“There were people talking.” Cattail Reeds pointed out into the hall. “Just beyond the door.”
“There are other humans that live in this building. They are. .” Friendly? Not completely. The other tenants regarded him as their lazy handyman. They resented that he wasn’t around every hour of the day, fixing all the little things that went wrong in the building. His lease, though, stipulated that he was only responsible for the heating, the air conditioning, and the elevator. “They’re harmless.”
Her eyes went wide suddenly, warning him that someone was at the open door.
Margaret was head of the building association. “Do I need to call the fire department, Orville?”
No matter how many times he asked her to use his nickname, she insisted on his real name. “A bag of popcorn just got left in the microwave too long. The alarms will go off as soon as I get the smoke cleared out.”
She glanced down over him, making him realize that he was still just in his boxers, and then flicked her gaze over Thorne in her underwear and the children in the hospice gowns that looked like pajamas. “You can’t sublet your bedrooms. You can’t have these — people move in.”
Her voice suggested he had a herd of pigs in his apartment. He was getting so sick and tired of bigotry from every angle. He thought Pittsburgh was better than this. “I’m not subletting. I’ve adopted these kids. Thorne will not be living here.”
She glanced over the elves again. “Five children?” She shook her head. “No.”
“I have three bedrooms—”
“The co-op board will never approve six people for your square footage. Four is the most we would consider.”
“Fine,” he snapped. Thankfully the alarms shut off, so he kicked the prop on his door free. “I’ll find another place to live.”
He slammed his door shut. Immediately there was a knock on it. He jerked it back open, expecting Margaret.
Blue Sky jumped back from his snarled “What?” and held up a basket. “I brought breakfast!”
“Sorry. Come in.” Oilcan stepped back to let the half-elf in. Blue wore tennis shoes, blue jeans, and a black T-shirt that expounded “It’s all about racing.” Only his eyes and ears gave him away as a half-elf.
“Did you just get kicked out of your building?” Blue Sky pointed over his shoulder to where Margaret had been standing.
“Yes.” Oilcan took a deep breath as he realized that Blue would probably tell Tinker, and she would hit the roof. As of late, Tinker had been stomping over everyone in her path Godzilla-style. It was tempting to unleash her but the place was cramped for six and the kids weren’t comfortable with strangers living so close. “No. Not really. This place is too small. I needed to move.”
Blue Sky took in the chaos of the kitchen, the smoke lingering in the air, and the fact that Oilcan was still in his underwear and smiled brightly. “I thought Tinker was just trying to ditch me when she told me to come help you, but I guess you really do need me.”
“Yes, I could use some help.” Oilcan really needed to get dressed. He pointed to the Stone Clan children in approximate order of their ages. “This is Fields of Barley, Cattail Reeds, Rustle of Leaves, Merry, and Baby Duck. This is Blue Sky. He was born here in Pittsburgh. Listen to him.” And then added in English, “Make sure they don’t burn down the place while I’m putting on clothes.”
“We’re supposed to obey a Wind Clan baby?” Baby Duck whispered to Fields of Barley.
“He is sekasha first,” Thorne Scratch said. “And you will obey him as you would obey me.”
The children flinched back from her, and Baby Duck quietly said, “Quiee.”
Oilcan, Tinker, and Blue Sky had all learned how to drive on go-karts that Tinker made out of lawn mowers and leaf blowers. They’d blocked off deserted streets on Neville Island and raced through the abandoned neighborhood at insane speeds. Blue Sky might look ten years old, but he had a driver’s license and could probably outdrive anyone in the city — as long as he could reach the pedals and see over the dashboard. Thus it was no surprise that Tinker had sent Blue Sky in one of the viceroy’s Rolls Royces. It was raining, after all, and the cab of Oilcan’s pickup could only fit three people comfortably.
Figuring out who should ride where was like the logic problem of ferrying a fox, a chicken, and grain across a river in a rowboat. There were eight of them; too many to comfortably fit in the Rolls. He and Blue were the only ones that could drive. All the kids but Merry and Blue were terrified of Thorne. Rustle of Leaves’ left arm was splinted, inked with healing spells, and was still healing, so he couldn’t be squeezed into a shared seat. In the end, the only logical configuration had Blue driving the Rolls with all the kids, and Oilcan following with Thorne in his pickup.
Luckily for Oilcan’s nerves, it was a short trip. No oni leapt out to snatch up the kids and take them away.
Tooloo’s was the only store in Pittsburgh that sold used elfin clothes, albeit usually to elf-obsessed humans. Her place was in McKees Rocks, just a few blocks from John Montana’s gas station. From the street, her store looked like a tiny little hole in the wall, just one large glass block window and a thick bulletproof glass door. Only the hand-painted English and Elvish running under the window, stating BREAD, BUTTER, EGGS, FISH, FOWL, HONEY, INTERNET ACCESS, MILK, SPELLCASTING, TELEPHONE, TRANSLATIONS, VIDEO RENTALS gave a clue to what lay hidden within.
Tooloo had carved out an entire farm from what had been pure city. Orchards and pastures and terraced gardens climbed a hill that was too steep to build on. Outbuildings that started life as garages had been repurposed into chicken coops, dovecotes and a milking barn. For some unfathomable reason, Oilcan and Tinker had spent endless hours working the farm under the guise of being babysat by the old half-elf. How Tooloo ended up as his grandfather’s primary babysitter was one of the unsolved mysteries of his childhood. It was a relationship set in stone by the time Oilcan came to Pittsburgh. He’d asked Tinker about it once when they were little and discovered she was under the delusion it somehow involved spinning straw into gold. (Looking back, he really should have disabused her of that lie, but it was so cute he let it stand.)
“My brother always said that we looked like we poured a can of oil over us and then rolled in dirt all day,” Blue was telling the kids as they got out of the car. “At some point we just started to call him ‘oil can.’ That’s what Oilcan means.”
The bells on the doorjamb jangled as Thorne opened the door and stalked into the dimly lit store. Oilcan kept close on her heels, not sure how Tooloo would react to the sekasha. Hell, there was no telling how Tooloo would react to anything. The old half-elf defied logic and reason; Oilcan suspected she did it to keep people at a distance.
Tooloo was stocking the stand-up refrigerator case with milk and eggs. As always, she was in an elegant dress of elfin silk, faded and threadbare with age, and battered high-top tennis shoes. Her ankle-length silver hair was braided into a thick cord. She glanced up with a look of mild surprise as Thorne entered. Then her eyes went wide when she saw Oilcan and the children.
“No!” Tooloo wailed and leapt up. “No, no, no!”
For one moment he thought she was going to object to the Stone Clan invasion, but she swooped down on Oilcan and caught him by both ears.
“Ow, Tooloo! Thorne!” He caught Thorne by the wrist to keep her from drawing her sword. “Tooloo!”
The old half-elf let go of his ears only to press his face between her hands and peer closely at him. Tooloo smelled of smoke and honey; she must have been working with her beehives prior to opening her store. “Oh, my little wood sprite! It’s you, just you.”