by Allison Hurd
“Good point.”
We gather things, magpie-like, as we travel. We’ll take a job at a machine shop, and gather all the iron shavings as we sweep up. Or, we’ll sell jewelry at a store with a jeweler on premises, and collect the silver dust. We’ll take chicken bones, and goat blood from working at a butcher shop—another job low on my list of favorites—and so on. Ammo is expensive, and a traveling forge is sort of generally impractical, though it would be useful. We have to be frugal in our armaments.
The two of us sit on the floor in our scrubby clothes, a tarp over the carpet, and begin loading plastic shells with various scraps of metal, herbs, potent woods, and buckshot. It’s sort of like penicillin for getting rid of monsters: it works for a lot of the things we see, most of the time, and with fairly good results. The rest of the time it’s either useless or pisses the thing off, and then we know we’re really in trouble.
We load up on rings. We’ve been really grateful that knuckle rings and stacking rings have become popular, because it allows us to walk in with what are essentially brass knuckles for monsters without being made by the local civvies. Obviously, getting close enough to punch a monster is less than ideal, but so is jail, or stray bullets in a house made of drywall.
Lia and I double check our spell pouches, and prepare a few wards and distraction spells ahead of time. Witchcraft ain’t hard, really. You don’t need special skills or magic powers, but it is a very exacting science. Off brands do not cut it. If it asks you to skin a cricket, a grasshopper will not do, nor will an unskinned cricket. So, we try to do things in bulk that are hard to screw up and are generally applicable, like the basic charms we’re working on now. Once we complete our hexes, we each pick one small gun, one small knife—silver for me, bronze for her—and a fresh bottle of smelling salts. With that out of the way, we are ready to start coordinating outfits.
One of the good things about working at Finnegan’s is that it’s really cut back on the research we have to do to play our role as sorority girls. Having had several hours to observe appropriate local fashion yesterday, Lia cuts up a t shirt that we had been using as a rag for the car. Now a backless, distressed-looking piece of couture, she pairs it with a mini skirt and her combat boots. Her spell pouch and other weaponry go in a purse, flounce the hair, voila. I told you she’s an artist.
I lay out every shirt we own on my bed and stare at them, hoping they’ll do something new if I practice mindfulness at them. When they don’t manifest into something exciting, I sigh.
“Fuck it,” I mutter as I pick a flowy blouse over jeans. Lia charitably comes over with a necklace to help make me look put together, at least. While I probably won’t turn heads in this get up, I am able to strap on another knife under the blouse. I’ll just have to remember that my persona only goes for one armed hugs with the right arm so that no one asks awkward questions. As ready as we’ll ever be, and as fashionably late as we dare push it without risking having the monster get the jump on us, we drive over to the Chi Kappa Kappa house. I surreptitiously leave a small ward against the car so that no one feels like investigating it or really being near it at all. If we need to leave in a hurry, I’d prefer that we didn’t have to explain what honking signifies to drunken college kids.
We join the throng of excited young humans lining up to get into the house. I feel a small sense of relief when I realize that we do in fact “fit in.” I know that shouldn’t really be important to me when we’re chasing something that’s stealing girls, but I can’t help it. I’ve been the weird kid so long, sometimes it’s nice not to have to worry about keeping up appearances. I then remind myself that blending in is also practical. We do still have employment here that does in fact pay pretty well and that I’d like to keep for the immediate future. Also, the less talk about us, the fewer conversations with people who maybe have slightly less favorable stories about our behavior. I am all for that kind of anonymity.
Inside, the rooms and halls painted electric shades of the rainbow are subdued by the seething masses of college kids swarming through them. From our first contact with the sweaty humidity that rushes to greet us, Lia seems to withdraw. The house music is loud, the drunken laughter louder. It all seems to be such a forceful demonstration that everyone’s having fun and living that there doesn’t feel like there is space for us to participate. I grip her shoulder and make a face at her to set her at ease.
