by Dixie Lyle
“So she’s there now?” I said. My eyes were a little blurry for some reason, but I was smiling. “With Mary?”
I laughed as I dug in my pocket for a tissue. “Turns out the joke is on Klomm. Mary didn’t lose her Marbles. She had them—one after another—the whole time.”
And then we just sat there in the sunshine, Tango purring in my lap, and I stroked my sweet kitty’s head and thought about the fact that I would always—always—have her around, no matter where around might turn out to be.
Love, after all, beats Death.
Every time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Now that my suspect pool had dwindled—probably—down to one, I decided the best course of action was to concentrate on Fimsby. If he was the Unktehila, maybe I could force his hand, trick him into revealing himself. The two most likely adjectives I could attach to this plan were dangerous and difficult, but at least it didn’t require me picturing Teresa and Ben in a compromising position. Or positions, dammit—throw the ability to ignore gravity into the equation and everything gets so much worse.
Anyway.
Whiskey, Tango, and I were having a war council to discuss our options.
Whiskey gave her a disapproving look. [That’s a terrible idea. If he is the Unktehila, he’ll retaliate with power we can’t match. If he isn’t, we’ll have attacked an innocent man.]
I leaned back in my office chair and took a long sip of tea. “Tango, we are not mugging a guest. For one thing, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a ski mask in your size? No, we’re going to have to be sneakier than that.”
[Setting a trap, perhaps, with irresistible bait?]
“Only as a last option,” I said quickly. “No, we just need to prove he has supernatural abilities. Shape-shifting would be good. Whiskey, you’re the expert—under what conditions would you be forced to take another form?”
[One rather obvious situation does come to mind: making myself smaller in order to fit into an available space.]
[That is unworthy of a reply.]
“Yeah, Tango, try and focus, okay? I think Whiskey’s on to something.”
[You’re simply envious, because canine procreation does not require the assistance of barbed genitalia.]
I thought about taking out my notebook to jot that one down, but realized I hadn’t actually said it myself and decided not to. It’s important to have standards.
[While an entertaining image, your metaphor is hardly accurate. It’s more akin to a monkey attempting to grab a banana inside a jug with a narrow mouth, and discovering that his fist wrapped around the fruit is now too bulky to remove.]
[It’s just a metaphor. The banana in question fulfills the same role as the giraffe in yours.]
“Valid point,” I said. “In the sense that valid means ‘completely loopy.’”
Ever seen a dog wince? I have.
“And that’s enough of that,” I interrupted. “Getting back to the question at hand—can we put our alleged Unktehila in a situation where he’s forced to get smaller? Present him with an opening he needs to get through, maybe, one that’s too small for a human being?”
[That part should be simple. The question is, what can we put on the other side that he’ll desperately want to acquire?]
And then I had an idea …
* * *
“I’m afraid Rustam won’t be joining us for dinner tonight,” Oscar said, taking his usual place at the table. “He’s been called away on urgent business. Promises to return as soon as possible, but isn’t sure when. Kaci, of course, has gone with him.”
“We’ll just have to manage without him,” ZZ said with a bright smile. I’d told her what I’d found out about Gorshkov, and she’d approved of how I handled the situation. “And at least we won’t have wet paintings propped against every available surface. Though you must be feeling a bit cramped at the moment.”
Oscar took a long sip of his sherry. “Not at all,” he said, trying to sound chipper. “I hardly ever use my living room, anyway.”
Teresa Firstcharger, Efram Fimsby, and Keene were also in attendance. Keene was his usual ebullient self, while Teresa Firstcharger seemed on edge. Fimsby appeared to be enjoying himself, chatting with ZZ about a hurricane that had once trapped him in a coal mine. Me, I was keeping an eye on everyone while trying to look casual.
Ben had decided to signal his return with an epic feast; I was currently enjoying lobster in a lemon cream sauce, with a wild mushroom risotto on the side.
Whiskey and Tango were not present.
“So,” I said around a mouthful of heaven, “what exactly have you been doing, Keene? I haven’t seen you around all that much.”
“Communing with my muse,” Keene said. “Me and old Jeepers have really hit a groove lately. Been spending a lot of time writing it down.”
“Can we expect a new album, then?” Teresa said. “Sometime soon?” The look on her face told me she was hoping for more than just music from him.
