Tamiko and the Two Janitors

By Forthright

In doing her part for world peace, she puts one crosser’s whole world at risk.

Conspiracy theories, werewolf scares, and protest rallies have hampered the peace process in America, where social and political unrest keep most Amaranthine from declaring themselves. Those not in seclusion rely heavily on illus

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twinkle Press
• Release date: Jul 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781631230660

Book preview

TAMIKO AND THE TWO JANITORS

Amaranthine Saga, Book 3

Tamiko and the Two Janitors

Copyright © 2019 by FORTHRIGHT

ISBN: 978-1-63123-066-0

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::

TWINKLE PRESS

FORTHWRITES.COM

because I like it when you laugh

Table of Contents

Cat’s Paw

Elderbough Initiative

Red Gate Farm

The Oak Glen

Fraternal Twins

Flickering

Janitorial Closet

Not Enough to Go Around

Urban Enclave

Safety First

True

No Running in the Halls

How to Treat a Lady

Foundling

New Girl

Air of Importance

Truth Be Told

Protect What’s Precious

Better Together

We All Fall

Seeing Things

Cheeky Beggar

A Better Claim

Nesting Instincts

Jumping Through Hoops

Squirreled Away

One Way or Another

Flagship Alliance

Allotment

Overrun

Close Your Eyes

Freezing Rain

Denny

Avian Style

Keeper

Litter

Enough Said

Preservationists

Full Display

Hers and His and Theirs

Herald

We Interrupt this Broadcast

Lady Mettlebright

Disarming

Stake Out

Disclosures

Tell All

Entourage and Retinue

Eavesdropper

ONE

Cat’s Paw

While Tami waited for their town’s lone stoplight to tick through its cycle, she bumped up the volume on her car radio.

… encouraging people to check in with their county’s Office of Ingress, where a team of Betweeners will be able to quickly set your mind at ease.

The talk show host cheerfully played devil’s advocate. "Is this assessment an invasive procedure? Because I’m no fan of needles, let alone fangs."

With a polite chuckle, his guest assured, We may ask a few questions about family history, but identification takes mere moments. All we need is cooperation.

I’m sure you’ve heard the latest rumors.

Oh?

"The feeds and forums are plastered with warnings against the very testing you’re promoting, saying that the government is rounding up unregistered reavers for their own good."

He made that last bit sound unnecessarily ominous. Tami found the hype distasteful.

The guest, who must be a reaver, patiently explained, Many people are curious if they have ties to the In-between, and we are able to provide answers.

For a hefty price?

No, there’s no charge.

Can’t argue with that. Maybe you should give us that list of names again.

Certainly. In America, the most common surnames that point to a possible kinship to Betweener bloodlines are Reaver, Reaves, Reeve, Eaves, Eaver, Everson, and so on. Or surnames related to specific reaver classifications, like Ward, Warden, Barr, and Battle. A full multilingual, international list can be referenced at any Office of Ingress.

Tami smiled at that. She was freshly returned from an educators conference, and more than once, people had mistaken her for a reaver, based entirely on her nametag.

After the commercial break, they spun off into a discussion of the reaver practice of allowing successive generations to choose their own surnames, often based on their specialization, ranking, or birthplace.

That’s more like it, she informed the radio. Interesting facts would do far more to further the peace process than drumming up suspicions and drowning in sensationalism.

Turning into the dinky back parking lot of Landmark Elementary, Tami claimed her usual spot. They didn’t have designated parking, but ever since starting in June, she’d been the first to arrive each morning … with one notable exception.

An old jeep sat in the far corner of the lot.

Again.

She’d always been the early bird—and a competitive one at that. Tami had left an hour earlier than usual, just to be the first one into the school, only to be edged out by an earlier bird. Clearly, she needed to size up her rival.

Tami didn’t know the first thing about cars, but the offending jeep had vintage appeal. Outdated but in good repair, with an open back and sides. Craning her neck, she spotted a couple of plaid blankets that showed signs of a shedding pet, a locked toolbox, a bale of straw, and a fifty-pound bag of sunflower seeds. Which probably added up to a handyman with a dog and several birdfeeders.

