by Devon Monk
“Ah.”
Then he was silent, waiting. Maybe he didn’t know the answer, or maybe he did. Maybe he was just trying to get me to pay attention to what my heart already knew. That I wanted Bathin and I didn’t want to want him.
“Is the unicorn lying?” I asked.
“About what?”
“About the king being Bathin’s father?”
“No.”
“About the king growing so evil and power hungry that he’s going to come after Ordinary?”
“Not even I know the future, Myra Reed.”
“Don’t you?”
“Perhaps not every future.”
“So this is salvageable. I can free Delaney’s soul before it’s used as a bargaining chip with the devil?”
“The king of demons is not the devil.”
“Figure of speech.”
“Every rose has its thorn.”
“I wasn’t asking for a figure of speech, I was just saying I was using one.”
“Potato, potahto.”
I shook my head.
“I do enjoy these talks, Myra. Shall we follow up on the stolen penguin, or dispose of the toilet art?”
“Toilet art. Then we’ll call in on the penguin.” I started the car and my phone rang.
“Myra Reed,” I answered on speaker.
“Myra,” Jean said, “We have a problem.”
“Where?” I scanned the houses surrounding us and tuned in on the tug in my chest. Almost. Almost time to leave. Almost time to go. Almost time to be there.
Bathin walked up toward the cruiser with a determined stride.
Almost, almost, almost.
“Another vortex opened up.”
“Where?”
“Out on the flats.”
“I’ll be there in four minutes. Close it down from the public.”
“Do you know where Bathin is?”
“Yes. He’s with me.”
“Bring him. And hurry.”
Now.
I rolled down the window and gave a short whistle. Bathin stopped and stared at me. “Get in. We have a problem.”
For a minute, I didn’t think he was going to do it. Then he strode to the back door and jerked it open, dropping down inside. The car dipped under his weight. Even though he looked like he was hard muscled and lean, he was a massive mountain of a demon taking the shape of what he wanted to be. He was a lot heavier than he looked.
“You know, you say you don’t want to be around me,” he said, “but your actions make me think you might like me, Myra Reed.”
“There’s a vortex.”
“I know. In the park. I was there.”
“Not that one. A new one.” I flipped on the lights and headed off at speed. “Do you know why this is happening? Another vortex?”
“No.”
“Does it have something to do with your father?”
He frowned.
“Don’t hold out on me, Bathin.”
“I’m thinking. I haven’t been around him for a millennium.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s evil, and I got tired of that a long time ago.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. It sounded like the truth, but demons weren’t really known for swearing on Bibles.
He met my gaze. “I haven’t been in contact with him, or anyone connected to him, for a very long time, Myra. That is the truth.”
“Is this something he would do? Try to get into Ordinary?”
“No. He’s more the blood-and-battle-and-raining-down-pestilence kind. This takes more finesse.”
“Who can do something like this? Open a Hell vortex in Ordinary?”
“Before yesterday, I would have said no one.”
“Okay, but now? Demons? A particular demon?”
He chewed on his bottom lip and scowled, thinking. I tried not to find it attractive.
“Crossroad demon?” I suggested.
“No. This tears the fabric between the Underworld and the land chosen by gods. Maybe it’s not a demon. Maybe a god is behind it.”
“Than, do you think a god is behind this?” I asked.
“Ordinary was formed by the combined will of a thousand deities. The universal truths and laws of that making cannot be breeched by a single god.”
Yeah, that made sense. Mithra, the god of contracts, had wanted to take over the law in Ordinary, but since he wouldn’t sign the contract all gods must sign to enter our town, he’d never stepped across the border. If Ryder hadn’t offered to serve him, Mithra wouldn’t have even the smallest say on anything that happened here.
Ordinary wasn’t easily breeched, not even by gods.
I wracked my brain for other beings who could open up holes between realms. There were some interdimensional creatures, but most of them came to Ordinary like everyone else. They just walked or floated or appeared here and that was that. No tearing of the space time continuum.
