Half-Off Ragnarok
Page 24
“It could happen,” he said serenely. “Verity got taken by the Covenant last year.”
“Yeah, and she called us after she’d kicked their asses.” One of the mice led a conga line across the floor, all of them singing the praises of cheddar. “Is Mom there? I’ve got some information, and it’ll be easier if I don’t need to repeat myself.”
“She’s at the flea market with your sister.”
“Mom and Antimony at the flea market? Really? Is there a betting pool on what the body count is going to be?” It’s not that I thought my baby sister was a danger to life and limb, exactly. It’s that I knew my baby sister was a danger to life and limb, and I was happier when my mother wasn’t the only member of the family inside her potential blast radius. Mom wasn’t very good at defusing an angry Antimony.
“We needed more cleaning supplies.”
“Got it.” Given the family business, it was no surprise that we went through enough bleach, lye, hydrogen peroxide, and other questionable chemicals to pass ourselves off as a crime scene recovery service. Most of those things are traceable when bought in large quantities . . . unless you happen to, say, buy them off the back of a truck at the local flea market. It’s amazing what you can obtain without leaving a paper trail if you’re willing to put the hours in. The dealers we bought from most frequently probably thought we were a family of serial murderers, but hell. That’s not the worst thing that’s been said about us.
“So what’s going on that’s important enough for you to need to call? I’m afraid I didn’t have time to read your report. Did you find conclusive evidence that the fricken population is increasing?”
In all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten about the frickens. “I can’t prove an increase, but I can prove some new species in the area—previously native to surrounding states, never sighted in Ohio before—and that they’re not suffering the same sort of fungal infections that the frogs are. If the frog population continues to decline the way it has been, I’d say we’re looking at reclassification of the fricken from ‘cryptid’ to ‘normal’ within the next five years. Maybe less if this is a worldwide phenomenon.”
“Which it almost certainly is,” said my father grimly. “That’s bad news.”
“I know. It’s still not the reason I called.”
There was a pause. Then, tone sharper, he asked, “Did Sarah get out?”
Sarah escaping from the house was currently the family’s greatest nightmare: an uncontrolled, unstable cuckoo who we had nurtured to adulthood getting loose amongst the local population. There was literally no telling how much damage she could do. We’d never dealt with a case like hers before. But since the only way to be sure she wasn’t going to hurt anyone was to kill her, we were living with the fear. Sarah was family.
“No, Sarah’s fine, or as fine as she gets right now,” I said. “One of the other keepers from the reptile house was killed sometime between closing time last night and lunch today.”
“Murder?”
“Unclear. Whatever killed him was a petrifactor.”
There was another pause, longer this time, before he said, “Alex, the basilisks . . .”
“Are still hibernating. I checked them myself, and their skins are too calcified for them to have woken up—or been woken—left the enclosure, turned a man partially to stone, and gone back to sleep. Not that they would have gone back to the enclosure anyway. They didn’t do this. And before you ask, yes, I also talked to Dee. I don’t think she had anything to do with it.”
“That’s a relief.”
“It is, except for the part where I started out with three petrifactors who could have been responsible for this and promptly eliminated all three of them as possible candidates.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“If it was a gorgon, it was murder. The victim’s eyes were definitely stone. Lesser gorgons can’t truly turn you to stone, and Pliny’s gorgons can’t always stone you with a glance; they’d need to have either uncovered their hair and locked eyes with him for long enough, or milked their hair beforehand for venom and sprayed him with it. I can’t rule out a Pliny’s gorgon, but it’s more likely that we’re looking for a purely glance-based petrifactor.”
“The greater gorgon is glance-based.”
“Yes, I’m aware. You’ll forgive me if I try to find any other possible answer before I go to the place where I get eaten alive, won’t you?”
“Your mother would never forgive me if I encouraged you to take any other course of action. There’s always the simpler answer, you realize.”
“I thought of that. A cockatrice would fit the situation as I currently understand it. It’s glance-based, it likes to hide in low bushes . . . it’s perfect.” And it wouldn’t be murder. Your average cockatrice makes an iguana seem like a super-genius. When animals kill people, it’s tragic, but it’s not malicious. “There’s just one problem with that theory.”
“Lots of things aren’t native to Ohio, Alex. You’ve just said that some of the frickens you’ve caught aren’t native to Ohio.”
“Yes, but there’s a big difference between something moving into an open ecological niche and something like a cockatrice showing up for no good reason.”
“So maybe there’s a good reason.”
That wasn’t the sort of statement that inspired confidence. I sighed, removing my glasses and putting them on the bedside table before pinching the bridge of my nose. “Maybe. Grandpa’s going to see about getting me access to the autopsy records. We should know more after that happens.”
“Keep us posted. You know we’ll be right there if you need us.”
“I do.” I also knew a family invasion of Ohio would mean things had gotten very bad. I wasn’t too proud to ask for help, but mobilizing the troops was the sort of thing that should only be used as a last resort. “Tell Mom I said hi and send my love when she gets home.”
“Any messages for your sister?”
“Tell her to stay out of my room.”
Dad laughed. We exchanged farewells and I hung up, slumping over backward onto the bed. Crow hopped down from the dresser to curl up, catlike, against my side. I stroked his wings absently, and he purred in response.
