Half-Off Ragnarok
Page 32
“But you never gave it to her.” Sarah’s eyes stayed fixed on Shelby, but her tone turned petulant. She seemed more perturbed by me than she was by the woman with the gun. Oh, priorities. “You promised.”
“Gave what to . . . oh.” I froze, feeling the blood drain out of my face.
I had never given Shelby the anti-telepathy charm. I left the kitchen to get it for her, but I’d been distracted by the cockatrice in the backyard, and I’d never given it to her. I risked a glance over my shoulder, confirming that the little glass-and-copper pendant was still lying on the floor. I’d dropped it and then forgotten about it in the scramble to keep me from turning to stone. Shelby couldn’t be wearing it—but if she wasn’t wearing it, Sarah should have been able to “hear” her presence. Having a stranger in the house should have been driving my cousin’s telepathy into a frenzy.
And instead we were all gathered calmly in the kitchen, except for the part where Shelby had a gun. I looked back to Shelby, trying to assess the distance between us. What had I invited into my home?
More importantly, what could I do to fix things?
“Shelby . . .” I began.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” said Shelby, in the sort of wheedling tone she normally reserved for her charges at the zoo. She never took her eyes off of Sarah. “We’re going to get you all sorted out, and then I’ll explain everything about what’s happening here. Assuming you remember there’s anything to explain. You may not.”
There was a gun strapped to my calf. I bent casually forward and reached for the holster, trying to make it look like I was just scratching an itch. Please don’t make me shoot you, Shelby, I thought. That would be a bad breakup, even by my admittedly low standards. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” The sympathy in Shelby’s expression died, replaced by a sneer as she focused her attention back on Sarah. “Where’s the rest of your flock, you filthy brood parasite? There’s no point in protecting them. I’ll find them with or without your help.”
Sarah looked bemused. “I don’t have a flock,” she said. “They abandoned me on a doorstep, and they never came back. Fly little bird, fly and be free. But I’m not a bird, you know. Biologically, I have nothing in common with birds. Well. Lungs, I suppose.” She looked to me, sudden curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Do birds have lungs?”
“Yes, Sarah, birds have lungs,” I said, as soothingly as I could manage when I was trying to unclasp my holster without Shelby realizing I was going for a gun.
“Stop prattling and answer the question,” snapped Shelby.
The gun came free in my hand. I sat up straight, pulling it out from under the table and aiming at Shelby’s shoulder. I flipped the safety off with my thumb. I’d be shooting to wound, not kill, as long as she didn’t move. Please, Shelby, don’t move. “Put down the gun.”
Shelby—who had stiffened at the small, clean snap of the safety being released—didn’t move. “How far has she managed to get her claws into you, Alex?” she asked. She sounded almost regretful. “I’m so very sorry. I didn’t realize what was happening to you at first, and by the time I did, it was too late.”
“Put down the gun,” I repeated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I do know that we’re not having a rational conversation about it until you stop holding a gun on my cousin.”
“She’s not your cousin, Alex. She’s not even human.”
Oh, crap. I stiffened in my seat, considering half a dozen solutions and rejecting each one before I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think today may have upset you more than I realized.”
“She’s messed with your mind, Alex. That’s what her kind does.” Shelby kept her gun trained on Sarah, who was still sitting calmly in her chair. Thank God for small favors. “They scramble your perceptions until you don’t know right from wrong, up from down, or your family from the things that would destroy it.”
“Shelby . . .” Sometimes you have to take risks—and I was willing to bet that I was a faster shot than Shelby. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Sarah’s not human, but she’s still family. Her being what she is just means we have to clean ketchup out of the toaster every now and then.”
“What?” Shelby finally turned to stare at me, although her aim didn’t waver, and she didn’t take her finger off the trigger. “You know she’s a Johrlac?”
My family calls Sarah’s species “cuckoos,” but their real name is “Johrlac.” I nodded slowly, my own gun staying raised. “She always has been, and she’s not messing with my mind. She’s family.” Shelby, on the other hand . . . she’d been a better girlfriend than I deserved, maybe, but I didn’t really know her. I stood, adjusting my position as necessary to make certain that my aim never wavered. “Who are you?”
“What?” Shelby blinked, eyes going wide as she did her best to look innocent. “I’m your girlfriend. Don’t tell me she’s forced you to forget me.”
“Sarah isn’t capable of forcing me to do anything. I’m wearing an anti-telepathy charm that keeps her from getting into my head without my permission.” I steadied my gun hand against the opposing wrist. “I know who you’ve been to me for the last few months. I know who I think you are. But who are you really?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Shelby shot back. “All those nights you said you weren’t available for dinner, all those dates you canceled, and for what? I was getting ready to break it off with you, write you off as a bad deal, when I realized what was happening. Your Johrlac ‘cousin’ isn’t here because she loves you. She’s here because she’s a brood parasite, and you’re her latest nest. So what are you to her? Are you her next meal, or are you some sort of collaborator, luring her prey into range?”