Elementary, my dear Landmark. Aiming for the entrance, she surmised, The janitor did it.

The side entrance was already unlocked, and the heavy security door swung smoothly despite its weight. This early, the lights were off, leaving a gray hush in hallways that had been welcoming students for generations. Gleaming terrazzo, glass trophy cases, metal lockers, and thick corkboard. It was like stepping back in time.

Tami’s girlhood had been spent in these very halls. Dad and Grandad had attended Landmark Elementary, too. Three generations. And according to her mother, high time for a fourth.

She wiped her feet on the mat, and not merely for the benefit of the man coming along the hall toward her, pushing a wide dust mop. He was taller than average and a bit boxy in his shapeless gray-green coveralls, the kind of guy who’d probably played football in high school. His most distinguishing feature was definitely his hair—long and shaggy and vividly red, gathered into a ponytail at the back of his neck.

Morning, ma’am! he called amiably. You’re here earlier than usual.

"So it’s your car I’m always seeing. She fished for his name. Wasn’t it … Mr. Kipling?"

He grimaced. Yes, ma’am, but everyone calls me Kip.

Kip, she acknowledged. Please, just call me Tami.

Brown eyes softened. If you don’t mind, I’d like that. And yep, Coach is mine.

Coach? It took her a moment to catch up. You named your jeep?

Seemed the friendly thing to do. Kip leaned against the broom handle. And we like to get things squared away before things get busy.

We? She’d met most the staff in June, but those were informational meetings in preparation for the big conference, and attendance hadn’t exactly been mandatory. "Who’s the other half of your we? Or are you referring to Coach?"

He grinned. "Nah, I’m talking about me and Ash. We’re about as we as a couple of guys can get. Childhood friends, I guess you’d say."

Local? Some days, it seemed like she knew everybody in Archer, but his was a new face.

Close enough. Grew up in Fletching, but now I live up past Nocking. He waved for her to continue and accompanied her along the hall. How was the conference?

Tami’s heart skipped with nervous excitement. "Amazing. And intense. We had classes from morning to night, but they were all so interesting. And I was able to meet real Amaranthine!"

Look at you, snubbing the slang!

Our first lessons were in etiquette. Tami shook her head. "Everyone’s always saying Rivven, even on the news. Most of the attendees didn’t even know there was a proper term."

But they set you straight?

Kindly. She patted her satchel. I brought back so much literature, and some of the information packets are thick as dictionaries. Even if we’re not selected, I’m going to read it all.

Kip propped his broom beside the office door and folded his arms over his chest. Seems good. No regrets.

Not yet. Tami’s smile wavered. When I stop to think about it, I get nervous.

When are you supposed to hear who got picked?

This week. The reavers said that they’d take their recommendations to the Five, and a decision would be made quickly.

The janitor’s gaze drifted to a point over her shoulder. And how would that decision be relayed?

"Official means—that’s all they said."

So a herald, yeah? Kip pointed.

Outside the glass double doors, a uniformed individual stood waiting.

Oh, gosh. Tami grabbed Kip’s arm. Oh, wow. Do you think?

How about we ask the nice herald if he has good news? Pulling a jangling ring of keys from one of his pockets, Kip unlocked the main door and swung it wide.

The person who stepped inside wasn’t human. He was slender and pale, with snow-white hair fluffing around pointed ears. By contrast, his eyes were liquid black and bright. Tamiko Reaverson, Principal? he asked in a light voice.

Yes. That’s me. She cautiously offered her hands. And you are?

With a soft smile, the Amaranthine rested his palms on hers. I am Remill of the Whistledowns, one of the dove clans. We have always worked closely with reavers and are currently attached to the Office of Ingress here in Perch County.

You’ve always lived here?

Your home has long been my home, he assured. Lovely, is it not?

