Elatsoe

by Darcie Little Badger

  Dangerous.

  Ellie hadn’t taught Kirby how to kill. But it was possible. The dead were more deadly than guns. After the Civil War ended, the souped-up United States Federal Army fell upon Texas and slaughtered the men, women, children in her tribe. With her six-great-grandmother dead, there was nobody to stop them. So the surviving Lipan people hid, and in secrecy, some escaped the genocide.

  If the US had also controlled an army of dead hounds, there’d probably be no Lipan left alive. It was difficult enough to survive their deadly magic, powers that weren’t the same as ghosts. Magic came from an alien place, and the use of too much corrupted the natural state of the Earth. That’s what scientists were reporting, anyway. Elements from a different realm were slipping through atom-sized fissures at busy Ring Transport Centers, adding trace amounts of helium and argon and who knew what else to the atmosphere, and major spells left obvious mutations in nearby bacteria. In fact, that year, the Intergovernmental Panel on Magic Use, which was backed by over two hundred scientists, published a warning that excessive magic posed an existential threat, one nobody understood completely and very few people seemed to take seriously.

  Ellie’s ancestors had known—hundreds of years before any report by an intergovernmental group—the damage magic could cause.

  “There! Grace Lane!” Jay said. “Look! We’re about to drive past! Last chance to investigate.” He pointed to a green street sign that read GRACE. It marked the first intersection beyond the stoplight.

  The light turned green.

  As Ellie stepped on the gas, she thought about the diorama in the library. The small-scale replica of Allerton’s clinic had been so innocuous. What about the real thing? There had to be something off about it. An energy, an unwelcomeness. A conspicuously locked cellar. Barbed wire around the parking lot. “Nurses” with sharp teeth and red eyes. Something.

  Then again, Ellie’s parents would be lividly disappointed if she visited Allerton’s den away from home. Even if she just drove by the clinic. The risk was not worth the potential reward. Right? What could Ellie accomplish by a detour down Grace Lane? How could she remain safe without summoning Kirby and potentially falling back into the underworld, Jay in tow?

  She approached the intersection. Slowed. Considering. Tempted.

  Jay’s videos.

  Would Allerton be bold enough to threaten a couple of seventeen-year-olds? Sure. He might. And if they filmed him, that would give her concrete evidence that the doctor was less kindly than he seemed.

  Grace Lane, lined with breeze-rustled trees and pretty little New England–style houses, was directly to their right. Decide now, she thought, and she flicked on the turn signal, yanked on the steering wheel, and jerked the car to the right.

  “I know this sounds like the setup for a creepy found-footage movie,” Ellie said, “but we should check out the clinic and video the whole thing. Get your sister to watch us and record the stream. Just in case. What do you think?”

  Hopefully, Ronnie would agree to help, because Ellie couldn’t ask anybody from her family to stream the video. Vivian would revoke her car privileges for even considering the risky plan, while Lenore might get carried away and charge into the clinic with a crossbow during the investigation. If anyone was getting arrested that day, it would be Dr. Allerton.

  Jay glanced at his phone, which was connected to the car’s USB charging port. “Well,” he said. “My battery is at ninety-nine percent. So we’re safer than most found-footage characters. What’s the plan?”

  “Nothing too involved. I wanna see the place. Get a sense of it. If we’re lucky, Allerton will incriminate himself.”

  Jay held up crossed fingers while Ellie drove to the joining of Grace and Sanitas.

  NINETEEN

  “THIS IS MY FRIEND Ellie Bride,” Jay said, tilting his phone camera so that both he and Ellie were in the livestream shot. “We’re two-ish blocks away from Dr. Allerton’s clinic. What’s his first name again?”

  “Abe,” Ellie said. “How many people are watching us right now?”

  “One. Just Ronnie.”

  “Okay. Nice.”

  “But I’m providing explanatory narration for strangers in case we need to share the video later.”

  Ellie leaned against her car hood and casually glanced up and down the sidewalk. Empty. Good. She’d parked alongside Grace Lane in a neighborhood near the clinic.

  “We’re going now,” Jay said, tucking the phone in his chest pocket. The camera’s glass-covered eye peeked over the edge of his pocket, filming. “Wish us luck.”

