by VK Fox
Sister Mary nodded and took a sip of coffee. “Unofficially, sure. What do you know? I’ll get you up to speed on the rest.”
“A series of kidney thefts were reported in Philly and some monsters of unknown origin were spotted around Kennett Square. Both of these occurrences are consistent with well-known urban legends, although we don’t know much about the cryptids yet.” Jane noticed he’d left out the phone call he’d received at the childcare center.
Sister Mary nodded. “Yup, sounds about right. There’s also been an outbreak of parasitic spiders laying eggs under people’s skin. We got a lead on a major wild talent in the area, someone manifesting fictional creatures and circumstances based around urban legends. It stands to reason our mark knows a lot about the topic.”
Jane shook her head slightly. “So someone is reading a book of urban legends and making them come true?”
Sister Mary leaned forward, resting her tanned hand on the table. “It’s worse than that. Someone has the power to make things they imagine a reality. If they have the power to make their fantasies flesh, then we can be grateful we are only dealing with cryptids and parasites. I doubt they’re in control of what’s happening, so let’s figure this out before they graduate to conspiracy theories and poison the tap water or cause Russia to go nuclear.”
“You’re the only one in town, sister?” Dahl quit glaring at Ian and refocused on the conversation. “With the threat level you’re reporting, it seems like the convent would have sent a few more.”
“We’re stretched thin.” Sister Mary shrugged. “The rest of my team was handling an issue near Chicago. They’re flying home tonight.”
Jane broke out in a cold sweat, and Ian’s earlier comment about her poker face prompted her to cover her nerves by digging in her pockets for a lighter, hoping the action looked better than sitting there with guilt plastered over her flushed features. Thanks to spending the last two days staring at his body every spare second, the tiniest shift in Ian’s posture registered with her.
“What’s in Chicago?” Dahl betrayed nothing. His face relaxed as he picked at his eggs Benedict.
“We were searching for another wild talent, a girl by the name of Elizabeth, or Libby, Davis.” Sister Mary took a photo out of her back pocket, and it wasn’t one of those grainy, obscured, it-could-be-anyone photos. It was a recent, crystal-clear, full-color Polaroid of Jane and her mom. Fuck, she was even wearing a red plaid flannel. Dahl leaned forward and examined the photo. He glanced at Sister Mary.
“The younger one?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what she can do?”
Sister Mary sighed. “No, not really. We are fairly certain we got the book. We lost the mark, though.”
Jane was fumbling with her cigarette. No way Mary didn’t recognize her. Sure, she’d cut and dyed her hair, but with that photo . . . where had she gotten that photo? Jane realized she’d stopped mid-gesture and forced her body to go through the motions. One thing was for fucking sure, if she ever needed someone to lie for her, it would be Dahl, hands down.
“‘Got the book’ meaning destroyed it, I assume.” Dahl snorted. “What an asinine waste.”
Sister Mary gave him a half grin. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, Mr. Dahl. Wild books are treacherous.”
“They’re tools, sister. Objects are not capable of treachery.”
The nun’s brow furrowed. “What are they teaching the new recruits these days?” She shot a glance at Ian. “Tell me Sana Baba hasn’t purged the remaining vestiges of caution from their training?”
Ian raised his eyebrows. “How so?”
“They still teach about books waking up?”
Dahl’s voice hemorrhaged sarcasm. “Yes, as children we are all taught about the big, scary books that will achieve autonomy and take over our minds. They cover that between Santa Claus’s naughty list and karma—how bad things only happen to people who deserve it.”
Ian jumped into the back-and-forth, his tone congenial. “For our immediate investigation, let’s split up so we can cover the most ground. Dahl and Jane, you can head into town and talk with the locals. Sister Mary and I will follow up with the leads in the woods. Given what we’ve learned, we shouldn’t waste any time.”
Dahl and Mary nodded. Mary stood, black rosary beads clinking where they dangled from her belt. “I’ll meet you back here in five minutes, Mr. Sendak. I have to go grab my rifle from the truck.”
