Mac And The Little People Ch 05

Fifi fought the command. She didn't like being told what to do by somebody with stronger magic. She turned as slowly as she was able. The independent part of her mind rebelled, even though obeying felt instinctively right and resisting felt wrong. When she looked up into his face he didn't look commanding at all, just concerned.

Fifi felt horrible for making him wait instead of obeying at once, and this made her angry for obeying at all. Gremlins were not golems to be commanded. They were free people, among the hardest to control with name commands. Mac didn't know how to use the commands. Shrugging off an order from a human should have been easy. He reached toward her.

"I know you want to get that one tool back, but we can probably find the others faster if we-" Mac was interrupted by Fifi striking the back of his hand. He winced and withdrew. Her claws left deep scratches and there was a scald mark where her palm impacted.

"You no use name commands on me!"

"I don't know what that is," said Mac. He looked at the back of his hand. Dark red blood ran out and dripped onto the ground. He put pressure on the worst part of the wound and slowed the flow some, but the less serious scratches still bled.

"Its worse that you don't know. You are dangerous."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I only wanted to make you feel better."

"You did it wrong!"

---

Mac stood up. He did it wrong and there was no use arguing over intent. It really was not a big deal, just one more kind intention with harmful outcome. He had enough experience with it that the next part came easy. He turned and walked back toward the house, holding pressure on the cut. He held his hand against his shoulder. The bleeding would be easier to control above the height of his heart. Blood ran down his forearm and chest.

Mac was starting to think Fifinella was crazy and dangerous. Crazy girls were good in bed, but that didn't count with her. Fifi was just knee high trouble that Mac didn't need in his life. From somewhere behind Mac heard Fifi's voice calling him, but he ignored it. He just couldn't deal with her. He needed a bandage and a shot of something cold.

When Mac arrived at the house he noticed that the boombox was on the porch. The wooden housekeeper must have been busy while they were gone. While keeping pressure with his good hand, Mac attempted to turn the knob with his injured hand. The knob didn't turn.

"Thoo canna come in," said the wooden housekeeper from behind the door. Mac patted his pockets, feeling for the key. He didn't find it, but he did manage to get blood all over his pants. The wooden housekeeper parted the curtains and watched him trying to feel for the key while keeping pressure on his hand.

"Looking for this?" She held the key up to the windowpane, dangling it on its split ring.

"Unlock the door," said Mac. Then realizing he was in no position to give orders, added "please."

The wooden housekeeper thought for a moment, then said "Looks like thoo canna give noo orders."

"Whats that got to do with it?" said Mac.

"Squatters an boggarts canna come in. Be oof with thoo," said the wooden housekeeper.

Mac had not counted on it being this difficult to get to his first aid kit. He had to bandage his hand with something. Nothing in the truck would work. The filthy old vinyl seats would be worse than nothing. He had socks, but that would just get foot germs into the cut. Then he noticed his old T shirt draped over the hand rail of the porch. If he could tear a strip off the bottom that would be long enough to make a bandage. Mac picked it up and tried to tear into the tail. The knit fabric was stretchy and the hem resisted his attempts.

---

Fifi expected some kind of argument, or maybe a command, or at worst a fight. But she did not expect Mac to stand up and walk away. She was still angry at him for commanding her and wanted to shout and hit some more. But maybe it wasn't necessary to keep going. Maybe he got the message that it was wrong, or maybe she said something that hit him too deep.

Humans were strange things. They couldn't be commanded by words, but words still had an effect on them. Maybe she hurt him with talk bad enough that he didn't want to keep talking to her. Fifi didn't want to chase him away forever, only make him realize how wrong it is to command a friend. Mac rounded a bend in the drive and disappeared from view behind a bushy cedar tree.

"Mac, wait!" she called after him. His crunchy footseteps faded into the distance. She ran after him but soon fell behind. She was barely within earshot when she heard him speak and the brownie answer. Then she saw the curtains move and a dim figure inside held up an object to the glass.

When she finally reached the porch Mac was sitting on a step and chewing on his shirt. He glanced up at her, then lowered his eyes to whatever he was trying to accomplish. She stood watching him gnaw on the cloth with his blunt human teeth and waited to be noticed. He kept at it, chewing the hem of his shirt. Fifi stepped onto the step Mac was sitting on. He didn't react. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Want to talk to you." said Fifi.

"OK."

"Am sorry I hurt your hand. And am sorry I hurt your heart."

---

It had been a long time since Mac heard an apology that was an actual apology. He looked into Fifi's eyes. They looked sincere. There was no self-absolving in them.

"I forgive you. But what did I do to make you so angry?"

"You used voice command on me."

"When?"

"You said my name, then told me to face you."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just wanted to talk face to face."

"Its worse than feelings. You made me do it. You controlled me." Tears rolled down the little green woman's face.

