Marked Fur Murder (35 page)

“Yes, it can,” said Fimsby. He dabbed at this mouth with a napkin. “It can be both beautiful and downright terrifying, often at the same time.”

“Well, the joke's on Ben,” I said. “He may think his secluded little fishing hole is still a secret, but I've got a GPS tracker built into my tablet. I haven't bothered, but I could find my way back there if I had to.”

ZZ shook her head. “You took your tablet along? No wonder he went fishing—you were probably working the whole time.”

“Not true,” I said. “I have a very firm rule about that tablet—it's only for work. In fact, I lock that tablet in my office every night. It's there right now; I refuse to bring work home with me.”

“No, of course you don't,” Oscar said drily. “Just to the beach.”

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself, dear,” said ZZ. “Even if Ben didn't catch any fish, he certainly found some delicious lobster.”

That was a sentiment everyone agreed with. Fimsby even asked for seconds, which helped explain his paunch.

Or maybe he was secretly thinking about all those big, fat deer at that deep, secluded watering hole …

*   *   *

not
going to work.>

[Quiet. We're dealing with a psychic creature, and we don't know the extent of its capabilities. It might be able to overhear our telepathic communication.]

Our trap had been set. The bait—my tablet—was in plain sight on my desk. The door was locked and the window was open a few inches and locked in that position. A shape-shifting burglar looking for quick directions to an all-you-can-eat venison buffet wouldn't find it difficult to gain entry, but they'd need to squeeze through a narrow gap, first: either through the window or under the door. Tango was outside in a tree, Whiskey was hidden under my desk, and I was across the hall in a storage closet, peering through a keyhole. If anyone tried to get in, one of us would know.

Unless, of course, all the mental chatter alerted said shape-changer and scared them off.

Neither Whiskey or I responded, but that didn't stop Tango.

I sighed.
Look, we agreed to give it a try. Old habits die hard, and from all accounts these creatures had big appetites and liked deep water. The combination might prove irresistible.

invented
waiting
.
But you're forgetting two things: one, that snakes can go a long time without food; and two, that if it were really that hungry, it has a whole animal smorgasbord right next door.>

I know that. But if a zebra or something disappears, it'll look suspicious. It's too sneaky for that
.

[You said Firstcharger was faking that.]

You couldn't have pointed this out earlier?

Her logic was impeccable. Highly irritating, but impeccable. I scowled and tried to think of a way to gracefully admit she was right.
Tango? I hate to say it, but—

[What?
Where?
]

She sounded terrified. <
It's huge!>

[Stay calm. Is it approaching the house?]

[Maybe you were right about its choice of cuisine.]

I stepped out of the closet, darted across the hall, and opened the door. Whiskey burst out and sprinted down the hall, with me right behind him.

[Can you still see it?]

She sounded a little calmer now.

Are you
chasing
it?

[We're right behind you. Don't get too close.]

We were sprinting across the lawn now, but I still couldn't see Tango. Time to call in the reinforcements.

Cell phone. Speed dial. Two Thunderbirds waiting on the second-floor balcony of the east wing, ready to take flight and bring the lightning.

No service.

I stared down at my phone in disbelief. It stubbornly refused to change its mind and start working. I felt like I'd been betrayed by one of my own organs, like my pancreas had suddenly decided to go on strike for better working conditions and more bile.

I didn't have time for a Plan B. I kept running.

I caught up to Whiskey at Oswald's enclosure—the large fenced pen that housed our resident ostrich. Oswald's something of an escape artist, so the fence was high and the gate locked. Despite that, something had managed to get in.

Something really, really big.

Tango was on top of a nearby post, while Whiskey had shifted form to his true shape, the one he'd been born with: a three-hundred-pound brute with a pedigree that included English mastiff, Great Dane, St. Bernard, and Alaskan timber wolf. He was growling, deep in his broad chest, at the thing that rose up in the pen before us.

The serpent was big enough to swallow a Volkswagen, long enough to block six lanes of traffic, and as brightly colored as a bag full of Skittles. It should have left ditch-deep tracks, but I couldn't see any trail at all. Nor had it smashed through the fence; it must have gone over the top without crushing it.

We stared at the giant snake coiled around the shed Oswald slept in. It looked as though the Unktehila was in the mood for some chicken—or maybe it just preferred the taste of bird.

And then it noticed us.

It stared down. We stared up. I had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's my least favorite feeling in the world, and it's worse than just fear. It's how I feel when I'm
unprepared;
it feels like falling, deaf and blind and naked, and having absolutely no idea how far away the ground is. Somehow, I'd managed to get not only myself but both my partners into that particular situation, and any second now we were all going to hit the planet with a great big
splat
.

Or, you know, get eaten by a giant mythological snake …

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
ONE

I'm a detail-oriented person. I notice the little things, even when big things are happening all around me. I once had to use a fire extinguisher on a bass guitarist who'd managed to set himself afire during a solo, and even while I was literally putting out a fire I still noticed that one of the buttons on his shirt had popped off and would need to be replaced before the next show. Custom-tailored, bone buttons shaped like little
T. rex
skulls, handmade in Portland, Oregon. It's just how I'm wired.