“Not here to meet people,” I yell in her ear. “Don’t think about how weird it is, let’s try to find the guy. Do you wanna check the rooms or watch the door?”
“Door.” I give her a thumbs up and a reassuring smile. I make a beeline to the room where the booze lives. I survey it, checking out every guy around to see if he could be the mystery murder creature.
“Summer?”
I turn towards the voice and see Katie. “You made it!” she says with a smile, coming in for a hug. I shift uncomfortably to angle my right arm towards her and go in for a dainty, little “don’t touch me” hug.
“Yeah! Thanks for the invite,” I say before she has time to determine if that was strange. “Everything going okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. We’re sort of on lock down, so I don’t think anyone’s planning on leaving with anyone tonight or anything, and we’ve told all our friends about the guy we think is doing it, so everyone’s sort of keeping an eye out.” She shrugs. “Troubled times…”
“Definitely. It seems smart.” I move up in the line for the keg of the worst beer ever produced for money, and wince at the prospect of consuming it. I’m not even sure why they sell it in kegs—or more to the point, why someone would purchase a keg of it. What, was Walmart out of fruit punch and rubbing alcohol? I sigh inwardly. I guess at least it’s a surefire way to know I won’t get drunk on the job.
“But you haven’t like...seen him tonight, have you?” I ask.
She grimaces. “He’d have to be pretty friggin’ thick to come to a party here. I mean, even campus security is hanging around tonight. This sort of thing looks really bad for the school, too.”
I nod sympathetically. I’m saved from having to make further small talk as she gets pulled into the shriek-y embrace of one of her friends. After I get the fermented seltzer they’re handing out, I circle through the adjacent room. Finding nothing, I bring Lia her consolation prize. She sniffs it.
“What’s it supposed to be?” she asks.
“A potion most foul that makes strong men weak, and wise women regret.”
“Bottoms up, then.” She takes a swig and purses her lips. “I think it’s working. I already regret.”
“See anything?”
“Jesus, yes. Saw lots of things. None of them panty-dropping monsters, though,” she replies.
“Ah, there it is. I was wondering how long we could go before you would make me uncomfortable.”
“Tits. Butts. Tongues.”
“You’re so childish. Stop naming body parts. Eyes glued to the door. I’m going to go finish snooping.” I suppress a shudder as I walk away—I think younger siblings must have some sort of gene that allows them to gross out their older sibs.
The rest of the house is like the first two rooms, in that they are full of morally questionable young adults, but there are no inhuman monsters apparent. Sadly, there aren’t even a few hot dudes to ogle while I wait. I wonder if it’s them or if I’m just spoiled by the memory of the monster from the security feed? Or worse, what if I’m just too old to see them as anything other than adorable little kids? I knock back some more of the beer at that thought and go to check the situation outside.
The back patio appears to be reserved for smokers and people who are a little closer to consummating the mating dance of our species. We are sickening when we think we’re in love. I make a mental note never to share a chair with a guy at a table with three other couples also pretending that they’re alone. Sadly, it seems that this is where all of the pretty boys went, and it’s already working for them. Only one of them has the same sor
t of hair and facial structure as the perp I’m after. He’s sitting, so I can’t see his build. His long legs are hidden by a table, meaning that I also can’t see the feet he almost certainly has. I decide to do a stake-out. I feel my earring, and it’s just a little warmer than the air, which isn’t really a great indicator. This charm is aces for things that mean to come kill me immediately, but it has a fairly limited field of attention, and a broad definition of the meaning of harm. It can tell me if Jack the Ripper has it out for me a block away, loud and clear. But if it’s just something not nice happening to someone else near me, or even if it involves daily danger, like passing someone who’s texting and driving, it gives off a little worried energy. So it’s not worth getting upset over a lukewarm earring.
-Outside. Got a guy who matches the profile. I send the text.
-Need back up? Lia replies almost instantly.
-No, not yet. Just checking, but I do not think it is him.
-Okay. Let me know if anything changes.