"It is," she murmured.

Withdrawing a heavy packet from his messenger bag, Remill said, I am here because a communique arrived for you at our offices. And because I enjoy being the bearer of good news.

Kip whistled between his teeth. That’s the real deal, all right.

Tami’s fingers trembled as she prodded at wax-sealed string. The impression was of a striking cat’s paw—Hisoka Twineshaft’s own crest.

Here, offered Kip, pulling a multi-purpose tool from one of his many pockets and unfolding a slender blade. He worked it under the seal, lifting it away. That’ll do it.

Hands shaking even worse, she pushed the packet into Kip’s chest. I can’t. You open it for me.

If you want. He gave her a dubious look. Isn’t this your big moment.

This moment’s too big for one person. Tami flapped a hand at him. Share it with me.

Yes, ma’am, he said with a jaunty salute. Okay. There’s a cover letter. Signed with a pawprint.

Tami’s brow furrowed, and she leaned in to see. You can’t be serious.

"I’m totally kidding."

She cuffed his shoulder. What does it say?

The janitor straightened up, and with all the grandeur of a presenter at an awards gala, he read off the message. Principal Tamiko Reaverson, it is with great pleasure that I am able to inform you that Landmark Elementary has been selected for the Twineshaft Initiative, alongside Archer Middle, West Branch High, and Bellwether College.

Her heart leapt. Good news, indeed!

Kip winked at her over the top of the page and read on. My committee members were favorably impressed by your passion and by your group’s ingenuity in proposing an integration program that stretches from kindergarten through graduate school. We are prioritizing a similar strategy in every state, with your schools serving as a flagship for peace. I look forward to meeting you in person. Kip tapped the page. "And while there’s no pawprint, it is signed by Spokesperson Twineshaft, on behalf of the Five."

And then she was squealing and bouncing, and Kip was bouncing right along with her. He brought Remill into their celebratory circle, and Tami hugged the herald and kissed his cheek. The dove gave a soft, twittering laugh, so she kissed his other cheek, as well.

The blushing herald excused himself with a graceful gesture and the hope of future meetings.

Kip asked, What can I do to help?

Tami impulsively suggested, Be on my planning team?

He thumped his chest. I’m there.

She doubted a janitor could contribute much, but Kip’s enthusiasm was contagious.

True to her assessment, he caught her hands and spun her into an impromptu waltz. He was broad in the shoulder and bulky about the middle, but light on his feet. She laughed, and he beamed as if that had been his whole goal.

I hear the door, he sang out.

And then Mrs. Dabrowski was there, hand on her hip. Kip, you rascal! Unhand Principal Reaverson!

He guided them closer, gave Tami a final spin, then claimed her spluttering secretary for his next partner. Switching to an energetic polka, which Flootie Dabrowski had no trouble matching, he announced, We’re celebrating.

Mrs. Dabrowski stopped and swung around. We got it? she asked Tami.

Tami flung her arms wide. We got it!

More squeals and hugging, and Tami was surprised by a few tears. She’d worked so hard for this, wanted it so much. And it was actually going to happen. "The Amaranthine are coming here, to our little town. Oh, I hope they like it."

Why wouldn’t they? This is just as pretty a piece of countryside as you’ll find! Flootie patted her shoulder and staunchly declared, We’ll give them what they haven’t always found—a warm welcome.

TWO

Elderbough Initiative

Frowning at the single, shimmering paper that held Melissa’s assignment, the head of Perch County’s Office of Ingress asked, What’s all this?

And even though the formidable woman—Reaver Courtney Barr, according to the brass plate on her desk—had the information in front of her, Melissa stiffly explained her sudden arrival.

Under the auspices of the Elderbough Initiative, I’ve come to make an initial evaluation of the Reaverson household in Archer. They’re relatives, and at my biological father’s request, they’ve opened their home to me. I’ll be staying with them while commuting into Fletching, where I’m enrolling at Bellwether College.