  In another circumstance, Ellie would have enjoyed the walk. Well-trimmed oak and maple trees grew along the sidewalk, cooling her in their shade. The air smelled like roses and carried the voices of grackles and mockingbirds.

  “So many squishable mushrooms,” Jay commented, and he was right; the same small, white mushrooms grew in every lawn. As if cultivated.

  “Allerton’s mansion had them, too,” Ellie recalled. “Strange.” She noticed the green sign for Sanitas Street before she saw Allerton’s clinic, which was tucked away from the sidewalk, hidden behind a screen of dense maple branches. The building, made from white-painted wooden planks and surrounded by a picket fence, was well camouflaged among the nearby residential houses.

  “Is this the right place?” Jay wondered aloud. He spun once, slowly, giving the camera in his pocket a three-sixty-degree view of the location.

  Ellie entered the address into a map app on her phone. A pinwheel “loading” icon spun in circles, as if unable to connect. The alert “ADDRESS NOT AVAILABLE” flashed on the screen, but it was quickly replaced by a bird’s-eye view of the clinic and a little red icon labeled “YOU ARE HERE”.

  “Huh,” Ellie said. “Weird. Even my phone had trouble believin’ we’re here, but we’re here.”

  They approached the building, with Jay walking sideways to film the property. The edge of a gravel parking lot peeked from behind the building. Ellie led the way to the entrance. There was a bronze plaque on the heavy wooden door. The symbol of a leech was engraved into the metal. “Get a close-up on this,” she whispered, stepping aside.

  As Jay casually leaned toward the symbol, the door swung outwards and smacked him in the chest.

  “Sorry!” said a woman in the doorway. “I didn’t see you.” One of her arms was in a bright pink cast, and her eyes were surrounded by a mask of purple bruises. Jay politely stepped aside, holding the door open for the injured woman as she descended the two steps separating the entrance from a cobblestone path that wrapped around the clinic. As the woman passed, Ellie had a strange sense of déjà vu, but it quickly passed.

  Once she was out of earshot, Jay whispered, “That looked really painful. Did she get hit by a bus?”

  “I don’t know,” Ellie said. She hadn’t expected to see actual patients in Allerton’s clinic. She thought it would be private, like a Freemason building or celebrity club. Windows boarded up, entrance guarded by a stoic, muscly bouncer.

  “After you,” Jay said, still holding the door.

  Considering Ellie’s initial expectations, the normalcy of the waiting room caught her completely off guard. It was a relatively small space. Several gray PVC chairs were lined along two walls. In the center of the room was a coffee table stacked with home décor, cooking, and fashion magazines. A box of all-age-appropriate children’s toys was placed beside it. A single receptionist sat behind a counter; the sixty-something woman, who had hair as fine white as lamb’s wool, eyed Ellie warily. “Can I help you two?” she asked.

  “Do you have a public restroom?” Ellie asked.

  “It’s not exactly public, but fine. Over there.” The receptionist pointed to a door beside a water cooler.

  “Thanks.”

  Like the lobby, the restroom was disappointingly typical. It even had an emergency cord people could pull if they needed help; that was hardly sinister. She glanced in the trash can to be thorough, unsurprised to find it filled w
ith crumpled paper towels. When Ellie emerged, Jay was sitting on a chair and reading a magazine that advertised “Fifty Recipes for the Grill!”

  “Find anything interesting?” he whispered as she sat down.

  “They have expensive toilet paper. Otherwise, no. What about you?”

  He tilted the magazine down, showing her a picture of burgers garnished with pepper jack cheese and sliced avocado. “Pictures like this make me grateful for those new veggie patties that taste like real animals because they’re made of plant-synthesized hemoglobin,” he said. “We should make some.”

  “Plant-blood burgers? Definitely.” Ellie smiled wistfully. Had it been a usual summer, they’d be grilling veg-meat and sweet potatoes in the park near Jay’s house, instead of rifling through a bathroom trash can and reading month-old magazines.

  Under the receptionist’s watchful eyes, Ellie and Jay left the building. Instead of retracing their steps to the sidewalk, though, they followed the cobblestone path around the clinic. It led to the parking lot, which had just ten parking spaces, four of which were occupied. Ellie recognized Allerton’s black Mercedes Benz immediately. It was parked in front of a sign that read: RESERVED FOR STAFF.

