She runs toward the woman, waving her arms frantically. "They're with me! They’re with me!”
Aunt Opal stops dead, turning slowly to her niece. “Willow Bloomhower, you have some explaining to do…what in the name of the ancestorsarethey?”
She doesn’t lower her gun.
“All in good time, but first, we desperately need your help, look.” Willow tugs on her aunt’s sleeve, forcing her towards the vehicles. Max and Theo are already unloading the first of the dazed children.
“Oh my Gods, what happened to these poor babies?” she gasps. “Wait, don’t tell me yet, get them inside, into the warm. What were you thinking? Having them in that cold truck?”
She turns and glares at me and Cosmo. “I don’t know what you are, but help get those babies inside,” she commands, pointing to the house. "And Willow, run in and stoke the fire…and tell your uncle we’ve company.”
Theo hands me a child. “Take her in then hurry back. Ludo is hurt, we’ll have to carry him.”
I glance at the slumped form of the janitor and sprint off with the child, depositing her in a warm kitchen then running back. Max is already maneuvering Ludo to the lowered tailgate. “Get his legs,” he grunts.
Willow waves from the farmhouse porch. “Bring him in, this way.”
Ludo is a heavy, dead weight between us, his breathing shallow. Sticky, congealed blood soaks his pants and coat.
We haul him inside; the kitchen is a chaos of movement. Theo and Donovan are draping blankets around tiny tear-stained children, while Willow is talking to an older man leaning heavily on a walker.
I guess this is her uncle.
He has a kind but extremely confused face. “Put the kettle on, Willow. Warm drinks for everyone.”
“Take the children to the living room,” Aunt Opal barks. “Then put the giant on the table.” The tiny woman then sweeps a basket of yarn and a half-eaten loaf of bread onto the floor with one movement.
We hoist Ludo onto the scarred oak surface.
“Everyone out apart from Willow,” Opal snaps.
“Theo needs to be here too, Aunty. She’ll help.”
“As long as she’s quiet,” Opal says, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and reaching for a jar of thick, pungent salve. "I need to focus on this cast."
Max nudges me toward the living room. "Come on, cuz. Let the healer work."
I pause in the hallway. Yes, she has it in hand.
Looking out the still open front door, I think about everything else there is to be done. Someone should scout the perimeter. Also hide the van and SUV somewhere, just in case we were spotted.
“You," the uncle is shuffling himself toward me. “Are you the leader of this merry band? Because if so, I need to know what trouble you’ve brought to my door. And how dowecombat it.”
I don’t miss the ‘we’ and I very much appreciate it.
“Sir, my name is Alexis Feniks. And I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you opening the door and not calling the authorities.”
His face darkens at the word ‘authorities’. “Don’t insult me, son.”
“Apologies. Your niece told us you’d be sympathetic to our…cause. These children were taken, abducted, by the Conclave. They’ve been experimented on and when their use is over, they’re slated to be sold…to sex traffickers.”
He looks me in the eye, trying to see the truth. When he does, the older man growls, knuckles whitening as he grips his walker rail, then he holds out his hand. “Gareth Bevan.”
Gareth looks into the living room, where the seven children are huddled together on a massive rug in front of a roaring fire. Donovan is sitting with them, performing some kind of ridiculous card trick with a deck he must have swiped from somewhere.
For a second, the kids are just children watching wide-eyed as he drops the entire deck, scattering cards everywhere.
“Thank you, young man. You did the right thing coming here.”
