Half-Off Ragnarok: Book Three of InCryptid (28 page)

Walking hurt, and was probably going to hurt for the next several days, but it was nothing time and some analgesics wouldn’t take care of. Shelby had a nasty burn on one arm that was probably going to scar, and both of us needed haircuts and showers, unless we wanted to walk around smelling like bonfire for the next few weeks.

Shelby’s neighbors had mostly gathered on the sidewalk and the grass closest to it, putting a safe distance between themselves and the building. Shelby looked anxiously around the crowd.

“Is that everyone?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” She turned to look at me, eyes wide and sad. “I’ve only been here a little while, and I barely know any of my neighbors. There could be a dozen people burning in there, and I’d have no way of knowing.”

She’d have no way of saving them, either, but bringing that up wouldn’t do either of us any good. I put my arms around her, careful of her burns, and sighed. “We can’t save everything, Shelby,” I said quietly. “But we each saved one person tonight. You should be proud of that.”

“Who’d I save, then?”

“Me. I would have opened that door.”

“. . . and I wouldn’t have woken up until it was too late.” We were surrounded by strangers, but the way she looked at me made me feel like we were totally alone. “You saved me.”

“And you saved me. So see? You did everything you could have done.” I looked at the burning building, and added, “You did everything anyone could have done.”

The arrival of the fire trucks cut off any further conversation. Men in uniform shouted for the crowd to fall back, and the crowd did as it was told, clearly relieved to have
someone
taking control of the situation. Shelby sagged against me, exhausted. I held her up, scanning the crowd for anyone who didn’t look appropriately upset. There were a few tall, curvy blonde women who looked more annoyed than traumatized, but I dismissed them as dragon princesses and moved on, looking for a better target. Someone who didn’t fit, someone who hadn’t just watched what little they had in this world burn away to ashes . . .

Someone moved at the edge of the crowd, ducking their head and quickly stepping backward into the shadows, where I wouldn’t be able to see their face. I started to release my grip on Shelby, preparing to go after him, and stopped as a familiar face in a blue police uniform stepped between me and my mystery figure.

“So, Dr. Preston, it seems we’re fated to meet again,” said the officer who’d taken my statement after we found Andrew’s body. His gaze flicked to Shelby and then back to me, assessing. “And Dr. Tanner. The two of you sure do show up at a lot of emergencies these days.”

“Dr. Tanner lives here,” I said. “Or lived here, I guess. How bad is the damage?”

Shelby lifted her head, wobbling as she looked at him, like even the air weighed too much for her. I would have applauded her performance, if the situation hadn’t been quite so dire. “Unit 2-L,” she said, voice unsteady. “Officer, what happened? I thought there were fire doors on the stairways to prevent this type of thing.”

“We’ll have a full report in the next few days. Is either of you hurt?”

“A little,” said Shelby, and sniffled, eyes suddenly full of tears. “It’s not so bad I need to bother the EMTs. Can Alex take me to the hospital? Please?”

The officer looked torn. I couldn’t exactly blame him: first we find a body, and then we show up at a suspicious fire. At the same time, we weren’t suspects in anything—at least not yet. Finally, his training won out over his suspicions, and he nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “Just don’t leave town for the next few days, all right?”

“We weren’t planning to,” I said. “Come on, sweetie.”

Shelby sniffled again and allowed me to lead her away from the crowd and the police, back to the dubious safety of my car.

We had no way of knowing whether the arson had been intended to kill me, Shelby, or both. I searched the exterior of the car thoroughly for bombs or signs that someone had tried to break in and, when I found nothing but a little goose shit from the zoo, I unlocked the doors. Shelby got into the passenger seat, and we drove away.

As soon as we had turned the corner and the apartment building was no longer in view, Shelby straightened, all signs of vulnerability gone. “Where are we going?” she asked, wiping away her crocodile tears. The motion smeared the ash on her face, making her look like a chimney sweep from a modern remake of
Mary Poppins
—one where Mary was armed to the teeth and out for blood. “Hospital?”

“Not unless we really need to. I don’t know anyone in the local ERs, so we wouldn’t be able to dodge the paper trail, and I’d rather we didn’t wind up as a human interest story on tonight’s news.” I kept an eye on the rearview mirror as I turned down another street, watching the road behind us for a tail. “We’re heading back to my grandparents’ place, as soon as I can be sure that we’re not being followed.”

“I hope you have a truly monumental first aid kit,” she said, wiping uselessly at her face again. Then she winced, as the motion apparently pulled on her burns. “I actually mean that.”

“The first aid kit was enough to stop me being turned to stone,” I said.

“So it’s pretty good is what you’re saying.”

“We do okay.” I drove to the end of the block, pulled off to the side, and turned off the engine.

Shelby blinked at me. “What are you—”

“Just give it a second.”

Frowning, she subsided, and we sat in the dark car for several minutes, waiting to see if anyone drove past. When the road remained empty, I turned the engine back on and pulled away from the curb.

“Do you think we’re being followed?” Shelby asked.

“Honestly, I think someone dropped a cockatrice in my backyard and tried to burn down your apartment building with us inside, so right now, a little healthy paranoia is the way to go.”

“I wish I could argue with that,” sighed Shelby.

We didn’t talk the rest of the way back to the house.

