Mac and the Little People Ch. 02

Fifi found that running and sobbing makes for slow progress. First no Ice cream, Then getting caught, then evicted, and now running through the woods with Mac in pursuit. She couldn't look at him again, not after catching her. It wasn't right. His hands were for making, not catching.

Fifi looked back to see if Mac had followed her into the forest. She couldn't see him, but heard a distant crunching on the gravel. Fifi tried becoming semi-invisible again, but it didn't work. The trees or something in them had seen her. She looked around for a place to hide. If Fifi could get out of sight for a moment she could make the spell work and make her escape.

The moon shone silver on the double ruts of the overgrown drive. Rabbit trails opened onto the drive at intervals. Or maybe they were elf trails. She hoped there weren't elves. They were untrustworthy at best, and violent if they caught you in their forest. Fifi ran down the drive, looking for a leaf pile or gopher hole. She tried to keep to the edge of the drive, out of the moonlight but also not in the bushy trees that encroached on the gravel.

An arrow passed in front of her nose. Then a second struck her thigh. Another penetrated her apron and sunk into her chest. Fifi had no time to react, only scream. She stumbled from the pain and fell face down.

---

Mac jogged down the driveway, crunching the gravel. He would catch up with the little boggart and give her the screwdriver. Maybe he could catch her and make her answer more questions.

The little scream from up ahead alerted Mac to danger. She probably got cornered by a coyote. Mac picked up his pace. He didn't want her dead, just not causing problems. He passed into the trees and rounded one of the switchbacks.

A silvery white figure about three feet tall stood over a dark shape. It raised a little spear in preparation to kill. The victim turned its head and Mac recognized Fifinella's pointed ears and matted hair.

Mac felt more than saw some more shadowy figures off the trail. It was an ambush, and he was running right into the middle of it. Mac reached Fifi before he was able to slow down. He pushed the silvery woman away, picked up the bleeding green Fifinella, then sprinted back toward home.

Mac reached the relatively better lit porch and assessed his wounded boggart. Her pupils were big, like a frightened cat. She was shivering and making a few little choking noises, like she wanted to cry out but hadn't inhaled enough to do so. A few broken arrow shafts stuck out at angles. None were fatal, but would be if they weren't treated and cleaned.

Mac carried her inside, cradled in one arm while he rummaged in one of his boxes for his medical kit. He found the dirty canvas kit, then continued to the kitchen. There he laid Fifinella on the counter. Mac dumped the contents of the kit onto the counter beside her. There were a few bandages, medical scissors, gauze, and some expired alcohol wipes in beat up wrappers. Instead of using the wipes, Mac opened the fridge and brought out a partial bottle of vodka.

The arrow piercing Fifinella's apron and chest looked to be the most serious. Mac cut the small arrow off short. Then he removed her apron by cutting the straps and lifting it off. The arrow stuck out above Fifinella's right breast. It wasn't much bigger around than a grill skewer and had made a neat puncture, without tearing. Her skin was less dirty where the apron had been.

He gave her body a quick once over. Another arrow shaft stuck out from her right thigh, near her hip. Her hips were remarkably curvy for somebody so petite. A bit of curly hair between her fat thighs concealed a well-formed camel toe.

Returning his gaze to Fifinella's face, Mac told her "you will be OK." He really wasn't sure. Filthy people could be one infected wound from death or have immunity to every microbe on earth. He offered her a finger and told her "hold my hand." She took it in one of her little hands. Mac noticed that her fingers seemed overly long for somebody her size, and she had short claws rather than fingernails.

He prepared a bit of paper towel with some vodka and held it near her chest wound. He carefully pulled on the arrow shaft. It came out easily, followed by dark red blood. Mac pressed on it with the alcohol wipe to stop the bleeding. Fifinella winced and gripped tighter when the alcohol soaked paper towel touched the wound. Her breathing was shallow. He hoped she wouldn't go into shock.

Examining the arrow, Mac found it had no head, just a wooden point with some barbs carved into it. He hoped the second would be as easy. It was not. The arrow sunk deep into naked flesh without having to pass through leather first. When Mac pulled, Fifinella yelped and clawed at him. Mac wrapped a bath towel around his arm and offered it to her.

"Hold on," he told Fifinella. She shook her head, refusing the towel wrapped arm. Instead, she gripped his hand and dug her claws in as Mac worked the arrow out. He blotted the blood with another paper towel soaked in vodka. Every time he touched the wound she winced and dug her little claws farther into Mac's hand, leaving him with a few tiny punctures.

---

Fifi could feel that Mac cared even though the vodka stung. It was the same magic he used when he made the boombox into a house. This was so much different from the interrogation earlier. Instead of draining her, he seemed to fill her with a warm strong energy. Fifi had almost forgotten what it was like to be touched by somebody who cared about her. She looked into Mac's face. He was intent on treating her punctured thigh. She hoped his care for her meant he would keep her around.

---

Mac washed his hands with soap after tending to the boggart. She would have to stay until her wounds healed, then she could go...where? If other little people didn't like her then she was in danger no matter where she went.

"Can you sit up?" he asked Fifinella.

"I think so," she said and sat up, moving the injured leg slowly.

"Where do boggarts come from?" asked Mac. Fifinella Scowled at him. He added "This is no interrogation, I just want to make sure you get home. It isn't exactly safe here."