I can see that. The stout woman with steel gray hair lifted the sheet and her eyebrows. But the timestamp suggests a plan made in haste. Why?

Miss Tamiko Reaverson, age twenty-nine, attended the recent New Saga conference for educators as an applicant for Hisoka Twineshaft’s school revitalization project. While there, she caught the attention of one of the organizers, who flagged her name in the system.

She’s an unregistered reaver?

If so, I’ll protect her.

Courtney asked, Your classification, Reaver Armstrong?

Melissa squared her shoulders. Battler.

The woman lifted a bony finger, pushed back her chair, and left the room.

Alone again, Melissa dragged in a shallow breath. She wasn’t very good at this sort of thing. It didn’t help that Reaver Barr was such a dour woman, utterly lacking in the usual brand of diplomatic charm. Melissa shifted in her seat and fiddled with her unaccustomed attire. The jeans were all right, but she missed the close fit of her tunic and the weight of her weapons belt. Her training group had been working in light armor for weeks, and she felt naked without it. Worst of all were the sandals. She might be a California girl—born and bred—but reavers did not wear flip-flops.

Courtney returned with three sheets of paper. Sliding the first across the desk, she said, Bellwether has a reaver track. You won’t need to enroll in any general studies unless they interest you personally.

Melissa scanned the course list with increasing amazement. I thought Bellwether College was open to the general public.

It is. The college is one of the earliest academic institutions in America. It is also one of the first enclaves in this region. With a stern look, she added, Undisclosed.

Perusing the section of courses and apprenticeships available to battlers, her gaze caught on a single line. They match Kith to battlers?

One of the three founding clans of the Bellwether Enclave is the Nightspangle pack. Theirs is the foremost wolf-partnering program in North America. A steady look. You didn’t know?

Melissa could only shake her head.

Nice to know Christopher Armstrong takes his vows seriously. Courtney Barr slid a second sheet of paper across the desk. He was born here, raised in the enclave, and he’s kept their secret. Christopher’s Kith partner is a Nightspangle wolf.

Cove, she whispered.

Partnership between battlers from the mid-ranks was an appealing option for those who wished to distinguish themselves. During her homestays, Melissa always watched her mother train with her partner Magda. The two women had been a formidable team since their academy days, with Mom launching arrows that Magda imbued with crackling energy. Their fierce combination regularly dominated in reaver tournaments, since their bolts could disrupt sigils, sear through barriers, and detonate on impact.

Melissa dreamed of partnership, too, but of a different variety.

During her first year at academy, she’d wandered into an area of campus not intended for small children. Four years old and lost in the armory. But the presence of so many weapons hadn’t worried her. The echoing chamber was like her mother’s special closet, but on a much larger scale.

Fascinated, she’d explored the various cases, earning a shallow slice on one finger from a dagger and pricking another on a particularly beautiful arrow. She could still remember its fiery fletching, for it had been trimmed with phoenix feathers.

Right about then, she’d found herself nose-to-nose with an enormous feline. The Kith must have been some sort of lynx, for Melissa remembered tufted ears and speckled fur. As well as pale green eyes that shone with intelligence and amusement.

Scruffing her like a wayward kitten, the big cat had carried her like a prize back to the correct dormitory, where the teenaged girl assigned to Melissa had breathed a sigh of relief and held her close. Then taught her how to properly thank the Kith.

The dye was set.

Throughout her schooling, Melissa was most comfortable with her Kith acquaintances or her Amaranthine instructors. Her reserve never confused them. They knew when she was happy or confused or frightened or angry, and they modified their behavior to match her mood. Her awkwardness in expressing herself never mattered. Without a word, she was understood.

So she donned a battler’s colors and took her father’s name, all to increase her chances of being matched with a Kith companion.

As far as she was concerned, nothing else mattered.

Courtney Barr indicated the second paper. Christopher Armstrong may not have told you about Bellwether Enclave, but his recommendation has been on file with the Nightspangle pack since your fifth birthday.

