Elfhome

Oilcan scoffed and turned back to the chalkboard. What had he been writing? “Wish” was all he had written down. Wish he could go back to comfortably hating Riki? Not that he really was comfortable with all the rage he’d felt. It had felt like putting on his father’s skin.

Wish list. He needed to know what the kids had lost to the oni. If Merry was any example, the kids had pared their luggage done to what they must have to start a new life. If the kids were going to put the nightmare of their captivity behind them, they had to have those essentials back. Oilcan wrote “Barley: knives, Rustle: instrument.” Assuming of course Rustle could ever use his shattered left arm again.

There was a noise behind him and he realized that Riki had picked up a handful of the garbage and was carrying it downstairs.

Tinker had clearly forgiven Riki. She talked about how Riki had subtly protected her while she was held captive, and how adorable his cousin Joey was. Riki knew the oni; he knew what they could do to a child and what he was setting Tinker up to endure. How could Oilcan blame Riki for protecting Joey? How could he forgive Riki for hurting Tinker?

#

Oilcan still wasn’t sure how to deal with Riki when an odd tip-tapping in the foyer heralded the return of the children from the faire ground.

“Sama?” Merry’s voice echoed through the building.

“Up here.” Oilcan went out to the hall and leaned over the banister.

The children hadn’t returned empty handed; they had a pair of baby indi on twine leashes.

“Where did you get those?” he asked. Oh please gods, hopefully Baby Duck hadn’t stolen those too.

“They gave the indi to us.” Cattail Reeds said.

Blue Sky shrugged his shoulders when Oilcan looked to him for confirmation. “Tinker apparently put the fear of god into everyone. The enclave people were really nice.”

Merry wrinkled her nose at the smell as she eyed the trash-covered foyer. “What is this place?”

“This is going to be our enclave — once we get it cleaned out.”

The kids eyed the mess around them.

“Quiee,” Baby Duck said what they all clearly were thinking.

“Yes, I know it looks horrible,” he said. “It just needs some work.”

There was the rumble of a big truck outside and then the hiss of brakes. The first of the dumpsters had arrived.

#

Riki was in the kitchen, cleaning. He had slipped on the scholar disguise again; there was no sign of his wings or gun or fighting spurs. His sandals were so nondescript that they camouflaged Riki’s bird-like feet with normalcy.

Considering the emotional state of the kids, Oilcan was glad that if Riki was determined to be underfoot, at least he was doing it in the least threatening of modes.

“What are you doing here?” Oilcan whispered since the kids had followed him into the kitchen.

“First room on your list to clean is the kitchen,” Riki said evenly.

Oilcan scoffed and kept picking his way to the back door. “There’s been a change in priorities. I’m starting with the backyard.”

“Why?”

Oilcan pointed at one of the indi as it bleated as if in answer. He already assumed it would be days before the building would be clean enough to actually move into. While he could slip the chicks into his condo, they’d have to leave the indi here.

“Yeah, that could be a problem,” Riki said.

The backyard lacked any kind of a path to the tall iron back gate. He had to all but wade through the trash. Roach was waiting in the back alley, looking as soulful as the pair of elf hounds sitting beside him. Roach’s family handled most of the garbage collection in Pittsburgh. Their place was out by the airport in what was quickly becoming ironwood forest; they had to keep a pack of the massive dogs to safely operate their landfill business.

“Dude, you’ve got to be kidding,” Roach said in greeting. “You’re moving into this dump?”

“Probably.” He still had to check with Windwolf since the building was supposed to be torn down. The indi made cleaning up the yard a necessity regardless of the end result on the building itself. “Once I get it cleaned up and jump through a few hoops.”

The lock was rusted open — something else to put on his list — but the gate would only swing inward a foot or two before grinding to a halt on the trash spilling into the back alley.

“There’s a shitload to do.” Roach picked up a mangled office chair and tossed it with a deep clang into the dumpster still on the truck bed.

“Yeah.” Oilcan had been assuming that the kids would help, but as he moved aside the surface layer of trash, he was uncovering hidden landmines of broken glass and sharp rusted metal. He didn’t want the kids near the trash now. “I’m not sure how I’m going to do this.”

“I’ll call the team.” Roach gave him a worried look. “We’re still going race — right?”

“Yeah. It’s just going to be little crazy for a while.”

Roach laughed. “And this differs from most of this summer how?”

“Little crazy.” Oilcan measured with his fingers. “Instead of a lot crazy.”