  “He’s here,” she said, looking at the wide back of the clinic building. Its windows were all blocked with plain white shades. That didn’t mean Allerton wasn’t watching.

  “Are trash bins normally locked?” Jay asked. “This one is.” While Ellie had been distracted by the Mercedes, Jay had moved to the edge of the parking lot, where two large, boxy garbage bins were lined up on a strip of grass between the edge of the fence and the cement. One bin was made from bright green metal and marked by the three-arrow symbol for recycling. The other was brown, and its black lid was secured by a padlock.

  “Not usually,” Ellie said, approaching Jay. “The neighbors once put a raccoon-proof lid on theirs, but I don’t think a raccoon could get into this dumpster. And if it was a wild animal thing, Allerton’s recycling would be locked, too, right?”

  Ellie’s phone chimed, and a text from Ronnie popped onto the screen: “do NOT do it”

  “Your sister’s worried,” she said. “She may think we’re going to get inside the dumpster.”

  “Ask her to research lock-picking.” He glanced at his pocket camera. “I’m joking, Ronnie. We’ll stay clean.”

  Near the bins, the air was rank with a bitter, stale stench, one Ellie knew well. Every time she took aluminum soda cans to the community recycling center, she smelled it: stale beer.

  Ellie lifted the green bin’s lid a few inches, and a pungent flood of warm, ripe, beer air escaped. The bin was filled with black garbage bags and plump, buzzing flies. “Ugh,” Ellie said. “I think there’s a hundred old cans in here.”

  Jay wrinkled his nose. “And a thousand bugs. What’s this much beer doing in a clinic’s recycling bin? Illegal dumping? Oh! Maybe it was a work-related tailgate. Dr. Allerton and that glaring woman at reception probably know how to party.”

  Somehow, Ellie doubted that the fancy man hosting a whole bicentennial celebration in his mansion was the kind of boss to cut loose in a parking lot. Before she could offer another, more troubling explanation, her phone pinged with a text from Ronnie: “You’re CAUGHT! Window!!!”

  The camera was pointed toward the building; Ellie turned, following the phone’s line of sight, and noticed one of the lower blinds swaying, as if somebody had pushed it aside to peek out. “Did you see that?” she asked Jay.

  As the question left her mouth, the back door of the clinic swung open. Dr. Abe Allerton, dressed in a white lab coat, stepped outside. He paused on the stoop for a moment, his hands on his hips, the image of patriarchal disapproval. “Now is a good time to leave,” he called. “Before I need to contact your parents.”

  “Why would you do that?” Ellie asked. “We’re just standing here.”

  “You’re loitering on private property.” He crossed the parking lot with long paces. “This isn’t a park. It’s a place of healing and business.”

  “Do you usually drink at work?” Ellie asked him.

  Allerton stopped a couple feet in front of Ellie and Jay, teetering on the edge of their personal space bubble. His expression went inscrutably blank for a moment, and then he smiled in a tight-lipped, reluctant way. As if he was amused, despite his better judgment. Ellie’s parents used to smile like that every time living Kirby made a mess in the house.

  “Of course not,” he said. “That would be unprofessional. If you’re referring to the contents of my recycling bin, some of the neighbors have been using it to dispose of their junk. Not a problem. Whatever encourages green practices.”

  He glanced at a gold watch on his wrist. It was the kind of elaborate timepiece that probably cost several thousand dollars. Ellie wondered if Dr. Allerton actually needed to confirm the time or if he just made a habit of flashing his wrist for the awe factor. “I have an appointment in five minutes,” he said. “Any chance you two will make things easy and move along?”

  Jay shifted, angling his chest toward Allerton. Apparently, the move wasn’t subtle enough to go unnoticed.

  “Are you filming right now?” the doctor asked, and to Ellie’s disappointment, he sounded more amused than worried.

  “Maybe,” Jay said. He tucked his chin, looking down at the phone in his pocket. “Yes.”

