by VK Fox
Chapter Eleven
“What was in the snow?” Sister Mary’s bag was still on her shoulder, and her greeting was directed at the photos spread across the Grit Room table. Dahl, Zack, and Megan had been pouring over the Polaroids, batting around wilder and wilder theories over bowls of chili. Everyone was sporting exhaustion bruises, but the atmosphere was light and bubbly. Megan and Zack teased through tired grins, and Dahl found himself laughing more this morning than he had in the last week despite their lack of results. Now they were scrambling to get ready for their afternoon assignments.
Sister Mary jabbed her tattooed index finger at the photo stack. “Leave those out, if you would. I’d like to go over them.”
Megan paused with her rainbow tape recorder in one hand, the other on the stack of photos, and looked from Sister Mary to Dahl.
Dahl nodded. “Let me know if you have any idea what made these impressions. We have the audio from our brainstorming session if you want that too, although I don’t know how much use it will be. Oh, Sister Mary Benelli, allow me to introduce Zack and Megan Slaughter.”
Sister Mary extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you both.”
“Ditto. What does JMJ stand for?” Megan glanced briefly at Sister Mary’s simple trigger-finger tattoo. “Initials?”
“That’s right. It’s a devotion for my daily work: everything I do is for Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
Megan laughed, starting in her belly and boiling over. “Aren’t you a sniper?”
“Yeah, I am. In fact, I was trained on Dahl’s side of the tracks. Van Helsing program until I aged out unlinked. That was many years ago though.”
“Cool beans. Well, if you’re interested, there’s also a body from one of the freakhogs in the shed.”
Sister Mary nodded as she leafed through the photos, frowning at the one with the snow angel.
“There’s a thinning here. Normally I would say get an exorcist to check it out, but all of the ones I know are already in the field. It’s been a busy year.”
Zack crumbled a fistful of Funyuns into the juices at the bottom of his bowl. “Oh, yeah, I had one of those in my house a few months back.”
“An exorcist?” Megan’s eyebrows went way up.
“Nah, a thinning.” Zack grinned at Dahl. “Crazy times.”
Sister Mary chose her words with care. “That was your house in Vegas?” Zack nodded and she continued, “Any theories on why your home was the epicenter of the last extranatural event?”
“Zip. I’d like to be off the list in the future, though. Parts of it still give me the creeps.”
“Such as?” Dahl had a headache brewing. He rubbed his temples, but it wouldn’t be soothed.
“Well, everyone knows the Bloody Mary story, right? Look in a mirror and say her name three times to make her appear?” Zack took another bite as Megan flicked him in the ear.
“Don’t say it. Don’t fuck up the mirror in the bathroom, coz.” Megan turned her solemn expression to Dahl. “Seriously, there’s a reason why every kid is afraid of that particular urban legend.”
Sister Mary frowned. “Because it takes a commonplace household object and turns it into a surface through which you could easily, even accidentally, summon an evil ghost?”
Dahl knit his eyebrows. “It can’t be accurate. Bloody—” Megan kicked him in the shins, hard. “Holy shit! Megan, what the actual fuck?”
“Don’t say it.” Her fierce green eyes were blazing.
Dahl cleared his throat and glared sharply at Megan’s stubborn grimace. “The Mary in question was a real person—Mary Tudor. She was mildly addicted to burning heretics at the stake, but she wasn’t an extranatural spirit that could be summoned through a mirror.”
Zack’s ear was bright red and he rubbed it protectively, his voice holding no mirth. “She is enough of a fictional character to be dangerous. Maybe she didn’t start out that way, but her legend grew.”
“Wait, that can happen?” Dahl scrambled through his memory of linked agents, trying to pick out any with a historical basis. Zack began to laugh, which made him cough. His cheeks became deep and rosy color while he covered his mouth.
“Yeah, that can happen. Were you adorably unaware of the historical basis for your old link?”
“No, I knew that, but…” Dahl went bright red as Zack kept gazing at him, flushed and chuckling. Dahl cleared his throat and turned deliberately to Sister Mary. “Could the same thing have happened to Jane?”
