“I don’t believe I will,” he said.
Paul snarled and stepped forward, taking one hand off his rifle to grab Alexander’s shoulder. He doubtless intended to shove the older man aside, giving himself a clear line on the plesiosaurs that still swam in the water just offshore. They were close enough that they could be tranquilized and removed from the lake before they drowned. He wasn’t going to let some codger mess up this perfect opportunity.
As soon as Paul’s hand touched him, Alexander moved. His hands gripped the younger man’s wrist, twisting just so as he gave a yank, pulling Paul toward him. From there, it was very little trouble to plant a knee in Paul’s kidney, eliciting a startled grunt of pain and knocking him off balance. Before either Paul or his companion had a chance to react, Paul was standing with his back pressed to Alexander’s chest and Alexander’s arm locked around his neck like an iron bar.
The woman gaped at the two of them for a moment before narrowing her eyes and raising her shotgun. “You let him go right now,” she said.
“I don’t believe you fully understand the situation,” said Alexander, giving Paul’s throat a squeeze to punctuate his words. Paul made a small, strangled noise. “If you fire, there’s a good chance you’ll hit your friend here. Is that really what you want to do? We’re a long way from the hospital. Odds are he’d bleed out right here by the lake, and the plesiosaurs would have a feast.”
“I’ll shoot the girl!” The woman gestured wildly toward the lake. “You’re not the only one who can use people as weapons!”
“No, I’m not, but it seems that I am the only one who actually pays attention to his surroundings, rather than letting himself be sucked into a distraction.” This time when Alexander tightened his grip, he didn’t relax it again. Paul kicked, fingers clawing uselessly at Alexander’s arm. “Go ahead and take a shot at the girl. I’d love to see you try.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. She spun, aiming her shotgun at the last place she had seen Fran—but Fran, who had been a trick rider when she was younger, and who had never met a horse she didn’t dream of running with—was already well past the center of the lake, her knees clasping the back of Bessie’s neck and her arms thrust joyfully into the air as she rode away.
“Amazing, isn’t she?” asked Alexander, releasing his grip on Paul, who collapsed in a boneless heap at his feet. The woman whirled back toward him. His pistol was already in his hand, aimed squarely at her chest. He was smiling. “That’s my daughter-in-law. Now what say you and I have a little chat?”
Herbert Wilson’s house smelled of dust and rotten food, like it hadn’t been given a proper cleaning in weeks, if not longer. Enid’s nose wrinkled as she glanced around the front hall, quickly identifying all the items which were out of place. Muddy boots on the floor; a plate of dried-out sandwich crusts sitting on the stairs. “They’re not living here like guests,” she said, keeping her voice quiet in case there was a third member of the little gang. “They’re squatting.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” asked Jonathan, scanning the area a bit more thoroughly. “If they’re not here with Mr. Wilson’s consent, it becomes easier to be rid of them.”
“Without killing them?” Enid shook her head. “This isn’t going to become easy any time soon. But first we need to find Mr. Wilson, assuming he’s here. You take the basement. I’ll head up to the attic.”
Jonathan nodded. “The door’s in the kitchen?”
“Back of the pantry,” she confirmed. “Shoot anything that looks dangerous.”
“Yes, Mother,” he said, and turned to go, pulling the pistol from his belt as he walked. Behind him, Enid started up the stairs, heading for the second floor and the ladder to the attic.
Searching the entire house would have been more logical, but nowhere near so efficient. If the rustlers—a good word for them, although Enid would have preferred “poachers,” given their intentions—thought there was any chance that they’d be visited by the locals, they’d want to keep Herbert out of sight and out of shouting range. The attic was open, and had lots of places where a man could be chained up away from the window. As for the basement, well. It was perpetually damp and would be an unhealthy place to keep a human being for more than a night or two, but anyone locked away down there would be safely out of view.
She just hoped they hadn’t killed the poor old man. If they had, there would be no choices left: they’d have to die. She didn’t like killing humans. It left a bad taste in her mouth, the remnants of her old Covenant training rising up and telling her that she was choosing monsters over her own kind.
Enid shrugged the thought away. She’d chosen monsters over her own kind years ago. Monsters were often the better men, after all.
Opening the door that concealed the ladder to the attic, she began to climb.
“Mister, I don’t think you and I have anything to talk about.” The unnamed woman’s hands were shaking, making it difficult for her to keep her shotgun up. “This is my uncle’s land. I’m calling the sheriff as soon as I get back to the house.”
“What’s your name, girl?” Alexander’s pistol stayed steady, and his words were perfectly calm, like they were having a conversation over tea and cookies. “I know your husband’s, but I’ve never gotten yours.”
Her eyes darted wildly from side to side, clearly looking for an escape. No such opportunity presented itself. “Eloise,” she admitted, in a sullen tone.
“A good name. I’ve known some very nice Eloises in my day. Now, Eloise, I have a question for you, and you may want to think about it carefully, because it’s going to help determine what happens from here.” Alexander tilted his head slightly to the side, watching her for signs that she was getting ready to do something foolish. “Is Mr. Wilson really your uncle, or are you here under false pretenses? Well—falser pretenses. I think we both already know that he would never have approved you coming here to endanger his beloved plesiosaurs.”
