by Dixie Lyle
It ate Ben. Whole.
That massive, rainbow-hued head darted down, jaws wide open, and snapped shut around Ben’s body. The head tilted skyward again, Ben’s feet sticking out from between its scaly lips, and then the snake gulped them inside its maw, too. It reminded me of a duck eating a grasshopper. It was probably my imagination, but I thought I saw the serpent’s throat bulge as it swallowed.
I didn’t just see that. That didn’t happen. It’s a trick. Any second now Ben’s going to blast his way free from the thing’s gullet with a lightning bolt, and—
And lightning didn’t work on the Rainbow Serpent.
—and then he’ll use a blizzard to freeze it into a giant ice sculpture and we’ll zoom down it like one of those twisty slides and—
The wind died down. The air began to warm noticeably, creeping back toward a more seasonal temperature.
—and we’ll celebrate with omelets, his omelets are so good, and I’ll make bad jokes about snake eggs and Whiskey will be droll and Tango will be snarky—
The snake lowered its head. It was looking at me now, but I wasn’t worried. Snakes can go a long time without eating after a big meal, so I doubted it was very hungry. Because, you know, it had just eaten my boyfriend.
A bird of prey screamed somewhere above me, and I saw the shadow of huge wings pass along the ground and over the snake’s body. Teresa, circling overhead, just as helpless as I was.
Normally, in a crisis situation, I become incredibly efficient. I can make snap decisions on almost no information, I can multitask, I can be analytical and objective and maintain my concentration even while others are running around on fire. But not this time; this time was different. Part of me was in shock, locked in some kind of denial fantasy, while another part seemed completely removed from what had just happened. It’s called compartmentalization, and until now I’d always been able to make it work for me.
What finally got me unstuck was that neither of those parts seemed inclined to do anything, and immobility is just completely contrary to who I am.
So I spoke up.
“Hey,” I said. “You. Technicolor-prehistoric-anaconda-monster. I don’t know exactly what you are or what you want, but you can’t just roam around eating people.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? He wasn’t a snack, he was a person. His name was Ben Montain, and he was an incredible chef and an amazing kisser, and he was stubborn and generous and proud and kind and I loved him!”
I’m not much of a screamer, but I’m a terrific shouter. I don’t do it very often, because I consider it to be a failure on my part to stay in control. I was shouting now. And weeping.
“He was a good man! He laughed at my jokes! He listened to me! I don’t care if he could call up hurricanes or make it rain toads or any of that! You give him back, goddammit!”
The snake looked at me quizzically. You know how I could tell? It tilted its head to one side, ever so slightly. According to Tango, that’s pretty much universal body language for “Huh?”
A greyhound came tearing over the hill. Whiskey, of course. I hadn’t even been worried about him; I knew he would have shifted into a much smaller form to minimize impact before he hit the ground, and that his ectoplasmic body would be able to take the shock. [Foxtrot! Where’s—oh, no.]
Funny thing about how my mind works. It pretty much never stops; I make plans while I’m showering, think about options while I’m on the toilet, make lists in my dreams. And even now, shattered by grief and rage and despair, I was still thinking. Not only about what just happened, but what wasn’t happening.
“Why are you still here?” I demanded. “You’ve gotten what you came for, haven’t you? And it was Ben you came for—you didn’t eat me when you had the chance, or even Teresa. If you followed Anna all the way here, you probably could have eaten her, too—but you didn’t. Why not?”
I didn’t really expect an answer. It hadn’t replied to any of my questions yet, so why should it now? But when I heard a dry, sibilant chuckle inside my skull, there was no doubt where it came from.
{No need. Femalesss ripen on their own. Malessss need sssome help.}
Help?
A distant part of my brain was tugging at my medulla oblongata, trying to get my attention. I’d uncovered a lot of material on giant mythical snakes when I was doing my research, but I’d focused on horned serpents because I thought we were dealing with a monster. But while the Unktehila was basically a predator, the Rainbow Serpent was much, much more. It could be angry and vengeful, but it was mostly a symbol of life. And on the long list of things it was supposed to have created and events it was responsible for, there’d been something about men. Young men. And some sort of … ritual?
No. Not ritual. Rite. Rite of passage.
Please. Please, please please let me be right—
The Rainbow Serpent reared up once more. It looked down at me. It opened its mouth, revealing fangs that were shorter than I thought they’d be.
And then it threw up.
What landed at my feet wasn’t human. It was a big brown ball of slime-covered fur.
[That’s not hair, Tango.]
“No,” I said. “Those are feathers.”
Teresa Firstcharger came in for a landing, large wings flapping like bedsheets in the wind. She took a step closer on talons that look like they could rend steel, and tilted her head curiously at the quivering bundle of gooey feathers on the ground.
The bundle stirred, then unfolded itself into another Thunderbird. It looked a little dazed, blinking its large yellow eyes like it was unaccustomed to light.