“You mean the saints she bonded with being more fictional than factual?”
“Exactly. Ian and I researched Saint Barbara—the verifiable data about her is almost nonexistent. She’s not even venerated on the Church’s calendar any longer because most of the stories about her are likely fictional.”
“It’s possible.” Sister Mary frowned. “Saint Philomena falls in the same category. She was an early martyr, and we have traditional stories but no documentation.”
“Before we forget the cautionary tale at hand, don’t be dismissive of kids’ insights.” Megan stuck her lower lip out. “Children are sensitive to the otherworldly shit, and they instinctively know there’s truth to the formula. The mirror, three times, calling by name. Just don’t try it, okay? We do not need her nasty-ass attention here.”
“Did you see her?” Sister Mary turned to Zack. “In the mirrors in your home?”
Zack shrugged his shoulders and coughed into his chili a few times before answering. “From time to time. Queenie was pretty excited about it. She hypothesized I was seeing a manifestation of the Traveler called the Crone. Old lady gave me the creeps.”
“What did she look like?” Dahl had seen Mordred in the mirror at the Slaughter House and Everest had seen a little girl he’d called through to turn Fitz into a human child. What had Zack seen?
“Naked, faceless old woman. She sang to me, said I reminded her of her favorite boy.” Zack’s head twitched to the side, and his voice was an empty whisper. “I didn’t look when I could help it.”
“Huh.” Sister Mary refocused on the photographs. “No additional contact though? She didn’t step through or manifest outside of the mirror?”
Zack shook his head.
Sister Mary returned to the photographs. “Well, I’ve seen these kinds of creatures before—they’re extranatural but not magical. The original name escapes me, but they’ve been documented in Sumerian and ancient Indian mythologies, and in English they are called the Hounds.”
“Freakhogs.” Megan supplied. Dahl grinned.
“Good enough.” Sister Mary nodded. “Animal intelligence, pack hunters, and usually not alone. They are used strategically by creatures of higher intelligence.” Sister Mary leveled her gaze at Dahl. “Jane had her babies already.”
“She did. Two girls, healthy and loud.”
“And Fitz is here as well?”
“Yes, Everest will be in with him soon.” Gooseflesh crawled up Dahl’s neck. “Where are you going with this?”
“One of the creatures known to use freakhogs is the Lamashtu. The name means Mother of Monsters—an extranatural entity drawn to pregnant women and youths. It’s worth noting that you have several remarkable children present.”
“Drawn to children?” Megan was standing behind Zack’s chair, both arms hugged around his shoulders as he ate. “What does the Lamashtu want with kids?”
“It depends on the account you read.” Sister Mary was squinting at a Polaroid. “In Sumerian lore they were responsible for everything from stillbirth to kidnapping. The attack you had indicates a breach in the barrier pretty clearly; you’ve photographed a point of origin. Did you notice any other extranatural creatures besides the freakhogs?”
“No.” Dahl shifted in his chair.
“Well, be ready for another round, then. If you haven’t shut down however they’re getting in, they’ll be back.”
“We have security cameras in place already, but if you know additional measures…” Dahl trailed off as a metallic tan
g filled his mouth: hot, thick liquid dripping down his throat. He rubbed his face and came away with blood. “Excuse me.” Striding to the kitchen, he grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter and pinched off the nosebleed.
“You’re suffering from exposure,” Zack mused in low tones as he joined Dahl in the kitchen and put a tea kettle on the stove. Dahl counted slowly in his mind, leaning forward. The bleed wasn’t bad. If Zack wasn’t making cryptic statements about it, Dahl would have blamed dry winter air. “Things not going well with your special friend?”
Holy shit, this was so annoying. Between Mordred, Adam, and Card’s vague threats, Dahl had enough esoteric baiting to last multiple lifetimes. Zack was not going to ease into that perennial role.
Dahl tossed the bloody paper towels in the trash and washed his hands. “Let’s go on a walk before afternoon assignments. You and me.”
Zack’s smug leer faltered. “A walk?”
“Yes. We have many excellent hiking destinations here in Camp Nowhere. Chickens or gun range?”