Mac almost understood what she was trying to say. He had somehow manipulated her against her will. He was disgusted at himself. He had given a lot of orders over the past few years, but commandeering somebody like a puppet was vile.

"I'm sorry," Mac apologized. "How can I not do it again?"

"After now you call me Fifi. And you ask me if you want me to do something."

"Fifi, I won't make you do things with commands any more."

"Will you promise me? If you promise it will be real."

"I promise. Feel better?"

She nodded.

"I would ask if you wanted a hug, but my hands are a bit full now."

Fifi put a foot in Mac's elbow and mounted his shoulder much like a person mounts a horse. She wrapped both arms around his head and buried her face in his hair. Then she wiped her nose, smearing a streak of snot and tears across the top of Mac's head. He thought for a moment to dislodge her, but didn't. As long as she actually cared about him he could accept her as a mess. He would wash his head later.

Mac began to smell the spice again. It was stronger this time. He began to vaguely remember smelling it from time to time for the past several years. It nagged him that he couldn't place the smell or identify the plant that produced it.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?" asked Fifi.

"A spice. I couldn't find it earlier but it has to be close. Its one I have smelled before, but can't say exactly what it is."

"I don't smell anything," said Fifi. She fidgeted on his shoulder.

"You have to, the air is full of it." said Mac. He turned his head toward Fifi where she straddled his shoulder and got a face full of the smell.

"It's you."

"Whats me?"

"You smell like the entire contents of a spice rack put together with sweat added." said Mac.

"Is it bad? Is it good?" Fifi was suddenly self conscious.

"It was you all along." Mac remembered that he had smelled her before, several times. He had always dismissed it as somebody's ethnic cooking and forgotten about it. Sometimes while working on a project he would smell it among the burnt plastic insulation and ozone. Sometimes the faintest hint of her would reach him on the steam in the shower.

"What do you mean, me all along?" Fifi's skin darkened in what must have been the gremlin equivalent of blushing.

"Sometimes at the old house I would smell you and think somebody was cooking something sweet and spicy next door. Now I know the truth," said Mac.

"Don't be mad," said Fifi.

"I'm not mad. More like amused."

"Amused?" asked Fifi.

"Human women smell bad down there. But you smell nice."

"So I can keep riding on you?"

"In the future you can, but right now I need to tear a strip off this shirt" said Mac

"I help" said Fifi.

---

Fifi took the shirt from him. Mybe she was a bit too hasty offering to help tear up a shirt. The factory fabric hissed slightly in her grip and made her hands feel a little bit numb. She quickly bit down on the hem and pulled away to hold the fabric at arms length. Her entire head hurt as if somebody had ran their fingernails on a chalkboard inside her mouth.

The screeching subsided, leaving an irritating numbness in her jaw and a feeling of vertigo. There was one tiny hole where her fang punctured the knit. She tried ripping the hole into a tear but it was no good. She poked a claw into the hole and tore at it, resisting the high pitched screech every time a thread was severed.

Fifi handed the shirt back to Mac. "Now you try it" Fifi said. She sat down on the step and covered her ears. Mac held the shirt under one foot and pulled at the tear. It ripped, and to Fifi it was like an army of sharp clawed demons scratched a chalkboard to bits.

"Whats wrong?" Mac asked, stopping mid rip.

"the cloth hurts," said Fifi.

"How?"

"Everything about it. The feel, the noise, the taste. All hurt and screechy." Then the world started spinning and Fifi fell face first into the grass.

Mac forgot about his wound for a moment and turned Fifi over. He held her head in his non wounded hand. Her eyes crossed and uncrossed as if she was trying to focus. Fifi pawed at the air as if she was trying to hold onto something. Mac caught one of her hands in his wounded hand and held it. Her other hand found his and held on. The bleeding started again but he ignored it.

"Mac you hold me still. Make stop," said Fifi

"I have you. I am holding you still."

"Make everything stop."

"Close your eyes," said Mac. Fifi closed her eyes. Her grip loosened, but she still held on.

---

Fifi began to recover from the vertigo when Mac cupped her head. She laid there with her eyes closed and waited for the ringing to stop. It slowly faded to nothing as Mac's magic soaked into her head. More maker magic dripped from the wound on his other hand. It coated her hands and fell in big hot drops onto her chest.

The magic made her feel powerful, but she got a hint of worry with the power. Mac would need to stop bleeding soon or he would pass out. She felt her way into his wounds with a claw. Mac winced and tried to pull away.

"You hold still," she said, and gripped him hard. Fifi found the source of the bleeding. There was a cut across the top side of a vein. She willed it closed. The wound tingled for a moment, then her claw could no longer feel the undiluted flow of magic, so she was confident that the worst of the bleeding was healed. She released his hand and felt him pull away.