  “Is this for the internet? Some kind of video challenge?” He leaned back, his arms crossed, and stared hard at both Ellie and Jay. “Wait. I recognize you now. One of you. Ellie. We met at Mr. Reyes’s funeral.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  His eyes widened slightly, and he looked between her and the recycling bin. “I see.” Allerton reached deep into the pocket of his slacks—

  (Ellie mentally reached for Kirby, ready to call for help.)

  —and withdrew his black leather wallet. He pulled a few twenties from the cash pocket. “For your family.”

  “Save it for your charities, Doctor,” she said, recoiling slightly.

  “Right.” He looked down at the money, seeming lost. “Unfortunately, you cannot remove anything from our waste bins. Health concerns. So.”

  “How do you know my name?” Ellie asked.

  He seemed taken aback. “We met,” he said.

  “Yeah, but I never told you my name.”

  He looked directly at the camera. “She did.”

  “Hey. My eyes are up here, man,” Jay said. “Don’t talk to my clavicle.”

  “And you are?” Allerton asked.

  “Baby Oberon,” Jay said.

  “Right. You both need to go.” He turned around, as if signaling the end of their conversation with his back. Then, Allerton hesitated. His head turned slightly, showing Ellie the edge of upturned lips and a smile-crinkled eye.

  “Try visiting the library or park. They’re much nicer than my parking lot.”

  With that, he returned to the clinic.

  TWENTY

  JAY PUT RONNIE on speakerphone during the drive back to the Ring Center.

  “Was there a point to that?” she asked.

  “Did you hear that comment about the library and park?” Jay asked. “We really were being watched!”

  “By the whole town,” Ronnie said. It wasn’t exactly a question, but her tone seemed incredulous. “Why would they do that?”

  “Could be anything,” Ellie guessed. “Maybe Allerton told everyone we’re troublemakers. He lies like a fish swims and a bird flies.”

  “Shit, I wish that I had the kind of influence to command a whole town,” Ronnie said.

  “No, you don’t,” Ellie murmured.

  “Sorry, what? Bad connection.”

  “When will Kirby come back?” Jay asked, his tone somber. “I’m worried about you now. More worried than before.”

  “Soon,” she promised. “Dan will visit in four days. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of stories.”

  “What kind of stories?” Ronnie asked.

  “
Stories about troublemakers, I guess,” Ellie said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Ronnie said. “When should I pick you up from the Ring Center, Jay? Mom says—”

  “The mushrooms!” Jay interrupted. “That’s it! I knew they looked familiar.”

  “Sorry, what?” his sister asked. “You’re on what now?”

  “There are these white mushrooms growing all over Willowbee,” Jay explained. “I mean all over. I’ve been crushing them all day, like they’re bubble wrap, thinking: these look familiar. It’s ’cause I’ve seen them before! They look like a fairy-ring-forming species.”

  “Well, damn,” Ellie said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “But they weren’t in rings,” Jay said.

  “They weren’t in rings,” Ellie agreed.

  * * *

  Late that evening, when she was alone, Ellie took her laptop outside. She sat cross-legged on a wicker chair and found a detailed satellite-imagery map of Texas on the internet. First, she entered her home address into the map’s search bar and zoomed to the top of her family’s narrow house. The image must have been taken before that year because Ellie could see her old red bike chained to the fence. She played with the map, scrolling down the mountain. Looking for herself or anyone she knew. But the satellite imagery was not detailed enough to re-create human faces; she just saw vaguely person-shaped blobs of color along the sidewalk.

  Next, Ellie entered “Willowbee, TX” into the search bar. A minute passed; no results loaded. Ellie glanced at her Wi-Fi connection, wondering whether it had slowed. It seemed strong, but the map wasn’t responding. She refreshed, tried entering the town name a second time.

  Nothing.

  Then, just as Ellie was about to try a different entry, the screen jumped from her zip code to the center of Willowbee, Texas. She explored the town, disappointed that the resolution was not good enough to identify areas with mushrooms (at most, she could distinguish blobs representing individual bushes and medium-sized objects, such as the sign in the library lawn). She’d wanted to search for a pattern in their growth. Maybe, they were more concentrated around the town perimeter, forming a giant ring. Maybe they were evenly distributed, which would be just as strange as a ring, considering the work required to maintain fickle little mushrooms in South Texas.