"I am not a boggart! I am a gremlin! Boggart is a nasty name for gremlins made up by people that don't understand us."

"So help me understand. Why were you and that other person fighting in my kitchen at midnight?"

"I wanted some ice cream, and that brownie lady caught me."

"Ice cream? I'm having a hard time believing you risked your life coming all the way to my house in the middle of nowhere for ice cream," Said Mac.

"I live in the boombox! That you made real! You brought it here in the car."

Again with the boombox, thought Mac. At least the story is consistent.

"How do you fit? The whole thing is packed with components."

Fifinella was silent for a moment. Then finally said "I'll show you. Help me down."

It was a long time since Mac had touched a woman of any size, so even a filthy green one was welcome. He picked her up and placed her gently on the floor. Suspecting that he was forgetting something, Mac picked up her little tool apron from the counter. That's all she wore? He looked at her back side as she limped toward the living room.

"You don't wear clothes much, do you?"

"Never," said the gremlin. She put a hand on her hip and looked over her shoulder at Mac. Her mischievous, fanged smile made it look more provocative than is proper in mixed species company. Fifinella approached the boombox. She was just about to step into the open tape deck when she stopped and looked back up at Mac.

"You have to promise not to throw my house away."

"Is my boombox your house?" he asked

"It is," said the gremlin.

"I promise," Mac said. Of course, he wouldn't throw out his boombox. He spent too much time on it.

"and you can't break it or do anything to it while I'm inside."

"I promise," said Mac. He watched as the gremlin put one little foot into the open tape deck and disappeared from view. The little door closed. He got down and looked through the transparent plastic but all he saw was radio insides.

"Can you see me?" Fifinella's voice came through the speakers

"No," said Mac.

"Good," she said.

"How do you fit?"

"I just do," said Fifinella

"Are you all right in there?" asked Mac. There was no way the little green monster would be comfortable, even if she was a contortionist. The tape deck opened and Fifinella reappeared.

"Mac, I like you and like that you bandaged me. I want to be friends. But right now I need to go stay out of trouble for a few hours," said Fifinella.

"Good plan. And don't worry about the boombox. I won't let anything happen to it," said Mac.

Fifinella looked up at him for a second with shining eyes. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him like that. He wondered for a moment if he should get down on his knees and kiss her. But she dropped her gaze and disappeared back into the tape deck.

Mac returned to the kitchen and gathered up the frozen food. When he pulled the freezer open the fridge door opened too. He put the frozen food inside, closed the doors, and untied the towel from the handles. A sharp tap on one of his shins alerted him to the housekeeper's presence

"I toold you to get her oota here," she said sternly.

"I heard you the first time," said Mac. The housekeeper rapped his shin again with the broom handle.

"An tween yoor roundy ears an' thick skooll the fars time dinna do noothin. Yoo broots her in, Yoo takes her back."

"What do you have against her?" asked Mac

"Boggarts is noot but trouble. Canna keep their fingers from meddlin."

"She has nowhere else to go."

"She can be ootside with the other wild beasts," said the housekeeper.

"Well tonight she is living inside. That's final," said Mac. The housekeeper rapped on his shin with the broom again, but harder.

"Stop doing that!" said Mac, getting frustrated.

"Yoo might have a key to the door, but I canna accept yoo have the final say for this hoose. Not yet anyway."

"So you know It's my cousin's house. He hired me as caretaker." said Mac

"Soo take care, caretaker, that you donna act above your station!" With that, the housekeeper strode away purposefully, fading into thin air as she left the kitchen. A moment later he heard her voice from the bathroom. "Yoo be cleanin up yoor pet's moody footprints y'oowndamnself!"

Mac thought tomorrow would be the better day to clean up whatever mess the little green woman had left. He had enough remaining of his soldier attitude to sleep anywhere, go anywhere, and put up with just about any amount of chaos. He pulled the tiny screwdriver from his pocket and put it into the corresponding pouch that was sewn into Fifinella's tool apron. Then he rolled it neatly so the tool pouches were on the inside and put it beside the radio. At least that part of tonight's adventure was put right. He returned to his cot and went to sleep.

---

Lamlag picked herself up off the gravel. Her target was gone and whatever large thing struck her was gone as well. She felt both relieved and shamed. Relieved because she didn't have to kill the gremlin female, and shamed for not killing the gremlin female. Drochide approached. He snatched the spear from her hand.

"You got couped. By a human," he said, not bothering to conceal his disgust. His black eyes were cold in his gray face.

"It couldn't be a human," said Lamlag. Humans were big lumbering oafs. The thing that hit her was too fast and didn't shake the air with its presence like humans did. Drochide responded with a slap that knocked her to the ground. She rolled with it, recovering to a crouch.

"Why did you..." her voice trailed off. Lamlag knew exactly why. Because he was cruel. Not one of the party had given a warning signal, but she was the one who was hit, so she was the one who was blamed.

"You are unwary. Go away. We don't need you." Drochide returned to the shadows along the edge of the drive. Lamlag could feel the cold eyes of the rest of the hunting party for a few seconds, then she was alone. They probably expected her to return to camp where the cripples lived, but Lamlag couldn't show her face there after such a failure. She set off in the opposite direction from the hunting party on an old trail that would take her to the house without setting off any of Cuttystool's alarms.