Into the Woods by Kim Harrison Page A

spread wide in question, and I flushed when I got it. “Pierce,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m totally middle class. The closest I’ve ever come to having a servant is winning a bet and having Robbie clean my room for a month.”
    The man’s jaw dropped. “This is middle class?”
    I nodded, stretching up for the pull cord and putting my weight on it. “Most of the city is.” The trapdoor barely moved, and my arms gave out. It snapped shut with a bang, and I dropped back down on my heels, disgusted.
    Pierce smoothly took the cord and stepped under the door. He wasn’t much taller, but he had more muscle. “I can do it,” I said, but my arms were trembling, and I backed up while he swung the ladder down like it was nothing. But then again, it was.
    Pierce looked up into the inky blackness spilling cool air down onto us, jumping when I flicked on the light.
    “Sorry,” I said, taking advantage of his surprise by pushing past him and up onto the ladder. “I’ll be right back,” I said, enjoying the cooler air up here smelling of wood and dusty boxes. The shush of a passing car from outside sounded odd and close. Arms wrapped around me, I looked over the past boxed up and piled haphazardly about, like memories in a person’s brain. It was only a matter of knowing where a thought was and dusting it off.
    My eyes lit upon the stack of carefully labeled tomato boxes that had my stuffed animals. A faint smile came over my face, and I stepped over the Halloween decorations to touch a dusty lid. I must have had about two hundred of them, all collected during my stints in and out of the hospital. I had counted them my friends, many taking on the names and personalities of my real friends who never made it out of the hospital that one last time. I knew my mom wanted them gone, but I couldn’t throw them away, and as soon as I got my own place, I’d take them with me.
    I lifted the first one and set it aside to find the box hiding under them. It was my dad’s, tucked away lest my mom throw it out in a fit of melancholy. Some of his best stuff. I dug my fingernails into the little flaps to get a grip, grunting when it proved heavier than I thought. God, what had I put in here, anyway?
    “Allow me,” came Pierce’s voice from my elbow, and I spun.
    “Holy crap!” I exclaimed, then covered my mouth, feeling myself go red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were up here.”
    Pierce’s shock at my language melted into almost laughter. “My apologies,” he said, and I shifted to let him to lift the box with enviable ease. “I like attics. They’re as peaceful as God’s church. Alone and apart, but a body can hear everything. The past stacked up like forgotten memories, but with a small effort, brought down and enjoyed again.”
    I listened to the cold night and smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.”
    Watching my footing, I followed him to the stairway. He took the box from me and gestured that I should go before him, and, flattered at the chivalry, I did. My shoulders eased as the warmth of the house slipped over me, and I stood aside when Pierce lightly descended. He handed me the box to fold the ladder back up, but he hesitated at the bare bulb, still glowing in the attic. Without glancing at me for permission, he carefully pushed the light switch down.
    Of course the light went out. A delighted smile came over him, and much to his credit, he didn’t play with the switch but shoved the collapsible ladder closed and back into the ceiling. I watched his eyes travel over the lines of it as he did, as if memorizing how it worked.
    “Thank you,” I said as I went before him, back into the kitchen with the box.
    The coffeemaker was gurgling its last, and Pierce looked at it, undoubtedly figuring out what it was from the rich scent that had filled the kitchen. “If that doesn’t cap the climax,” he said, almost missing the table as he took the box from me and set it down. “It made itself.”
    “I’ll