“Can’t rush genius, love,” Keene replied. “It’ll be done when it’s done. Or when my producer pries it from my unconscious fingers, whichever comes first.”
“Speaking of communing,” I said, “I recently spent a little time at the lake, communing with nature.”
“Oh, is that what you did on your day off?” ZZ asked. “Because I was getting reports you were still here, even when you were off duty.”
I shook my head and tried to look embarrassed. “This was on my last day off, actually. Ben and I went together.”
“There are several lakes nearby,” said Oscar. “Which one did you go to?”
I laughed. “Believe it or not, I can’t tell you.”
“Why on earth not?” Oscar said, sounding annoyed.
“Because I don’t know. Ben took me there, and made me wear a blindfold on the drive. Said he knew this great little spot for a getaway, but wanted it to be a surprise. I thought he was being romantic, but then he spent the whole afternoon fishing. Apparently the lake is really, really deep, which supposedly guarantees really big fish. Not that he caught any while we were there, though we did see a lot of deer. Really big deer, too.”
“Maybe they thought they were fish,” said Keene.
“Well, they came right down to the water to drink. Amazing to see, though it made me kind of nervous.”
“Nature can do that,” said Teresa. She smiled at me innocently.
“Yes, it can,” said Fimsby. He dabbed at this mouth with a napkin. “It can be both beautiful and downright terrifying, often at the same time.”
“Well, the joke’s on Ben,” I said. “He may think his secluded little fishing hole is still a secret, but I’ve got a GPS tracker built into my tablet. I haven’t bothered, but I could find my way back there if I had to.”
ZZ shook her head. “You took your tablet along? No wonder he went fishing—you were probably working the whole time.”
“Not true,” I said. “I have a very firm rule about that tablet—it’s only for work. In fact, I lock that tablet in my office every night. It’s there right now; I refuse to bring work home with me.”
“No, of course you don
’t,” Oscar said drily. “Just to the beach.”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, dear,” said ZZ. “Even if Ben didn’t catch any fish, he certainly found some delicious lobster.”
That was a sentiment everyone agreed with. Fimsby even asked for seconds, which helped explain his paunch.
Or maybe he was secretly thinking about all those big, fat deer at that deep, secluded watering hole …
* * *
[Quiet. We’re dealing with a psychic creature, and we don’t know the extent of its capabilities. It might be able to overhear our telepathic communication.]
Our trap had been set. The bait—my tablet—was in plain sight on my desk. The door was locked and the window was open a few inches and locked in that position. A shape-shifting burglar looking for quick directions to an all-you-can-eat venison buffet wouldn’t find it difficult to gain entry, but they’d need to squeeze through a narrow gap, first: either through the window or under the door. Tango was outside in a tree, Whiskey was hidden under my desk, and I was across the hall in a storage closet, peering through a keyhole. If anyone tried to get in, one of us would know.
Unless, of course, all the mental chatter alerted said shape-changer and scared them off.
Neither Whiskey or I responded, but that didn’t stop Tango.
I sighed. Look, we agreed to give it a try. Old habits die hard, and from all accounts these creatures had big appetites and liked deep water. The combination might prove irresistible.
I know that. But if a zebra or something disappears, it’ll look suspicious. It’s too sneaky for that.
[You said Firstcharger was faking that.]
You couldn’t have pointed this out earlier?
Her logic was impeccable. Highly irritating, but impeccable. I scowled and tried to think of a way to gracefully admit she was right. Tango? I hate to say it, but—
[What? Where?]
[Stay calm. Is it approaching the house?]
[Maybe you were right about its choice of cuisine.]
I stepped out of the closet, darted across the hall, and opened the door. Whiskey burst out and sprinted down the hall, with me right behind him.
[Can you still see it?]
Are you chasing it?
[We’re right behind you. Don’t get too close.]
We were sprinting across the lawn now, but I still couldn’t see Tango. Time to call in the reinforcements.
Cell phone. Speed dial. Two Thunderbirds waiting on the second-floor balcony of the east wing, ready to take flight and bring the lightning.
No service.
I stared down at my phone in disbelief. It stubbornly refused to change its mind and start working. I felt like I’d been betrayed by one of my own organs, like my pancreas had suddenly decided to go on strike for better working conditions and more bile.
I didn’t have time for a Plan B. I kept running.
I caught up to Whiskey at Oswald’s enclosure—the large fenced pen that housed our resident ostrich. Oswald’s something of an escape artist, so the fence was high and the gate locked. Despite that, something had managed to get in.