“Ben,” I breathed.
“Foxtrot?” The voice coming out of his beak sounded exactly like Ben’s normal one. “I’ve—I’ve got feathers. I’m covered in feathers.”
“Yeah. You know that transforming thing that Teresa does that you hadn’t figured out yet? Well, turns out the Rainbow Serpent decided to give you a little assistance.”
“Assistance? It ate me!”
“Remember all those things I listed off that are associated with the Rainbow Serpent? Fertility was one of them. You might think that a snake would obviously be some sort of phallic metaphor, but not Down Under—they see it as more of a feminine thing. Being swallowed and then regurgitated is a symbol for rebirth, something young aboriginal males undergo as a rite of passage into manhood.”
[The passage in this case being the snake’s esophagus,] Whiskey said helpfully.
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’re a man! I mean bird. Bird-man. Man Bird?”
Ben extended one wing and looked at it in amazement. The slime on his feathers was evaporating in the sun, leaving a glossy shine behind.
Teresa Firstcharger studied him. “It’s true,” she said. “You have matured. I can feel it.”
Ben extended both his wings and gave them an experimental flap. “I can, too! This—this feels perfectly natural. In fact—”
And then he launched himself into the air.
“Waaaaahoooo!” he yelled. He soared up to around thirty feet, then went into a long, lazy circle around us and the serpent, which was watching this whole spectacle with a smug grin on its face. Okay, maybe that was projection on my part.
I looked over at Teresa. “Well? Why aren’t you up there with him? I thought you were his instructor.”
She looked at me for a moment with those large, yellow eyes, and then she transformed back into her human shape. Naked, of course. “Then I have your blessing?”
I shrugged. “I have no problem with letting professionals do what they do best. He may have learned the shape-shifting trick, but I’m sure there’s still a few things you could teach him. Just try to keep the naked thing to a minimum, all right?”
/>
She nodded. “Thank you, Foxtrot. I promise you, I will impart to him as much wisdom as I can.” She paused. “With my clothes on.”
And then she shifted back to avian form and took off after him. They soared into the sky, got smaller and smaller, and then disappeared entirely. Off to Thunderspace, I guess.
I turned to the giant snake. “He’s going to be able to change back, right?”
{Yessss.}
“Okay, just checking. I mean, I like birds and all, but that’s not what I want to snuggle up to while watching a romcom and snarfing back popcorn. Plus, he’s going to have a heck of a time making waffles like that.”
That was the total extent of the words I exchanged with the Rainbowed One. Twelve in all. Despite how they’re often portrayed in popular media, snakes aren’t all that talkative. Maybe things would have been different if I’d been hanging around an apple tree.
He didn’t even say good-bye, just slithered off into the sunset. And by sunset I mean sort of northeast, toward the statue of the horse, but more to the left, kinda.
Eli flapped up and landed on a headstone. I wondered if I should knit him some sort of grave-cozy, so his little white crow-claws wouldn’t be cold on the stone. Too bad I didn’t knit.
“Well,” said Eli.
“Sideways it’s a tunnel,” I replied absently. I was still staring after the disappearing giant snake.
“What?”
“Is that supposed to be relevant?” Eli sounded a little peeved.
“Just an observation,” I said. “Like, Hey, you didn’t get eaten by a huge snake.”
“So you’re just stating the obvious?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Obviously.”
There was no reply to that, so I didn’t make one. After a moment, Eli cleared his throat and said, “So.”
“A needle pulling thread.”
“What’s—will you please stop doing that?”
“Eventually. When I get tired of tormenting you.”
He flapped his way from one headstone to another. “Why would you want to torment me? And no, that isn’t a rhetorical question.”
“Ask Whiskey.”
Whiskey and Tango had been observing this exchange mostly in silence.
“Well, Whiskey?” asked Eli. “And try not to reference tunnels or embroidery in your reply.”
[She was worried about you. Her initial thought when the serpent appeared and you were absent was that it had devoured you. Now that she knows it did not, she assumes that not only were you never in any danger, but you deliberately stayed away in order to let events progress to their inevitable conclusion.]
[I thought we were done with stating the obvious.]
“I’m sorry,” said Eli, “but I couldn’t interfere. These things have certain protocols.”
“A simple heads-up would have been nice.”
“You might have warned him. And if we’re going to have a Thunderbird on our side, I prefer one at the height of his abilities. So to speak.”
I sighed. “Yeah, fine. I get it, I do. So where’s the Big S off to? Are we adding him to the roster of entities that like to hang around the Great Crossroads?”
“No, she’s strictly a tourist. On her way back to Australia via the Dreamtime, I expect. Or maybe she’ll take the scenic route and swim the Atlantic. I doubt she’s in any hurry.”
