Mr. Peabody's House

by Eve Langlais

Dale dropped off Chloe at Pete’s, who swung her into his arms, grabbed her ass, and planted a kiss.

  What a change from a few months ago. Pete, once upon a time, didn’t believe in ménage relationships, yet was now fully involved in one with a vampire he’d started out hating.

  If Pete can do it, can I?

  Dale, at least, didn’t hate Mike or Sebastian. But could he handle the jealousy?

  Leaving the smooching pair—and feeling an urge to adjust his nut sac to erase the taint of their cutesy display—he headed next to a brownstone in the middle of the city. A nondescript place with a discreet sign advertising physiotherapist services by appointment only. Easing some tension in his muscles wasn’t why he entered the building, though.

  The fake business served to hide a cryptozoid installation. One of the many secret offices of the TDCM. They had them scattered around the country, the world, each serving a different purpose from administration, incarceration, immigration—because some species couldn’t move into some places without causing a minor war. Underneath the layers of human bureaucracy existed another hidden layer, one to serve the non-humans.

  This particular installation was dedicated to scientific research. As to his presence, Dale had come in person to hear the autopsy results on the witch.

  First, though, he had to sign in.

  The receptionist, a silver-haired lass with her pointed ears hidden, fixed him with an emerald gaze. “Remove your weapons and place them in the basket.”

  The gun in his ankle holster hit the bottom of the white wicker basket along with his pocket knife. Some might find it ironic that a shapeshifter chose to carry physical weapons. Dale, however, knew of the dangers in the world and liked to hedge his bets. Where claws didn’t work, an iron blade or silver bullet might.

  “Please sign in here.” A perfectly manicured nail tapped the raised counter.

  “I know.” The fact that Dale had been in this office countless times before did not thaw her demeanor or instructions. Each time, with a serious mien, she watched as he placed his palm on the seemingly innocuous stone countertop that ran the length of the reception desk.

  A bell chimed. At times, Dale wondered what would happen if it didn’t. Would the slight receptionist suddenly stand with a flamethrower and roast him? Or was this like the department of justice for the cryptos that dropped cages onto aggressive complainants seemingly out of nowhere?

  “Please proceed through the door to your left.” She pointed, even knowing he didn’t need direction.

  The frosted-paned portal opened with a simple push, and Dale found himself in a smaller room, bereft of furniture, the only décor some silver hooks lined across the wall with some white coats hanging from them.

  More decoration than anything else. The next step involved sterilization before he even got close to the labs.

  “Assume the position.” The melodic tone emerged from no visible speaker, and he had to wonder if the elf maiden even moved her lips at the front desk when she spoke.

  Knowing the drill, he stood still and held his arms out from his sides.

  The light in the room brightened, and his skin tingled as magic swept over him, touching him in places that should remain private. All of him, inside and out, heated then cooled. His teeth vibrated as an electrical current passed through him.

  It took but a moment before the voice declared, “You are clear of enchantments and curses. Please proceed.”

  What would happen if, just once, he did have some kind of magic miasma clinging to him?

  Then again, given how seriously the TDCM took themselves, he probably didn’t want to know.

  The next door out of the room opened onto a long corridor. A series of closed doors with plaques to identify them marched down the hall.

  Having been here before, Dale knew he wanted the last door, the one reserved for autopsies.

  In a stroke of luck, Pete and his pack had managed to keep the latest witch death off the human radar. In other words, the cops didn’t know, so the TDCM had swept in and taken over the crime scene, removing the body and all evidence of the murder.

  Should the humans come looking, they’d find nothing but a clean and abandoned house. Just another person who’d suddenly decided to pull up roots and leave.

  It happened all the time. Especially with their kind. Having most of the cryptozoids come out to the general public didn’t mean they wanted the humans involved in their business.

