Page 67 of Up in Smoke

“How are you going to get rid of all the honey after the trap is sprung, though? I don’t want to clean up that much honey, Sandro.”

“Another poem,” he admitted. “I usually do any cleanup after I know a trap has been sprung. While you’ve been here, I’ve been handling it either while you’ve been sleeping or on our way out the door. It’s a quick poem for that for the most part. I take care of the dusting at the same time, too, so it’s pretty convenient.”

I considered him through narrowed eyes. “And you’re certain you’ll be safe?”

“It’s far more dangerous for you than it is for me if you’re nearby,” he replied. “I’ll keep myself as safe as I can. Give me three days. If I haven’t returned by then, that’s when you should worry. Of course, I may just make you wait a little to pull that pretty tail of yours. You get delightfully frisky when you feel you need to correct me about something, and I’m man enough to admit I like it.”

I tried to think about when I had corrected him about something. Did complaining there was no salsa count as a correction? Whatever. If he liked when I got frisky, he’d adore when autumn rolled around and my fox developed a severe case of hormonal in the weeks leading up to winter. By the time winter came, I would complete my transformation into a Sandro-hunting fiend.

At this stage, he only had himself to blame. “I will never forgive you if something goes wrong,” I warned him.

He chuckled. “It’s a larger working, but I’ve got this. And if there are survivors, we won’t have regrets later.”

That won me over to his side, and I nodded. “There’s been too much death in Tulsa as there is.”

“Just keep searching for clues on your way home. I’ll get to work as soon as you’re out of sight. That should be far enough to keep you safe. If this wouldn’t take so long, I’d say just take shelter in a nearby cellar. But since you’re fussy, mark viable cellars on the way to make it easy for me to duck into one before the storms hit tonight.”

“But what if you’re not done before the storms hit?”

“Until I’m done here, I’m not worried about the storms. Distance matters to magic, and I’ll be the one running the show for a little while. If you need something productive to do, finish going through the contents of your cellar and taking an inventory, especially of those crates containing suspicious items.”

“You mean Carl’s weapon stash.”

“I do. If he had Peace, it’s entirely possible he has something else of use, something that might have just as many secrets. And I’m onto you. You need something productive to do.”

“If something goes wrong, you’ll regret it,” I warned him. “And I’ll figure out how to bring back the dead to make you pay if I must.”

Sandro chuckled. “However much I’d like to see you try, I’ll do everything I can to stay safe. If there are survivors, we need to know what happened here and why.”

I nodded, grumbled curses over the necessity of what he needed to do, and headed for the questionable safety of Tulsa.

Sunday, June 28, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

Waiting would test my patience,and rather than spend my time cursing in the house within the safety of Asylum, I prowled the outskirts of Tulsa, keeping an eye on the turbulent clouds to the west of the city. Knowing Sandro controlled them—or he controlled them if everything went to his plan—helped somewhat. However, the churning clouds, tinged green throughout the entire day, brought out the busybodies of Asylum.

They wisely stuck close to Tulsa, but I spotted Mansfield evaluating the situation himself along with several of his guards, including the woman I’d seen in Sandro’s home. Flicking my tail, I decided to test the waters to discover how the man would play the game.

Strolling on by, headed south and east, would give him an opportunity to start a conversation if he wanted to cultivate me as my visions led me to believe. I made certain to keep my ears forward and relaxed. I’d save turning them back for if he told me something I didn’t like rather than expressing my dislike for him.

If I wanted to get away with my lies, I needed to lie using my whole body.

To my relief, my fox agreed with my stance, and she settled, ready and willing to begin the hunt. Unfortunately for her, I wouldn’t be able to end the problem—not without proof.

I gave the bastard credit. He did a damned good job of making the proof disappear without a trace.

“Mrs. Moretti, what a pleasant surprise,” Mansfield said before I’d managed to get far. “I thought you’d be keeping Sandro close company.”

“Sandro is being Sandro,” I complained, but I smiled to make it clear it was an affectionate annoyance. “He wanted to acquire a present, so he went off that way for a few days for some fresh air.” I waved my hand in the general direction of the southeast. “He’s working on some new poems, and apparently, he needs some self-inflicted angst to write good poetry. Then he said healing foxes needed to stay home and keep on healing, and that’s the story of how the bastard is playing out there somewhere so he can try to be romantic.” I flicked my tail, twisted my ears back, and rested my hands on my hips. “He’s stubborn, that’s what he is. I’ve healed just fine, thank you.”

“You do seem to be in quite good health,” Mansfield replied, and he chuckled. “If anything, I’d call you rather vigorous right now.”

“I get the whole being cooped up indoors thing, and there were plenty of good cellars along the southern routes, so he’s probably holed up in one while working on his poetry. He said Asylum was too noisy for him to think, and he wants some new poems for the structural work.”

According to Mansfield’s expression, Christmas had come early, and I’d given him his favorite present. “I see. Yes, I did ask him for some work on the expansion and strengthening the supports, and it hadn’t occurred to me he might need to write poems to make it happen. I should have known better. He’s always been odd before a big job, but he always does exceptional work. That does give me an idea. It might be a good idea to open a quiet grounds or garden of some sort for those who need some peace and quiet when leaving Asylum isn’t an option. Thank you for that; I’ll put thought into it this week. Did Sandro say how long he would be gone?”