All the lights were on when I pulled into my customary spot, and both cars were there; if nothing else, we would be well-defended from any additional arson attempts. I got my things and helped Shelby out of her seat. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she was having trouble standing. I was doing somewhat better, if only because I was still running in crisis mode. Once we were inside, with people to defend us if things turned sour, then I could fall apart.

“It’s a really,
really
good first aid kit, right?” asked Shelby, through gritted teeth.

“The best,” I assured her, and together we half-walked, half-limped up the front walkway.

Grandma opened the door before I could reach for my key. Her eyes were glowing a lambent white, all but obscuring her irises and pupils. “Alex!” she gasped. “What happened?”

“Someone burned down Shelby’s apartment building,” I said, stepping inside. Grandma was right there to help support Shelby’s weight, and suddenly walking seemed, if not easier, at least a lot less hard. “We had to jump out the window to get away. How did you know we were coming?”

“I told her,” said Sarah. I looked past Grandma to the stairs, where Sarah was standing, pale in her blue nightgown, eyes glowing even more brightly than my grandmother’s. “I heard the screaming from all the way down the block.”

Sarah shouldn’t have been able to hear anything from that far away; we’d both grabbed our anti-telepathy charms along with our weapons. That Sarah had heard me anyway said something, both about how attuned we were as family, and how badly hurt I really was.

“We’re here now,” I said, trying to project reassurance and calm. “Go back up to your room. Grandma will get us patched up, and then we can have breakfast in the morning, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Listen to your cousin, Sarah,” said Grandma, and began pushing us toward the kitchen. “Look at you two. Martin!”

The kitchen door opened, revealing my grandfather. “I’m almost ready for them.”

“Good.” She half-led, half-shoved us through the kitchen door and to the table, where the first aid kit was already assembled and waiting. There was a straight razor next to the stack of bandages. “Who’s hurt worse?”

“Shelby,” I said, grabbing a piece of clean gauze and using it to wipe the soot off my glasses. The world suddenly became a lot easier to see. The realization that I’d driven through downtown Columbus while half-blinded followed, and I fought back the urge to be sick. There would be time for that later. “Her arm’s worse than any of my injuries.”

“Let me see,” said Grandma.

Thankfully, Shelby didn’t argue. She turned, showing Grandma the red, raw skin of her right bicep.

“We can deal with that,” said Grandma, and picked up the straight razor. She flipped it open before neatly slicing open the back of her own hand.

Shelby shrieked, too startled for composure, only to calm and stare as she realized Grandma wasn’t really bleeding. A thick, viscous fluid was leaking from the cut, virtually clear, with only a hint of blue. “What in the . . . ?”

“Cuckoos don’t have hemoglobin, dear,” said Grandma.

“Do they feel
pain
?”

Grandma laughed. “Yes, but sometimes we have to work past that,” she admitted, and put down the straight razor before dipping her fingers into the “blood” and beginning to lather it onto Shelby’s wound. Shelby squawked again, only to subside, looking puzzled, when there was no pain. Grandma smiled. “As I was saying, we don’t have hemoglobin. What we do have is a natural antibiotic, with preservative and painkilling properties.”

“They’re very popular with the kind of men who like building men like me,” said Grandpa. “Alex, let me see your feet.”

I stuck them obediently out, managing not to wince when he pulled off my shoes and started examining my blisters. “It’s all right, Shelby, honest. Cuckoo blood won’t heal you, but it’ll make the pain a lot less immediate, and we have drugs to help with the rest.”

“It should reduce scarring, though, and that’s a good thing, as Martin tells me you’re a very pretty girl,” said Grandma, finishing her finger-painting and reaching for the gauze. “You should both have showers, but I want you to leave this on for at least an hour before you wash it off, and I’ll make up a kit for you to use after you get dry.”

“She means she’s going to bleed into a jar,” said Grandpa. “Don’t sugarcoat it for the kids, Angie.”

“I got that, thanks,” said Shelby, closing her eyes. “Alex? You all right?”

My feet looked mostly intact. “I’m fine,” I said. Judging by the tightness in my back and shoulders, I might not
stay
fine, but right here and now, I could give the reassurance. “Grandma . . .”

“Yes, she can stay here.” Grandma began to wrap gauze around Shelby’s arm. “I don’t want either of you sleeping somewhere undefended until this is taken care of. Do you have any idea who may have attacked you?”

“No,” I said grimly, “but we’re going to find out.”

Grandpa’s hand landed on my shoulder, heavy enough to keep me in my seat, even if my feet hadn’t already been giving me good reason to keep still. “In the morning,” he said. “You need sleep, both of you.”

I thought of my room, where the mice were probably preparing a grand celebration to commemorate my getting set on fire. “About that . . .”

“I already bribed them to relocate to the attic for tonight, and leave you alone,” said Grandpa. “It was the second thing I did after Sarah woke us.”

Curiosity demanded to be satisfied. “What was the first thing you did?”

“Arm the exterior traps. Nothing’s getting through any of these windows tonight.”

It was the exact right thing to say. I smiled. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Any time, kiddo,” he said, and patted my shoulder one more time before he took his hand away. “Any time.”

We didn’t shower before we went to bed; we didn’t do anything but peel off our smoky, ruined clothing and collapse onto the mattress, with Shelby on the inside, and me closer to the door, so that anything that tried to attack would have a slightly harder time of it. She was already half-gone, thanks to the Vicodin my grandmother had left out for her. I had refused to take anything but a few aspirin. One of us needed to be aware of our surroundings.