Spank or Treat 2014 Read online

  Lucas slumped down on the front step and shut his eyes. He sighed, not caring that it came out all wobbly and dramatic, moved to rub at his brow and caught himself just in time. Bad idea. With a sour curl to his lip, he maneuvered the hand back down between his knees where he’d got it, and lifted the other. Sank his fingers into his hair and kneaded.

  Ow.

  Well, there was the headache. He supposed the day wouldn’t have been complete without it. He blew a runaway hank of hair out of his eyes. Because fixing the ribbon right now was out of the question.

  A sharp curse came from around the back and the clink of tools; Mister Greenly was having words with the pump again.

  Squinting down at the paving-stones, Lucas examined his toes. Not too bad; he’d managed to get most of the black off, anyway and, he supposed, with one more wash, he’d be able to safely pad about the house without worrying about ruining any more carpets. If he ever got one more wash.

  He slanted his gaze toward the side of the hill where Mother’s hearthrug lay drying in the afternoon sun. Lucas had done his very best, but considering that it had been buried beneath a veritable mountain of soot (all right, maybe not a mountain, but a considerable little hill, anyway), several tons of rotting leaves (tons, ounces—there really wasn’t a notable difference when it was all billowing onto your mother’s parlor floor), and a nest almost the size of Lucas’s own little house (so, it was a robin’s nest and you know, this was his little whinging episode and he would appreciate it if facts and commonsense stopped trying to shove their annoying foot in the door… feet… fine… whatever)... wait, had there been a point somewhere back there? Oh, right. The rug. Well. He wasn’t holding out much hope for it. Even if it looked clean when it dried, he’d never get the smell out. And Mother would notice, because that was what Mother did.

  Lucas frowned, bent his neck and sniffed at his shirt. He winced. Well, that was for the bin. Just as well; he couldn’t even remember what color it had been when he’d put it on this morning.

  Ah, this morning, when he’d risen in his old bed from a lovely night’s sleep to the sound of birdsong and the warmth of sunshine, and everything had been right with the world.

  So, fine, he’d actually awoken to a cat yowling somewhere down the lane and the sun was only glowing all over the place because he’d forgotten to close his bedroom window—and the curtains and the shutters—and it had been bloody freezing this morning and he’d thought for a few minutes that his toes had gone missing as he’d yipped and acked his way across the room to shut the window, only to find two apparently-courting squirrels mooning at each other on the windowsill—all right, yes, they were shagging—and not at all pleased at his interruption. Who knew squirrels could hiss? Luckily, the shriek he loosed when he startled backwards and caught his feet in yesterday’s trousers scared them off. Of course, it took a while for Lucas to notice because he’d been busy inventing new profanities, and only when he’d finally picked himself up off the floor, wondering if one was supposed to apply ice or heat when one sprained one’s arse, did he notice that he’d apparently quite literally scared the shit right out of the ratty little duo.

  He’d groaned in disgust, decided no one in the world could possibly look askance if he opted to at least have a cup of tea—or six—before even thinking about how none of the lessons on how best to care for a home imparted by various busybodies over the years had ever, even once, mentioned the leavings of the common squirrel. He would be on his own for this one and he absolutely refused to so much as pick up a cleaning rag and soap until after that cup of tea. Or six.

  That was when he’d discovered the water problem. Or, rather, the lack-of-water problem. Because, seeing as how this had turned out to be The Worst Day Ever, it only made sense that it had started out as it had.

  The first thing Lucas had done with his newfound and still rather unbelievable fortunate financial circumstances was to send Mother and the girls off on holiday for as long as he thought they might willingly stay away for two weeks in Hasherbon to visit relatives. Of course, Mother being Mother, a good turn obviously deserved suspicion and imposition, and the only way she’d go was if Lucas agreed to stay in and care for the house for the duration. Which, all right, wasn’t horrible—his old bed was much wider and considerably softer than the one in his little house down the lane, and Miss Emma’s talent at stocking a larder was clearly superior to Lucas’s—but he’d grown used to having the walls closer about him, and to not having to don boots and coat in the middle of the night to retrieve a book not a room away but all the way down the hill and in another house entirely. (And, all right, he’d admit his reading habits might be a bit... eccentric, but sometimes a specific passage from a specific book would pop into his head and clamor for attention like a needy toddler, and the only way to quell it was to actually reread the book of which the particular passage was a part. Shut up, Alex thought it was adorable.)

