Free Wildcat Fireflies by Amber Kizer Page A

Indianapolis, we once again passed the sign welcoming us to Carmel and pulled into the parking lot behind Helios. A lamp burned from inside the tearoom, and the cottage blinked with twinkling fairy lights outlining the eaves, windows, and door.
    Tens carried me from the truck and plopped me onto the bed most gracelessly. Gently, but not happily.
    Custos raised her head from her relaxed position on the couch and whined a little at us in question.
When did she go from the truck to the couch? How’d she beat us inside?
    It wasn’t that I was ill any longer, in pain on a daily basis. All of my childhood I’d been racked by mysterious illness, injuries, bruises, and headaches. Because I didn’t know that I was a Fenestra—much less how to be one—the souls of animals who used me tangled my energy in theirs when they went through. My physical self was adversely affected on the tangible plane. If I hadn’t been with Auntie, a human soul who used me could have entwined so completely in my energy that they dragged me through. They could have killed me without meaning to. Now that I knew how to operate the window I was no longer in danger of being twisted up in the dying, but Ididn’t quite have a handle on large numbers of souls using me concurrently. It was like running a marathon without proper training. “I need to do that more often.”
Training. Why not?
    Tens shot me the dirtiest, angriest glance. “Over my dead body.”
    “Funny.” I didn’t have the energy to laugh at his serious, if odd, declaration. “The only way it’ll get easier is to do it more.”
Right? It makes sense to me
.
    He shook his head, ripping at the laces on his boots. “You didn’t see yourself. You paled to chalky paste. And … your hair.” His voice grew gravelly and lowered an octave.
    “What about it?” I pushed myself up on my elbows to watch him.
    “The curl left. It was like a drooping plant.”
    “Seriously?” I put my hand to my head and felt the curls limp beneath my fingers. I joked to lighten the mood. “Do you know how many hours I’ve spent trying to straighten it? And that’s all it takes?”
    Cool
. But
cool
wasn’t the word Tens needed to hear right now.
    My hair hack job had grown out to the point it brushed my shoulders even in the curliest moments, but I preferred it straight.
I guess we always like what we aren’t born with better than what we are
.
    “This is not a styling tip.”
    “I know.” I sighed. I wanted him to smile again. Worry made him loud.
    Stamping in his sock feet, Tens marched over to thekitchen area and picked up a note card. “Joi left us soup, rolls, dessert, and a coffee cake in the fridge.”
    “Wow. Nice.” I toed my sneakers off onto the floor by the bed.
    “You think it’s safe?” Tens sniffed at the containers.
    “I’ll take my chances.”
If she is Nocti, I deserve whatever I get. TSTL. Too stupid to live
.
    “I know, it’s just that—”
    I straightened at the self-doubt in his voice. “I get it. You want to protect me, but you can’t necessarily protect me from doing my thing.”
The food isn’t the problem, my talent is
.
    “You take too many chances.” Dishes rattled and cupboards slammed. He wouldn’t look over at me. Not even for a second.
    “I’m doing my job.”
    “It’s not the transitioning, Merry. It’s searching out the dying to do so many all at once. You could hurt yourself.”
    “We’re past that.”
    “We are? Are you sure?” He turned around.
    “What do you mean?”
    “If you really had everything under control, then you wouldn’t faint, you wouldn’t be tired, you wouldn’t turn pale. You’re pushing your limits.”
    “Like Auntie didn’t—”
    “She didn’t.”
    “Oh, come on.”
    “No, listen. She could transition a soul like she crossed a street, on the crosswalk, on green.”
    “And what, I’m jaywalking?”
    “Kinda. You need to work up to large numbers of souls. You need to be careful.”
    “Auntie doesn’t