That’s nearly twenty years ago.

The waiting list for whelped Kith is longer than a founding family’s pedigree. The woman studied Melissa’s transfer papers again, and her lips pursed. You’re not contracted?

No.

Reaver Barr gave up waiting for an explanation. With your lineage, you can’t be lacking for offers.

Melissa wouldn’t apologize for her decision to prioritize finding a Kith partner over her duty to the In-between. A husband would only complicate things, and an ill-timed pregnancy could undercut her eligibility if a potential partner became available. Mom and Magda had supported her choice to remain single, even though she’d had to pay a hefty fee on her twenty-third birthday.

I withdrew my name from the register. Melissa quietly stood her ground. My age, my lineage, and my whereabouts are currently … undisclosed.

Courtney didn’t bat an eye. Good for you, honey.

Th-thank you?

The third sheet of paper crossed the desk. "This is today’s threat advisory. Given the founding principle behind the Elderbough Initiative—pack is pack, care for your own—I suspect this is the real reason Naroo-soh Elderbough hustled you out this way."

The rogue. Melissa nibbled at her lip as she studied the map and its legend. Clusters of red dots spanned three states without any discernable pattern. The few reports I’ve seen describe him as opportunistic … vicious … and elusive.

"Three of the rogue’s most recent attacks have been blamed on werewolves, which is utterly ridiculous. We’ve had to withdraw more than half of the Elderbough trackers because the sight of wolves in any context sends the public into a panic. Courtney’s expression darkened. Surgeons spent most of last night fighting to save the lives of Kith trackers who ran into the path of a citizen’s patrol. Three scraped through. Two died. Shot by silver bullets."

THREE

Red Gate Farm

Melissa stole a glance at her phone, confirming that she was indeed on the right track … a literal track. Well, not quite that bad, but she wasn’t accustomed to bumping along gravel roads. Her relations lived at a place called Red Gate Farm, and a brief phone conversation with her host had ended with the assurance that she couldn’t miss it.

Drive until you run out of road, and you’re there, she muttered, creeping along.

She wasn’t used to so much green.

Grass carpeted the rolling hills of a pasture on her right, and the trees lining the road created a green tunnel. Very different from sand-skimmed boardwalks and a wide view of the ocean, with the continual rhythm of waves on their beach.

Checking her rear-view mirror, Melissa stopped in the road and put her loaner in park. The faded blue hatchback was already showing a powdery coat of dust from her backroad ramble. She snapped a picture and sent it to Magda, who’d ordered her to stay in touch.

Behold, Middle America!

aka middle of nowhere

A nice place to visit

Don’t stay away too long

No promises

They have wolves

If one wants me, I’m theirs

Lock and load

That was Magda’s way of wishing her luck.

Melissa didn’t bother with her seatbelt as she continued along, stones popping under her tires, lazy puffs of dust her only companion on the road. But beyond the wall of trees on her left, she caught glimpses of an orchard and a white plank fence.

A school bus and a van from a Fletching senior center were parked beyond red gates flanked by fluttering welcome banners and barrel-sized pots of geraniums. A big sign announced that it was apple season, with late-summer varieties listed. Melissa hadn’t even heard of half of them.

She turned in.

Everything was red and white, from the huge barn with GIFT SHOP painted on the side to the tractor hitched to a long wagon. More signs pointed the way to pick-your-own apples, cider press, petting zoo, hayrides, farm fresh eggs, and a corn maze opening in October.

Coming along the driveway toward her was a young man in overalls. She hadn’t even realized people still wore them. Waving a small red flag, he tried to guide her into an open parking place at the gift shop.

Leaning out her window, she explained, I’m not a customer. Can you tell me where to find the owners? My name’s Melissa Armstrong, and they’re expecting me.

This way. He turned and walked away.

Not sure what else to do, she rolled slowly after him. Right before the barn, the drive turned a corner, and a farmhouse hove into view, complete with picket fence, green shutters, and a porch swing. The young man went into his traffic directing routine again, pointing her into the open spot beside a station wagon in front of a detached garage.