  Also, the whole situation made Cat quite cross with him. As much as Lucas’s general existence seemed to annoy her overall, it seemed his absence was grounds for increased hostilities and perhaps even the cat-equivalent of a declaration of war. Every time Lucas ventured down the hill to check on her, he found more dead rodents in inconvenient places, and he was sure he’d be unearthing strategically placed hairballs secreted amongst personal and irreplaceable possessions for years to come.

  Bramble, on the other hand, seemed to see the temporary change in living arrangements as nothing more than his due as King of the Goblins, and spent his days pretending to be a very large and very problematic and immovable piece of furniture. No carpet, couch or bed was, apparently, complete without his full-body imprint and halo of shed hair. Which, again, wasn’t necessarily horrible. With Alex away on his father’s business, and the walls of Mother’s house much farther away from Lucas than what he’d grown used to—even if his old room had, somewhat disturbingly, been kept exactly the same as when he’d lived in it—Bramble found himself a touch more welcome as a large, furry substitute hot water bottle than he normally would be in Lucas’s little house.

  Which took the fact that Bramble had happily slept through yowling cats and hissing squirrels from “curious anomaly” and right into “treacherous betrayal”. The fractious grunt and slow bemused blink when Lucas threw a book at his furry haunch from the undignified shagging-squirrel-induced sprawl on the floor—and the subsequent apathetic yawn and return to sleep—only made the betrayal worse. And put Lucas’s now sooty feet firmly on the path to the Worst Day Ever.

  Because it didn’t stop at squirrels.

  He’d forgotten to fill the kettle last night when he’d banked the stove and it had simmered itself dry overnight. At least he’d remembered to bank the stove and hadn’t burned the place down. He was able to console himself with that thought for about ten minutes—the length of time it took him to understand that no amount of pumping (or cursing) was going to make water come out of the spigot—before he had to admit that having no tea was going to be the least of his problems this day.

  All right, so it hadn’t exactly been a good morning. Still, it was the best part of this stupid, bloody, never-ending day, and Lucas remembered it almost fondly.

  The gate squeaked; Lucas refused to look up. That would be the wolf or the troll. Or both. And he’d be damned if he was going to lift his head and bare his throat… although, one didn’t necessarily need to bare one’s throat in order to be sat upon…. So. Maybe best to get it over with.

  Lucas sighed again and lifted his head, then scowled when he saw who it was.

  “You’re late,” he growled.

  Alex stopped in his tracks, blinking. “Um… I’m two days early, in fact.”

  Lucas slumped. “Oh,” he said, voice smaller than he liked, “two days….” He tilted his head with a frown. “It’s still only Mid’s Day?”

  “Er… Surprise?”

  Lucas dropped his head back into his palm and closed his eyes. “Huzzah,
” was all he said. He would have twirled a finger in the air for more effect, but one hand was busy holding up his head and the other was… well… not.

  “Well, I like that,” Alex answered, his tone indignant. “Shall I just toddle off and see if Laurie’s come out from under the skirts of Miss Helvenia yet, or would you like to invite me in?”

  For a moment, Lucas actually considered sending Alex “toddling off”. All he needed now to top off this day was to be faced with the shining example of Alex Booker, who was everything a man was supposed to be and never had days like this one. Even after a full day on the road, or so Lucas had to assume, he was bloody spotless and Lucas had to stop himself from curling his lip. Alex’s stupid, sodding jacket, all clean and fresh-looking, and his stupid, sodding hair, all sleek raven-black and not a one out of place, and his stupid, sodding face, tanned with a touch of rose on nose and cheeks, and his stupid, sodding boots, all polished and clean but for the lightest coating of road-dust, and how dare Alex show up here with clean boots! Lucas would be willing to lay down real money that no squirrels had ever had their morning shag and poo on Alex’s windowsill.

