by Tempe O'Kun
With a quiet cackle, Karl slapped down another card: a giant serpent. “Okay, I cast Sand Spewer and I blow up that realm.” He poked a heavy digit at one of Max’s cards.
Surveying his options for a moment, the canine then picked up a card. “I sacrifice a gadget to Mirror-Polisher. That redirects the destruction effect to your only desert-type realm. Since your Sand Spewer has desert-home, it dies.”
The pudgy rhino straightened, one of the few town residents tall enough to look Max in the eye. Not that he usually did: he still seemed dazzled by his TV heroes emergence into real life. “Desert-home?” His heavy fingers poked at his phone as he searched for the term.
The canine’s blunt claw hovered over the card text. “It’s what the game called that ability, ten years ago. It comes up in some of the tie-in novels.”
“You’re in trouble now, Karl.” The bat giggled. “Somebody finally has more arcane knowledge of the rules than you.”
After a blink of amazement, the shop attendant put away his phone. “I still have Gorgak, the Nameless One.” His thick grey finger poked the card, though not enough to bend it. “His ability is you can’t name him for the purposes of your spells.”
“He has a name, though.” Max peered down at the card. “It’s Gorgak.”
“A-a-ah!” The rhino waggled a thick finger with obvious pride. “You’re naming him.” He started turning cards sideways. “I attack with him and all my mold-demons…”
“Why are you running sand serpents and mold-demons?” Max turned a paw palm-up at the cards. “They hate each other in the lore.”
“They do?” Karl stared at them around his horn.
“Well, yeah. Think about it.” He tapped a paw pad beside on of the monsters. “Mold-demons serve Quag, Queen of the Mindsuckers. She wants to flood their deserts…” He shrugged, figuring the other gamers knew the rest.
“Huh.” The rhino scratched his chin. “See, I just put them together because their abilities work with one another.”
Rune nibbled another gummy worm. “This is fascinating.”
Fun facts aside, Karl’s Gorgak monster wasn’t a big problem, but it was one he had no answer for. It couldn’t be intercepted or targeted, so he now had a countdown until he lost the game. Max’s main trick was a good defense until he could bring out powerful monsters later. The old cards he relied on just weren’t made for this situation. He used his Beguiling Bard to distract the mold-demons, but had to take the rest of the damage, hoping he’d get a lucky draw soon.
Up the street, a familiar putter rattled. An amphibious car rolled into view through the front windows. With a jingle and a bang, Kylie exploded from the vehicle and burst into the game shop with the tinkle of a tiny bell. “Maxie! We’ve got a lead!”
The husky’s ears popped up. He glanced to Karl, trying to think of a polite way to excuse himself from the game.
His opponent broke out into a giant grin and mouthed the word “a lead.” Cards in one hand, he flipped him a thumbs-up with the other.
With a deep breath, the canine turned back to his girlfriend.
Eeling around a display of potion-themed energy drinks, Kylie popped up beside him. “C’mon!” She took him by the paw and, feet scrabbling on the tile floor, towed him from the store.
“I guess I’ll see you later, Karl.” The two-meter-tall dog amiably allowed himself to be dragged along. He tipped a finger at the game. “Watch my cards, would you?”
Blinking, Karl gave a confused wave. “Umm, sure!” He began delicately scooping up the cards. “Later!”
Glancing to her friend, the bat dangled in surprise and whispered. “Does that happen a lot?”
As Max and Kylie hurried out the door, the rhino shrugged. “I guess that’s how being famous works.”
A scattering of clouds did little to hide the sun. Light winds traipsed in from the sea, unfurling the alien-faced banners strapped to the sides of a kiosk selling novelty balloons at inflated prices. On the street, a cluster of tourists with dowsing rods followed unseen forces and the advice of their paid instructor, who did her best to steer them out of traffic. Even in Windfall, motorists had limited patience for unseen forces.
With a sudden stop, the lutrine twirled to face him. “Wait a sec. Are you sure you wanna skip out on your game? I kinda dragged you away.” She peered back through the game store window. “I can scout it out first, then text you.”
Max shook his head. “No, no. I should go and make sure you don’t jump down a mineshaft.”
