Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate, page 1
Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Amaranthine Saga, Book 5
Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Copyright © 2021 by FORTHRIGHT
ISBN: 978-1-63123-076-9
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::
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Table of Contents
Squeaky Wheel
Jacaranda Circle
At the Amory
They Usually Send Humans
This Might Be Bad
Memory Lane
Haphazard at Best
Hood the Hawk
Shoring Up
Fire to the Phoenix
For the Best
Teeming
Amaranthine Influencers
Mind the Gap
The Four Gentlemen
Goodnight Moon
Laying Groundwork
Return
Buzz
Lunch Date
Unforgettable
Feast for the Senses
Rockabye
Meet Up
Moonlighting
Seascape
Unsuspecting Prey
Little by Little
Bandit
Link
Intervention
Second Wave
Under the Influence
While Away the Hours
Farfetched Happenstance
Brought Together
Restless
Entourage
Private Word
Down to Business
Seeing Red
Eyes to See
Prioritizing Claims
Stepping on Eggshells
Breaking Gently
So Much to Gain
Balancing Act
Interested Parties
Trinkets
Making Connections
Changing Winds
Taking Sides
Trade with Me
Tenth Child
ONE
Squeaky Wheel
There was a trick to the box. Fumiko remembered that much.
Seated on the second-to-last step of a spiral staircase, she turned it this way and that, admiring the pearly luster of inset tiles. She’d always liked things made from seashells. They swirled with myriad colors in the sunlight angling from the lantern room above.
“A puzzle box,” she decided, running her fingers along each side, searching for seams. “Whose was it, again?”
Maybe it was hers? Everything here was, by default. But had it been hers from the beginning? It did seem old enough.
But no. As she explored its patterns and panels, flashes of memory stirred. Fumiko could see the box in the hands of a man with nimble brown fingers. Careful hands. Confident as they pressed and turned. He had known the trick to the box.
He was a good memory, warm with love and belonging. How had he been important?
A sibling?
A friend?
A husband?
A child?
Fumiko wasn’t sure anymore, but that didn’t bother her. Zuzu would remember.
Carrying the puzzle box to the wide bed with its drapery of netting and scarves, Fumiko nudged aside a green vase shaped like a fish and a striped tin filled with yellow crayons. If she also moved one of the book stacks to the floor, there was just enough space.
“I chose something, Zuzu,” she murmured. “Tonight, you can tell me its story.”
“Up here,” came her sister’s voice from overhead. “The hummingbirds are back, and they’ve brought friends.”
Fumiko’s chunky sandals rang on each metal step as she climbed to the lantern room, which was half-lost amidst her sister’s branches. Only for a handful of hours in the afternoon did sunbeams reach the gallery, which boasted a spectacular view of the Pacific.
Gulls whirled upward from the beach, raucous as they squabbled over some tidbit stolen from a tourist. Pelicans soared past in perfect formation, looking vaguely prehistoric and thoroughly dignified. To the south, kites danced and spun in the stiff breeze that tugged at Fumiko’s long, layered skirt and tangled her in a swirl of her own hair.
“Let me,” Zuzu offered warmly.
“Thank you.” Fumiko put her face to the wind and shook the mess from her eyes. Stupid hair, always growing, always getting in the way. She’d take a knife to it one of these days, just to get some relief.
“See them?” Zuzu’s hands were busy braiding, but she leaned over Fumiko’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together to guide her line of sight. “They come to us because they don’t like winter.”
Although Portia’s wards were an impenetrable barrier to problems, big and small, she’d made allowances for many species, including migrating avians. Hummingbirds darted amidst the branches, which bore clusters of fragrant purple flowers all year round. Tiny birds, bright as jewels. Most people thought of them as the smallest of birdkind. But only because they’d never seen a nippet.
“Vert nippets.” Fumiko hadn’t seen one in a while.
“Here to cheer you up.” Zuzu’s arms twined and tugged. “See? You’re smiling.”
“I don’t need cheering.”
Fumiko wished people wouldn’t make such a fuss over every little thing. Didn’t everyone have moody phases? She supposed it came from living with too many preservationists. They obsessed over Zuzu’s pollen count in much the same way.
“I’ll always smile for you,” Fumiko said, lacing her fingers with Zuzu’s.
They didn’t look like sisters, let alone twins. But their bond was the truest thing in Fumiko’s life. Zuzu was her only constant, her lasting comfort. Sisterhood defined their entire existence.
Once upon a time, they’d lived on the far edge of a vast grove, the nearest tree-kin to the reavers who’d tended this very lighthouse. Now, Zuzu’s branches were strung with a thousand tiny chimes that were both remembrances and prayers for those lost.
Zuzu asked, “How long has it been since the last time?”
Fumiko immediately knew what she meant. Maybe because they were sisters. Maybe because they’d had this discussion so many times before. “Not that long.”