  Lucas sighed and blew his stupid hair out of his eyes again. His stupid red hair, because he couldn’t have nice shiny black hair like Alex, could he, noooo, or lovely blond waves like sodding Prince sodding Laurie. No, Lucas got a ridiculous red mop that could be seen from bloody Applethrow, probably from space, and which refused—refused!—to stay put in its stupid sodding ribbon that he couldn’t fix right now because of... reasons.

  “I thought it was Lilac this month,” was all he ended up muttering.

  Alex shrugged with a snort. “Who can keep track? Actually, who cares?” He tilted his head, eyebrows beetled. “You know, I say this with love and all due alacrity for ducking, but you look awful, love. You do realize your mother asked my mother to keep an eye on you, because your mother will never believe you are not, in fact, five years old—”

  “No, she just thinks that will keep us from shagging all over the house while she’s gone.”

  Alex shook his head, rueful. “It’s like she’s never even met us.” He grinned. “So, should I run off and collect Mother, then? She can come coo at you and put the apples back in your cheeks. But then, no.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I doubt she’ll shag you in the kitchen, you’re better off with me, so maybe you should invite me in.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “I can’t invite you in,” he grumbled. “I mean, I can invite you to go in, but I can’t come with you. I’m filthy, in case you didn’t notice.”

  The smile dimmed as Alex took a few steps closer. “What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his pack. “What’s happened to your clothes? And….” A pause while he got a better look. “And your feet! And your hair! Lucas, you’re a mess! What happened?”

  Lucas unwillingly opened his eyes and peered down at himself; he really did look like something that had just crawled out of the dustbin.

  “Well, it’s all rather the same story,” he answered, peering up at Alex. “Which part would you like to hear first?”

  Alex leaned in closer, eyes narrowing and mouth dropping slightly open. “Well, how about you start with what happened to your eye!”

  “Eye?” Lucas reached up and pressed at his cheekbone. “Oh.” He grimaced with a surly grunt. “Well, there was a bee.”

  Alex’s eyebrows went up. “A... bee.”

  “Yes, a bee. You know—black and yellow stripes, buzzes about and stings people it doesn’t like? A bee!”

  Alex leaned closer, eyed Lucas’s cheekbone keenly, then: “But that doesn’t look like a sting.”

  Was Alex being annoying on purpose or was it just Lucas’s mood?

  “It isn’t a sting. But I was… well, it kept diving at my head and… well, and….”

  “And what? It punched you?”

  “No.” Lucas’s cheeks were feeling suspiciously hot. “I tried to wave it away and… sort of… um….”

  There was a pause while Alex waited for Lucas to continue; Lucas decided this was about where he was going to—most likely very ineffectually—dig in his heels. He buttoned his lip firmly and blinked up at Alex.

  “Sort of what?” Alex pressed. “Pummeled yourself about the face to scare it away? Took a stick to your own head? Threw a rock at yourself? What, Lucas?”

  Lucas only stared for a moment. Not only was Alex bloody ridiculously perfect, but he was going to force Lucas into admitting how far from it he was himself. He sighed and pulled his hand from between his knees.

  Alex blinked. And then his eyebrows climbed higher. “Lucas,” he said slowly, “you’ve a vase on your hand.”

  “Cheers, love, now perhaps you’d like to tell me what color grass is.”

  “But….” Alex shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, then—why is there a vase on your hand?”

  “Because it’s stuck there.”

  Alex waited for a few beats, but when Lucas didn’t clarify, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. How did you get a vase stuck on your hand?”

  The scowls were coming so easily to Lucas now. “I had to show Lilly there wasn’t an evil sorcerer inside it.”

  “And Lilly is who?” Alex wanted to know. “Your imaginary playmate?”