She called her thanks and popped the hatch to get her luggage.

Instead of heading back to work, he silently stepped forward to take her suit case.

Do you work here? she asked.

Every day.

He led the way up the porch steps and didn’t bother knocking before walking into a big kitchen. A man turned from the sink with a wide smile, and Melissa immediately relaxed. He was at least a decade older than Chris Armstrong, but he looked enough like him to assure her that she was in the right place.

Melissa! Making hasty use of a dishtowel, he held out a hand. Abel Reaverson. I guess we’ll go with Uncle Abel, okay?

She matched his grip. Hello. Thank you for taking me in on such short notice.

Don’t mention it. Nodding past her shoulder, he said, You’ve met my son.

Turning back, she realized that the young man in overalls was still there, staring at his feet.

She flushed in embarrassment. Her whole family was cut from the same cloth—tall, strong, blue-eyed, and fair-haired. By contrast, her guide’s features had a distinctly Asian cast.

Melissa said, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.

Uncle Abel laughed. You’ll have to pardon Joe. He’s a little shy. Tami makes up for it though. She’ll be back in another hour or two. She’s principal of the elementary school in town. You probably passed it on your way here.

I did.

Hiro, that’s my wife, she’s working in the gift shop right now, so I’m on salad duty. I’ll take you out to meet her, but first we should let you set your stuff down and freshen up. He beckoned for her to follow him. Everything’s ready. We put you upstairs, right across from Tami. Joe’s room is at the other end, little bigger than a closet, really, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Pausing at the door, she looked back to where Joe was still watching. Her cousin offered a bashful smile and a tentative wave, then escaped out the front door.

When she caught up to Uncle Abel on the stairs, he asked, Long day?

Yes.

His smile widened. I get the impression that you’re a little shy, too.

I guess so?

No problem. You’ll see how it works around here. Plenty of room in the world for all kinds of people. He opened a door, saying, For you. Bathroom’s there. I’ll be in the kitchen!

And he left her alone.

She eased into her new room, closing the door behind her. The lock was old-fashioned in the extreme, but with a jiggle and a twist, she managed to turn the skeleton key. After a brief reconnoiter, she crossed to the room’s one window and inspected the casement. Flipping the catch, she raised the sash and gave a quick pinch and pull, relieving her window of its screen. With practiced ease, she slid out feet-first and crouched barefoot on the sloped roof outside.

Not a bad vantage point, though it only gave her a view of row upon row of trees. Fortunately, this side of the house was shaded by a pair of elms. She suspected that the grit-and-tar shingles would be too hot in full sun. Boots were definitely at the top of her shopping list.

Keeping low, she scaled to the peak to get the lay of the land—a second barn, tractor shed, animal pens, chicken coop, corn crib. Beyond the second barn were stacks of pallets and wooden apple crates. And she could see a field thick with broad green leaves. Undoubtedly the pumpkin patch.

With no people in view, Melissa straightened to her full height and slowly relaxed the hold she’d been trained to keep on her soul. Maybe not the wisest course, but certainly the quickest expedient.

Thirty heartbeats later, and she was back under wraps, hiding herself from the telltale flit and drift of Ephemera. These low-level Amaranthine rarely gathered without certain inducements, the most basic of which was a reaver’s presence.

That settled it for Melissa. Someone at Red Gate Farm needed her.

FOUR

The Oak Glen

Joe probably should have rejoined his family in making their guest welcome, but as soon as he closed the gate behind their last customer and stowed the OPEN sign, he struck out through the orchard.

It wasn’t that Melissa wasn’t nice. But why was she even here?

Grandad’s mother supposedly had an Armstrong connection, which meant that Melissa was Dad’s second cousin’s daughter. Or something. But no matter how Joe turned it around in his head, she was so distant a cousin, they might as well be strangers.