“Um… chickens.”
“Great.” Dahl grabbed his coat.
When they reached the chicken pen, Dahl huddled by the chick brooder hung with red heat lamps for the benefit of his toes. Zack’s nose was scarlet as he watched the adult flock joyfully freak out at the presence of humans which usually meant food: a churning mass of feathers and beaks piled against the side of the wire fence in the hopes of a second breakfast.
“There’s cracked corn in the bin if you want to feed them something. Here.” Dahl unlatched the lid to the pest-proof metal feed can and scooped some out. Zack took the bucket and scattered a handful inside the fence. The flock went wild.
“I’ve been in tamer mosh pits.” Zack was wearing a different kind of grin, and for a second the expression bore a startling resemblance to Everest. His secret smile: shy, ephemeral, real.
“Chickens are monsters.” Dahl lit a cigarette and inhaled. Zack’s shoulders relaxed and his expression stayed open. Progress. “Watching them makes me glad dinosaurs are extinct. My dad’s a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound brawler who talks to animals, and even he’s wary of that white and black rooster.”
“Did he talk to the rooster?”
“He did. Things were said that cannot easily be mended.”
Another smile. “Are there chicks under the heat lamps?”
“Maybe.” Dahl bent to peer into the wire, mesh-covered ventilation slits at the top of the wooden brooder. Fluffy down stirred inside, and a chorus of tiny peep peep peeps filled the air as the heavy scent of ammonia and shit filled his nose. “There are, but the stink isn’t worth it.”
Zack nodded and tossed more corn. “Thanks. For coming to get me, I mean.”
“You’re welcome. Was Sana Baba trying to recruit you?”
Zack shrugged an eiderdown-padded shoulder. “I may have strung them along.”
“Smart. Megan had plans to get you from the minute they pulled you out of the Rio.”
“Meggy’s solid. Always has been.” The memory of Megan trying to shoot Zack point-blank and Zack attempting to coax information out of her with acid floated through Dahl’s mind. How nice they’d moved past that. Maybe they didn’t count on-the-job drama between them? Zack wandered over to the chick brooder and crouched so his face was even with the mesh vent. The stench didn’t seem to repulse him as he made a peeping noise back at the chicks.
“So you two are cousins?”
“Not really. Obviously. I couldn’t be less black.” Zack emptied the bucket and tossed it in the snow by the feed can. “I lived with her and her mama for a while when I was a kid.”
“How did that work out?”
“Good. Mama Slaughter managed estate sales and squatted in the houses because they were a step up from her storage unit and they came with free groceries. I was homeless when I met Meggy, and she smuggled me from house to house for a while until her Mama caught on and ripped her a new one for not inviting me in like a decent hostess. I’ve never seen Meggy happier to get chewed out. We worked as a team after that. It was pretty cool, like a huge treasure hunt.”
“Where is she now?”
Zack shrugged. “Stroke. A few years back. Left everything for us to split—it’s all back at my house. We haven’t gone through it yet.” Zack stuck his chapped fingers through the chicken wire to brush against the downy birds. “So are we going after Card?”
“As soon as you can give me real, non bullshitty information. You’ve been holding back.”
Zack blew between his lips like he was deflating the last little bit. “The Crone is one of the extranatural Travelers Card considered approaching. The other was the Child, but Everest summoned and subsequently lost her, so we couldn’t pin her down.”
“Wait, what?”
“The Child—the Traveler featured in stories like Pinocchio, The Velveteen Rabbit, and The New Mother. Since she’s generally good for granting wishes, I had this nifty plan to gate her in and ask her to…” Zack trailed off and his fingers curled hard around the chicken wire, cutting into cold-raw skin. “Anywho, the plan worked! All except for the helping-me part. In a classic Everest move, he stole my heart’s desire and then lost it, so Card went with our runner-up: the Crone.”
Dahl’s mind spun as he worked to keep his expression light. Everest hadn’t sent her back. When they defeated Mordred, he and Everest hadn’t succeeded in keeping Travelers out. There was already one, fully manifested, crashing in their reality, and they had no fucking idea. She’d been here for months. If the Child was anything like the literary depictions, she was obsessive, whimsical, and swung wildly between warm benevolence and malicious sadism. Rarely leaving the recipients of her gifts alone, she dogged their steps and mangled their lives: like a kid pulling the wings off a butterfly.
