Half-Off Ragnarok: Book Three of InCryptid (16 page)

“They’re not my Covenant,” I protested. “We quit generations ago.”

“Some things take a long time to stop mattering, if they ever do.” Shelby shook her head. “We’ll never forget the thylacine. My parents were both members of the Thirty-Six from as far back as I can remember, and so were my grandparents. I grew up understanding that if I didn’t help protect Australia’s more . . . esoteric . . . flora and fauna from humanity, no one would.”

“It’s a big world,” I said, feeling obscurely bad. I shouldn’t have: North America is large enough that my family can’t patrol it all on our own, even as we enlist allies from the human and cryptid communities. Covering Australia as well would have been impossible, and would have stretched our already overtaxed resources to the breaking point. That didn’t stop me feeling like I should have helped.

“It is,” Shelby agreed. “Trouble is, we’re an island ecosystem. Sometimes things get in and turn out to be a great deal more destructive than they ever were in their original habitats. Game animals, mostly, imported by idiots thinking that Australia needs a native population of manticores or tailypo. But sometimes that extends to beings that can get their own passports and trick their way through immigration.” Her gaze slipped back to Sarah, who was peacefully drinking her sewage-colored orange juice and A-1 combination, seeming to ignore everything that was going on around her.

“Johrlac,” I said.

Shelby nodded. “Yes. A hive came over on a cruise ship about ten years ago. I don’t know why, or how they tolerated one another long enough to make it across the ocean without multiple murders, but they made it. We’d never
seen
a Johrlac in Australia before that. No one realized what they were until it was too late.”

Any story that started with “until it was too late” wasn’t going to end well. But if I wanted it to end without Sarah getting shot in the head, I needed Shelby to keep going. “What happened?”

“What always happens when Johrlac introduce themselves into an unprepared population: nothing remotely good. They spread out, and then one of them found a member of the Society.” Shelby stole another glance at Sarah. “She looked just like your cousin.”

“Cuckoos have minimal visual variance within the species,” I said. “It’s probably because they evolved from insects, not true mammals.” Every female cuckoo we had a record of looked enough like Sarah and Grandma to be their sister. Every male cuckoo we had a record of looked like their brother. Just one more clue that they didn’t handle mammalian biology the same way the rest of us did.

“Doesn’t make her look any less like the woman who killed my brother,” said Shelby calmly. She looked back to me. “She took out six Society members before someone found the anomaly in our records and we realized what was happening. Six! And she wasn’t the only one. There were eight Johrlac in Australia. It took us five years to catch them all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring back the dead.” Shelby shook her head. “All of us juniors wound up in field positions years before we expected, and for what? Because some horrible brood parasites wanted a vacation? It wasn’t fair. It was never going to be fair.”

“No, it wasn’t, and I’m sorry. But killing my cousin won’t bring back your dead.” I frowned. “If all your juniors got promoted to seniors, why are you here? Why aren’t you back in Australia, making sure that nothing starts eating people?”

“Manticores,” she said, with a shrug.

“Manticores?” I echoed.

“Some damn fool imported three breeding clusters around the turn of the century, to use as game animals. They ate him and got loose—”

I groaned. “Of course they did.”

“—and now we have manticore issues in Queensland and the Northern Territory. I was hoping that by coming here, I could learn more about how manticores behave in the wild, and maybe find a few solutions.”

“There are manticores in Ohio?”

“Oh, yeah.” Shelby frowned. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

“No, I hadn’t. I’ve been studying the local fricken population, and trying to convince my basilisks to breed. Which they are absolutely refusing to do, the lazy stoners.”

“Why would you want to breed basilisks?” asked Shelby.

“They’re big ratters, for one thing, and they tend to avoid humans whenever possible. They’re also the only known predator of stone spiders. So they have their uses, as long as we can keep them out of the cities.”

“You had me at ‘spiders,’” said Shelby. She took a deep breath, letting it out through her nose. “So. Here we are.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Here we are.”

The sound of a crossbow bolt being notched into place drew our attention toward the kitchen doorway. Grandma was standing there, a pistol crossbow in her hands, the point aimed solidly at Shelby. Grandpa was a dark shape in the hall behind her. If I squinted, I could just make out the cudgel in his hands.

“Great,” said Grandma. “Now that we’ve established where we are, let’s move on to the part where no one ever finds your body.”

I put my hand over my face and groaned.

“Yes, dear, it does seem unwise to stand here and calmly wait to be devoured by the ever-expanding maw of the netherworld. If you have a suggestion as to how better to handle the situation, I’m quite eager to hear it.”

—Thomas Price

Still in the kitchen of an only moderately creepy suburban home in Columbus, Ohio, now dealing with a heavily-armed grandmother

“H
I, GRANDMA,”
I said
,
without taking my hand away from my face. “Have you met my colleague, Shelby Tanner? I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned her. I’m sort of dating her. She’s with the Thirty-Six Society. I know I didn’t tell you that part before. I just learned it myself.”

“She has a gun and she’s in my kitchen,” said Grandma. She sounded very calm. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Well, I have a gun and I’m in your kitchen,” I said, trying to be reasonable. “And technically, right now, the table has her gun.”