I stretched and yawned. Only halfway through the day, and already I was exhausted. Time for more Irish breakfast tea, and possibly an intravenous drip to deliver it. “Okay, I guess that about wraps things up. Shame about Anna, but things more or less turned out all right. The Big Bad even turned out to be a good guy—er, gal—instead of a shape-shifting mind-controlling monster.”
Tango gave her furry head a shake.
“They are,” said Eli. “Why do you think I wanted Ben in full control of his powers?”
Whiskey, Tango, and I stared at him. He didn’t say anything else, just took to the air and flew off.
[I don’t think so,] said Whiskey. [Remember that heads-up Foxtrot said would be nice? I think we just got one…]
I shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just payback for me tormenting him. Either way, it doesn’t matter. We’re here, we’re together, Ben is fine, the killer’s in jail and it’s a sunny, sunny day. Let’s try to enjoy it, all right?”
* * *
But there was one last thing to take care of. Well, two, actually, but in a way they were kind of the same thing. It happened a few days later, after Ben had survived his first few lessons with Teresa and the guests had finally said their good-byes and the estate was back to what passes for normal around here.
Ben still hadn’t spoken to ZZ.
He’d made her breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she’d eaten it. It had all been up to his usual standards, and she seemed perfectly satisfied.
But.
The atmosphere was different. There were things that needed to be said, on both sides, and neither one seemed to know how to say them. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.
“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Ben said as he took another slow, careful step forward—slow and careful because he was blindfolded and I was leading him. “I know I did this to you on our first date, but—”
“No buts, mister. All right, you can take the blindfold off.”
He did so, saying, “What’s the big surprise? I really hope you’re naked—”
“Hello, Ben,” ZZ said.
Ben stared at his boss. She looked back with eyes full of regret.
“Hello,” Ben said. “Um.” He looked around and saw where he was for the first time: in the graveyard, beside a brand-new headstone and the freshly turned earth of a new plot. “Well, this isn’t what I expected. Why are we—oh.” He’d finally noticed the name on the headstone: MARBLES.
“It’s never too late to do the right thing,” ZZ said. “That’s what I believe, anyway. It was Cooper’s idea to put this headstone up, even though the grave is empty. Foxtrot got in touch with Marbles’s former owner and told her we’d finally located the grave she’d been looking for. Do you know what she said?”
“I have no idea,” Ben said.
“She told me,” I said, “that she already knew that. She had a dream with a white crow in it, and he told her she was finally going to be able to say good-bye. In fact, I think I see them now.” I pointed. Two women came slowly over the hill, one dressed all in black. Mary and her caretaker.
Mary walked right up to the grave, more or less ignoring us. She reached into the black purse she carried and pulled out a small, very worn bag made of scraps of cloth sewn together.
A large white crow flapped its way over to a nearby gravestone. ZZ didn’t see it, of course, and the rest of us pretended not to.
Mary carefully opened the drawstring of the bag. Then she upended it on the grave, spilling out dozens of brightly colored, highly polished marbles. They glinted in the bright sunshine like precious jewels.
“There,” Mary said. “Now you can play with these in heaven. I miss you, but the crow said you are happy. I’m not so sad now. Good-bye.”
Then she looked up, her face composed and serene, and looked directly at Eli. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Eli said.
At my feet, Whiskey whined, very softly. Tango, a few feet away and sitting on another grave, meowed once. They didn’t say anything else, and they didn’t have to.
Mary turned and walked away, her head held high. Her caretaker, after giving us a smile and a nod, walked after her.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” ZZ said to Ben. “But I’m not sorry I hired you
. You’re the best damn chef I’ve ever encountered, and if and when you decide to move on, I will trumpet that fact to anyone who asks and many who don’t.”
“Apology accepted,” Ben said. “Sometimes life just pushes us into corners and we have to do our best. Can’t fault you for that.”
[Yes, you would.]
[Must you remind me? I’d almost convinced myself you were some kind of horrible hallucination on my part.]
I looked around at them my crazy, extended, dysfunctional family: ZZ, Ben, Tango, Whiskey, even Eli. I’d love them till the end.
And even after that.
Don’t miss these other novels in Dixie Lyle’s Whiskey, Tango & Foxtrot series!
“Blends pet cemeteries, animal spirits, and a cast of zany human characters … those who read paranormal mysteries will enjoy.”
—RT Book Reviews
A TASTE FUR MURDER
TO DIE FUR
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dixie Lyle loves animals, mysteries, books, reading, words, bad puns (are there any other kind?), and once had a torrid summer romance with an entire library. Did I mention the books? Oh, and definitely doesn’t believe in the supernatural. Nope, not me. Hey, what was that sound? Where’s that spooky green glow coming from? Oh, hello, didn’t see you standing there in the corner, what with you being all see-through and everything. Want a cup of tea? Moan once for yes, twice for no.
Allegations that Dixie Lyle has a goofy sense of humor are entirely unfounded, and should be forwarded to the unfounded and unlost department. You can sign up for email updates here.
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