Half-Off Ragnarok Page 26

  “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.

  That was a foolish fantasy. My eyes were closed before my head hit the pillow, and the last thing I remembered was the warm, familiar weight of Crow settling on my chest. He cawed once, tone inquisitive, and then there was nothing but the dark and my own exhaustion pulling me under.

  Nineteen

  “Playing fair is for people who don’t mind playing to lose.”

  —Kevin Price

  A nice, if borrowed, bedroom in an only moderately creepy suburban home in Columbus, Ohio

  I WOKE TO THE sound of shrieking. I was out of the bed and on my feet in less than a second, already reaching for the gun that I kept in the nightstand. The fact that I was stark naked hit me mid-motion, followed immediately by another shriek. This time, I identified the voice as Shelby’s. It was coming from the floor on the other side of the bed.

  “I’m coming!” I shouted, and ran around the bed, already searching for a target . . .

  ...only to find my girlfriend, who was wearing my bathrobe, lying on her back with Crow sitting proudly in the middle of her chest. His wings were half-mantled, and when he moved them the tips of his primary flight feathers dragged against her arms, tickling her. He moved them as I watched, and another shriek was the result. I lowered my gun, blinking in bemusement, and wished I’d thought to grab my glasses before coming to her rescue.

  “Er?” I said.

  “You!” Shelby sat up, performing a complicated maneuver with her arms, so that Crow wound up in the classic feline “forepaws on shoulder, hind legs resting on arm” position. He turned to look at me over his own shoulder, and I swear the feathery bastard actually looked smug. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Shelby, there is a list of things that can be used as answers to that question. It’s annotated. There’s even an index. How’s your burn?”

  “Hurts like a bitch and a half, but I’ll live; hope you like girls with interesting scars. You’re moving away from the point.”

  “I’m naked, I’m sore, and I just woke up. I don’t know what the point is, ergo, I cannot be moving away from it on purpose.”

  “This fellow!” Shelby shifted her arms again, presenting Crow to me like he was an adoption drive puppy. He put up with it admirably, telegraphing his mild annoyance at being held that way with nothing more than a swishing of his tail and a ruffling of his feathers.

  “When he pecks your eyes out for manhandling him, I’m not going to be as sorry for you as I should be,” I said. With that, I turned around and walked back to my side of the bed, where I sat down, stowed my gun in the nightstand, and finally put on my glasses. The room snapped into blessed clarity. I’m not blind without my glasses, just nearsighted, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy everything being blurry around the edges.

  The mattress jolted as Shelby pulled herself up from the floor and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Did I wake you?”

  “Given the last few days, not only did you wake me, but I thought you were being murdered.” I twisted to scowl at her. She was still holding Crow, and her torso was mostly concealed by the mass of black feathers and tawny fur.

  “Sorry,” she said. Giving Crow’s head a scritch, she added, “But you could have told me about this big fellow. I woke up with him sitting on my chest, trying to sort out who I was and what I was doing in bed with his monkey.”

  “Oh, hell, I didn’t warn you about Crow? I’m sorry.” Anger transitioned to contrition in an instant. “It was late, and I was crashing so hard, I didn’t even think. I hope he didn’t freak you out too much.”

  “If by ‘freak me out’ you mean ‘absolutely delight me,’ he did that in spades.” She kept scritching Crow’s head. He let his beak hang open, eyes closing in bliss. “I had to leave my poor Flora back home in Australia. There was no way I’d have been able to smuggle her through customs, but I’ve missed her every day since, you’ve no idea how hard it’s been on me.” Crow’s purring was loud enough to be audible from across the bed.

  I blinked. “You have a miniature griffin?”

  “No, they’re not native to Australia, and while they’re certainly handsome creatures, they threaten the ecosystems of several of our indigenous species.” The subtext was clear: if miniature griffins were spotted in Australia, and couldn’t be relocated or contained in private collections, they would be destroyed. I couldn’t find any fault with that. There’s a cost to maintaining an island ecology, and sometimes that cost can be unpleasant.

