Something Wikkid This Way Comes (2 page)

“Capitola, this problem is serious. We’re not just saving these girls, we’re saving their
souls
.”

And your job
, I think, but I keep silent.

“You’d be doing God’s work. That’s priceless.”

I cock an eyebrow at the good father to let him know that, in fact, there definitely is a price.

And I’m thinking of one.

After a little more proselytizing, we cut to the chase. I name a figure; Father Matthews accepts. I curse, internally, wishing I’d asked for more, even as my mind’s eye pushes our budget’s little red line firmly up into the black.

“Eat shit and die, God luvin’ scum” may not be the most original bit of vandalism but, when written in permanent marker, it is definitely hard to get off the porous tile lining the hallway of Holy Trinity Academy for Girls.

Shar, Moo, and I have been at the school for a week now. Father Matthews is as good as his word, and he hasn’t told anyone about our involvement. He does avoid us like the plague, but that’s fine, as he seems incapable of acting normal when we’re around. Not having him breathing down our necks also means we get more done and are able to sink deeper into our covers. I’m posing as a janitor named Grace, which gives me access to the entire building. It also means my coveralls uniform makes me virtually invisible, since nobody pays attention to the janitor. Moo’s posing as the new guidance counselor, Ms. Summers, granting her access to student records and the ability to bring students in to talk at any point. But Shar’s got the most important job. Because she looks the youngest of us, she’s posing as “Starr,” new student extraordinaire. Unfortunately, despite infiltrating the school successfully, we’ve uncovered bubkes.

I am, however, earning my keep as a janitor. Girls are filthy in a sneaky way, not to mention that almost all of the mysterious cult’s vandalism seems to occur at the school, where I get to clean it up.

“Working hard there, Grace!” says a cheerful voice from down the hall. I close my eyes for a second, searching hard for my happy place, before turning around.

Walking toward me is the head librarian, Frank McEachern, or Frankly McCreepPerv, as we’ve dubbed him. As usual, he’s accompanied by his mousy fiancée, Stacey. Stacey supposedly works at a local library, but she’s almost always on campus with Frank. It’s more than weird, although no one makes a big deal about it.

Stacey gives me her most insipid smile, and I resist the urge to shove her. She’s just so frail that I can’t help but react to her with violence. Next to my six-foot, strapping build, she makes me feel like Godzilla.

“Yes, Mr. McEachern. More vandalism,” I add, scanning their faces for any reaction.

But Stacey’s big blue eyes blink vapidly at me, completely void of any incriminating possibilities. McCreepPerv, for his part, keeps his eyes latched on my breasts, as they normally are. I look down, wondering if my janitor’s navy blue coveralls are stained, or zipped too low, or anything else to warrant such undivided attention. But no. The uniform is clean and modest, if a little strained across the girls.

Quiet descends as we all three study my breasts. Even Stacey’s joined in, although her expression betrays confusion rather than jealousy, as if she’s not entirely sure what game we’re playing. I’m desperate to move the conversation forward when I hear the sharp clicking of heels on the tiled floor. Those militant strides can only belong to Moo, posing as Ms. Summers, the hard-assed, tough-as-nails guidance counselor. The role isn’t a stretch.

My friend’s Alfar mojo is completely dampened, but still she radiates power. At her heels scurry the two other guidance counselors, two elderly ladies whose sage advice to their female students consists entirely of ways to land a rich husband. Ironically, Mrs. Powers and Mrs. Masters are longtime widows and equally longtime roommates. Shar thinks they’re lesbians, but that’s because Shar can’t imagine two human beings sitting in the same room without humping each other. Usually with her as the butter in their human sandwich.

“Ms. Summers,” Mr. McCreepPerv purrs at Moo, motioning her over eagerly. His eyes finally unlatch from my breasts, only to anchor firmly on Moo’s long, strong thighs.

He’s an equal opportunity leerer, a breast man and a leg man, which is funny, considering Stacey is built like the wispy ghost of a twelve-year-old boy.

“Mr. McEachern,” Moo replies, her voice curt. She eyes the vandalism. “I see we’ve had another one.”

Mrs. Powers and Mrs. Masters both tut, as if on cue, shaking their curly blue-rinsed heads.

“What is the youth of America coming to?” says Mrs. Powers.

“I don’t know. I really don’t,” says Masters, her sentence flowing seamlessly off Powers.