The blood splatters on her chest were still warm, still alive. Fifi rubbed them like lotion, coating her breasts in a thin layer of blood and allowing the magic to soak into her skin. It felt so warm and tingly. She smeared some down her belly and into her crotch. The last little bit of blood on her fingers felt good against her clit. She rubbed in little circles, coating her clit in warm magic. She felt Mac looking at her and opened her eyes.

"Is that a thing gremlins do?" he asked.

"Is what?" Fifi paused.

"You rubbed my blood all over you and you looked like you were really enjoying it."

She looked down at herself. Her breasts were smeared with half dried blood and a long smear ran into her crotch, where her hand still rested. She removed her hand, embarrassed. A thin string of greenish goo followed. Of course it was not a thing gremlins did. But she was sure any gremlin girl would if she had such a supply of maker magic.

"Maybe."

"Let me rephrase. If the other gremlins saw you smearing blood on yourself would they think it is normal?"

"If another gremlin saw they would see me smearing magic from a maker on me, and if it was a girl gremlin she would envy me."

"For what?"

"Every little gremlin girl talks about getting a maker but they all grow up and get a gremlin husband."

"So am I like a celebrity?"

"No. You are like a mythical monster."

"I'm no magic man," said Mac.

"You are. You just can't see it."

"Does it have something to do with that orange stuff that I saw on my hands earlier?"

"Yes. Is all inside you. Your sweat and spit and cum are full of it."

"Have you been spying on me have sex?"

"No call it spying," said Fifi.

"What do you call it?" Mac asked. Fifi didn't have a good answer.

"Um, just, living with you. But not telling you. Don't be mad at me," said Fifi.

"I'm not. I'm just wondering how I didn't figure it out before. You made a lot of messes. My daughter even drew a picture of you but I didn't put it all together until now."

"I still have that drawing. I got it out of the trash when the human woman was packing up." Fifi jumped lightly up the steps and disappeared into the boombox. She returned a minute later with a dirty, worn out piece of paper and held it so Mac could see. There was a figure drawn in green crayon. A normal adult wouldn't give it a second thought, but anyone who knew about gremlins would know what it was.

"Looks like her imaginary friend was real." said Mac.

---

Mac looked at the last remaining evidence that he had a daughter. He wondered where she was. The last time he saw her she was sulking in the back seat of the car on the day he left for deployment. After a few phone calls that were each shorter than the previous she quit talking to him. It was over a year since they last spoke.

"How is she?" Mac asked.

"Julie? She misses you" said Fifi.

"Why wouldn't she talk to me?"

"She was angry you left. She felt abandoned," said Fifi. Mac felt a tear form in each eye. He turned away from Fifi.

"You need hug" she said. He felt her little hands on his shoulders. "Mac, want you to turn around." He turned to face Fifi on the step, but kept his eyes downcast. Fifi stood on the step above him and put both arms around his head. Mac held her gently around her small waist.

"I don't know if I will ever see my kids again," said Mac

"I miss Julie and Mark too, but we can't do anything about it now," said Fifi. She bent down so she could look Mac in the face. "No cry," she said and kissed both his eyelids.

Mac knew Fifi was right. Sitting on the steps and feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to bring his kids back.

"Want lunch?" Mac asked.

"Yes want lunch," said Fifi. It seemed she was getting accustomed to having her wants considered. She jumped up onto his shoulder and held on with her knees. The spicy gremlin smell was accompanied by the smell of blood.

Mac walked around the house to the kitchen door. It was likely that it was unlocked. The grass was long, but there was a well worn path along the outer edge of a long overgrown flower bed.

The back door was hard to find. It was partially obscured by an enormous rosebush whose canes grew in all directions, dominating the back steps and encroaching on the kitchen window.

When they picked their way through the thorns to the back door, they found it locked from inside. The door itself had no lock, and no doorknob. Instead, a worn out loop of rope emerged from two holes in the plank door. There must have been a hook or something inside to hold it shut.

Mac sat on the back step opposite the rosebush and looked around. The kitchen door faced into a level yard bordered on two sides by the house. A smallish firewood shed stood nearby, with a few misshapen split pieces littering the dirt floor. The grass was shortish and patchy, with hard packed ground in between. There was an old well in the middle of the yard with a tin bucket. Nearby a waist high doghouse-like structure concealed the pump mechanism for a more modern well.

---

Fifi's attention was drawn by a sputtering hiss from inside the rosebush. There she saw a white lace trap wrapped around a large cracked flower pot that mostly contained the roots of the rose bush.

The lace had once been tied in a decorative bow, but age had faded it to a looped up mess. It hissed intermittently and emitted sparks like a cheap sparkler candle. Whatever was in there had been trapped for a long time.

Fifi felt the need to let it out, mostly driven by spite of the brownie. If that shrew had left somebody trapped for so long that the trap was falling apart then she deserved whatever trouble Fifi gave her.