  “So Flora is . . . ?”

  “She’s a garrinna. A very pretty one, too.”

  “I’d love to see her.” Garrinna are sometimes referred to as “marsupial griffins,” even though the title is completely inaccurate and doesn’t describe anything about them beyond their shape. They’re about the size of Welsh corgis, which makes them larger than most species of miniature griffin, and they’re very social creatures. As in “a flock of them can and will dismantle a car, given the opportunity.” They’re virtually extinct, for much the same reason. Well, that, and the part where they look like bright pink parrots crossed with stripy cats. Not much in the way of natural camouflage, there.

  “What’s this one’s name, then?”

  “Crow. He’s a pest, aren’t you, Crow?”

  Crow opened his beak and made a self-satisfied churring noise, seemingly content to remain in Shelby’s arms all day long, if that was an available option.

  Sadly for all of us, it wasn’t. I stood, more slowly this time, and winced as my ankles and knees took this opportunity to object to the way I’d treated them the night before. “What time is it?”

  “Half-seven. I called the zoo before I settled in with this fellow. They know not to expect us today. I think the fact that the fire was on the news last night made my story just that little bit more believable.” Shelby grimaced. “That does take away any chance there might have been that the management doesn’t know we’re sleeping together, though. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s not a problem. I wasn’t really trying to hide it, and what are they going to do, fire us when the rest of the staff is dropping dead?” I stretched, trying to make the muscles in my lower back release. “I need a shower. I smell like forest fire and antiseptic.”

  “Mind if I join you? I don’t mind you running about naked, but I feel like a trash heap.”

  “Not if you promise to remember that while my grandmother may not be a receptive telepath, my slightly scrambled cousin is, and she’s likely to come into the bathroom and start asking inappropriate questions if we make any mental noise that interests her.”

  Shelby wrinkled her nose. “That’s a libido killer, but no, I promise, I just want to clean off right now, and I’m not much in the mood for being on my own. Something about my apartment combusting around me has rather put me off solitude.”

  I paused in the act of reaching for a pair of clean sweatpants to stop and look back at her. “I guess things have gotten a little exciting, huh? I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. I’m a big girl; you didn’t drag me into anything I didn’t force you to allow me to be a part of.” Shelby put Crow down on the bed, where he wrapped his tail around his feet and croaked in irritation. “I wouldn’t be a cryptozoologist if I didn’t like a bit of excitement every now and again. I just didn’t expect the excitement to be quite so flammable, that’s all.”

  This time, I managed to swallow the marriage proposal before it could escape. “Okay, then. Let’s go shower.”


  Twenty minutes, a lot of soap, and only two accidentally poked bruises later, we were clean and semi-presentable. Shelby scooped Crow off my bed before following me downstairs to the kitchen, where Sarah was attempting to eat a bowl of oatmeal, under the watchful eye of my grandmother. At least, I thought it was oatmeal. Oatmeal isn’t usually that red, but the color could be explained by the ketchup bottle that was sitting off to one side.

  Grandma looked up as we entered, and smiled. “Good morning, sleepyheads. Shelby, how’s the robe?”

  “Quite good, thank you, but er . . . where are my clothes?” Shelby shrugged, expression sheepish. “I got up this morning and my suitcase had gone.”

  “Your clothes are at the dry cleaner’s, along with Alex’s. You’d never have been able to get the smell of smoke out otherwise.” Grandma stood, patting Sarah once on the shoulder, and crossed to the stove. “There’s toast and oatmeal, if either of you are hungry.”

  “I’m starving,” I said. “Shelby?”

  “I could eat. But er, if the clothes are at the dry cleaner . . . you didn’t just hand over the suitcase, did you?”

  “Your knives are in the box on Alex’s dresser,” said Grandma, beginning to dish up two large bowls of oatmeal. “Didn’t you have a gun before?”