“I blame that Gaga woman.”

“Or that one with the dollar sign in her name.”

“No, it’s that reality TV.”

“It’s TV, period—”

“Ladies,” interrupts McCreepPerv. “Don’t blame all of television. I happen to know two girls who enjoy their soaps…”

McCreepPerv’s words trail off suggestively as Masters and Powers giggle.

“That we do,” says Masters.

“That we do,” finishes Powers.

I shudder involuntarily.

“And speaking of the youth of America,” begins Masters, using her chin to point down the hall.

“That sad creature,” concludes Powers helpfully. I’m afraid her blue-rinsed hair is going to fall off she’s shaking her head and tutting so fiercely. That can only mean one thing.

Shar.

Sure enough, down the hallway comes our own succubus halfling, who has doctored her uniform so she looks like an unholy combination of schoolgirl, Pussycat Doll, and Morticia Addams. Keeping a firm grip on her arm is Trinity’s new music teacher, Mr. Ruiz.

If McCreepPerv had a polar opposite, it’d be Fernando Ruiz. Not only is Fernando gorgeous and talented, he’s also charming, charismatic, and—quite simply—likable. Upon meeting Fernando, with his wavy dark curls and strong Latino features, people want to get to know him better, help him out, maybe donate to his favorite charity.

So I trust Mr. Ruiz even less than I do Mr. McCreepPerv. Frank would be hard-pressed to convince a valet to drive his stick shift, let alone get a girl to join his Satanic cult. Fernando’s a different story. All he would have to do is point the way.

Hell, I’d probably throw on a pair of horns and let him fondle my forked tail if he asked nicely.

“Fernando,” Shar whines, dragging her clompy, Goth-booted feet behind her in a perfect imitation of a teenage nightmare.

“It’s Mr. Ruiz,” Fernando says firmly, pushing my friend toward us. Shar huffs but does as he wants and faces Moo. The two women eye each other, and for a second I want to applaud their acting skills. Shar’s staring at Moo’s impeccably tailored suit like it’s made of aluminum foil, while Moo drips disdain over Shar’s knee-high Frankenboots and micromini gray-and-black-plaid schoolgirl skirt. The skirt is even shorter, paired as it is with a tiny tutu-style petticoat. To top it off, Shar’s knotted up her uniform’s white shirt so it barely covers a black push-up bra.

Then I remember they’re not acting, and for all the love they have for each other, they have equal amounts of what I choose to call “competitive fascination.”

“As you can see, Ms. Summers, Starr has been doctoring her uniform again.”

Shar rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her belligerently.

“Whatever, Fernando. I’m just expressing myself. Just because you like naughty little girls dressed in school uniforms doesn’t mean I have to play along.”

“It’s Mr. Ruiz, Starr. And the uniform is school policy.” Fernando hasn’t even broken a sweat, but he does look to Moo for help.

“I’ll talk to Starr,” my friend says, her normally cool voice glacial. “I’m sure we can reach an understanding.”

“Whatever.” Shar pops her gum obnoxiously to make her point.

“Thank you,” says Fernando fervently, as if Moo is doing him a favor, rather than her job as “Starr’s” guidance counselor.

“Thanks for nothing,” Shar mumbles, kicking at my bucket of soapy water. It slops onto her own boots and she swears as long-windedly and creatively as the talking parrot of the madame at a pirate’s whorehouse, causing everyone to start.

Masters and Powers walk away, tutting maniacally, while McCreepPerv makes his apologies to my breasts and Moo’s legs, then leads Stacey away. She’s still smiling like an imbecile and I wonder, not for the first time, if she’s on drugs.

Fernando gives me his most winning smile, thanking me for all my hard work. He’s very careful to go out of his way to be nice to me, because he’s the sort of Nice Man who speaks to underlings, and also because he probably can’t figure out if I’m Hispanic, like him, or something else.

I don’t bother clarifying my genetic heritage, obviously, as I doubt “half-human, half-supernatural shape-shifter with a few extras” is on his list of possibilities.

Once Fernando’s gone, that leaves Moo, Shar, and me standing in the hallway.

“Well, there go our most likely suspects,” I murmur, as I use my now-mostly-dry sponge to sop up the water Shar’s just spilled.

“Who are all pretty unlikely,” says Shar, scratching lazily at her exposed belly.