So, as I was contemplating being devoured by an immense, supernatural serpent, I couldn't help but notice it was the wrong one.

A tongue like a two-pronged pitchfork made of bubble gum popped out of its mouth, flapped at us, and popped back in again. It was tasting our scent, seeing if we were gobble-worthy or not. It considered the information it had just gathered, then reared up like a subway train thinking about a sudden career switch to rocket.

No, not rocket. Rainbow.

It arced through the sky in a long, graceful curve, more like an inchworm than a snake. That arc went right over the far side of the fence, the serpent's whole body flowing in a gravity-defying wave that made it look as if it were moving through water instead of air. In a matter of seconds it was gone.

We just stood there.

I was the first one to finally speak. “No horns,” I said.

[No large crystal on its head.]

I winced. “No need to yell. Something isn't right, Tango. An Unktehila is supposed to have horns and a big, mystic crystal on its forehead. That had
neither
.”

[A gigantic snake that could have easily consumed us. Yet it did not.]

Don't look a gift hearse in the mouth?
The hearse that just took off had more than enough room for all three of us, and you're worried about whether or not it had the right hood ornament?>

“That hood ornament is a central part of the myth,” I said. “It's how it controls minds. Why wasn't it—hey.
Look
.”

I pointed at the ground inside Oswald's enclosure. It was mostly hard-packed earth, with some patchy grass and a few bushes, but that was changing before our eyes. Spots of green were springing up, in a line between us and Oswald's shed, as well as in a ring around it. Grass, growing in the path the snake had traveled.

Tango admitted.

“Well, well, well,” said a familiar voice behind me. I turned around to see Keene strolling toward us, a grin on his face and a drink in his hand. “Late-night walkies? I thought you went home ages ago, Trot.”

“I came back to get something I forgot,” I said. I wasn't looking at him, though; I was looking at who was walking beside him.

Fimsby.

“Ever so glad you're here,” said Keene. “I've been attempting to educate Efram here on the finer points of snooker for the last hour, to no avail. Care to join us?”

“He's been with you the whole time?”

“And Teresa. She took off about twenty minutes ago, though. Said she had something to attend to.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I've got to get home.”

“Suit yourself. Ta.”

I watched him and Fimsby go back to the house. “I think,” I said softly, “that it's time to reconsider some of our assumptions.”

But first I had to go reassure Ben and Teresa that we were still on the outside of any neighborhood reptilian esophagus. I found them on the balcony, deep in conversation about rain.

“Foxtrot,” Ben said. “Everything all right? I thought you were going to call.”

“So did I,” I said. “But my cell phone abruptly stopped working. No idea why, unless the presence of massive, brightly scaled monsters makes technology malfunction.” I told them what had—and hadn't—happened.

“No horns or crystal? You're sure?” Teresa asked. “That makes no sense.”

“Neither does the new lawn in Oswald's pen, but it's easy to verify. In fact, you could take a little stroll down there right now.” I smiled sweetly at her, and she took the hint more gracefully than I thought she would.

“I'll see you in the morning, Ben,” she said. “First class is promptly at ten o'clock. Don't be late.” She sauntered away without wishing me a good night.

“Ten?” I said to him. “That seems kind of late. What happened to dueling at dawn?”

He slipped an arm around me. “I have to serve up breakfast first, remember? And this isn't going to be a duel. It's instruction.”

“Just remember there's no teacher's petting in this class.”

“I promise. You know you have nothing to worry about, right?”

I looked him in the eye. “Of course not. Just because you and a gorgeous woman with superpowers are going to be spending a lot of time together in another dimension where no times passes and nobody can see what you're doing and you'll probably both be drenched to the skin within minutes and okay, maybe I'm a little worried. I mean, this is not exactly an ordinary level of trust you're asking for, here. For all I know she's going to tell you that the only way you'll ever learn how to master your abilities is to have wild, mind-blowing eagle sex.”

He frowned. “What's eagle sex?”

“It's where two eagles lock talons while flying and go into a cartwheeling dive, pulling apart at the last second before they hit the ground.”

“Sounds next to impossible. For one thing, I'm pretty sure I don't have talons. And even if I did, I doubt that's where my sex organs are located.”

“It
is
impossible. It's a myth. Which is exactly my point—if she told you something like that, how would you know if she was telling the truth? Everything
about
this is mythical. Thunderbirds, Unktehilas, ghosts, and gateways to other dimensions—she could tell just about any lie and get away with it.”

He reached down and took my hand. “Not everything is a myth, Foxtrot. The real world is still here, ticking away like it always does. And there are real things in it, too. Like me and you.”

He kissed me. It was a nice moment, a verging-on-momentous moment, because he was coming awfully close to saying that particular phrase, the one that's so hard to say the first time and eventually turns into something you say so often it loses all meaning.

Which is when, in a flash of clarity, my brain made a connection it hadn't before.

I broke the kiss and pulled back, leaving Ben staring at me with a puzzled look on his face.