  “It’s upstairs with my clothes. I put it on before we left the apartment.” Crow squawked. Shelby obligingly put him down, and he began twining around Grandma’s ankles, churring to be fed.

  “That was probably wise of you.” Grandma ignored the begging griffin as she turned, holding out the bowls. “Brown sugar, raisins, and curry powder are on the counter, butter and ketchup are on the table. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Er . . . is there coffee?”

  “I’ll take care of coffee,” I said. “I’ve never heard you say ‘er’ so many times before.”

  Shelby glared at me. “Shove off,” she suggested. I laughed.

  Things were calm for a little while after that. Shelby and I doctored our oatmeal—neither of us added ketchup, although she did add a pinch of curry powder—and sat to devour our breakfasts. Sarah ate about half her oatmeal before pushing the bowl aside and leaning back to stare at the ceiling. I paused with my spoon halfway to my mouth, waiting to see if she was going to do anything else. When several seconds passed without her moving, I shrugged and went back to the food.

  I was finishing my coffee when Grandma said, “I think it’s about time we started talking about what happened last night, don’t you?”

  “Do you mean the visit to Dee’s neighborhood, or someone deciding to burn down Shelby’s apartment while we were still inside?”

  “Both, if you would be so kind.” Grandma took the seat next to Sarah, folding her hands primly on the table. “I would have asked last night, but it was clear you needed to sleep. So you’re going to tell me now. And then you can call your parents.”

  “This day just gets better and better,” I muttered. “We started by following Dee to the local gorgon community . . .”

  Twenty minutes seems to be the most common interval in human experiences, because that’s also how long it took me to explain the situation to Grandma, including the fight with the lindworm and our dinner with Hannah. From there, Shelby and I took turns relaying what happened at the apartment—slightly edited, of course, since I had no interest in discussing my sex life with my grandmother.

  When we finished, Grandma nodded, and then looked to Sarah. “What do you think?”

  “They’re telling the truth, and four times four is sixteen,” said Sarah, still looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “My head hurts. You were hurting a lot last night.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said.

  “You aren’t a candle.” She lowered her head, fixing me with an accusing stare. “You can burn and burn, but you’ll never give any good light. And I don’t think it would smell very good, either.”

  Shelby snorted laughter. “She’s got your number down to rights, Alex. No playing candle.”

  “You got burned worse than I did,” I said defensively. Then, to Sarah, I said, “I promise to do my best not to get set on fire, but I can’t promise it’s never going to happen again. We have dangerous jobs. You know that.”

  “Knowing that and knowing it aren’t the same thing, even if they use the same words,” said Sarah. She sounded frustrated. Pushing back her chair, she stood and walked out of the kitchen.

  I sighed. “Grandma, I’m sorry. I—”

  “Alex Price, I could kiss you right now.”

  “What?” I blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that’s Sarah’s making a lot more sense these days? You just had a whole conversation with her, and yes, it was unsteady in places, but she knew who you were. The whole time, she was talking to her cousin Alex, and not to some college professor whose class she audited or a character from one of her PBS shows.” Grandma beamed. “She’s coming back to us. She’s putting the pieces of herself back into the order they’re supposed to be in, because she knows you need her. This is wonderful.”

  “Great, I should have arranged for someone to start trying to kill me sooner.” I stood. “I need more coffee. Shelby?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” She looked at my grandmother, expression uncharacteristically earnest. “I know we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, what with that whole ‘I came here intending to kill you’ aspect of things, but I hope you do understand that I’m genuinely sorry about all that.”

  “It’s a common reaction to my species,” said Grandma. “Since you didn’t start dating my grandson just to get access to the house, I’m not angry. Now, if you’d actually shot me, it might be a different story.”

  “If I’d actually shot you, I think Alex would’ve shot me immediately after, and my story would be finished now,” said Shelby. “I’m not in a hurry to wind up in a shallow grave.”