What would his team think if they knew Everest had turned a Traveler loose? Dahl was such a fucking idiot: it was obvious now. When he’d found Everest the man had been catatonic. Of course he hadn’t been able to send her back, she’d probably cleared out right after granting his wish. Unless she hadn’t. The hair on the back of Dahl’s neck prickled and he couldn’t quell a shudder. He took another drag on his cigarette and purged the panic from his voice. “Why did you consider those two?”
“They’re the most likely to deal with humans—they have a history of deliberate contact with our world.”
“So Card found which Travelers were the best to approach… about what?”
“Diplomatic relations. As the barrier disintegrates the world is going to change. It’s better to be ready, to have allies instead of masters.” Zack stood and began scuffing his shoes in the snow to stay warm.
Dahl held out a cigarette. “Smoke?” Zack shook his head, wild licks of red hair shifting in the freezing air. “So Card went through the barrier to find the Crone and didn’t come back, yes? And we need to go get her because her presence outside of the barrier could cause an issue?”
“Yeah, she figured she could rope you in if plan A failed. We knew Everest figured out how to open the barrier. Based on your nose bleeds, I’m guessing you’ve been exposed but don’t know how to anchor yourself.”
Dahl nodded, reevaluating Zack’s intelligence. “So nosebleeds are an indication of extranatural exposure and there’s some kind of remedy?”
“Yeah, beer, bread, and boning.” Zack gave a lurid wink.
Dahl dropped his gaze. “Beer, bread, and sex? Civilizing forces from The Epic of Gilgamesh?”
“No fools, those Sumerians. They had the whole system down to art and religion.”
“By religion do you mean they devised rituals for extranatural travel?”
“I believe so. Temple prostitutes would make for easy re-anchoring. Well, they weren’t prostitutes—we don’t have a modern corollary. More like a reverse nun, a priestess who would spread for anyone regardless of age, status, or wealth. Just a theory though.”
Dahl nodded. “So the civilizing forces—beer, bread, and sex�
��protect someone from our world against the dangers of extranatural travel?”
“Ding, ding, ding! You don’t want to succumb to exposure— it’s a painful and uncertain process. If you’re getting nosebleeds from coming in contact with the freakhogs, you’re by far the most delicate flower I’ve seen.”
Dahl leveled a withering stare.
“Nothing personal. Maybe some scarring left over from your possession? Or the fact that you’re sporting a magical appendage? Or both. Anyhow, after nosebleeds you’ll start puking blood, and it only gets more fun from there, according to the records we could find. We didn’t test it, not when re-anchoring was easy peasy.” Zack rubbed his bright red nose. “Go back to camp. Get laid, make some sandwiches, open a cold one.”
“We don’t have beer.”
“No coffee and no beer? Why, whoever was in charge of the packing list?”
Dahl chuckled.
“Well, two out of three’s better than nothing. Go have sex and toast. Then we can figure out how to collect Card.”
“Have you tested two out of three? Or one out of three?”
“...And three out of three. For science.”
Dahl shuffled his feet. God, this was going to be awkward. Wasn’t it? Should he mention the whole ritual sex thing to Everest? Was it right to sleep with a man he wasn’t sure even knew who he was? Ian hadn’t been able to offer any real answers about what was going on, and Everest ducked any questions related to his mental state. Intimacy had suddenly become much more complicated. Zack was watching him with tiny eye movements, hands shoved in pockets. One thing at a time.
“Do you need anything? I’m assuming if Sana Baba was attempting to recruit you they treated you well—”
“I’m fine, but there is one more thing your resident saint made me promise I’d divulge.”
“Go on.” Dahl studied him for one more heartbeat, trying to reconcile the funny, thoughtful, gorgeous young man in front of him with the creep show on live TV. Zack shrugged and stared at the chickens. “Did you ever consider that every person is one bad day away from insanity?”