“I overheard the girls talking about some men coming here.” Zuzu dimpled. “A whole group of guests. That’s how it starts.”
“It can’t be,” Fumiko muttered, trying to think back. “Wasn’t Dru here for the last time?”
Zuzu hummed in that way that meant she liked her idea better.
“And they always send a healer first. Checkups and teas and things.”
Her sister immediately brightened. “A healer from a horse clan is with them!”
Fumiko’s confusion doubled. “Wouldn’t there be a letter?”
Zuzu vanished, only to return two moments later with her hands full of unopened mail. “One of these, you think?”
She shook her head, as if denial could make her contract go away. “I guess I’d better ask Diva.”
“I hope it is.” Zuzu peeped at her from under thick lashes. “Maybe one of them will fall in love with you. Or me. Or us.”
“You’re such a romantic,” she accused. Not for the first time.
Fumiko wasn’t sure if all trees lived and breathed love stories or if Zuzu was a special case. But reaver contracts weren’t romantic. They were a practical necessity.
That’s when a familiar rattle and squeak claimed all of Fumiko’s attention. The afternoon courier had to park his truck at the entrance to Jacaranda Circle, which was a pedestrian-only zone. So deliveries were loaded onto a metal rolling cart with a squeaky wheel that protested every crack in the sidewalk.
“Umm … I should go check.” Fumiko tried to tone down her eagerness. “In case there’s something for me.”
Zuzu kissed her cheek and let her go.
Snagging a beaded shawl on the way through her bedroom, Fumiko clattered down six short flights of stairs, turning sideways to edge around an overflowing steamer trunk on one landing and past a bristling umbrella stand on the next.
In the gathering room, where meals were shared, one of the interns was lifting knickknacks as she dusted. Fumiko offered a breathless smile. “Hello, Antigone.”
“Good afternoon, my darling. In a hurry?” There was a teasing light in the woman’s brown eyes.
“Not a big hurry,” she fudged. “Was there something you needed?”
“Yes, actually. I was wondering what you might like for dinner tonight.” Antigone was sixty-something and a preservationist, but she was also into yoga and yoghurt and healthy habits in general. More than any of the rest, she fretted over Fumiko’s diet.
“I don’t care.” Fumiko edged past a cart stacked with mismatched coffee cups. “Anything’s fine.”
“Did you eat lunch?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
&nbs
“I will,” Fumiko called over her shoulder as she escaped out her front door.
A wide walkway skirted the low rectangular building that butted up against the lighthouse. It had been longer at one point, but nearly half of it had been dismantled a few centuries back to make room for Zuzu’s expanding girth. She was bigger around than the lighthouse, now. And proud of it.
Fumiko stopped and stared at all the guesthouse’s windows and doors, which were open to catch the sea breezes. The interns only ever cleaned and freshened those rooms when they were expecting company.
Was Zuzu right?
She really needed to check with Diva.
Easing through a crystal-frosted gate, Fumiko slipped beyond one of the barriers that hid Zuzu from passersby and prying eyes. Three establishments were arranged along a cul-de-sac. All part of the camouflage. All run by Betweeners.
Fumiko waved to the deeply tanned man with blond dreadlocks who was chasing purple flower petals with a push broom. Rafter grinned and gestured with its handle. “He went thataway!”
As if she didn’t know the courier’s usual route. Always the flower shop first. Then the library. And finally the office of the Wind-and-Tide Fresh Market.
Her gambit was probably silly, given that everyone in their little cooperative knew everyone else’s business. But whenever Fumiko ordered things online, she’d spread out where they were delivered in the futile hope that nobody would notice how many packages were arriving.
There were always one or two. Sometimes many more.
So far, her friends hadn’t teased—much—or staged an intervention. Maybe they thought shopping was a healthy outlet? It’s not like she had many other options, cornered as she was, with the sea at her back.
Loitering outside of Flutterbys Flowers, Fumiko waited for the courier to finish chatting with Melody. Fumiko wasn’t supposed to be seen too often. Tourists weren’t such a big deal, since they came and went, but locals and regulars might remember her and wonder about her.
While she waited, Fumiko cast a worried look toward home. Her contract with the In-between was straightforward enough. In exchange for the protection they offered, she gave birth to a minimum of one child per century. When it was time, they’d usually send in four or five men for her to choose from. All with exemplary pedigrees. Each willing to do their part.
If Zuzu was right, Fumiko was about to go through it all over again.
Picking the reaver who’d father her next child.
TWO
Jacaranda Circle
Akira spent much of the ride from the airport chatting with their driver. Candor was from a nearby enclave, though he was vague about the location—off a ways, along the coast. The Amaranthine people had made strides toward equality in America, but plenty still lived in hiding. Akira wasn’t about to be nosy. He was too grateful that Candor was both fluent in Japanese and willing to play tour guide.
