by Lyle, Dixie
“I’m not going to, Topsy. I’m going to keep it safe. You were drawn here, and so was I, because this place is special. The man you just killed—he wanted to destroy this place. I was trying to stop him.”
“Yes, you did. That’s why I called you here. I wanted you to stop him, because he was my enemy as well as yours. And I’m the reason you could.” I put as much emphasis on the last sentence as I could, and hoped Tango managed to convey that.
After listening to Tango’s translation, Topsy paused before replying.
“Was it? Have you ever been able to affect someone still living before, Topsy? Have you?”
This time, the pause was much longer, and her answer shorter.
“I gave you that power. That’s what I do; I’m a facilitator. I help others to do what they do best, and … stomp out whatever problems arise. As long as I’m here, protecting the graveyard, no one will harm it—because I have many friends, and they all want to help me as much as I’ve helped them. You’ve met two of them already. I would like you to be another.”
I did my best to keep my breathing slow and steady as Tango translated. Either Topsy went for it, or she didn’t. This was the moment in negotiations when you laid your cards on the table and hoped the other party offered to shake your hand.
“Yes, Topsy. That’s what I want. I want you to take your rightful place.” Elephants were matriarchal, with the females forming groups. Those groups often intermingled, without hostility—they left the dominance displays to the males. The males were solitary, while the females preferred groups; and a female had just invited Topsy to join her group. And even though Topsy had learned to hate and mistrust human beings, she’d also been alone a long, long time.
She raised her trunk and trumpeted once, then turned and shambled away. I made my way on shaky legs over to the nearest bench and sank into it.
[That was expertly handled.] Tiny came over and licked my hand. It was the first time he’d ever done that, and it was oddly reassuring.
Tango clambered down from the tree and joined us, jumping into my lap.
“That I did, but not how you think. See, elephant families are usually ruled by the oldest female in the group. When I told Topsy I wanted her to take her rightful place, I was offering her the top spot. She’s the boss, not me.”
“Kind of. She’s my social superior, but she’s also responsible for keeping the herd safe. In the wild, that means choosing ranging territory and protecting calves. Here—well, I guess she’ll protect us.”
[I doubt that will be a problem. The graveyard tends to attract, not repel. In fact, I foresee other visitors in our future.]
“One crisis at a time, okay? Let’s just sit here for a second and breathe.”
[Those of us who can, you mean.]
[Smell of burning flesh?]
“Aaaaand I’m done. Let’s go alert the authorities, shall we? Brower’s going to love this…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sheriff Brower wasn’t happy.
But it wasn’t as if he could arrest me for anything. The fact that Kenny Gant had been struck by a bolt of lightning in the graveyard, while unusual, was hardly impossible; people had died in similar circumstances before, and no doubt would again. The freak thunderstorm we’d had shortly beforehand seemed to offer a convenient, if not entirely satisfactory, explanation.
My theory as to Gant’s guilt was met by skepticism, but I insisted that Gant himself had confessed to me before running off to his own accidental electrocution. Further proof could be obtained by checking Gant’s records and premises; I was sure they would turn up proof of both a second monkey and the purchase of carfentanil. That, plus the real estate Gant had bought up, would provide both motive, opportunity, and the murder weapon. And if not—well, Gant was dead. That was justice, of its own sort.
I wish I could say that was the end of the whole affair, but it wasn’t. ZZ wasn’t in danger from Gant anymore, but she remained in a coma. And that, it appeared, was something neither a reincarnated cat nor an ectoplasmic dog could do much about.
The salon had come to a close, and my boss—the one without tusks—was still comatose. I did all the necessary things I always did to keep the household running, which included seeing the guests off. Well, the ones who weren’t dead or in jail, anyway—and Juan Estevez was apparently being released soon. I gave Avery the task of proving Gant was the one sending the encrypted emails to the inventor, and he seemed to think it was doable. Coming from Avery, that meant it was practically already done.
Hana Kim and Mr. Kwok had just left. Keene, as usual, was the last one out the door. His driver had already loaded his bags into the limo, and was waiting patiently behind the wheel. I went upstairs to see what was keeping him.
The door to his room was open. “Hello?” I said, poking my head in.
Keene sat at the writing desk, staring at the screen of a small tablet with a folding keyboard. “Just a sec,” he murmured, and tapped a few keys.
I stepped inside. “Checking your fan mail?”
He glanced over at me and grinned. “Just finishing up a song, actually—well, the lyrics, anyway. Tune still needs a bit of mucking about.”
“Nice to know you find the environment so inspiring.”
“Not going to demand a percentage, are you? ’Cause I’ve got nasty Tasmanian Devil Attack Lawyers to deal with that sort of thing.” He paused. “I think. Or maybe those are my accountants. I can’t tell the difference between the two, most of the time. They all dress the same.”
“I don’t think ZZ invites you here to make a profit.”
“Yeah. How’s she doing? Any change?”
I shook my head. “Doctors say everything looks good—heart, respiration, reflexes. She just needs to wake up.”
