“Fascinating,” Lisa said in her Mr. Spock voice.
I'd brought my pocket camera with me. I much preferred my bigger Nikon, but it was hard to sneak into places where it might not belong. I took a few pictures, but didn't risk the flash. “It's like a gargoyle and a Roswell alien had a love child.”
She pointed to the fangs. “And Nosferatu, the original vampire. Funny how the same things come up so often in horror folklore. There must be something about that shape that connects with our human psyche.”
“That's very Jungian of you, Lisa.”
She went to the wall behind the statue and read the description. “According to this, the forked tongue and huge fangs are for draining its victim's blood. When the eyes glow red, it paralyzes—do you think they mean hypnotizes?—its prey to suck the blood at leisure.”
“Nice.” I continued around the wall displays, which had a list of sightings, grainy photographs, and other “proof” of the animal's existence.
After all this buildup, the main feature of the exhibit was an anticlimax. The chupacabra skeleton was as big as a pony, but mounted in the same position as the statue by the door-reared back, wings spread, claws out, teeth snarling.
I was disappointed in spite of myself. Limbs were out of proportion, the mass unbalanced and awkward. “This thing has all the psychic resonance of a Thanksgiving turkey carcass.”
Lisa leaned close to examine the wings. “Appropriate. I think these are chicken bones wired together.”
A metal pipe barrier kept us from getting too close, but I examined the skull as best I could. “What do you think this is? Bobcat?”
“Could be. Or maybe a cougar. They weren't always extinct in Texas.” She craned her head to inspect the teeth.
“What a bust.” This didn't prove anything. We were back to square one. I turned away, dejectedly scanning the rest of the exhibit.
Directly across from the skeleton was a flat piece of limestone, or other sedimentary rock. Impressed in the surface were two footprints, extremely similar to the ones I'd photographed at the roadside where we'd crashed the car.
The card beside the display said: DINOSAUR? OR EL CHUPACABRA? NO ONE CAN BE SURE.
Lisa was still playing dentist, paying no attention as I wandered off. “Check this out, Mags. You can see where they attached the fangs.”
I ignored her, and stretched out my open hand toward the fossil. After a moment's hesitation, I placed it into the claw-footed impression. It was old, but not dinosaur old. I didn't get an impression of new violence, like on the road, but there was something there, some energy that wasn't quite … normal.
“Hey! You girls!”
We whirled in unison. A man stood by the life-sized artist's representation, his face like thunder. “What do you think you're doing?”
In a guilty rush I blurted, “There wasn't anyone up front.”
His skin was tanned as leather, his hair grizzled where it escaped his gray ponytail. “I mean with el chupacabra. Those bones are very rare and unique.”
Lisa coughed into her fist, and I spoke loudly to cover any commentary. “We were just wondering how you came by them.”
“Same way I do all the artifacts here. Folks bring them in, want money for them.” His scowl gave him a Popeye the Sailor squint. His forearms were kind of big, too, come to think of it. “I think you'd better leave.”
“We'll pay on the way out.”
“I don't want you kids messing with the artifacts. You should show proper respect.”
This was ironic, coming from someone who kept people's ancient belongings in a case and never dusted them. My ears began to burn, but under his watchful eye, Lisa and I left the chupacabra room like chastised children.
Popeye stayed behind, I guess to check for damage to Ol' Chupy. Under my breath, I told Lisa, “You know what we haven't checked out? Whether there have been attacks like this—what's going on now around Dulcina, I mean—in the past.”
“How are you going to find that out?”
“We could look in the archives of the local paper.”
“Dulcina?” Lisa snorted. “They don't need a paper. They have the Duck Inn.”
“Maybe the Kingsville or Corpus Christi archives. Or the old ranch records.”
“You don't really expect me to go to Zeke with this chupacabra story, do you?”