Something really, really big.
Tango was on top of a nearby post, while Whiskey had shifted form to his true shape, the one he’d been born with: a three-hundred-pound brute with a pedigree that included English mastiff, Great Dane, St. Bernard, and Alaskan timber wolf. He was growling, deep in his broad chest, at the thing that rose up in the pen before us.
The serpent was big enough to swallow a Volkswagen, long enough to block six lanes of traffic, and as brightly colored as a bag full of Skittles. It should have left ditch-deep tracks, but I couldn’t see any trail at all. Nor had it smashed through the fence; it must have gone over the top without crushing it.
We stared at the giant snake coiled around the shed Oswald slept in. It looked as though the Unktehila was in the mood for some chicken—or maybe it just preferred the taste of bird.
And then it noticed us.
It stared down. We stared up. I had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s my least favorite feeling in the world, and it’s worse than just fear. It’s how I feel when I’m unprepared; it feels like falling, deaf and blind and naked, and having absolutely no idea how far away the ground is. Somehow, I’d managed to get not only myself but both my partners into that particular situation, and any second now we were all going to hit the planet with a great big splat.
Or, you know, get eaten by a giant mythological snake …
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I’m a detail-oriented person. I notice the little things, even when big things are happening all around me. I once had to use a fire extinguisher on a bass guitarist who’d managed to set himself afire during a solo, and even while I was literally putting out a fire I still noticed that one of the buttons on his shirt had popped off and would need to be replaced before the next show. Custom-tailored, bone buttons shaped like little T. rex skulls, handmade in Portland, Oregon. It’s just how I’m wired.
So, as I was contemplating being devoured by an immense, supernatural serpent, I couldn’t help but notice it was the wrong one.
A tongue like a two-pronged pitchfork made of bubble gum popped out of its mouth, flapped at us, and popped back in again. It was tasting our scent, seeing if we were gobble-worthy or not. It considered the information it had just gathered, then reared up like a subway train thinking about a sudden career switch to rocket.
No, not rocket. Rainbow.
It arced through the sky in a long, graceful curve, more like an inchworm than a snake. That arc went right over the far side of the fence, the serpent’s whole body flowing in a gravity-defying wave that made it look as if it were moving through water instead of air. In a matter of seconds it was gone.
We just stood there.
I was the first one to finally speak. “No horns,” I said.
[No large crystal on its head.]
I winced. “No need to yell. Something isn’t right, Tango. An Unktehila is supposed to have horns and a big, mystic crystal on its forehead. That had neither.”
[A gigantic snake that could have easily consumed us. Yet it did not.]
“That hood ornament is a central part of the myth,” I said. “It’s how it controls minds. Why wasn’t it—hey. Look.”
I pointed at the ground inside Oswald’s enclosure. It was mostly hard-packed earth, with some patchy grass and a few bushes, but that was changing before our eyes. Spots of green were springing up, in a line between us and Oswald’s shed, as well as in a ring around it. Grass, growing in the path the snake had traveled.
“Well, well, well,” said a familiar voice behind me. I turned around to see Keene strolling toward us, a grin on his face and a drink in his hand. “Late-night walkies? I thought you went home ages ago, Trot.”
“I came back to get something I forgot,” I said. I wasn’t looking at him, though; I was looking at who was walking beside him.
Fimsby.
“Ever so glad you’re here,” said Keene. “I’ve been attempting to educate Efram here on the finer points of snooker for the last hour, to no avail. Care to join us?”
“He’s been with you the whole time?”
“And Teresa. She took off about twenty minutes ago, though. Said she had something to attend to.”
“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I’ve got to get home.”
“Suit yourself. Ta.”
I watched him and Fimsby go back to the house. “I think,” I said softly, “that it’s time to reconsider some of our assumptions.”
But first I had to go reassure Ben and Teresa that we were still on the outside of any neighborhood reptilian esophagus. I found them on the balcony, deep in conversation about rain.
“Foxtrot,” Ben said. “Everything all right? I thought you were going to call.”
“So did I,” I said. “But my cell phone abruptly stopped working. No idea why, unless the presence of massive, brightly scaled monsters makes technology malfunction.” I told them what had—and hadn’t—happened.
“No horns or crystal? You’re sure?” Teresa asked. “That makes no sense.”