“I don’t know,” Moo says. “I don’t trust Fernando. And he could easily persuade most of these girls to follow him.”

“He could persuade me, that’s for sure,” says Shar. “But I dunno. I’ve flirted with him pretty extremely, and he’s not made any sort of a pass.”

“Maybe he’s not attracted to you,” Moo suggests, her voice arch.

Shar snorts, letting us know how ridiculous that is.

“Of course he’s attracted to me. He’s got a pulse.”

“So?” Moo asks, needling her.

“So? I’m me!”

“And?”

“And I’m not even wearing panties. Do you know what that means?”

“I need to carry wipes?”

“Ew,” I interrupt, knowing the girls could go at it like this all day. “This is serious. We’re working.”

“It’s not like we’ve lost anybody,” Shar says sulkily. She’s been spending too much time as “Starr.”

“True, no one else has gone cult-side since we got here. But we also have jack shit for leads, and it’s been a week,” I remind her.

Moo raises a slim hand. “Not true. Like you said, we have suspects.”

I lean back against the wall, graffiti be damned. “Sort of. But are they really suspects?”

“They’re the only people who don’t have alibis for the nights the girls went missing,” Moo reminds me.

“Yeah, but that’s because we’ve focused everything on the school and they’re the only ones who live together, or alone, and don’t have social lives, so they’re either without alibis or each other’s alibis. Can you really imagine those two old ladies running a Satanic sex cult? And I wouldn’t let Frank lead me to the bathroom, let alone into evil.”

“But it has to be the school,” Moo insists, and I know she’s right. The girls who’ve gone missing have nothing in common, other than the school. They were all the misfits, the losers, the freaks and geeks—the people who walk alone, especially when they walk in school. But even then they didn’t seem to be friends with one another, except for one small group of three girls who were some of the first to go.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be focusing on teachers,” I say, after giving my lip a thorough chew. I turn to Shar. “What about other students?”

“These kids? Hell no. They’re so goody-goody it hurts. I think the only kids who weren’t total sheep were the ones to go with the cult. Now there’s me.”

“Maybe you’re
too
bad,” suggests Moo. “You don’t have to be so extreme all the time.”

Shar swivels, ready to take Moo’s bait, so I intervene. “C’mon, you two. Not the time or place. Shar, pack up your stuff and go home. We’ll meet you back at the hotel. Moo and I will wrap up here.”

Shar flounces off, walking down the hallway toward her locker. I say good-bye to Moo, who strides off in the opposite direction toward her office. I’m about to take off, too, when I remember I still have a job to finish. Swearing under my breath, I grab my sponge, hoping my “magic words” will help scrub off the graffiti. But something catches my peripheral vision: a flash of bright yellow fabric moving down the same hall that Shar just took.

Dropping the sponge, I duck against the wall, looking around carefully. I’m only searching for people, as I know this school like the back of my hand by now, and only the external doors, the main lobby, the gymnasium, and the auditorium have security cameras. If I tuck myself up against the wall, my coast is clear.

I take a deep breath, and I reach down into my magic. I’m not a powerful halfling at all. The product of a human and a nahual, I can’t even shape-shift fully like my dad can. He can be whatever he wants, but I’m limited to morphing some of my features. Whatever weird genetic cocktail got mixed up inside my blood gave me a rare, precious gift, however: that of camouflage. Not only can I cloak myself with a glamour of invisibility, but I can cloak my glamour so that there’s no magical power signature.

I can be the invisible (wo)man, to both humans and supernaturals, at least for a short time, anyway.

Creeping forward on silent feet, I make my way down the hall, then turn to my left after peering carefully around the corner. Shar’s at her locker, talking to someone in the yellow and white uniform of the Trinity cheerleaders.

That’s unexpected
, I think. After all, cheerleaders traditionally rule the high school roost, and even though it’s only for girls, Trinity’s no exception. They may cheer for the neighboring boys’ academy instead of their own school, but that doesn’t make them any less the popular girls.

Unlike Shar, who is at the absolute bottom of the social pecking order, as a new student and as someone who purposefully stands out from the crowd.

So why is a cheerleader talking to Shar?

I creep ever closer, keeping careful magical feelers extended inside my camouflaging glamour. But no one besides me is using any magic in the school that I can sense. Shar has hers dampened, and the girl in yellow appears entirely human.