I send a thumbs up emoji and walk over to the circle of hazy cigarette smoke.
“Hey, got one I can bum?” I ask the first guy I see notice me.
“Yeah, sure.” He flips me a red and offers a lighter.
“Thanks.” I inhale, trying not to let it go to my lungs too much. The last thing I need is an addiction to something as expensive as cigarettes, but damn are they nice. I move slightly so that I can keep an eye on the guy.
“Nice night, huh?” cigarette-guy asks.
“Huh?”
“I’m Ben.”
Oh, right. Quid pro quo. Damn you, cigarettes.
“Summer.” I shake his hand and move again so that when he inevitably keeps talking, I can pretend to listen and still watch the guy who is getting...wow. “Frisky”, I guess is the euphemism.
“You Chi Kappa Kappa?”
“Uh, yeah. Me and my little are visiting from Idaho.”
“Cool, cool.”
I really dislike the beginning phases of the human mating ritual. I try to make it clear that I don’t like his feathers or whatever it is that humans use to distinguish good mates from bad ones, but he is persistent.
I get roped into a long conversation about the differences between Idaho and Virginia, mostly because Brett...no, Bryan? Ben! Ben is getting suspicious at how much I’m staring past him towards the frisky couple. More than I don’t want him to figure out what I’m doing, I don’t want him to think I want to occupy the next available chair with him.
Eventually Girl Frisker comes up for air and—whoa. She’s actually pretty pretty. Good for them. I recover from seeing a Megan Fox clone and try to see his face. I’m in luck; I’m able to get a full visual when she whispers in his ear. He nods and stands up, his hands never leaving her. He shivers for the millisecond it takes for his arm to gap wide enough to put around her shoulders. Man. I hope he can keep it loaded ‘til go time. Standing, I can tell that he’s not our guy. He’s taller, and while he’s hulky, he’s not all sharp lines like the guy on the security camera. Watching him walk confirms my judgment that this was a false alarm. Though handsome and tall, he walks with a shuffling gait that speaks to long years attempting not to seem his real height.
Well, that was a bust. I think for a second about the Megan Fox girl. Yep. That was a bust.
“Well, thanks for the smoke, Brent,” I say, cutting him off.
“Oh uh...yeah. Sure. Do you wanna maybe meet up later or…?”
“That’s sweet, but we’re not in town that long and I gotta go meet my little so…” I grind the rest of the cigarette under my foot and run inside before he can think of something else asinine to say. I should feel bad for treating him like that, but I really don’t. Unwanted, prolonged chitchat is just the pits. Maybe I’ll take another shower when we get back to the motel to wash the awkward off.
Inside, Lia is doing her best impression of a coat stand, miserably sipping her drink and scowling at the door. Her relief is palpable when she sees me.
“Anything?”
“Nah, the dude wasn’t our dude. But not a bad specimen. He left with a Megan Fox.”
“Ugh, the Megan Foxes get all the specimens. We can go?” she asks hopefully.
“Please.” We start moving for the door, pushing past the throngs of Chi Kappa Kappa’s dearest, most trusted hundred or so friends.
“This feels...wrong, somehow,” I say once we get back to the safety of our car.
“What does?”
“The baddie’s taken a girl a week for the past month. What, is he full? Mischief managed?”
“Maybe he didn’t see anyone his type tonight. Maybe he was at another party.” Her shoulders slump as she brakes for a stop sign. “No, please don’t make us,” she pleads.
“You said it, not me.” I put down my window and listen for shouting or the heavy bass drum of house music. “Woooo!” someone yells in the distance.
“Turn left,” I direct, pointing towards the sound.
We spend the rest of the night going to consecutively sloppier parties, and making a few friends along the way to help us locate any other gatherings.
At the fourth such event, the thought I’d been playing with solidifies.
“Her boots.”
“What?” Lia asks, stifling a yawn. It’s after two A.M. and we’ve had exactly zero luck finding lean, dark men.
“Her boots bother me.”