  Lucas glared this time. “No,” he retorted. “Lilly is Olive Bankhurst’s little one. Olive came to pick up the washing since Miss Emma’s gone off with Mother, the traitor, and Lilly came along with her mum, seeing as how there was no one else home to look after her because of the to-do at the Rimbauds’ and I needed a break from drawing up water to clean the carpet, so I offered to tell her a story—”

  “Carpet? Wait, what—”

  “—and I took her into Mother’s parlor and told her the one about the sorcerer who lived in the magic jar. You know the one—with the three wishes?”

  “Yes, but what about—”

  “And it’s apparently a lot more frightening than I’d realized because the child started screaming about how she knew there was a sorcerer in the vase—called me a liar, can you believe it, in my own home; bring the child in, feed her cider and biscuits in the best parlor, tell her a story, and the next thing I know, my eardrums are vibrating out of my head with the screams—and I was afraid Olive was going to think I was trying to throttle the little beast or something, so I turned the sodding vase upside-down and shook it, but that wasn’t good enough, was it, nooooooo, said I had to reach in and grab him by his little sorcerer throat because he was magic and he could just cling to the inside of the vase if I shook it, couldn’t he, and then she—”

  “Waitwaitwait, whoa,” Alex cut in and his eyes had narrowed again. “You took her into the best parlor? I’m not even allowed in the best parlor!”

  Lucas looked at Alex sideways, then shrugged. “Well last time you were in there, you broke the tea table.”

  Alex’s mouth dropped open. “Because you knocked me into it when you got your trousers tangled around your—”

  “Witnesses or it never happened, Alex!” Lucas took a long, deep breath then he sniffed, stubbornly ignoring Alex’s indignant sputtering. “Anyway, I couldn’t take her to the second-best, could I? Not after Stinky Mountbuckle got through with it.”

  Alex’s look of indignation turned slowly to one of disbelief. “Is that someone’s name?”

  Lucas sighed up at the sky. “Don’t ask.”

  To his credit, Alex didn’t; instead he asked, “Well, what did he do?”

  “He’s apprenticing with his father,” Lucas answered with a curl of his lip. “Evers Mountbuckle is the chimneysweep.”

  Alex tilted his head. “And Stinky…?”

  “Was practicing. Only, apparently, Evers hadn’t yet taught his son the part about how, when birds have nested in a chimney, one does not take a very long stick and try to poke—or, in Stinky’s case, ram—said nest down the flue.” Lucas again knea
ded at his temple. “Nest, leaves and soot all screed down in one giant whoosh; Evers and Stinky and I managed to get the furniture and floors cleaned up, but the hearthrug is most likely in its death-throes over there.” A disgusted flick of his hand. Which would probably have been more effective without the vase. “I suppose it’s almost just as well, because after I finally got rid of the Mountbuckles and the lovely Miss Lilly of the Eardrum-Piercing Screech, I went back down to finish trying to clean the rug—one-handed, of course—and the bloody thing tripped me. Fell into a sodding lake of sooty mud because I couldn’t catch myself without breaking the vase and I had to twist a bit, landed on my arse for the second time today and would have gone rolling down the hill, had I not bashed right into the well.”

  Alex only stared for a moment, then: “Second time?”

  “Right.” Lucas grimaced. “The first time was because of the squirrels.”

  Alex appeared to ponder that one for a moment. “Should I ask?”

  “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

  “All right, but what—”

  “So I decided then I was done for the day because really—how much convincing does a person need before he realizes that Fate and Chance have got together and made a bet on how long it will take for him to either go completely mad or hang himself with his braces?”

  “Well,” said Alex slowly, “You haven’t hung yourself at least.”

  “I might have done,” Lucas replied, “but I was afraid I’d miss. And anyway, I can’t exactly tie a knot properly, can I?” The abyss of Maudlin and Morose was yawning ever closer and Lucas almost happily jumped in with both feet. “I can’t even throw myself off the roof,” he lamented.

  Curse his ancestors for seeing fit to build the sprawling manor house much wider than it was tall. Two stories was useless for throwing oneself down in a fit of melodrama like a histrionic heroine tossing herself daintily from the cliffs.