Return of the Trickster Eden Robinson (sight word readers TXT) 📖

“Otter peeps in the house!” Chuck said, holding his knuckles up to Neeka for a fist bump that she pointedly did not do.

Hank helped himself to some bacon, mumbling through a full mouth: “Hi.”

“And you already know Gran,” Jared finished.

“Wee’git’s in the tree outside,” Chuck said. “He’s just gonna watch from a safe distance.”

Jared went to the picture window, followed by Neeka and Sarah. Wee’git tucked his head under his wing.

“Is he going to be at the cabin?” Granny Nita said.

“Nooooo,” Chuck said. “No, no, no. He’s trying to figure out where the other Tricksters are being held. He’s got their grave dirt and some bits and pieces. It’s all pretty gruesome, but if he can free them, that’d limit the coy wolves to their lupine form. If you don’t wanna tell him the type of hex, I can pass the info along.”

Neeka glared out the window as if she had laser vision. Sarah stepped back and headed for the kitchen.

“What kind of security do you have?” Neeka said.

“Well, there’s me,” Chuck said. “And the location. And the armoury in the basement.”

“Cameras?”

“A chief tree and tree spirits. Just chilling. They’re pretty ornery when anyone goes stomping through their woods.”

“Good,” Neeka said. “How many can your bus hold?”

“Twelve. Unless there’s wheelchairs.”

“We can do it in two trips with my minivan. Kids and their guardians first and then the elders and then the rest of us. Do you have the space?”

“We’ll make space,” Chuck said.

“I didn’t know if you wanted cinnamon or not,” Sarah said, returning with a bowl for Chuck. “So I put it on the spoon.”

“Hey, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Sarah. I’m honoured. I love cinnamon.” He dumped the spoon in his dish and grabbed a seat, smiling as he ate. “Did y’all eat already? Don’t let me eat by my lonesome. Dig in.”

Everyone started moving as if a spell had been broken. Jared caught Mave staring at him, but he couldn’t read her expression. She seemed to realize she was staring, and then turned to look out the window towards Wee’git, who still had his head tucked. Justice went to the kitchen and brought back a carafe of coffee, offering refills by holding it up and quirking an eyebrow. Jared picked up a mug and she smiled at him.

“There’s never a dull moment with you around,” Justice said.

“Sorry,” Jared said.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Hank and Neeka’s whispered argument caught their attention, but they instantly stopped when they realized people were listening. Mave served herself some scrambled eggs and bacon. Justice poured them both some coffee then went to sit beside Mave, who leaned against her.

Sarah gestured for Jared to join her at the small table. He grabbed some pancakes and fruit, then ladled on scrambled eggs and bacon and poured maple syrup over everything. He sat across from Sarah.

Then he dropped—his whole being dropped—and his head went back as he felt his mother reach out to him mind to mind—

27

MAGGIE

A hand removes the charm that blocks you from magic.

“Hoods off!” Cheerful, girly voice.

A barn. The rank smell of moulding hay and old shit. Stumbling out of the van that delivered you, blinking at the sudden light. Shadows become silent coy wolves and a Native girl with a black leather jacket painted with roses and the thugs that grabbed you from the motel parking lot. Two large men hold your arms. You kick them and one of them clocks you so hard your skull rattles. You sag.

Richie in front of the headlights. Richie’s hands zip-tied behind his back.

The humans and coy wolves are focused on you. Richie’s eyes find you. Both of you are gagged, so there will be no final words. He never could talk to you mind to mind. What would he say if he could?

These coy wolves don’t all have human skins. Most of them are on four legs. Richie doesn’t watch them, he keeps watching you. He gets in a few kicks, but they are a pack and once he’s on the ground, they have access to all of his soft spots and they rip. The sounds of concentrated tearing, the pop of joints, the rich smell of blood, his muffled screaming.

The girl, Mallory, comes to you with a machete. Her pretty face and the fake lashes that everyone has these days make her blinks look slow, but she studies you as you watch one of the coy wolves break from the pack with Richie’s arm in its teeth and hustle to a quiet spot.

“Hey, Jared,” the girl says to you, through you. “Granny Georgina says hi.”

You can’t move, you can’t move, you can’t move, and the rage is like an undertow that spins you down, and you will your hands into fists and you imagine them punching through her bony face, because when this is over, you are going to drag them all to hell.

The two men haul you to a chair and force you to kneel. One of them holds your arm straight on the chair seat and you realize they’ve stretched it out like a chicken’s neck on a chopping block.

You scream through the gag. You struggle. Mallory strokes your cheek with the machete and some of your hair is shaved from your temple and drifts down.

Oh, God, you think, and you fight.

Jared is here, Jared is here in your head, and he’s going to feel what you feel and Mallory spins the machete like a cheerleader twirling a baton before she brings it down.

A hot blast of pain consumes you like fire through dry grass. Your breath, your heart stop and your fingers spasm because the girl didn’t put enough force into the blow. She pulls back again and this time severs your hand and the sound ripped from you is a demented squeal. Then there is a pause, a searing ebb as your raw wrist bleeds.

They are licking your blood, licking your blood off the chair as