  The truth the humans knew only scratched the surface of the crypto reality. And it was best to keep it that way. The Salem Witch trials and the Inquisition and other great sweeps against magic remained as reminders of what happened when magic and those considered non-human got too complacent with their lives. Lycans got hunted to the point that their numbers were severely culled for years. The mermaids found themselves struggling as fishermen took over the seas. And the Sasquatch kept running from the damned paparazzi.

  Dale knocked lightly on the door and waited to hear a reply before entering. Disturbing a wizard at work should be done with great caution.

  He slipped in and shut the portal softly behind him. He then took stock of the situation.

  A single bright light shone from a suspended ball, hovering with no visible wires in the middle of the room. It illuminated the body laid out on a modern-day gurney, wheeled cots being much easier to move around than the old-school stone altars the wizards used to prefer.

  The room itself didn’t have much in the way of modern medical equipment. No machines with beeping or flashing lights. Not even a fridge to store samples.

  A counter ran along two of the walls and held an array of stands filled with glass vials and beakers. He also spotted a few small propane Bunsen burners; they had replaced the previous use of burning coal, which left a smoky residue on everything.

  As for smell, nothing antiseptic permeated the air, nor did he scent death but rather a pleasant aroma of flowers, probably on account of the woman performing the autopsy being an elf. They tended to be finicky about their environments.

  Dressed in a practical scrub suit, the elven lady leaned over the body on the table, hands hovering, not touching it.

  Another woman, a human witch he’d met before, stood with pursed lips, watching.

  “Elder Kell’en. Willow.” Dale greeted them each in turn.

  The elf didn’t acknowledge him, but Willow’s gaze met his, and she offered a faint smile. “Dale. I’m glad you’re here. We started a few minutes early, but you haven’t missed much.”

  “Sorry I’m late.” The smooth tones of the vampire would have startled Dale if he’d not heard the door open. As it was, he didn’t like knowing the bloodsucker stood behind him. Despite their kind having been under truce for centuries now, all Lycans had an innate distrust of vampires, which made him wonder even more how Pete did it.

  Stepping aside, Dale made room for Anthony, the male Pete now shared a home with. A tall fellow, with classic features and blond hair. If not for his pallor, you’d never suspect what lurked within. Nor the fact that the vampire was centuries old yet appeared as if he were still in his late twenties.

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin.”

  The elder, a wizard by training, an elf by birth, still hadn’t chosen to look any of them in the eye. Damned elves were such snobs, and those who chose to follow the magical arts were the worst. But they sure knew how to throw a great hunt in the Summerlands.

  Except the Summerlands were restricted now, most of the elves having withdrawn from the human world to their alternate space. A few chose to remain behind, mostly to act as ambassadors and eyes for the hidden elven court.

  The audience remained quiet as the wizard—who did not answer to “sorceress,” claiming it was sexist—began to speak.

  “Victim is a male, thirty-seven Earth planetary rotations old, human in origin with trace amounts of elf in his lineage.” All witches had something non-human in their blood, it was the reason they could do magic. “His bod
y carries several charms. Basic ones,” said with the slightest sneer. “One for his appearance meant to attract females, another to draw good luck, which seems to have failed, and one to warn him of danger. Again, not a very well-constructed charm.”

  “Gary was new to the coven and still learning how to use his powers,” Willow commented.

  “Perhaps Gary should have stuck to more mundane occupations. He’d probably be alive if he had.”

  As Willow’s lips flattened, Dale felt a need to interject. “But if he had the capacity to do magic, then wouldn’t a demon still be attracted?”

  Bright sapphire eyes took a moment to peruse him. Thin lips pursed. “Much like the Lycan species, a demon finds its prey by scent. Had this human not chosen to indulge in things he only had a small knack for, he wouldn’t have caused his magical scent to spike, thus not attracting the attention of whatever did this.”

  “Why do you say whatever?” Anthony, the lawyer, grabbed on to the word. “Isn’t this a demon attack?”

  “I’m not sure.” Just saying the words caused Elder Kell’en to look as if she sucked a pile of lemons instead of just one.