“Demons,” I said. “It has to be. Dammit, I don’t have a turnip. Check in the glove box, will you?” I asked Than, “There might be a carrot in there.”
He pressed the latch and rummaged through the small space. “Would a tube of lip gloss or a container of extra crunchy peanut butter suffice?”
The tug on my chest said no. I shook my head.
“Perhaps the toilet art?” Than offered.
The tug in my chest warmed. “Yes. Bring that.”
I made a sharp turn, gunning down the side road that ran parallel to the sandy flat. This bay filled when the tide was high, and drained out to soggy sand flat when the tide was low. Several large rocks with stunted, twisted trees clinging to the tops poked up from the sand, looking like a Zen garden for giants.
The soggy sands were good clamming grounds, and when the bay was full, little flat skiffs puttered out to throw crab traps.
“Holy shit,” I breathed as I came upon Jean’s truck parked next to it. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a Hell vortex,” Bathin said. “Demon. I’d say demons. Move.” He was out of the car with a speed that was both shocking and impressive.
I flew out of the car, across the grassy knoll, and down through loose sand and washed up driftwood logs, over smooth stones and rough stones, then I was running full out, right behind Bathin who wasn’t slacking his long stride for a second, his entire body—shoulders, chest, hips—tilted into the run.
The beat, beat, beat of his foot falls was loud in my ears, almost as loud as my own boots slapping into the soggy sand that threatened to trip me at every step.
For a second, my vision narrowed down to the man in front of me, and he was fine. Long, strong legs, inexhaustible pace, barreling full out into danger, the leather jacket open wide like leather wings, shoulders pumping.
A flash drew my attention ahead of Bathin.
This vortex wasn’t a little moonlit puddle in the park. This vortex was a door, a gate, a yawning hole in the world.
This vortex was large and growing larger by the second. Much, much bigger than the one in the park. And it wasn’t flat on the ground like a disk, it was vertical like a doorway. A doorway people were walking toward.
Every time a human hit that doorway, a burst of green light flashed and the human was gone, replaced by a…
…frog?
I blinked hard, but nothing in front of me changed. Shit. That vortex was turning people into frogs. Why would a demon want to turn people into frogs? Was the vortex a one-way portal from the other side to here, or was it a portal from here to there?
Jean wasn’t bothering with the whys and hows. She was bending, scooping up as many frogs as she could carry before they hopped away and burrowed into the sand.
The frogs were a little stunned to find themselves suddenly of the amphibian persuasion, so they were easy to pluck up.
But her arms were full, and she was leaking frogs as fast as she could bend and replace them.
“Damn it!” she yelled. She shucked off her outer shirt, scooped up the edges of it and used i
t as a satchel in which to dump frogs.
“You okay?” I yelled.
“Yes! Go, go! Shut that damn thing down!” There were two more people just ahead of Bathin marching hypnotically toward the vortex.
Bathin put on speed to reach them before they entered the light. He launched himself at the man and took him down in a tackle that would have made a line backer proud.
But the other person was a little girl, probably the man’s daughter. Bathin rolled up from his dive and reached for the girl, trying and failing to catch her as she juked and jogged nimbly past him.
No little girl was going to turn into a frog on my watch.
I dug deep, wished I’d skipped the second half of the sandwich, and plowed toward the girl. I pushed hard and leaped, grabbing for her and tucking into a roll so that we would land with me on bottom and her on top.
It was not an easy move, but I’d been on the roller derby team long enough to know how to land safely, and how not to kill someone in the process.
We collided in a tangle, and I heard the surprised woof of air escaping her lungs as we hit the squishy sand.
“Shut it down!” I yelled, at Bathin, at Jean, at anyone. Only there wasn’t anyone there who knew how to do that. Even I didn’t know how to do that.
Then I heard it. A pattering gallop. Sharp, tiny hooves churning sand. And ragged on the wind, a battle cry like I’d never heard before.
“Aaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiii!” The hooves tapped out louder and louder, and the cry rose to a magnificent screech.
Then I saw it, a tiny pink unicorn, head down and extended at full gallop, horn shattering light into ribbons of rainbows, glossy mane and tail flowing in the wind. She was churning sand like a monster truck and picking up speed with every step.
I quickly checked the little girl in my arms. She was about ten, all legs and puffy, corkscrew ponytails. “You okay? Anything hurt?”
But she just stared at the sky like she could hear a song way up there she had to follow.
I eased up on my hold, and she wriggled, trying to get out of my arms, reaching for the vortex with one hand.
“Okay, nope, that’s not gonna work.” I grunted and got to my feet without letting go of her, pressing her back tight against my chest. “Don’t let him up,” I called to Bathin.
“Yeah, I got that.” He had the man on his knees and was keeping him there with a very neat half-Nelson. “What the hell is she doing?”
I followed his glare to the unicorn who had almost reached us.
“I’m saving the day, you dumbass!” the unicorn shrieked.
Then she pulled up to a hard stop, spraying the vortex like a hockey player snowing the goalie.
“We need a rope, a thread, a lasso,” Xtelle said breathlessly, like she was calling out the instructions for how to disarm a bomb. “One of you must have bondage gear on you.”
“I have cuffs,” I said. I thought about cuffing the girl to keep her safe, but that wouldn’t stop her from walking. I was working up a sweat trying to keep her still and not hurt her as she leaned and pushed toward the vortex.
“Cuffs won’t work,” the unicorn said. “Something longer, something loopy. Bathin, are you telling me you have nothing on you that can be used to tie up someone?”
“You don’t know me, old woman.”
“Old!” Xtelle stomped. “Old! I’ll show you old.”
“Perhaps I could be of assistance.” Than strolled upon the scene. I had forgotten about him. He held up an evidence bag. “Toilet art.”
“It’s string,” I told Xtelle, shifting my grip on the girl. “That’s string. Bondage. It will work.”
“Give it here,” Xtelle demanded.
I glanced back at the man to see if he was paying attention to the unicorn, but he was just as oblivious to what was going on around him as the little girl. He gazed at the vortex, sweat running down the side of his face and neck, pushing hard to get free of Bathin’s grip.
I followed Bathin’s hands up to his arms, the bulge of his biceps under that jacket, the stretch of the shirt across his wide chest, sculpted muscles beneath carving ridges and valleys.
Gods, but I liked the look of him. Right there, on his knees, wrestling a suspect.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, my face hot and prickling. I flicked my gaze to his face and a slow, sex-filled smile curved his mouth.
He squeezed his biceps to give me a show of all that rock-hard muscle, and then he winked.
It hit me like a fizzing bomb, deep in my belly, electric licks of lightning spreading down my arms, my legs, sizzling up my chest.
Who knew a man in a leather jacket physically restraining another man in public was my thing?
Or maybe it was just that knowing smile and the wink to let me know he was on for any fantasy I wanted to dream up.
“That’s good. Now rub it on my horn,” Xtelle said.
Bathin waggled his eyebrows.
I glared at the pink unicorn.
“You’re not supposed to reveal yourself,” I said. “And you’re supposed to be locked up in my house.”
“I got bored and followed you. As a horse. Mostly as a horse.”
“I told you I’d throw you out of Ordinary if you broke the rules.”
“Yes, Myra. Would you like me to leave right now and let you and that idiot deal with the vortex? Because, we wouldn’t want someone who bends the rules—harmlessly, I might add—to actually close this gaping maw into the Underworld and save all those people from turning into frogs, would we?”
I considered the expanse of shore. About twenty people of various sizes, genders, and ages were getting out of cars, dismounting bicycles and hurrying toward us like it was Black Friday prices in the middle of summer break.
Jean was still chasing two frogs who knew exactly when to hop out of her reach while she juggled a shirt full of the little buggers kicking to get free.