The minute she was out the door, Dahl turned on Ian. He stood and shoved him hard—not that it made an inch of difference—brow furrowed, eyes blazing. “When did you think I became your subordinate, Ian? We’re a team. You loop me in on these decisions so I’m not playing catch-up in the middle of a conversation with Sister Sniper of the Order of Sanctimonious Battle-axes.”
Ian glowered at Dahl, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to consult me the next time you go deep undercover, then. You want to be treated like an equal? Act like one.”
Dahl went scarlet but didn’t drop his glare. “You want me to keep your girlfriend safe, yes? We are both fucking working to the same end. If you’re pissed at me, we can have it out. Don’t bring it to work.” He stormed out the side exit.
Ian winced and rubbed his face, composing himself. He glanced at Jane, creases in his forehead, eyes sad. “I’m sorry. He’s right, I was not cautious enough. I do believe it will work out, though.”
Jane knitted her fingers together. “What just happened? With the photo and Sister Mary asking those questions about me?”
Ian took her hand. His touch was warm, and Jane’s shoulders relaxed. “I was hoping you could tell me. She’s from a religious order sworn to protect our world from supernatural or extranatural threats. They’re good people, but we don’t always see eye to eye on the way to handle things. I asked her here because I hoped the sisters could be a resource to you. They’d be interested in your connection, and they could offer you an official status that would grant you some safety. You’d also receive important training: non-magical—they don’t deal in magic, but in survival, combat, and infiltration—things of that nature.”
“You want me to be a nun?” Jane was finding it hard to breathe. This would be a Shakespearean level breakup.
“No,” Ian was trying to catch her eye while she stared at the blurry wooden floor. “No, no, no—Jane, that’s not what I meant at all. I want to—” He broke off suddenly and took a deep breath. When he started again, his words were calmer and more composed. “You wouldn’t have to be a nun. They would work with you like I described Sana Baba working with you. Train you, pay you for your services, be your safety net. They are a good option, because they adhere to a much stricter moral code. You wouldn’t have to worry about them deciding you are more of a risk than you are a person.” Ian paused. “It’s going to sound stupid, but the nun angle didn’t even occur to me. I thought, um, we . . .”
Jane met his eyes and bit her lip. “We what?”
He swallowed and held her gaze. “That we, um, were both interested in our something special.”
“Well, you haven’t driven me to join a convent yet, that’s for damn sure.”
She said it lightly, but it didn’t land. Ian dropped his eyes and continued in a businesslike tone. “I didn’t know they had been active in Chicago or had any information about you. The fact she didn’t recognize you is extremely strange, but she seemed sincere.”
Jane was at a complete loss. She was grateful for Ian and Dahl’s composure. They were her secret keepers, the two people in the world who could have pointed her out to the forces that were searching for her. I’m safe in my hiding place. No one can find my cave. Jane shook her head. What was she thinking?
Ian was speaking again. “You’ll have to decide how much you want her to know. For them to help you, you’ll need to inform them. No rush, but something to consider.”
“Got it. I’ll think about it.” Jane stood and stepped closer, putting her arms around his nec
k because she couldn’t manage a full hug around his shoulders. She opened her mouth close to his ear, wanting to say more, when Sister Mary reappeared.
“Mr. Sendak?” She hung back a few paces, obviously trying to give them space, but Jane’s words were gone. Jane gave him a quick squeeze and hurried toward the side exit to locate the pissed-off Dahl.
“Nuns torched my apartment?”
Apparently Dahl’s poor mood needed company. He and Jane were driving the rental SUV into town. Dahl was playing Megadeth’s “Sweating Bullets” in the tape deck over and over, and Jane wasn’t sure how many more iterations she could take. Seriously, he had to rewind the stupid thing every time. Just let it go on to the next fucking song.
“Yes, Saint Jane, that’s what Sister Mary reported over breakfast. They succeeded in destroying the book. Which was in your apartment. Which was incinerated.”
“Why couldn’t they take the one book they needed?” Jane was shouting without meaning to. “Why did they burn everything?”