“Whose boots?” my sister asks, looking around. “No one here is wearing boots.”
“Exactly. No one is wearing high-heeled boots.”
“Summer, I’m tired, overstimulated, covered in other people’s fluids and cranky about it. What are you talking about?”
“Megan Fox wannabe was wearing heeled boots.”
“Like...stripper boots?”
“No, like late nineties, fashionably sophisticated boots.”
“And that...bothers you.”
“Well, yeah. Listen, you and I are off the grid most days, right? And even we can stay in this century. Where would you even buy boots like that now? Why would someone that hot not know about shoes?”
“Maybe honey badger don’t give a fuck, Summer. Maybe she’s cool enough to start trends. Maybe she didn’t feel like shaving. It took you three hours of obsessing to realize she’d pulled a faux pas—maybe she didn’t think anyone would notice. Maybe the dude she was with was less shallow than you.”
“Ouch. Okay, grumpy. I’m fresh out of candy bars, so I’ll try putting you down for a nap. Let’s head back to the motel.”
“Aha, an accord,” she says tiredly, heaving herself back into our car and gratefully settling in.
I don’t mention it again, but the boot thing is still nagging at me.
“Hey, Summer?” Lia breaks the silence as I park.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry about the shallow thing. I don’t actually think that.”
“I know.”
I get out of the car, still trying to figure out why this seems so important to me. I stop in my tracks. I arch my feet until I’m standing on my tippy toes, and mimic how the girl from before was walking.
“What are you doing now?”
I look at my sister, panic flooding through me. “We missed something big.”
CHAPTER 4
I run into the motel room, and grab my laptop.
“What’s going—”
“Shh! Hang on, just a sec,” I cut my sister off. I re-watch the tape of the alleged first abduction.
“Look at his feet again.” My sister looks at me like I’ve well and truly lost my mind. “You looking?”
“Yes, Summer. As before, I see that he is walking strangely.”
“I can’t freakin’ believe it….He’s a little pigeon-footed, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess. And?”
“So was the hottie with the bad shoes.”
“And this is...related you think?”
“Yes, because on top of walking with her feet pointing in, she
was doing this maneuver.” I grab a pair of Lia’s shoes. While we can share clothing, her feet are a full size larger than mine. I get up and try to walk, demonstrating the awkward gait that I can still picture the frisky girl from the party employing.
Lia watches my demonstration and then goes back through the footage. “Holy shit. And that’s what he’s doing, too. That’s what looks so ‘off’. He’s stuffing his shoes.” I nod my agreement.
“But how does that make sense? All the abductions so far have been of women by men.”
“Because, I don’t think that’s true. And I think I just let it get another kid. Dammit! Let me see the laptop again a sec?”
Lia hands me my computer and I go to Katie’s Facebook page, scrolling through until I find the guy I’d initially thought might be the bad guy. His name is Shane. Shane Collins. On his page, I see a few conversations with what appear to be his fraternity brothers.
“Yo, u seen Mike?” someone named “El Duche La Roche” wrote.
“Nah, think he went home again lol,” Shane replied. I keep scrolling.
A week earlier.
“Anyone sees Cody, tell him I got his phone. Again.” Reads another post by “El Duche,” with several brothers tagged.
“God dammit!” I curse.
“What? What is it?” Lia moves to peer over my shoulder, trying to find something obviously wrong on the page I’m reading.
“It was right there! It was totally that girl! I was going off incomplete information. Lia. It’s not just girls gone wild. I’ll bet Cody and Mike and now Shane are also MIA.”
“How can we have missed it that badly?”
“It’s really not that bizarre, I guess,” I say after I stop bashing my forehead with my palm. “A girl goes missing after a night with a guy, front page news. Face plastered all over Facebook land, hoping someone’s seen her. A boy goes missing after a night with a girl. Sounds like these guys sort of fall off the face of the planet on the regular. No one raises the alarm; or at least not as big an alarm.”
“That’s fucked up.”