Our options were limited. Our options were down to one thing.
The unicorn.
“Do it,” I told Than.
He held the obscene lips out by the tongue and then rubbed the toilet seat cozy over Xtelle’s horn. “Harder,” she demanded.
Bathin snorted, Xtelle shot him a vicious glare.
“Just really give it to me, big boy,” she said to Than. “I can take it.”
Than raised his eyebrows, inhaled and then exhaled as if he were enduring the most tiresome request in his long, long, long life.
Instead of really giving it to the unicorn, he dipped his fingers into his front pocket and withdrew a pocket knife. He neatly sliced through the toilet mouth and tugged on a string.
“Well, if you want to be that way about it,” Xtelle said. “Go ahead and use your little horn.”
“Xtelle,” Than warned. “I see what you are. Do not forget that.”
Her eyes went large and she swallowed hard. “You can’t.”
“I can.”
“Then why haven’t you—”
“Myra!” Jean yelled. “People!”
The crowd on the shore stumbled our way, slowly, thank goodness, all of them aimed straight at the vortex. None of them took their eyes off it, didn’t even see the unicorn which was still pink, her horn shooting off rainbows. Didn’t see the man on his knees in a headlock, or that there were three police officers on the scene and far too many frogs.
All they saw was the vortex.
It called to them, just like the first, smaller vortex had called to Ryder.
“Stop,” I shouted. “This is a crime scene. Turn around immediately and go back to your vehicles.”
Nope. Nothing. The vortex filled their ears, their eyes, making them deaf and blind to everything else in the world.
Terrific.
The girl stretched, really pushing against my hold now.
“Faster,” I told Than. “Whatever she wants, do it faster.”
“Tie the end of the string to my horn,” Xtelle said in a rush. “Now give it to Myra and Bathin.
This is going to take all three of us.”
“What is going to take all three of us?” I asked.
“Closing the vortex before a demon hoard comes through,” she said. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
Than handed me the string, then unraveled the lurid red lips and handed that to Bathin.
“This is a closing?” Bathin asked, “Because it looks like—”
“Now you don’t you trust me?” Xtelle said. “Now?”
“I have never trusted you.”
“Why?” she moaned. “What have I ever done to you? Why do you hate me?”
“You told them about my father.”
“Oh, boo-hoo. They would have found out eventually. No matter how ashamed you are of your parentage.”
“This has nothing to do with being ashamed.”
“So you admit you’re ashamed?”
Bathin’s nostrils flared and he shoved the struggling guy’s face into the sand and put a knee in his back. “Not the time.”
“Go!” I glanced at the shamblers headed toward us. “Close it. Close the vortex.”
Xtelle seemed to remember we were in the middle of an emergency. “Do you remember the spell with the turnip?”
“Yes.”
“Can you say it backwards?”
“Probably.”
“Do it while I carry the string around the back of the vortex. Don’t let go of the string and don’t say the last word until I’ve reached your side.”
“Wait,” Bathin said.
“No,” Xtelle hissed. “No more waiting. You’ve thrown your lot in with these people. So suck it up.” She nodded at me, and I nodded at her, and for a fleeting moment it felt like she and I were on the same page.
She pranced, a hop from hoof to hoof, one hoof held crooked up against her body as she moved. Her head was high as she slowly hopped to one side of the vortex. “Da-doo, Da-doo, song this sing, ladies Camptown!”
I took a breath and began the rhyme: “Please be strong and do not fail, twinkle twinkle, little spell.”
I paused, straining to hear Xtelle over the roll of the tide, the gusty racket of the wind, and the plod of people closing in on us.
“With this turnip fresh and spry…” I didn’t have a turnip. I glanced at Bathin and he shook his head.
“You need a token,” he said.
I patted my pockets and came up with the bag of chips. “With potatoes crisp and fried.” Bathin nodded. “Stick a needle in its eye. Close this vortex into Hellllll…”