“He’s my uncle,” said Eloise. “Ma used to talk all the time about Uncle Herbert’s monsters. So when Paul said he was looking for a way to turn things around for us, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity.”
Alexander frowned. “Living creatures are not an opportunity,” he said.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Eloise. “Just one of these things could set us up for life. Hey, there’s a bargain for you—let us have one. Just one. Then we’ll go, and we’ll never come back here, I swear.”
Paul groaned. Alexander kicked him in the side of the head. The groaning stopped. “That’s an offer with a great many holes, my dear. What’s to stop you from telling someone else about the lake? And what about the plesiosaur you’re asking me to let you take away? What about her family? What about her life?”
“They’re monsters,” said Eloise. “They don’t have families.”
“Some people define monster a little different,” said Fran from behind her. The words were accompanied by the small click of a pistol’s safety being disengaged. Eloise froze. “I think that if we let you take one of these critters away from their home, we’d be monsters. Just like you.”
“Hello, Fran,” said Alexander. “Any trouble?”
“Not a bit.” Fran kept her gun aimed at Eloise’s head as she glanced at Paul. “What are we going to do with them?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” said Alexander. Across the lake, a plesiosaur bellowed.
Eloise went pale.
The attic was empty, except for chests of old clothing and the usual assortment of broken furniture and forgotten bric-a-brac. Enid looked around, shook her head, and started back down the ladder. Maybe Jonathan would have better luck.
Jonathan had been able to find the basement door without trouble, only to discover—to his considerable dismay—that the light switch did nothing. He propped the door open with a can of beans from the pantry shelf before carefully taking the first steps down into the dark.
“Hel
lo?” he called. “Mr. Wilson, are you here?”
Silence answered him.
“Mr. Wilson, it’s Jonathan Healy. I’m here to rescue you, but I need to know that you’re here before I can do that. It’s very dark in this basement. Please, if you can hear me, answer.”
There was a scuffling noise from the left corner. It could have been rats…but the grunts that followed were distinctly human. Jonathan holstered his pistol, descending the stairs as fast as he safely could.
“I’m coming, Mr. Wilson,” he said, hands outstretched into the darkness. He continued until his fingertips brushed the wall. Then he stopped, and felt his way along until he touched human hair.
Mr. Wilson had been bound and gagged and leaned up against the wall like a sack of potatoes. Jonathan knelt, peeling the gag away.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Herbert Wilson, who had been a prisoner in his own home ever since his niece appeared and asked if she could come inside, spat. Spat again. And finally, in a voice that was no less furious for being weak and crackling, demanded, “What took you so long?”
“I’m tired of holding these people here,” said Fran. “We could just shoot ’em. Save ourselves a lot of trouble later.”
“Murder should always be a last resort,” said Alexander. Paul groaned again; Alexander kicked him in the head again.
“You’re going to kill him!” shouted Eloise.
“Probably not,” said Alexander. “Young men have thick skulls.”
There was a rustle in the brush off to the side. Fran turned to look. Alexander, who was still covering Eloise with his pistol, didn’t, and so missed the moment when Enid and Jonathan emerged from the bushes, holding Herbert Wilson up between them.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, missy,” he said, glaring at Eloise.
“Uncle Herbert?” she whispered.
“You’re no kin of mine,” he said. The old man was thin and pale from his ordeal, but seemed otherwise none the worse for wear: a small blessing, Alexander thought. If Enid had found Herbert dead in the house up on the hill, Fran might have been allowed to commit murder after all. Eyes blazing, Herbert continued, “Your mama may yet be, but the two of you? Not a bit. You’re not welcome on my land. You’re thieves and liars.”
Eloise’s expression shut down, turning sullen once more. “If you’d just been willing to share…”
“I’ve called the sheriff already to tell him what you’ve done,” he said. “He’ll be here soon—and he grew up in these parts. He knows what lives in White Otter Lake, and he wants to protect it as much as I do. No one’s going to believe you about lake monsters where you’re going. But they’ll believe me about kidnapping and robbery.”
Eloise’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t. We’re family.”
“They’re my family,” said Herbert, gesturing toward the lake. “You’re just somebody who happens to be related to me.”
Silently, Eloise started to cry. Behind her, Fran smirked, but didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t necessary.
That night, after the sheriff had taken away Eloise and Paul—who was finally awake, and complaining of concussion—Fran and Jonathan stood on the lakeshore, watching elegant heads lift out of the water. Some had mouths full of fish. One was wearing an accidental crown of waterweeds. Jonathan slipped his arms around Fran’s waist, pulling her against him, and she allowed herself to be pulled without complaint.
“It really is beautiful here,” he said.
“It is,” she agreed. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“Well, I’ve already called Arturo, and he’s agreed bring a few of the Chicago gorgons up to meet Mr. Wilson. Maybe they can make arrangements to get Mr. Wilson some help with the house and with minding the lake.”
“That’s a good choice,” said Fran approvingly. “They need more space than they’ve got, and he needs more help than he has.”
“And Arturo gets an excuse to come and visit and eat more of Mother’s pie,” said Jonathan. “It’s perfect for everyone.”
“It really is,” agreed Fran, settling herself more firmly against him and watching the plesiosaurs move around the lake. “It really, really is.”
In the distance, a plesiosaur bellowed. Another answered back, and the world, strange and wonderful as it was, went on.
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