Chittering with pique, she wiggled in front of him. “Why would I jump down a mineshaft?”
He shrugged. “I’m not saying you won’t have a reason. I’m just saying you might jump.” Leaning in, the dog murmured beneath the drone of street hubbub. “Mind telling me where we’re going?”
“Okay, so!” She rubbed her paws together. “Shane’s boss called and had him attend the Chamber of Commerce meeting. That’s why he needed me to cover for him.”
His triangular ears flicked up. “Isn’t Shane’s boss also your boss?”
“Shane’s my boss. This guy can’t be my boss if I’ve never met him. Anyway, while Shane’s there eating all their snacks, he hears about this weird little chunk of land they’re dealing with.” The short lutrine shoved a phone in his muzzle. It displayed a map. “Up in the hills. Guess who owned it?”
The dog blinked. “…I know, like, six people in this town.”
She swatted his arm. “Joe! Alien handyman and property speculator.” She chittered with pride at her discovery and yanked on his wrist. “What’d ya wanna bet it’s where he crashed his spaceship?”
Allowing himself to be hauled along, the dog nodded. “If he had a spaceship, wouldn’t he have left in it?”
Wiggles of impatience undulated up the otter before him. “Not once he totaled it.”
“Ah yes.” He nodded. “Why fix it? Much easier to punch a hole in the fabric of reality.”
An elderly mink tottered by, trailed by the scent of musk and medicated cream. Hefting her bag of groceries, she paid absolutely no mind to their conversation about extraterrestrials. She tottered into a small apartment building. Vinyl howls from the Newfoundland Dogs Choir roared from within. Reality seemed fine, at least by Windfall standards.
Rounding on her Amphicar, the otter vibrated with excitement. “You comin’ or not?”
Rolling his eyes, he found himself smiling. “With you, always.”
“Great!” She crammed him into her tiny car.
Max squeezed into the seat, with a complaint from the suspension. An extra seatbelt component shook loose from under the headrest, clattering to his lap. “Why is the car growing additional shoulder straps?” He examined the thick canvas ribbon and tried to clip it into place, but it barely got halfway across his chest. “Are these aftermarket otter seatbelts?”
Kylie shrugged as she slid behind the wheel, clicking the additional belts into place with the careless ease of practice. “Yeah, we’re basically torpedoes, so we need extra straps to keep us in. Mom remembered this car was built in the 70s and ordered them online.” With a turn of the key, the petite four-cylinder engine sputtered triumphantly to life.
“And what is our target today?” Not for the first time, the husky tried in vain to adjust the seat further back.
“The truth.” She threw the boat-car into gear, which obediently scooted into traffic. She squawked the horn at wandering diviners in the roadway, then glanced back to her boyfriend. “Duh.”
Evening fell slowly on the hills around Windfall. A fine mist lingered in the shade and hollows. Songbirds chirped and flittered, bobbing through the shadowed branches and diving to nab unwary bugs.
Kylie parked on some forgotten gravel road the GPS insisted was nearest to their objective. After prying her boyfriend out of the car, she dragged him into the dense wilderness surrounding the property. In spite of short little otter legs, she noodled her way through the forest. Her streamlined frame offered little for bra
nches to catch on. When she hit a rocky outcropping, she wriggled up it with fluid flexibility.
Her husky boyfriend tromped after her, mulching the undergrowth with every stride. “Rudderbutt, should we really rifle through the possessions of the guy who almost killed us?”
The otter rounded on her boyfriend and counted on her fingers. “He’s in another dimension. He’s not going to find out. He made it pretty clear he’s not coming back.” Then she threw her paws in the air. “Who better than us? We have some idea what’s in there.”
Max nodded. “Ah yes: as the people who ruined his life, we are the most qualified to steal his stuff.”
“We didn’t ruin his life.” She wiggled past a low tree branch, then fished a single-serving of jerky from her fishing vest, ripped it open with her teeth, and tossed it to him. “He hated it here.”
The canine snapped up the treat in mid-air, with a grateful wag. “We can’t be the first people to notice alien handymen.” His powerful muzzle contorted to speak politely as he munched on the leathery beef. “Don’t you think we should check in with some kind of authority?”