Dahl glared at her like she was being slow. “I assume you had more than one book in your apartment?”
Jane flinched. Her collection wasn’t valuable—a few boxes of ragged, dog-eared paperbacks she’d moved with her wherever she went. Some with handwritten notes in the cover from her nana or her friends when she’d received them as gifts. Some with underlined parts she loved or notes jotted in the margins. A couple had dried tears dappling the pages where Hazel died, or Frightful came home, or Samwise encouraged Frodo. They were priceless.
She answered in a small, thick voice. “Yes.”
Dahl sighed and glanced over at her. He didn’t do anything comforting or stop the music, but he did adopt a slightly less caustic tone. “I’m sure they didn’t have the time or skill to sort through and figure out what was what. They placed the phone call to evacuate the building so no one would be hurt, then they burned it all to be on the conservative side.”
They continued in silence, except for the constant click of the rewind and play buttons and Dave Mustaine’s husky voice singing about split personalities over and over and over again.
Chapter Eighteen
Asking people to gossip about their neighbors was never difficult, but with Dahl, it was easy as beans. Everyone in town was gathered at the fairgrounds packing things up, taking things home, or giving things away. Although the sun was making an appearance when Dahl and Jane arrived, early morning drizzle soaked the canvas tents, making them harder to manage, and the chilly field smelled like damp autumn leaves.
The general air of disappointment and annoyance loosened tongues. Dahl wandered around from booth to partially disassembled booth, offering to lend an ear and voluntelling Jane to lend a hand, a thin trail of black smoke issuing from his lips whether he had a lit cigarette at the moment or not. Jane listened, helped pack, and learned a few things about the art of conversation. A lot of times, Dahl’s charm, good looks, and easy way made his magic unnecessary. Jane knew how he was around her and Ian and was impressed by his carefree, sympathetic act, occasionally enhanced by magic. Dahl called the magic force of personality, but this didn’t strike her as charisma or leadership. It was manipulation.
Around noon, a mouthwatering smell of buttery, grilled deliciousness wafted over the grounds. Jane was taping closed a box of mushroom grow kits, which appeared to be bags of sawdust for twenty dollars. How many of them grew mushrooms, and how many mysteriously failed to germinate?
Dahl was standing at the edge of the half-packed tent, arms crossed, wrapping up a conversation about weird happenings in town and getting treated to a description of two partially eaten local cats for the sixth time. The purveyor of the grow kits, an aging gentleman with a white ponytail framing his bald spot, confidentially shared his theory that the little parasitic spiders were the brood of a giant spider living in the forest, feeding off cats.
“We should collect them and sell them for pest control.” He concluded, taking down a display of glass mushroom jewelry.
“The spiders?” Dahl prompted.
“Free range cats are the problem no one’s talking about, devastating to local ecosystems. They kill billions of songbirds a year, not to mention reptiles and small mammals. It seems like mother nature has produced a nice solution. We should get the word out.”
Dahl nodded thoughtfully for a few seconds before saying goodbye and, to Jane’s relief, strolling in the direction of the food smells. Behind a few smoking grills, some kind souls were handing out teriyaki portobello burgers, sautéed blue oyster mushrooms, and lion’s mane kabobs. Jane was so hungry she was salivating as a nice old lady with dyed red hair loaded her plate and handed it across the smoky grill. Jane thanked her and complimented the food, and she and Dahl wandered over to the shade of the remaining carnival rides to eat.
Dahl took a few gulping bites. “The name Eileen Kendle came up enough that I think she’s our mark. Exactly the kind of person we’re looking for, an urban legend guru busybody. We should swing by her house before heading back to check in with Ian and Mary. I can’t keep this up much longer.” His posture, which seemed so relaxed and friendly a few minutes ago, now betrayed a rigid stance of unspoken pain. Dahl finished eating and went back to holding his elbow, supporting his arm, the fingers of his left hand dangling limply.
“Are you bleeding?” It would be hard to tell under his long-sleeved black shirt. That was probably the point.