“Yeah, and she called us after she’d kicked their asses.” One of the mice led a conga line across the floor, all of them singing the praises of cheddar. “Is Mom there? I’ve got some information, and it’ll be easier if I don’t need to repeat myself.”
“She’s at the flea market with your sister.”
“Mom and Antimony at the flea market? Really? Is there a betting pool on what the body count is going to be?” It’s not that I thought my baby sister was a danger to life and limb, exactly. It’s that I knew my baby sister was a danger to life and limb, and I was happier when my mother wasn’t the only member of the family inside her potential blast radius. Mom wasn’t very good at defusing an angry Antimony.
“We needed more cleaning supplies.”
“Got it.” Given the family business, it was no surprise that we went through enough bleach, lye, hydrogen peroxide, and other questionable chemicals to pass ourselves off as a crime scene recovery service. Most of those things are traceable when bought in large quantities . . . unless you happen to, say, buy them off the back of a truck at the local flea market. It’s amazing what you can obtain without leaving a paper trail if you’re willing to put the hours in. The dealers we bought from most frequently probably thought we were a family of serial murderers, but hell. That’s not the worst thing that’s been said about us.
“So what’s going on that’s important enough for you to need to call? I’m afraid I didn’t have time to read your report. Did you find conclusive evidence that the fricken population is increasing?”
In all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten about the frickens. “I can’t prove an increase, but I can prove some new species in the area—previously native to surrounding states, never sighted in Ohio before—and that they’re not suffering the same sort of fungal infections that the frogs are. If the frog population continues to decline the way it has been, I’d say we’re looking at reclassification of the fricken from ‘cryptid’ to ‘normal’ within the next five years. Maybe less if this is a worldwide phenomenon.”
“Which it almost certainly is,” said my father grimly. “That’s bad news.”
“I know. It’s still not the reason I called.”
There was a pause. Then, tone sharper, he asked, “Did Sarah get out?”
Sarah escaping from the house was currently the family’s greatest nightmare: an uncontrolled, unstable cuckoo who we had nurtured to adulthood getting loose amongst the local population. There was literally no telling how much damage she could do. We’d never dealt with a case like hers before. But since the only way to be sure she wasn’t going to hurt anyone was to kill her, we were living with the fear. Sarah was family.
“No, Sarah’s fine, or as fine as she gets right now,” I said. “One of the other keepers from the reptile house was killed sometime between closing time last night and lunch today.”
“Murder?”
“Unclear. Whatever killed him was a petrifactor.”
There was another pause, longer this time, before he said, “Alex, the basilisks . . .”
“Are still hibernating. I checked them myself, and their skins are too calcified for them to have woken up—or been woken—left the enclosure, turned a man partially to stone, and gone back to sleep. Not that they would have gone back to the enclosure anyway. They didn’t do this. And before you ask, yes, I also talked to Dee. I don’t think she had anything to do with it.”
“That’s a relief.”
“It is, except for the part where I started out with three petrifactors who could have been responsible for this and promptly eliminated all three of them as possible candidates.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“If it was a gorgon, it was murder. The victim’s eyes were definitely stone. Lesser gorgons can’t truly turn you to stone, and Pliny’s gorgons can’t always stone you with a glance; they’d need to have either uncovered their hair and locked eyes with him for long enough, or milked their hair beforehand for venom and sprayed him with it. I can’t rule out a Pliny’s gorgon, but it’s more likely that we’re looking for a purely glance-based petrifactor.”
“The greater gorgon is glance-based.”
“Yes, I’m aware. You’ll forgive me if I try to find any other possible answer before I go to the place where I get eaten alive, won’t you?”
“Your mother would never forgive me if I encouraged you to take any other course of action. There’s always the simpler answer, you realize.”
“I thought of that. A cockatrice would fit the situation as I currently understand it. It’s glance-based, it likes to hide in low bushes . . . it’s perfect.” And it wouldn’t be murder. Your average cockatrice makes an iguana seem like a super-genius. When animals kill people, it’s tragic, but it’s not malicious. “There’s just one problem with that theory.”
“Lots of things aren’t native to Ohio, Alex. You’ve just said that some of the frickens you’ve caught aren’t native to Ohio.”
“Yes, but there’s a big difference between something moving into an open ecological niche and something like a cockatrice showing up for no good reason.”
“So maybe there’s a good reason.”
That wasn’t the sort of statement that inspired confidence. I sighed, removing my glasses and putting them on the bedside table before pinching the bridge of my nose. “Maybe. Grandpa’s going to see about getting me access to the autopsy records. We should know more after that happens.”
“Keep us posted. You know we’ll be right there if you need us.”
“I do.” I also knew a family invasion of Ohio would mean things had gotten very bad. I wasn’t too proud to ask for help, but mobilizing the troops was the sort of thing that should only be used as a last resort. “Tell Mom I said hi and send my love when she gets home.”
“Any messages for your sister?”
“Tell her to stay out of my room.”
Dad laughed. We exchanged farewells and I hung up, slumping over backward onto the bed. Crow hopped down from the dresser to curl up, catlike, against my side. I stroked his wings absently, and he purred in response.