“Why not? Or I will. My cover story can be that I'm investigating a logical source for the legend—”
I'd forgotten about my boyfriend, Mr. Snake. The violent rattle made me flinch, and I stumbled backward into the curio case that held the burial artifacts.
As soon as my hand touched the dusty glass, a shock raced up my arm, an electric vibration that I felt all the way to my back teeth.
I jerked my hand away, rubbing my fingers to soothe the nerves, even though there was nothing physically wrong with them. “What?” asked Lisa, glancing back to check for Popeye.
“There's something in this case.” I wiped at the glass, trying to clean it. Among the ornaments of shell and bone was a flat medallion, like a sand dollar. I thought at first that it had the same double-armed cross as the Velasquez brand, but when I leaned closer, I saw that it was different, more delicate. The upright was rounded at one end, and the cross pieces were made up of fragile lines, almost obscured by age.
“Where's Popeye?” I asked, pulling my Canon from my cargo pocket.
“Just around the corner.”
I couldn't risk a flash, then. I barely had time to take the picture at all, when our host came around the corner.
“You girls aren't stirring up that snake, are you?” The proprietor peered at us in disapproval, but didn't seem to see me slipping my camera back into my pocket. “Not tapping on the glass or anything?”
“No, sir.” I moved to hide the suspiciously clean spot on the curio display case. “What happened to the Native Americans that used to live here?”
“No one knows. They just vanished.”
I'll believe a lot of weird things that I wouldn't have a year ago, but this wasn't one of them. “Seriously. Was it smallpox from the Spanish? Or what?”
His squint narrowed suspiciously. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”
Lisa had one of her own, completely unrelated to mine. “Are these real snake skins?” She pointed to a dispenser in a corner, like a gumball machine. The clear plastic eggs that normally hold toys or cheap jewelry instead held dry, papery sheddings.
“Yeah,” said Popeye. I heard a door opening, followed by childish squeals of delighted horror. New patrons had arrived. The proprietor headed that way, and left us with an-other warning. “Don't forget to pay for your tickets before you leave.”
Lisa put out her hand as soon as he was gone. “Give me a quarter, Mags.”
“No. Gross. What do you want that for?”
“Souvenir.”
I didn't believe that, but dug into my pocket anyway. So much for my ice-cold Coca-Cola. She took all my quarters, and I went up front to make good on our outstanding debt.
There were two families at the counter ahead of me, which proved that some people will do anything for a rest stop. Outside, two minivans and a Suburban had joined our beat-up truck in the lot, and a compact car full of spring breakers was pulling in. “Good thing we came early,” I said as Lisa joined me.
She looked up from the plastic snake-skin eggs in her hands. “I guess we beat the after-church rush.”
“What are those really for?” I asked as we headed for Buck's loaner, which got a scornful eye from the spring breakers.
“They're supposed to make you have clearer vision. Take the scales from your eyes, metaphorically.”
I climbed into the pickup and waited until she closed her door. “You mean in a spell.”
“What else?”
Shaking my head, I started the truck. “I'll never get used to that.”
“But you get used to seeing things that aren't there?”
I sighed. “Everything I
See is there. That's the problem.”
Lisa let that lie while I pulled out onto the highway, and then said, “I do regret one thing, though.”
“What?”
“We never did get to check out the two-headed snake.”
9
“So, recap for me,” said Justin. I had my cell phone on speaker, so that Lisa and I could fill him in once we got back to the Artesian Manor. “The chupacabra bones were fake, right?”
Lisa sat cross-legged on her bed, eating Tostitos. “The chupacabra bones were fake,” she confirmed between crunches. “The mastodon bone was real. The grave-robbing stuff was real. The jury is still out on the two-headed snake.”
“The what?” asked Justin, understandably confused.
“It's not important,” I said. I was sprawled on my own bed, the phone in front of me on the polyester bedspread. “Let's stay on track.”
He obligingly moved on. “But there was a rock with footprints like the ones you found by the highway?”