“No, my shoulder went out this time. Always my fucking dominant arm too.”
Jane was trying to get a handle on the whole side effect concept. It seemed to vary a lot. “Is that the same thing as before? I thought you said they were battle wounds. Do you have more than one side effect?”
Dahl rolled his eyes. “Please, Jane, try to keep up. You have the benefit of so much personal experience, and you’re still expecting me to spoon-feed you all the answers.”
Jane scowled. They bolted the rest of lunch and headed for the car.
The house of the woman who could bring about a nuclear holocaust was simply darling: a two-story colonial with cream-colored wooden siding, a covered front porch housing an Amish-style rocker, and a tidy fall garden full of mums and Nippon daisies. The gravel driveway was empty, and the correct number of lights were on in the home to indicate “I’m not here, but I want you to think I am.”
Her next door neighbors were struggling with their grip on life, the front grass stained with weird, multicolored circles and several signs conveying various information about cats and rewards.
“It must be hard living next door to someone who is linked and out of control,” Dahl remarked as they drove past. It seemed like a good time for a closer inspection, so he parked at a conveniently located trailhead a few blocks away and the pair of them hiked back.
A chill still hung in the air despite the bright sunshine, and Jane was thankful Dahl had loaned her a thick leather jacket as an extra layer. Silence was uncomfortable, but Jane was already at her daily limit for drama, so she carefully selected a safe topic of conversation.
“So you have a girlfriend?”
Dahl grinned. He looked so much like Ian when he smiled. “Yes, her name is Olive Baum. We’ve been dating for almost a year.”
“Baum? Like L. Frank Baum?” Another author name. Jane had read all fifteen of the original Wizard of Oz books as a kid.
“Exactly.” Dahl pulled his wallet out and flipped it open to the picture pocket. A snapshot of him with his arm around a complete knockout of a woman. She was grinning roguishly, her white teeth contrasting against her outrageously red lips. Rhinestone and gold piercings glittered in her henna-colored skin. Her short, glossy black hair was effortlessly tousled over an expression that reminded Jane strongly of one of Marilyn Monroe’s iconic poses. Her arms were ripped, and her bustline was perky enough to stand up and beg for attention even in a crew-neck T-shirt.
“Holy shit.” Jane glared at the photo. She was older. Maybe around thirty, so score one female comparison point for
Jane.
Dahl laughed. “I know.”
“How did you meet her?” Jane side-eyed the photo as she gave Dahl his wallet back.
“She was our commanding officer. That’s how we originally became acquainted, but she’s a sword fighter and, consequently, I spent a good deal of time practicing with her. Once we started dating, Sana Baba moved us, of course, and we got stuck with Lovecraft.”
“Who’s she linked to?” Maybe Olive’s alternate personality made her more disposed to fall in love with dramatic pretty boys.
“She keeps it secret. Claims it’s embarrassing, but I can’t imagine how it could be. She’s a wonderful girl, and her powers are enviable: an amazing finesse fighter, and she can actually fly. She experiences no physical side effects. Only forgetfulness.”
Jane took a moment to squash her jealousy. Again. Some people got all the breaks. Olive was gorgeous and she could fly? Better not to dwell on it. “Not a fan of your new commanding officer, though?”
“The man is complete trash. Pretentious, inexperienced, and unprincipled. I don’t know how he got his rank, but I’d put money on his partner pulling strings, because he has no combat skill and wouldn’t survive in the field. People act like he’s some kind of prodigy because he was promoted when he was young and he’s never lost an agent on the job. More credit to the agents.”
“It sounds like a typical boss. Unqualified and taking undeserved credit. I guess some things are true wherever you go.” Was it a truth everywhere in the multiverse? The annoying boss: a cross-dimensional fact of life. “What’s with the author names?” Two was a coincidence. Four was a pattern.
“We get to pick them when we bond. Any author we like, except those already in use.” Dahl was still gazing at Olive’s photo, his thumb running over the edge of the leather wallet.