Keene nodded, then closed his tablet and got up. “Well, I’m off to the studio. But here, take this.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and gave it to me. There was no writing on it, just a printed phone number. “It’s my private mobile, the one I never change. Well, not unless the paparazzi steal it from my mum’s purse when she’s out shopping—then I have to start all over again. Call me if there’s any word, good or bad, will you? ZZ means a lot to me.”
I took the card and pocketed it. “I’ll do that.”
He picked up the tablet and walked over. For some reason, I was a little slow getting out of the way, and we both wound up facing each other sideways in the doorway for a second. I thought he was going to make a typical Keene remark, but he surprised me. “Take care of her, Foxtrot. I plan on coming back, and I don’t want it to be for a funeral.”
I met his eyes. “I will, I promise.”
Then he was past me, moving down the hall, and I was alone again.
Well, not really, of course. I was in a house filled with staff, all of whom were doing their best to pretend everything was back to normal. It wasn’t though; not only was their employer upstairs in a coma, but they’d had murder, weird weather, and death by lightning bolt to contend with in the last week. And those were just the things they knew about.
I—as usual—was the only one who knew everything that was going on. Animal apparitions, Native American storm spirits, and murderous monkey assassins: Yep, all in a day’s work for Foxtrot Lancaster, Administrative Assistant of the Highly Unusual.
I needed a drink. And a bed. And complete and utter silence. And my brain removed and placed in a jar of chamomile tea. Okay, that last part was supposed to be soothing
but just came out weird. Which seemed much too appropriate for my liking.
I sighed, and went to find Ben Montain.
Ben and I hadn’t really talked since Kenny Gant had his fatal run-in with Topsy. I knew he must be dying to question me—especially about the lightning—but I’d had a million details to take care of. Plus, I had to figure out exactly what I could or couldn’t tell him.
I found him in the pantry, doing inventory. “Hey,” I said.
“Foxtrot! I’ve been waiting—I mean, I want to—what happened out there?”
“It wasn’t lightning,” I told him.
“I know,” he said. He sounded excited. “I could tell. I mean, I could feel that it wasn’t lightning. It’s hard to explain, but—well, it’s like I have these new senses. I can tell you exactly how windy it is outside right now. I can tell you humid it is. I can feel it when the temperature changes. Isn’t that wild?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s great. You’re obviously connecting with your heritage. Just take it easy, okay? No more torrential downpours out of nowhere, please.”
“Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen. I’m going to start small. Maybe a whirlwind in the dining room, or a snowstorm in the library.” He grinned at the look on my face. “Hey, come on. When something this crazy happens to you, you’ve got to keep your sense of humor.”
“True. Hold on to that thought, will you? Because, really, this is funny.”
“What is?”
I took a deep breath. “What happened with Gant? It had to do with…”
“Yeah?”
An electric elephant. Who died over a hundred years ago, killed by Thomas Edison. Who wandered over from Coney Island because the mystic graveyard next door—which contains ghost parrots, hamsters, goldfish, ferrets, snakes, and the occasional shark—called to her. And I know all this because of my new friends, the used-to-be-dead linguistic expert cat and the shape-shifting ectoplasmic dog.
“… something I can’t talk about,” I said miserably. “It’s really complicated, and sort of ludicrous, and mostly unbelievable. But I can tell you it didn’t involve another Thunderbird.”
“Oh.” He looked nonplussed for a moment, and then his manic grin came back. “Well, I’m not worried. I mean, I feel like this is the beginning of something, you know? Something amazing.”
The beginning? To me, it felt more like an ending. The killer had been caught, the elephantom was no longer a threat, and all the guests were leaving. I should have felt happy, but I didn’t. I told myself I was just worried about ZZ, but I knew that wasn’t it.
“Well, I’m going to check on ZZ,” I said. “I’ll see you later, okay. Try not to whip up any dust devils in the kitchen.”
“Not even small ones? Could be handy for mixing ingredients.” His grin seemed to hold all the elation I was missing. I did my best to imitate it, and when I failed dismally he didn’t seem to notice.
I left him in the kitchen and went upstairs to check on ZZ. The guards had been dismissed, but both Tango and Tiny were waiting for me, Tiny at the foot of the bed and Tango curled up on the divan.
“Hey,” I said. I sank onto the divan next to Tango. She gave Tiny a knowing look, stretched, then made herself comfortable on my lap.
“It’s nothing. Post-crisis adrenaline crash, that’s all.”
“I’m not really much of a catnip person, Tango. All that chasing of imaginary mice just looks exhausting.”
“Normally I’d agree with you. But right now?” I glanced over at ZZ’s still form. “Sleep doesn’t seem that appealing, either.”
[Perhaps not,] said Tiny. [But you should rest, anyway; you’ll need to be at your best.]
Suddenly I was a lot more awake.
“What’s that mean? I’ll need to be at my best for what?”
[For the discussion.]
“The discussion? What discussion?”