Joe didn’t mind dealing with strangers when they were customers. All you had to do was sell them a bushel of apples, a carton of eggs, or a gallon of cider, and they went away. Melissa was a stranger who was moving in. Mom had promised him up and down that a busy college girl wouldn’t be around much.

But he knew she was here. And that was weird.

Usually, he was only aware of Tami, something they’d always been told was a part of being twins. Joe liked the connection they shared. It was unique.

His sister was all the things he wasn’t—confident and charismatic. She worked toward big dreams and fought for big ideals. He couldn’t begin to compare, so he didn’t try. Tami was Tami. As far as Joe was concerned, the world was lucky to have her. And so was he. But he was himself. And he was most himself out here, on their land, among their trees. And especially in the oak glen.

Joe slipped into his favorite retreat. The wide ring of oak trees had been planted by Grandad some sixty years ago, back when he was a boy, and the orchard fanned out around it, hemming it in on every side. Over the decades the oaks had put down their deep roots and climbed skyward, sending out beamlike branches until their leaves touched. And in the very center, stood a tree unlike any other.

It was by far the largest tree on the property, visible from the highway if you knew right where to look. If people noticed it at all, they probably assumed their tree stood on a hill, but it was actually tucked down in a little hollow all its own. As if the person who planted it was trying to hide it. The oak glen was a shady vale of mossy stones and twisting roots where he and Tami had picnicked and played as children.

Joe settled among a dramatic swirl of roots that surrounded him like smooth walls, curving up and away from his niche. This spot had always felt like a throne to him when he was little. On the flat stone nearby, Tami used to set up a pretend kitchen and fix him meals of flower petals and grass blades, wild berries and green apples. And he’d lean back and count air ribbons or potter around, boring the holes into which he planted his apple seeds.

Tami didn’t make it out here so much anymore.

Grandad did, even though the distance made it tough. But Joe figured this was a special place for the old man. He hadn’t picked the spot and planted the trees for no good reason. Dad had once told him that Grandad was a twin, too, but his sister had died young. Maybe this was all for her. Maybe Grandad came here to remember.

Once, just a couple of winters back, Joe had heard Grandad refer to this place as a song circle. When Joe asked about it, the old man brushed it off in his usual gruff way, but the term stuck with Joe.

Maybe Grandad’s sister had liked to sing?

Joe doubted he’d ever get around to asking.

The day was getting on toward dinnertime when Joe heard the tractor engine cut out. Minutes later, Grandad was picking his way down the gentle slope. Probably sent to fetch him.

Found you. The old man grunted as he eased into a neighboring nook among the roots. You’re a mite young to be so set in your ways.

Joe couldn’t help smiling. I take after you.

Might be, he agreed.

Grandad pulled an apple from his pocket and passed it along, then extracted another for himself. They munched in companionable silence, but Joe guessed there was something on the old man’s mind. Was he worried about sharing their home with a stranger, too?

But when Grandad spoke, it was to ask about the tree. Notice anything different about her?

"Can’t say for sure.

Reviews for Tamiko and the Two Janitors

[kmartin802_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This story takes place in an America that has not yet embraced peace with their Amaranthine neighbors. Tamiko Reaverson has a plan to do her part for world peace. As an elementary school principal, she convinces a middle school principal, a high school principal, and the head of the local college to apply for a grant which will bring Amaranthine to her town. Tami doesn't know that the town is filled with Amaranthine already who are living veiled with their illusions. Even the two janitors at her school are hiding their Amaranthine natures. Of course, Tami has a secret past too. In fact, it is so secret that she doesn't even know that her family are descended from Reavers who interact with the Amaranthine.Tami's twin brother Joe is especially hidden since his very powerful and rare Reaver power has been warded into hiding by someone. This story had a variety of romances and lots of wonderful detail about the Amaranthine. It also brought us up to date on characters from the first two books in the Amaranthine Saga. I loved the worldbuilding and the many intriguing characters. I also enjoyed the romances.While not a cliffhanger ending, the ending certainly left room for more stories.