The men with the saws shook their heads at the vagaries of women and restarted the chain saws. Trees began to fall.
By midafternoon, they had cut enough wood for a twenty-eight-by-twenty-four-foot log cabin and had rough shaped the logs. By the next evening, the wood had been transported to the house site. And no one was bitten, stabbed by thorns, or eaten. I counted that as a win.
***
The traditional rule of thumb for air-drying lumber was one year of drying time per inch of wood thickness. The vampire logs dried far faster than anyone expected. Within weeks the wood was ready for use. The dried pinkish wood had a lovely grain that didn’t need staining and a scent reminiscent of cedar. The wood chinked well and held pegs and nails perfectly. It was easy to work, it took a shine with a simple polish, and the trim took the white paint well. The shakes for the roof splintered off as if they were waiting on the ax. The house went up in record time before Thanksgiving, and a CO—certificate of occupancy—was granted. I felt as if the universe and God were finally helping out.
At six a.m. on the first day of the first full moon before Thanksgiving, my sister started moving in, planning to spend her first night in her own home. She was hugely pregnant, as if she might bust at any moment. Her feet were swollen, her face was swollen, and she had more leaves than I’d ever had, even when I was a tree. It was a major chore to keep her groomed.Pruned?Not that I said that. I was too busy following orders, as were Mud, Mama, Sam, Priscilla (my older true sister), Judith (a younger true sister), a half dozen half sisters and half brothers, and everyone else Esther had berated into helping. Lainie and JoJo had dropped by with a baby gift and skedaddled as fast as they could when my bossy preggers sister tried to put them to work.
It was a long day.
Aloooongday.
Long after dark, it was just Esther, Mud, and me. Two of us were still working, sweating in the cold of the new house with the windows open, because Esther was hot-flashing. Esther was demanding, criticizing, bossy, and so grumpy I wanted to tear my fading scarlet hair out by its curly roots.
I made Esther’s bed to her exacting specifications, swept, mopped, dusted, and washed dishes. Mud folded clothes precisely and put themexactlywhere Esther wanted them. Then refolded them. Twice. I arranged Esther’s kitchen dishes where she pointed, while she sat in her rocking chair, giving orders. When the mama-to-be got hungry, I heated housewarming soup and rewashed the supper dishes. When I was done, I said, “Mud, go to the car.”
“You’un ain’t finished,” Esther said as Mud ran out of the house like a cat with her tail on fire.
“Oh yes we are,” I said.
“Fine.” She gave me the Nicholson scowl and said, “This is pretty. Get on out. I need to shower off the stink and put on my nightgown.”
I pulled the new curtains over the windows and left, locking the door behind me. Fast. Before she could change her mind.
Through the open window, I could still hear Esther fussing, talking to herself.
John’s old truck, which I had driven laden with Esther’s things, was now empty and it was light as a feather as it bumped back along Esther’s new driveway to the road and then up the hill to home. In blessed silence.
We were halfway there when Mud whooshed out a breath and stated, “I ain’t nevereverhaving no babies. They make people crazy.”
I chuckled unwillingly. I didn’t really want to laugh at Esther, but Mud had a point.
“And you’un—you—know what she’s gonna do, don’tcha? She’s gonna call every hour all night long, not able to sleep, keeping you awake, complaining about funny noises the house makes as it settles, complaining that werecats are hunting in her yard. And they will be, you know that, prowling in the woods, caterwauling, what with it being the full moon. There’s the cars on the side of the road,” she pointed out.
She was right about the werecats, but I said nothing, not even correcting Mud’s grammar. I fully believed my younger sister was right and I’d have calls all night.
But for two hours there was nothing, not a single call. Mud, the dog, the cats, and I ate popcorn, watched a Disney movie about Aladdin, and went to sleep early, our home feeling like our home again. Just ours.
It didn’t last.
At two a.m., Esther called my cell, in high dudgeon. “You’un get your’nself down this hill to my house right this minute,” she demanded. “You’un need to talk to the trees.”
“The trees?”
“Get on down here and see for your’nself.” The call ended in a huff I could feel through the airwaves.
I shoved the cats off me, got up, dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt with a sweatshirt over it. I clomped up the stairs and looked in on Mud, who was sleeping, limbs sprawled across the covers. Back down the stairs, I checked the banked coals in the stove, which were keeping the house a little too warm tonight, and cracked a few windows to let out some heat. Satisfied that the house was safe, and that I had no other legitimate reasons to dither, I stared at my PsyLED gear and debated taking my official weapon. This was a private issue, not a law enforcement one—I hoped—so I settled on John’s shotgun, loaded it with ammo big enough to take down a deer, and trudged outside.
The night air smelled of woodsmoke, winter foliage, fresh-cut hay from somewhere, and chickens. Putting my hand to the earth, I inspected the property, discerning only creatures who belonged, including a leap of werecats off on the church boundary eating a deer they had taken down. I paid them no mind, looking for unexpected or strange things. Found none. Mud was safe, so I got in my car.
I passed Unit Eighteen’s cars as I drove down the hill and was surprised to see FireWind’s car too. I hadn’t counted the cats, but he must be with them. That was interesting, especially as Soulwood was treating the new cat like one of the weres. I would have to pull all the info about the hunt out of Occam come morning.
I eased down the hill, whipping the wheel into my sister’s drive. I braked, the tires grinding in the gravel, the house illuminated by headlights.
The house was... different. Crazy different.
The horizontal logs had put out roots, long, sinuous roots, trailing and draping to the ground, thickening into trunks. They were also growing up, becoming tall like saplings, and out, like living siding, with branches all sprouting leaves. Not the dark green leaves with red petioles of the vampire tree, but burgundy, five-pointed leaves, edges serrated like maple leaves, growing in pairs, one pair one way, the next pair the other, so they appeared in a round fan. The leaves on the bottom were huge; near the tops of the new trees, which were still sprouting, they were smaller. The treetops curled, rising above the roof, where they spread out, forming what looked like an unopened tulip-blossom-shaped framework. A roof of living wood.