“You’re
allowed
to have a gun in my kitchen,” said Grandma. “Young women to whom I have not been properly introduced most emphatically are
not
.”

“Your grandmother is Johrlac?” squeaked Shelby, sounding more unsettled than I’d ever heard her.

Confused, Grandma asked, “You know what I am?”

“She knew what I was, and threatened to shoot me several times to avenge her brother’s death,” said Sarah blithely.

There was a moment of silence. I uncovered my face to find Grandma looking at Sarah, although her crossbow was still pointed at Shelby. Using the voice she reserved for my cousin, Grandma asked, “Sarah, sweetheart, did you kill this woman’s brother?”

“I didn’t kill anyone that I’m aware of,” said Sarah, and took another sip of juice. “But she helped mix the goo to make Alex’s eyes stop being stone. I like her.”

There was a long, dangerous pause before Grandma said, “
What
?”

“The cockatrice!” I’d been so preoccupied with more immediate issues—keeping my eyes from turning into balls of granite, keeping Shelby from shooting Sarah—that I’d forgotten about more potentially long-term threats. I shoved myself away from the kitchen table so fast that my chair went clattering to the floor. Running to the sliding glass door, I hit the switch that would flood the backyard with light. I didn’t look to see whether I had disturbed anything; I just grabbed the hanging curtain and pulled it closed, blocking the yard from view.

I turned to find everyone, even Sarah, staring at me like I had just grown a second head. “Er,” I said, and released my fistful of curtain. “I can explain.”

“I think that might be a good idea,” said Grandpa, finally stepping into the kitchen. Shelby gasped, a small, strangled sound that she clearly tried to swallow. It didn’t do her any good. Grandpa looked down at her, frowning. “This is my home, young lady. Be polite.”

I forced myself to stop looking at Grandpa Martin as my beloved grandfather and to see him as Shelby would: a hulking giant of a man with subtly uneven facial features and heavy cords of scar tissue running along the joins where flesh from his various donors met. He’d removed his sweater before he and Grandma realized there was a problem, and the different skin tones of his hands and forearms were very apparent. Honestly, looked at like that, I couldn’t blame Shelby for gasping. Especially when he was carrying a cudgel too large for most men to safely lift, much less wield.

She recovered fast. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, remaining seated. Good call: she was less threatening if she wasn’t moving. “I didn’t realize . . . I mean, we’ve never been properly introduced, and I thought . . . I mean . . .”

“She thought you and I were being held captive by Sarah, who she’d somehow managed to get a look at . . .” I glanced at Shelby, curiously.

Looking abashed, she shrugged. “I stole your phone the day the skinks got loose in the reptile house, and went through your pictures. I wasn’t jealous!” she added, seeing the look on my face. “I didn’t think it was another woman or anything, but you kept canceling dates to look after a ‘sick cousin,’ and it was the sort of excuse I’d heard before. I wanted to figure out whether I could break it off with you and still keep the moral high ground.”

“I don’t have any pictures of Sarah in my phone,” I said, confused.

“No, dear, but you have pictures of me,” said Grandma. “Cuckoos have so little facial variation.”

Again, I paused to look at my grandparents, trying to see them as a stranger would. Grandma looked older than Sarah, but not enough older to reflect her true age. I would have placed her in her mid to late thirties if forced to take a guess. When looking for a single cuckoo . . .

“I guess that’s true,” I allowed.

“If I’d known there were two Johrlac present, I would never have brought a gun into your home,” said Shelby fervently.

Grandma turned to Shelby, eyeing her sternly. “Oh, no? What would you have done instead?”

“I would have chained the doors shut while you were sleeping and burned the place to the ground.” Shelby stole an apologetic glance at me. “It would have been the only way to be sure.”

I blinked. Grandma blinked. And then, to my surprise, my grandfather burst out laughing.

“She’s got you there, Angie,” he said, putting his cudgel down on the counter. “Now come on. Put down the crossbow and let’s hear about this cockatrice that’s made such a mess in our kitchen.”

“I’d like more juice, please,” said Sarah.

I knew my cue when I heard it. “Shelby called and said she was uncomfortable being alone after what happened to Andrew . . .” I began, as I stood and walked to the fridge. I continued as I prepared Sarah’s mixture of orange juice and A-1, summarizing the events of the evening. I tried to hit the high points without dwelling too much on things like “letting Shelby into the house.” As I put Sarah’s juice down in front of her, I said, “I didn’t get a good enough look at the cockatrice to tell you subspecies, age, or gender, but as soon as I locked eyes with it, I felt a stabbing pain all the way to the back of my retinas, and . . .” I shrugged helplessly.

“His eyes began turning to stone,” said Shelby.

“I didn’t see it happen, but I sure as hell felt it,” I said. “I walked Sarah and Shelby through preparing the bilberry poultice and combined it with the appropriate antivenin. It worked, because the petrifaction was reversed. If Shelby hadn’t been here, I think I would have lost my eyes.” And possibly my life. The petrifaction hadn’t been able to progress to its natural limits, and it was hard to say how large a dose I might have received.