Kylie stuck the wrapper back in her pocket. “What authorities? Sooner or later, tourists are going to find this.” She jerked her thumb toward town. “You wanna just leave it to some wandering lunatic?”
“You’re right.” Swallowing the last of the jerky, he rolled his eyes. “Better left to us local lunatics.”
Her stride swayed more than usual. “Maxie, put yourself in my shoes…”
Amused, he sniffed. “Seems like a good way to ruin your shoes.”
“Gotta prove the supernatural, Maxie!” She answered in a show tune sing-song voice, traipsing around a tree trunk. “Restore my family honor and blame everything on Joe!”
“Shouldn’t be too hard, since he’s in another dimension and can’t defend himself.” The husky nodded. “I just have this other goal where we don’t get poisoned by some alien snack.”
Sputtering, she straightened her posture. “I don’t put random things in my mouth!”
“No comment, but you could get poisoned by touching it.” Those pretty blue eyes narrowed at the distance. “Or irradiated.”
She shrugged pointedly at him. “Why would he eat radioactive food?”
“I have no idea. That’s my point.” He lifted a wide white paw toward her. “We know very little about Joe’s biology, except that he had no particular resistance to pepper spray.”
Without missing a stride, she swung a fantom bludgeon. “Or blunt-force trauma.” Flowing atop a half-buried boulder, she spun to face him at eye level. “I’m still proud of you every time I walk by that bent stairway rail.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and kissed her, then lifted her by the armpits and into a hug. “I tried my best to straighten it. You think your mom noticed?”
The river otter groaned as she was set down. “She’s trying very hard to not notice any of this.”
The pair continued, trudging through forest and gossamer fog. A setting sun glowed like embers on the dew of the trees. Breaking through one more patch of trees, they arrived at a small Quonset hut, slightly buried in the side of a hill. Its interlocking steel plates shone dull with age, forming a half-tube structure. Patches here and there had been expertly touched up with silver rust-stop paint. Moss draped it. A large tree, as big around as Max, grew against one side, carefully manicured over half a century to not damage the front wall. Here and there, the concrete pad it sat on had been expertly patched. A steel door, painted drab gray, stood bolted and locked, also without a speck of rust.
The lutrine stood, pondering the structure for a moment. “You know, for an amoral alien killing machine, Joe was a pretty good handyman.”
Max nodded. “Yeah, your mom’s roof came out really nice.”
She nodded back. “Guess he had time to learn.”
“Next question…” The husky leveled a narrow look at his girlfriend as he drew a pair of bolt cutters from his backpack. “You sure this isn’t illegal?”
Kylie grunted and shrugged.
With a roll of his eyes, he set them in place and snapped the cheap padlock free with a single flex of his arms.
The door whispered open. Inside, a dark space lay filled with orderly rows of crates and boxes. Here and there, tools hung from racks or propped against walls.
Kylie eeled into the room and started picking up everything she could get her paws on. “Otters have been salvaging lost loot for centuries.” She popped open a dusty glass jar and found it full of roofing nails. She set it down and scampered around the Quonset hut, looking for more interesting treasures. “It’s the law of the sea.”
Max lifted the flap of an ancient cardboard box with a careful claw, then glanced at her. “We’re on land.”
“Earth’s mostly sea, though. I’d say it applies.” Her paws settled on a lever, which she pulled a few times before realizing it connected to a jack and not some kind of secret chamber. “I’m related to lawyers, ya know.”
He clicked on his flashlight and scanned the top shelves. “Disbarred, I presume, if their legal advice is anything like yours.”
“Don’t be an old biddy, Maxie.” She snatched a drill from a box and cranked it a few times, considering its possible applications in oyster-shucking, then abandoned it. “Being in the same dimension is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Fine, but I reserve the right to cancel this expedition if we find anything really dangerous.” He shone his flashlight around the gloomy space, glinting through some jars with murky contents. “Or that makes our teeth hurt, like those alien whatsits in his subterranean lab.”