“Yeah. They were old, but not like dinosaur ancient.”
“Any luck matching either print to a known animal?”
“They weren't in the book I got from the library.” By now I was pretty convinced that I wasn't going to find them identified in any field guide. At least, not in any normal one.
Lisa swallowed a mouthful of chip. “But if it makes tracks, doesn't that mean it's just an undocumented animal? Giant squid or whatever.”
“It means that whatever it is,” I said, “it's real enough to make footprints.”
“So, if it's not a natural but undiscovered creature, then what's the alternative?” Justin's tone was rhetorical, but it was a good question.
“A supernatural one. Something that really can disappear, or fly, or shape-shift.”
“You mean like an actual goat-sucking vampire?” said Lisa, dryly dubious.
I exhaled in exasperation. “Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that. But it's not like this is the first ‘mythical’ thing we've ever seen.”
Justin cleared his throat and moved the conversation forward. “So, how is this related to the protective magic you felt in your dream, Maggie?”
“I'm not sure yet. We need to find out whether there's a past event on record: a rise in cattle deaths, reports of wild animal attacks, anything like that.”
Justin correctly interpreted “we” to mean “the only one of us with Internet and library access.” “Can you give me an idea where to start looking for something like that?”
“Try the online archives for the nearest cities. Corpus Christi and San Antonio are the biggest.” I wished I could send him the pictures I'd taken. Since I always have a real camera with me, I never think of using the crappy one in my phone. “The other thing I need to know about is the Coahuiltecan Indians.”
“You want to spell that for me?”
I did the best I could from memory. “The guy at the museum said they vanished mysteriously into thin air.”
Lisa pursed her lips, and rolled up the bag of chips. “Maybe he thinks they went up in the mothership when the aliens left their pet behind.” At my glare, she raised her hands, pleading innocence. “I didn't say I thought that.”
“Yes, but your sarcasm is inhibiting the seriousness of my chupacabra investigation.”
Justin, to my surprise, came to Lisa's defense. “To be fair, Maggie, the whole urban legend aspect does make it harder to take seriously. It's like the boy who cried wolf.”
“Whose side are you on?” I asked, even though I knew he was right.
“The side of you guys staying safe. Which means not turning your back on any possibility.”
Lisa rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Paladin.”
Her phone rang before I could answer. She glanced at the caller ID, then looked at me. “It's Zeke.”
“I'll go outside.” Picking up my own phone, I turned off the speaker and spoke into it to Justin. “Hang on a second.”
I slipped out of the motel room, closing the door behind me, and explained to Justin as I settled onto my usual place at the top of the concrete stairs. “Zeke's the guy whose ranch we're visiting tomorrow. The one who helped us the other night.”
“How much do you know about him?” His tone wasn't suspicious, exactly. Just cautious.
“He's okay. Spidey sense says he's a decent guy trying to hold things together.”
“Could you ask him about previous weird happenings? It's his family's land, right?”
“Lisa's worried that he'll think we're crazy. Plus, he's not happy about the chupacabra rumors that Teresa the innkeeper is spreading, so we don't want to alienate him.”
I didn't mention any other reasons Lisa might be hesitant to alienate Zeke. I might discuss her idiosyncrasies of temperament with Justin, but her love life was just between her and me. Maybe it was the best friends code of honor. But also I knew what a deep vulnerability romance was for her— more so, in a weird way, than the state of her soul or her quest for atonement.
Justin was unaware of my mental sidebar. “So, you think this thing—animal or monster—has been around for a while?”
Refocusing my thoughts, I answered, “Maybe a past wave of attacks was dismissed as a cougar or a coyote. It could be what prompted someone to build the psychic fence, or whatever it is I'm Seeing.”
“And the Native American connection?”
“They were here before anyone else.” I considered the artifact in the museum, the powerful charge I'd felt even through the glass of the case. “Maybe they set up their own kind of protection.”