“She saved his life, Angie,” said Grandpa gently. “Put the crossbow down.”

“I like her,” said Sarah. “Blonde ladies with guns remind me of Verity. I miss Verity. Will she be back from dance camp soon?”

This time the silence that fell over the kitchen was sad, the brief, shared quiet of a family that had, for just a few seconds, managed to forget that it was broken. Grandpa was the one to break it, saying, “Alex, why don’t you take Sarah up to her room? We’ll stay here with your little girlfriend, and make sure she doesn’t run off before we can finish having this talk.”

“Grandpa . . .”

“I promise we won’t kill her and dump her body in the nearest ravine,” said Grandma, sounding annoyed. “Just go, all right?”

“Okay.” I cast Shelby a half-worried, half-apologetic look as I stood and walked back to Sarah’s chair. “Come on, Sarah. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where we left your math notebooks, and you have homework for tomorrow.”

“But I never got my sundae.”

“After the homework is finished. I promise.”

Sarah lit up. It was the only way to describe the smile that suffused her face, making her look heartbreakingly like her old self. “Okay!” she said, and stood, clutching her juice glass in one hand. I took the other, and led her out of the kitchen, leaving my grandparents and my girlfriend behind. Hopefully they would all be alive when I got back.

Getting Sarah situated in her room was relatively easy, made easier by bringing Crow across the hall and dropping him onto her bed, where he curled up, stuck his head back under his wing, and went to sleep. Sarah sat down next to the “kitty” with her math workbook open in her lap, happily starting to fill in fractions with a number two pencil. I stayed long enough to see that her answers were almost entirely wrong, and then left the room, shutting the door behind myself.

She was getting better all the time. She was still a long, long way from being
well
.

I returned to my room, shutting the door behind myself, and fished my cell phone out of my pocket. Grandma’s specific non-threat—“we won’t kill her and dump her body in the nearest ravine”—had been a coded instruction to do something I really didn’t want to do right now. She wanted me to call my sister.

Verity had left New York after defeating the Covenant field team that had been sent to begin the Manhattan purge. She felt staying in the city would be tempting fate, and she was ready to go home. Of course, flying is hard when you carry an arsenal on your person at all times, and it’s harder when you have your own private colony of talking mice. So she’d packed her belongings, her mice, and her (ex-Covenant) boyfriend into a U-Haul and set off for Oregon the long way. She called it a road trip. I called it an exercise in self-indulgence.

Then again, Verity had survived being shot in the stomach and helped save untold cryptid lives when she and Sarah convinced the Covenant that the denizens of New York were not the droids they were looking for. I guess she’d earned a little self-indulgence.

The phone rang twice before Verity’s voice came on, informing me with sugary sweetness, “This is an unlisted number. Now hang up before I call the police.”

“Hello to you, too, Very,” I responded. “Where are you?”

“Alex?” She sounded puzzled, trending into pleased. “Is that you?”

“In the thankfully unpetrified flesh. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure! We’re just rolling into New Orleans to check out a party that Rose told us about, but I can always make time for you.”

I paused. “Rose as in Rose Marshall, the hitchhiking ghost?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Very . . .”

“It’s a dead man’s party. Don’t worry about it. Everybody’s welcome.”

I swallowed the urge to groan. My sister was a grownup. She could take care of herself. “Okay, well, try to keep your soul inside your body, I don’t feel like going wandering around the afterlife trying to put you back together. Is Dominic there?”

“What?” Verity’s tone turned suspicious. “What do you want Dominic for?”

“I need to ask him a question, okay? Now can you put Dominic on the phone?”

“What—”

“The girl I’ve been sort of dating is in the kitchen right now, and she says she’s with the Thirty-Six Society. Since I don’t have any contacts in the Society right now, I just need to confirm that she’s not Covenant. So please, can you put Dominic on the phone?”

“Oh, um, sure. One sec.” I heard Verity put her hand over the phone, followed by the muffled sound of her voice as she relayed the situation. There was a louder scuffing noise before Dominic’s voice came on the line, briskly saying, “Hello?”

“Dominic, hey. It’s Alex.”

“Yes, Verity told me,” he said, his faint Italian accent growing stronger as he started to get impatient. “What did you need to discuss with me?”

“Do you know of any Australian Covenant agents currently on assignment in North America?”

There was a pause before Dominic said, sounding bemused, “No, because there
are
no Australian Covenant agents. Not unless they’ve managed to recruit an expatriate—and that would be unusual enough that I would have heard about it if it had happened before I quit the Covenant. Since I didn’t hear about it, any Australian recruits would have to have joined quite recently, and would not have completed training, much less been given field assignments. Why?”

“My girlfriend, Shelby Tanner. She says she’s with the Thirty-Six Society. I don’t have a way of confirming that for sure.”

“Well, I can assure you she’s not one of o—one of theirs.” He stumbled a little as he finished the sentence. I felt bad for him. Dominic’s resignation from the Covenant was still recent. Maybe sometimes, he even managed to forget that he’d turned his back on the only life he’d ever known. “Miss Tanner may not be who she claims, but she is not Covenant.”