Which was when the ghost crow swooped through the wall and landed on the bedpost.
Eli regarded me with a bright eye, his head cocked to the side. “Foxtrot. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I said automatically.
“Tiny? Tango? Could you two give us a moment?”
Both of them got up without a word and headed for the door. I thought I’d closed it behind me, but it was ajar now. Tiny nudged it open a little more with his nose, and turned to give me a look I couldn’t quite decipher. Then both of them were gone.
“So,” Eli said. “You did it. Mostly.”
“You’re welcome. Mostly.” That was a little snarkier than I’d intended, but I was weary and in no mood to play games. I deserved some recognition, and not the kind that came with qualifiers.
“Hey, take it easy. You figured it out on your own, which is exactly what you were supposed to do. What happened to your boss, that wasn’t your fault. Mr. Gant was responsible for that, and you kept him from finishing the job. And that whole ‘I’m a facilitator’ thing? Nice work.”
I’d always taken praise from my superiors with a grain of salt—it was manipulative as often as it was sincere, and an inflated ego generally led to disaster—but for some reason, getting kudos from a phantom bird I’d met a few days before gave me a warm glow inside. “I was right, wasn’t I? The reason Topsy could affect others was because of me?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Nice of you to let me know. Before it became a matter of life or death or anything.”
He gave me a raspy crow chuckle. “Part of the reason you could do that was because you figured it out. That’s just how it works.”
“Uh-huh. Just like you knowing about everything that goes on in the Crossroads—that’s part of how things work, too, isn’t it? Including knowing about the presence of a certain elephant that’s been dead for a hundred years.”
“People do better when they learn things for themselves. And you did good.”
“I know,” I said. “But did I do good enough?”
Eli cocked an eye at ZZ, then back at me. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I can pretty much say yeah, you did. Not perfect, but nobody expects that. You’re only human, after all.”
He abruptly spread his wings and flapped his way up onto the top of the IV pole. “And a competent, capable human is exactly what is needed in this position. You’ve made your qualifications eminently clear.”
“Position?”
“Yes. Guardian of the Crossroads is the official title. You’d keep on doing pretty much exactly what you’ve done so far—protecting the nexus from threats. Sort of a local Sheriff of Spirits.”
I shook my head. “Hold on. I thought the threat was taken care of.”
“This one, yeah. But as you’ve already figured out, the Crossroads tends to attract wandering spirits and other supernatural beings. You’ve already got Topsy and a Thunderbird; who knows what else will show up?”
I thought about that. The last thing I wanted was to put my friends in harm’s way—but that’s exactly where they were, living right next door to a giant magical weirdness magnet. ZZ had almost been killed twice already; what would happen if I couldn’t protect her? “Sheriff, huh? I don’t suppose it pays well.”
“Not a dime.”
“Does it come with any benefits?”
“Every job comes with benefits. This one offers danger, the unknown, lots of hard work, danger, and the possibility of an early demise. And did I mention the danger?”
“Tempting. Do I at least get a gun?”
Eli clambered from one end of the IV stand to the other. He peered down at the saline bag as if it were a shiny rock. “No. But you do get deputies—two of them. I thought you’d probably like to stick with the pair you’ve already got.”
“Tiny and Tango? How do they feel about this?”
&
nbsp; The crow chuckled. “They’ll be fine with it. They like their jobs and they like you. You’re the one with a decision to make.”
I sighed. “Can I think about it?”
“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Terrific.
Negotiation was something I was good at. Even exhausted, stressed out, and coming off an adrenaline high, I could spot an opportunity to make a deal. Eli clearly wanted me on board, and forcing me to choose now was a classic way to pressure me into signing a contract without reading the fine print. It also meant I could ask for something extra and probably get it.
I thought about ZZ. She was important to the continued existence of the Crossroads, but Eli didn’t seem terribly worried about her health. Which meant either he knew she was going to wake up—or he could make that happen whenever he wanted.
And then there was Ben, and his Thunderbird status. Eli clearly knew quite a bit about that, and I’d never get a better time to ask for answers.
I could ask for one, and probably get it. I could try for both, and maybe get one.
But neither of those options felt right.
Negotiation is essentially a selfish act. You’re trying to get the most out of a deal, and give away the least. It’s competitive, because that’s what works in the business world.
But this wasn’t the business world. This was a world of ghosts and afterlives, where the strongest binding force wasn’t a contract but an emotion; where love was powerful enough to defeat death.
“I accept,” I said. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”
Eli bobbed his head once, the bird equivalent of a nod. “Thank you, Foxtrot. I’ll provide you with whatever support I can, but don’t expect too much; you wouldn’t believe how much red tape I have to deal with.”
“I understand,” I said. “Working in a hierarchy, right? Everybody’s got to answer to somebody else.”
I didn’t think crows could smile, but Eli managed it. “If that’s the analogy that works for you … but it’s not really accurate.”
“Why not?”
“Because a hierarchy tends to stifle innovation, become predictable. Doesn’t leave much room for surprises.”