“That’s how we’ll know we’re on the right track.” With a wiggle of whiskers and hips, she straightened into a heroic pose. “We otters are also expert navigators.”
“You’re a river otter.” He crossed his thick arms. “Don’t pretend you’re some oceangoing hipster who’s never set paw on terra firma.”
“Fine, I’ll use my extensive land knowledge.” She chattered sass at him over the neat stacks of boxes. “Oh look, what do we have over here?” She unfurled a paw at a spider in one corner of the ceiling. “A land crab in its web.”
He unleashed a heavy canine sigh, which stirred dust from an upright tool chest. He opened it to find perfect rows of tools, complete down to the smallest ratchet. A tiny, possibly involuntary, nod revealed his approval.
The otter rolled her eyes and misaligned a stack of shingles with her sneaker. It took considerably more effort than she’d expected. For a fleeting moment, she hoped that meant the shingles were magic, but closer examination revealed that shingles are just heavy.
Max turned to look at her, then glanced down at a row of shrink-wrapped wood panels. “Have to admit, I was expecting something spookier. This mostly seems like a normal shed.” He scuffed across the concrete floor. “Oh hey. Those new cabinet doors your mom ordered for the kitchen.”
“Huh.” She crouched down and examined them. Under a thin layer of dust, finished red wood shone. “They came out pretty nice.”
The dog rolled his eyes, jerking a thumb toward the front side of a one such door. “What’s with otters putting nautili on everything?”
“The nautilus is a noble beast!” Her flashlight shone on him accusingly. “The real question is why you landlubbers put artichokes and pine cones on bedposts instead.”
“Ferns, pineapples…” Max sniffed around the dark and cluttered shed. “Victorians went nuts for anything with a Fibonacci sequence.”
“Still, good that we found them.” Her claw flicked at the clear plastic wrapping on one door. “I think Mom paid a lot for them.”
“Oh yeah.” He chuckled, examining some lengths of either bone or driftwood. “She’s been complaining they never turned up. She thinks Joe is in hiding somewhere, living it up on her sweet, sweet cabinet money.”
Kylie’s gaze caught on two abstract-patterned strips of fabric, splashed with 90s hues, muted by a thin layer of dust
. She picked them up to find they contained a metal core. A chitter of excitement leapt from her muzzle. “Hey! I remember these!”
“What are those?” Max tilted his head to examine them. “Unmarked rulers?”
With a groan, she rolled her eyes and stepped over a stack of new shingles. She swished the straightened bracelets back and forth before him. They felt like the sturdy kind, not the cheap ones that broke after a few tosses across the room to see if they’d latch onto your friends. Idle paws drummed the colorful lengths on his chest. “Were you never a tween, Max?”
“Not physically.” He shrugged broad shoulders. “Straight from puppy to adult when I hit middle school.”
“They’re snap bracelets.” She slapped on her wrist, then grinned as it curled snugly into place with a clatter. “They’re fun. So fun they got banned from my school.”
He watched her peel the bracelet free and whack it back on again. His eyebrow rose. “Because you constantly snapping them was a distraction?”
“That and you can slap them on the unsuspecting.” She smacked the band down on his wrist.
The husky studied the band of rainbow cloth wrapped fully around his wrist. “I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, aside from my watch.” He studied both his hands, watch and bracelet contrasting sharply in their degree of whimsy. “I guess at least it’s symmetrical.”
“See?” She waggled her matched bracelet under his nose, then spun to spread her paws at the collected junk. “Breaking into an alien’s storage shed is already paying off.”
His triangular ears perked up. “What’s that sound?”
The lutrine bounced up like a buoy. “What sound?”
“High-pitched whine.” He swung his heavy muzzle around, seeking the source. “Booby trap?”
Her little ears twitched. All she heard was his breathing, her breathing, and the leaves rustling outside. “What kind of trap would Joe set?”
“Don’t know, but he had hundreds of years to think of one.” He grabbed her by the shoulder and marched her out of the Quonset hut.
“Hey!” She dropped a can of varnish from the 70s. It clattered to the concrete floor, sloshing, still liquid inside. Her sneakered feet scuffed along after the overreacting dog.