There was a pause, and a softly agitated sound, like the tapping of a pencil on a desk, before Justin spoke again. “You know, if that's true, maybe you should just leave it to the protections in place. It could be a surge that will abate again. You could just go on to the beach.”
“No, I couldn't.” I wrapped my arms around myself, though the evening was still warm. “What if it's not just a giant squid? What if it's even worse than a goat-sucking vampire?”
He saw where I was going. Heck, he probably had gotten there on his own. “You know, that could be the reason Lisa is in such denial about this thing being supernatural.”
“Because it might be a demon?” I leaned my head against the stair rail. “I've thought of that. But we don't know there aren't all types of freaky creatures out there. Yetis and werewolves and God knows what else. And this thing was solid enough to leave footprints.”
“Azmael was solid there at the end. We don't really know all the rules. Neither of us does.” He sighed. “I just wish I was there.”
“Me too.” I didn't point out that he could have come along in the first place. Or he could have invited me to go with him and meet his friend, see where he grew up.
The sun was setting, and the lights were coming on in the Duck Inn. “How much have you told Henry about all this?”
There was an uninterpretable pause. “He's been pretty curious about our phone conversations.”
“Does he know that you chose to study folklore of myth and magic because you believe in it?”
“Not exactly.” He clearly wasn't comfortable with the discussion. “Why does it matter?”
That was a good question. “It just seems like you keep the past, Henry part of your life separate from the present, Maggie part of your life. It's a quirk. Quirks make me”—I refused to say “insecure” even to myself—“curious.”
I'd never really pushed him to explain how he came to believe in the reality of all this, before he'd met me and my freaky intuition. But even with him helping me long-distance, we seemed separated by more than miles.
“This isn't an over-the-phone type of discussion, Maggie.” I can't say he shut me down entirely, but his redirect was firm. “Instead let's talk about how careful you're going to be tomorrow out at that ranch.” His voice became protectively chiding, something I took as an expression of his affection.
“I'll be fine. It's not like we're going to be w
andering around the desert like Elmer Fudd, hunting chupacabwas.”
That made him laugh, but only briefly. “Okay. I just hate …” He chewed over his next words. “I know you don't need me there, but still.”
He didn't need to finish the thought, but it was exactly the right thing to say. Leaning my head against the banister, I pictured his crooked smile, his brown eyes, his hair, always rumpled. “Thanks, Justin.”
“Just be careful.” His voice was full of unspoken things. “Good night, Maggie. I'll be in touch.”
When I went back into the room, Lisa was stretched out, reading one of the library books. “How's Zeke?” I asked.
“He'll be here to pick us up at eleven. We're going to meet his grandmother, then we'll go riding.”
I sat in the room's one chair. “On a horse?”
“Unless you'd like to try a bull.”
“Have you ever been horseback riding before?”
She shrugged. “I went to summer camp once. And last fall some friends invited me to their place up in Maryland.”
“Oh.” I tried to wrap my head around the idea of D&D Lisa in jodhpurs and boots. She was a long way from her goth days. Instead of dyed black, her hair was a rich reddish brown. After two days in the sun, she had a smattering of freckles on her nose. But her pajama pants were covered with skulls, so maybe not everything was different.
Going to the cubby of a closet, I pulled out the jeans I'd worn to the Duck Inn the night before. They still smelled like cigarette smoke, so I figured horse couldn't make them smell any worse. “Are you learning anything new from that book?”
“Yeah. I am.” I heard the rustle of another page. “The Native Americans called this land the Wild Horse Desert. But you know what the Spanish called it?”
“What?”
“ El Desierto de los Muertos. The Desert of the Dead.”
I dreamed that night of the fence, of searching for the red-eyed creature. I didn't see the horsewoman again, but I had the sense she was just out of sight, maybe even watching me. Once again I woke with a clear memory of the vision, but no hangover headache. It seemed ungrateful to complain, but there was something really weird going on.
Highway to Hell Page 8
