over a dozen laying hens and a rooster. He’s a bachelor, so he was happy to trade for Sunday dinner for the foreseeable future. I’d have offered that anyway. If he gets the additional men he needs to protect his farm, we’ll invite them, too.”

  “Allies,” I said softly.

  Digger stared across at the farmhouse two fields over. “Let’s hope so. All right. I’d better check the henhouse and pig sty. Where will the geese go? In with the hens?”
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  “No.” Stella looked consideringly at the barn and cluster of sheds. “We’ll want the geese roaming in the day. The blue shed is solid. I don’t reckon the foxes would be able to get in there.” She looked at me. “How do you feel about a change from planting potatoes?”

  “I’m all for it.”

  Digger grinned.

  Stella nodded, as if my response was to be expected. “Then we’ll focus on clearing out the blue shed.”

  I finished planting the seed potatoes that I had with me before returning the apron to its hook and joining Stella in the blue shed. I halted in the doorway. Junk was piled up along the back and side walls with larger pieces standing free in the center of the shed. Beneath the dirt was a solid cement floor and the shed smelled dry. If we fixed a security screen over the window, the shed could be ventilated.

  “Purpose-built is better, but this will do.” Stella stepped out from amid the junk. “We’ll sort as we go. Junk that might be useful someday into the shed to our left. Trash in a pile to the right. The good stuff, like the feed bins back here, can go into the barn. We have empty stalls.”

  I saw a scythe hanging on the side wall. I thought of accidents and their consequences, like tetanus. “Stella, are you up to date on your shots?”

  “Yep.”

  “Excellent. And having been in the army, Digger will be.” I knew I was covered. We got to work. We had a minor fight when I insisted that Stella wasn’t to carry anything heavy.

  Tabby dashed in, woofed at us, and hid hastily behind me as Stella stomped out.

  I won the argument with ruthless commonsense. If Stella injured herself while acting half her age, I’d lose gardening time caring for her.

  “Who’s upset you, Stella-Bella?” an attractive male voice crooned.

  I grabbed for Tabby’s collar. “Wait! Sit. Stay?”

  Tabby dragged me forward and out the door.

  “Jarod!” Stella was enveloped in a large hug.

  “He’s a friend,” I said to Tabby.

  She considered him hungrily, a low growl rumbling in her deep chest.