  “How can you not be sure? The evidence is very similar to the previous attacks.”

  “Similar, but not the same.” The elder pointed. “While there are flesh and blood gone from the victim, the dentition is markedly different from the previous demon attacks.”

  “They’re smaller.”

  “Smaller and improperly shaped. Let me show you.” She waved her hand over a wound, and a ghostly image of it rose in the air. Waving her fingers around, manipulating the hovering picture, much like a person would use a mouse to work on a computer, she reverse engineered the bite to show the teeth that had left it.

  Teeth that appeared—

  “Those look awfully human,” Willow noted.

  Actually, they looked like a cross between human and Lycan, except his kind had pointed canines only. The hovering mold had pointed canines and a few jagged molars.

  “What made those marks?” Anthony asked aloud.

  “I don’t know,” grumbled Elder Kell’en. “I’ll have to send some images to the Archivist.” A sort of historian for all the crypto lore. “What I do know is whatever attacked this male wasn’t alone.” Waving her hand some more, she drew up some more bite marks, manipulating them to show the teeth that had left them.

  Three different sets.

  “Have we received the DNA analysis?” Despite all the magic they could access, science still played an important part in some things, like proper identification.

  “The genetic marker test has not yet returned. There was a delay due to some cross contamination.”

  “What kind of contamination?” Anthony asked.

  “Human.” Said with a sneer. “We’ve scrubbed the labs and should have new results by tomorrow.”

  “What if it’s not a mistake? Could someone human have done this?” Willow might have been the only one to say it, but Dale certainly wondered it.

  “You better hope not,” the elder said.

  No kidding, because if there was something infecting humankind that caused them to attack magic users, then the whole world was in trouble. The elves, and their magical allies, would declare war to save themselves.

  11

  Libraries weren’t usually a place I hung out. Reading took too long. I mean, all those words. Ugh. All that effort felt like being in school again. When it came to literary bestsellers, I preferred to watch the television or big-screen adaptations.

  Still, though, I doubted they’d make a story in the next hour that would explain what had happened in my town. I had questions about the Peabodys, their house, even the recent witch murders.

  By now, I’d heard the word demon bandied about more than a few times. Demons, plus possessions.

  You know what that means?

  At last, the apocalypse had arrived. Shit was going to hit the fan.

  Unless someone stopped it.

  Someone like me.

  Don’t laugh. I could totally be heroine material—the brave, not the highly-addictive-injected-in-your-veins kind. I didn’t fear facing danger. I’d been doing my Kegels religiously to hold on to that bladder if ever faced with pure evil.

  I would fight. And, hopefully, not die.

  Since staying alive seemed like a really good plan, I thought it prudent to brush up on my demon lore—what they ate, were they hung like a horse or bigger, did they cooperate or submit, and could you decapitate them? Always good to know if it was worth the effort.

  Since I didn’t personally know any demons to ask my questions, I had to resort to a backup plan. What better place to find knowledge than the Internet—which I didn’t currently have access to at my house, unless my phone counted. And let’s be honest, major research on a teeny-tiny screen wasn’t my idea of being a good sleuth. Add in the fact that my data package for my phone sucked, and I preferred to use a free Wi-Fi service.

  While at the library, maybe I’d check into some books. Paper ones. Argh. Much as it pained me, the Internet only provided so much. I couldn’t find any good stuff on the subject of demons that didn’t involve a video game. None of my searches bore fruit either—Search for demons eating faces? No, how about, I’ve been possessed.

  “No, I do not require mental service help, thank you very much, you smartass piece of technology.” I glared at my phone.

  It and the lovely world wide web had failed me.

  I’d have to be intrepid and brave the paper cuts. In my new notepad—emblazoned with Hello Kitty—I’d take some stupendous notes of the things I discovered in dusty tomes made of skin written in a strange language that suddenly seemed so clear. Because of my mad research skills, I’d find the answers to fixing the apocalypse and save the day.

  Not Scooby and his crew.