“They call us ‘cuckoos’ here, but you got the rest right,” said Sarah. She leaned back in her seat, looking at the ceiling. “We infect nests that should belong to other birds. Just a crack in the eggshell . . .” She started humming to herself.
“Gave what to . . . oh.” I froze, feeling the blood drain out of my face.
I had never given Shelby the anti-telepathy charm. I left the kitchen to get it for her, but I’d been distracted by the cockatrice in the backyard, and I’d never given it to her. I risked a glance over my shoulder, confirming that the little glass-and-copper pendant was still lying on the floor. I’d dropped it and then forgotten about it in the scramble to keep me from turning to stone. Shelby couldn’t be wearing it—but if she wasn’t wearing it, Sarah should have been able to “hear” her presence. Having a stranger in the house should have been driving my cousin’s telepathy into a frenzy.
And instead we were all gathered calmly in the kitchen, except for the part where Shelby had a gun. I looked back to Shelby, trying to assess the distance between us. What had I invited into my home?
More importantly, what could I do to fix things?
“Shelby . . .” I began.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” said Shelby, in the sort of wheedling tone she normally reserved for her charges at the zoo. She never took her eyes off of Sarah. “We’re going to get you all sorted out, and then I’ll explain everything about what’s happening here. Assuming you remember there’s anything to explain. You may not.”
There was a gun strapped to my calf. I bent casually forward and reached for the holster, trying to make it look like I was just scratching an itch. Please don’t make me shoot you, Shelby, I thought. That would be a bad breakup, even by my admittedly low standards. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” The sympathy in Shelby’s expression died, replaced by a sneer as she focused her attention back on Sarah. “Where’s the rest of your flock, you filthy brood parasite? There’s no point in protecting them. I’ll find them with or without your help.”
Sarah looked bemused. “I don’t have a flock,” she said. “They abandoned me on a doorstep, and they never came back. Fly little bird, fly and be free. But I’m not a bird, you know. Biologically, I have nothing in common with birds. Well. Lungs, I suppose.” She looked to me, sudden curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Do birds have lungs?”
“Yes, Sarah, birds have lungs,” I said, as soothingly as I could manage when I was trying to unclasp my holster without Shelby realizing I was going for a gun.
“Stop prattling and answer the question,” snapped Shelby.
The gun came free in my hand. I sat up straight, pulling it out from under the table and aiming at Shelby’s shoulder. I flipped the safety off with my thumb. I’d be shooting to wound, not kill, as long as she didn’t move. Please, Shelby, don’t move. “Put down the gun.”
Shelby—who had stiffened at the small, clean snap of the safety being released—didn’t move. “How far has she managed to get her claws into you, Alex?” she asked. She sounded almost regretful. “I’m so very sorry. I didn’t realize what was happening to you at first, and by the time I did, it was too late.”
“Put down the gun,” I repeated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I do know that we’re not having a rational conversation about it until you stop holding a gun on my cousin.”
“She’s not your cousin, Alex. She’s not even human.”
Oh, crap. I stiffened in my seat, considering half a dozen solutions and rejecting each one before I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think today may have upset you more than I realized.”
“She’s messed with your mind, Alex. That’s what her kind does.” Shelby kept her gun trained on Sarah, who was still sitting calmly in her chair. Thank God for small favors. “They scramble your perceptions until you don’t know right from wrong, up from down, or your family from the things that would destroy it.”
“Shelby . . .” Sometimes you have to take risks—and I was willing to bet that I was a faster shot than Shelby. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Sarah’s not human, but she’s still family. Her being what she is just means we have to clean ketchup out of the toaster every now and then.”
“What?” Shelby finally turned to stare at me, although her aim didn’t waver, and she didn’t take her finger off the trigger. “You know she’s a Johrlac?”
My family calls Sarah’s species “cuckoos,” but their real name is “Johrlac.” I nodded slowly, my own gun staying raised. “She always has been, and she’s not messing with my mind. She’s family.” Shelby, on the other hand . . . she’d been a better girlfriend than I deserved, maybe, but I didn’t really know her. I stood, adjusting my position as necessary to make certain that my aim never wavered. “Who are you?”
“What?” Shelby blinked, eyes going wide as she did her best to look innocent. “I’m your girlfriend. Don’t tell me she’s forced you to forget me.”
“Sarah isn’t capable of forcing me to do anything. I’m wearing an anti-telepathy charm that keeps her from getting into my head without my permission.” I steadied my gun hand against the opposing wrist. “I know who you’ve been to me for the last few months. I know who I think you are. But who are you really?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Shelby shot back. “All those nights you said you weren’t available for dinner, all those dates you canceled, and for what? I was getting ready to break it off with you, write you off as a bad deal, when I realized what was happening. Your Johrlac ‘cousin’ isn’t here because she loves you. She’s here because she’s a brood parasite, and you’re her latest nest. So what are you to her? Are you her next meal, or are you some sort of collaborator, luring her prey into range?”
“They call us ‘cuckoos’ here, but you got the rest right,” said Sarah. She leaned back in her seat, looking at the ceiling. “We infect nests that should belong to other birds. Just a crack in the eggshell . . .” She started humming to herself.