Off the expressway, everything slowed down. Buildings crowded the road, which dipped and bumped under their tires. Even though it was October, trees and shrubs were green, and flowers bloomed everywhere—pink and orange and violet.
Candor had to slow often for jaywalkers. “Tourists,” he remarked with a philosophical shrug.
They passed a sign swinger whose acrobatic dance was drawing attention to a shop that rented motorized scooters. Surfers in wetsuits hefted longboards. There were dog walkers and dog joggers. Sunbaked and scruffy men snoozed in the shade of bushy palms, and a rollerblader skimmed gracefully past, dancing to the tunes blasting from a speaker clipped to their belt.
Distracted by the riot of beautiful and bizarre sights, Akira lost his bearings. “I hope you know where we are,” he joked. “I’m completely turned around.”
“Hard to get lost. Wherever you are, aim for the ocean. After that, the Ghost Light will lead you home.”
Akira wasn’t sure if Candor was serious or if they’d run up against a translation error. “Ghost Light? As in … specters?”
Candor laughed. “It’s a local legend that tries to explain a mysterious light that’s been seen along the shore. Some say it’s a restless spirit who can’t find peace. Some think it’s a portal into the seelie court. There’s even a contingent who are convinced it’s linked to alien activity.”
Juuyu was listening now.
Akira wondered if that in itself was important. “Sounds like something those cryptid chasers would have fun debunking.”
With a bark of laughter, Candor asked, “You watch Dare Together?”
“Sure.” It was the show he’d been referring to. “The kids back home are big fans. Suuzu and I read the subtitles for them. I’m always Josheb. He’s always Caleb.”
“Typecasting?” Candor glanced at Juuyu in the rearview mirror. “You’re Spokesperson Farroost’s brother, yeah?”
“I am.” Curt as ever.
Juuyu had disguised his Amaranthine features so he’d draw less attention while escorting Akira through traditional channels. But their driver had keener senses than humans. Some of Akira’s friends were from the wolf clans—dog clansmen, too, for that matter—and they could sort out another Amaranthine just by scent. Stuff like that simply wasn’t a secret. Still, Akira thought he should steer the conversation away from Juuyu.
“Suuzu’s been my best friend since middle school. But what about the Ghost Light? What is it really?”
“You’ll see for yourself. And be sure to count yourself lucky, since it’s a sight few ever see.” Idling while he waited for a crosswalk to clear, Candor nodded to an overhead sign that spanned the width of the street. “Welcome to Wind-and-Tide.”
Akira eyed the houses, which crowded four and five deep, as if jockeying for position in their rush to reach the sand. Faded paint in vivid hues. Beach towels flapping on picket fences. Rooftop decks vying for views. “I thought we were in Beacon?”
“Yep. This is Beacon, California. But plenty of neighborhoods and beaches have their own names. And personalities.”
“Sort of like Kikusawa, which is a neighborhood within the city of Keishi.”
“Keishi, Japan?” Candor pointed his finger like he was cocking a gun. “Fan of Eloquence and Kimiko Starmark, are you? I’m a cousin … in a roundabout way.”
“Friend, actually.” Akira had assumed this guy knew who they were, but maybe he was just putting together names and faces. “I want to school with Kimi and Quen.”
With a low whistle to show he was impressed, Candor asked, “Ever see Crossing America?”
Akira shook his head. “Is that another TV show?”
“In its sixth season and going strong. It’s the one with Ash and Tami Sunfletch.”
“Oh! Sure, I know them.” It was the secondhand kind of knowing, since his friends and family had helped pull off their wedding.
“On the show, Ash travels all over, giving good publicity to Amaranthine who are willing to step out, as they say.” Parking in front of a line of concrete posts that barricaded a dead-end street, Candor waved a hand. “There’s a flower shop over there that was featured on their show. Tripled this neighborhood’s popularity.”
A double row of graceful trees lined the street, their arching branches nearly touching over the center. Beneath them were open stalls with long tables under blue and white awnings. In a reserved spot at the end of the row, Akira spotted an antique truck with a logo on its door—RED ROOSTER FARM.
“All this part’s a farmers market.” Candor hopped out and opened the back of the black SUV he’d met them with. It seemed too somber for the scene. Impersonal. “Not much luggage, considering how far you’ve come.”
Juuyu left the vehicle, distractedly remarking, “The rest is arriving later.”
Akira reclaimed his backpack and drifted toward a table piled high with mesh bags of avocados. Another held corn with multi-colored kernels. He’d made it as far as the crates of pumpkins when Juuyu caught up.
“Do not wander off.”
“I have the years to walk unattended,” Akira replied, calm but firm.
“I promised my brother ….”
“After the fact.” Akira treated his travel companion to a long look. “He’s furious with you. And me, for that matter.”
Juuyu’s gaze roved the vicinity. It was hard to tell if he was avoiding eye contact or looking for threats. “We could not wait for his obligations to the Council to reach an end.”