  Me.

  And to reward myself, I’d totally get a cat. A jab at my canine suitors, just like my shirt was a poke, considering it said, Rub me to make me purr.

  No one had tried to yet, but the day was young. Sipping from my thermos where I’d smuggled in a mimosa, having drunk my limit of two at brunch, I spent a bit of time reading recent reports of the murders.

  The human news didn’t make any mention of demons or witches. They stuck to the basic facts as they knew them. Psycho kills person, police are baffled.

  I had to wonder at the Lycans’ and others’ reluctance to admit the truth. The world knew about werewolves and mermaids and ogres, so why the hesitation over vampires coming out and telling humanity about demons?

  Then again, if people knew about vampires and the fact that they could live forever, who was to say it wouldn’t cause a frenzy? People were afraid of dying. I wouldn’t put it past them to tie down a few vampires and start trying to dole out immortality to the masses. Even I could see that wouldn’t end well.

  As for demons, given the images I dug up from some ancient book—printed in the nineteen seventies in hardcover, not skin—I could see why no one wanted to believe they existed.

  Demons were butt-ass ugly. As in even their mothers would never call them cute. Not even fugly.

  The only attractive demon was probably a dead one that had been ashed into a pile of dust.

  Despite the lack of actual pictures, the authors had nicely provided illustrations. Because art is sometimes subjective, they varied in depiction, some of the demons being shown as tall and wide, but there were short and skinny ones, too. Gnarly and knobby, smooth-skinned, and scaled. Some had tails or horns or both. Cloven hooves and claws. Their color differed, too, but they all had one thing in common.

  According to all the books I read—You want to know how many books that is?

  Technically one.

  Blink.

  Fine, maybe it was more like one that I skimmed for the main bits.

  Blink. Stop staring. Sigh. Fine. I looked at the pictures.

  The pictures were pretty graphic. Ugly. And violent. Demons killed.

>   They also liked eating flesh.

  According to just about every religion—and movie once again, plus some boys named Winchester—they were pure evil. As in I wouldn’t-want-to-meet-one-in-an-alley evil.

  Shudder. Not one of fear but anticipation.

  “Cold?” The query jolted me, but in a nice way, right between the thighs.

  I know that voice. Had to love a voice that could caress your girl parts and make them all tingly.

  I craned to peek over my shoulder and smiled at the good-looking man behind me. “Hello, Shaggy.” I didn’t hide the pleasure in my tone. Why would I when Sebastian looked as yummy as I recalled with his long hair held back, his green eyes dancing, and his lips curved in a smile?

  A naughty smile. A smile that promised he’d do bad things—and that I’d enjoy them.

  My va-jay-jay very much enjoyed that grin and thought I should drop my pants to smile back.

  “Hey, baby, imagine meeting you in a place like this.”

  “Are you implying I can’t read?” I tossed my hair. It was an adorable look. I knew because I’d practiced it in the mirror. It worked to perfection.

  Sebastian looked horrified and hastened to explain. “Of course I think you can read. I’ll bet you read tons.”

  “Then what were you implying, Shaggy?” I batted my lashes at him, innocent with a good dose of fuck-me-now. I didn’t use this one often. I’d been saving it for a special occasion.

  Sebastian’s eyes glowed for a moment, a hint of wildness in their depths. Then his expression turned from jocular to stone cold.

  “What I was trying to say is it’s Sunday. I’d expect you anyplace but a library. Say, at home, maybe glossing your lips. Shaving the bush. Making dinner for a guy and changing the sheets. You know, the usual girl things.”

  The words held a hint of bitterness, and my mouth rounded. “I don’t believe they told you I made out with them.” Then again, was I really surprised? Boys loved to brag.

  “It might have come up,” he said as he took the seat beside me.

  “Are you jealous?” I leaned forward and put my hand on his knee.

  He stiffened body-wise, but I couldn’t tell if anything else did. Would he slap my hand away if I touched to see?