  “Hey,” I said, stung. “I’m a professional. Shallow graves get discovered. No one would ever find your body.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s very reassuring,” said Shelby. “Anyway, Ms. Price, what I’m trying to say is . . .”

  “It’s Baker, actually,” said Grandma. “I’m Alex’s mother’s mother. His father’s mother is Mrs. Price. We didn’t get along at first, and I think calling me by her name might convince her that we’re not getting along now. Alice can be a little . . .”

  “My paternal grandmother is about as stable as the San Andreas fault right after it’s been ripped open by a rock elemental,” I said. “Love her. Love her lots. But, yeah, we try not to push her buttons when there’s any possible way to avoid it, because she habitually carries a backpack full of grenades.”

  Shelby blinked. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

  “And now you’re starting to understand Grandma Alice.” I stood and walked over to the counter, where I refilled my coffee cup.

  “I . . . see.” Shelby shook her head, almost as if she was trying to physically force the weirdness away. Sitting up a little straighter, she looked at my grandmother, and said, “To return to an earlier topic, I would greatly appreciate it if you would accept my apologies for the way we met, especially as you’ve been so hospitable during what could have been a genuinely trying time. Well. Is a genuinely trying time. I think my apartment burning down counts as a trying time.”

  “So does everyone else, dear,” said my grandmother, cutting Shelby off before she could begin another round of awkward apologies. “You’ll be staying with us until the police have finished their investigation of your building, of course. Maybe longer, depending on how bad the smoke damage is.”

  Shelby’s eyes widened. “Oh, I couldn’t impose, it would be—”

  “The sensible thing to do, under the circumstances.” Grandma shook her head. “Maybe whoever burned your building was after Alex, and you simply had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He usually stays here, after all, and only a fool
would approach this house with malice on their mind.”

  Shelby, who had done exactly that, reddened.

  Grandma was polite enough not to say anything, for which I was profoundly grateful. She continued calmly, saying, “But it’s also possible that whoever burned your building was trying to kill you.”

  “Me?” squawked Shelby. “What in the world would someone have against me? I’m just a visiting zoologist. And I’m quite charming; ask anyone who’s met me. I’m not the sort of girl who inspires murder attempts, not unless I’m really working at it.”

  “You did go with me to the gorgon community,” I commented, as I returned to the table. “Someone could have seen you, and decided you were a threat. Maybe they would have tried to burn the building even if I wasn’t there, and getting us both was just two assassination attempts for the price of one.”

  “You’re an optimistic lot, aren’t you?” Shelby crossed her arms, slumping in her seat. “So maybe whoever torched my place was trying to kill me, not you, or me and you, or just you. Regardless of how you slice this, you’re looking at someone trying to kill someone I’m fond of.”

  It took me a moment to untangle her sentence. Then I smiled. “I’m fond of you, too. And there’s a way we can find out whether someone is trying to kill one or both of us.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “First things first. Hey, Grandma, do we have anything Shelby can borrow?”

  Slowly, my grandmother began to smile.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  “You look fine.”

  “I’m quite serious. I’m going to murder you. I’m going to murder you to death. And then, after I’ve finished doing that, I’m going to kill you again, just to be sure you got the point.”

  “Shelby, honestly, you look fine.”

  Shelby sank deeper into the passenger seat of my car, folding her arms, and glared at me. I had enough of a sense of self-preservation not to snicker, but it was a close thing. It wasn’t the outfit, either. Sarah’s clothing might not fit Shelby’s sense of style—somehow, I couldn’t picture Shelby ever voluntarily donning a knee-length green skirt and a white peasant blouse that looked like it had been stolen straight out of the 1960s—but it was clothing, it was clean, and I’d seen stranger, usually on one of my sisters. Being the only male in my generation has made me very flexible where female fashion is concerned. (Artie doesn’t count. Artie divides girls into three categories—“terrifying,” “related to me,” and “Sarah.” Near as I can tell, the only category he actually looks at is Sarah.)