Pocket Apocalypse: InCryptid, Book Four

by Seanan McGuire

  “Oh, God,” I said, almost philosophically. “I’m going to die.”

  “Maybe those are conversations you should have before you go announcing that you’re going to marry some boy your family’s only just met,” snapped Charlotte.

  “Maybe we should wait to have any of these conversations until we’re not dealing with lycanthropy-infected sheep and people setting us up to be slaughtered,” I suggested.

  They ignored me.

  “She’s going to move to America, obviously, or she wouldn’t be hedging,” said Raina.

  “No, she’s not,” said Gabby. “She wouldn’t do that. She knows how much we miss her already, and that’s when we have good reason to expect her to come home. Tell her, Shelly. Tell her you’re not moving to America.”

  “Still the werewolves prowl, hungry for human flesh,” I said. Again, they ignored me.

  “I don’t know where we’re going to live, all right? Alex gets a vote, too.” Shelby was starting to sound annoyed.

  She wasn’t the only one. “There are plenty of nice boys in Australia, Shelby Tanner,” said Charlotte. “Why couldn’t you find one of them? No offense, Alex, you’re lovely, for a Price, and I’m sure you’d be an excellent husband for some girl who wasn’t my oldest daughter.”

  “Offense taken, and did I mention there were werewolves?” I kept my eyes on the ceiling. At least if I was watching the ceiling, I would miss any rude gestures thrown in my direction. “I really, really think werewolves are more important than our eventual mailing address.”

  As expected, they ignored me for a third time. “Australia’s great! You’ll love living here,” said Gabby. “We have beaches, and you can come see me in the opera after I graduate, and there are lots of really interesting monsters for you to study.”

  “Like werewolves?” I asked.

  “I hate to agree with the Price boy, but maybe this conversation can wait until another time,” said Riley, who sounded about as happy about the situation as I felt. I didn’t make the mistake of thinking this made him an ally. I heard the rubber squeak as he tightened his hands on the steering wheel again. “Believe me, it’s a conversation we will be having, as a family—but I’d like to live that long.”

  “Can’t live anywhere if we’re all dead,” said Shelby. She sounded incredibly happy, like this was the best thing that had ever been said, by anyone. Then again, it was distracting her family from grilling us about our long-term plans. Maybe that did make it the best thing anyone had ever said. “Who had access to the bullets, Dad?”

  Riley twisted in his seat enough to jerk his head toward me. “I already told you I didn’t want to discuss private matters in front of our visitor.”

  “He’s my fiancé, Dad, and that makes him family. Plus, whoever set this up was trying to kill him, too, which I figure makes this his business.” Shelby looped her arm through mine to illustrate her point. I would normally have enjoyed having her snuggle up against me like that. I wasn’t normally worried that her father was going to throw me to the wolves—literally. “Who had access to the bullets?”

  “Everyone,” said Charlotte. “They came out of the central stock. There’s no way anyone could have known for sure which boxes we’d grab.”

  “Which means either your luck was very, very bad when it came to picking up ammunition for this little jaunt, or you don’t have any silver bullets left,” I said. “How hard would it be for me to walk into your central stock and swap things around?”

  “You? Dead hard. No one would let you in there unescorted. But me, or Shelly, or anyone who’s known to be a member in good standing of the Society? Dead easy.” Charlotte hesitated before she added, “The door’s always locked, and everybody has a key. We’d notice if someone like you tried to stick your head in, but that’s just because you’re not supposed to be wandering around alone.”

  “So I—assuming I was a Thirty-Sixer—could have walked in with my pockets full of silver-painted bullets, and swapped them for the actual silver bullets without anyone noticing me or realizing what I’d done. Is that what I’m hearing?” I looked around the car. I couldn’t see expressions in the gloom, but I could see postures, and no one looked very happy.

  “Could a werewolf have done that?” asked Gabby.

  “If they wore gloves,” I said. “Silver is a contact poison to them, and they might have developed a rash like poison oak if they’d touched it directly, but it wouldn’t kill them or even cause enough immediate pain to be obvious to someone who saw them walking out of the supply area. The better question is whether a werewolf would be able to plan that far ahead. Is there some sort of log that people are supposed to sign when they take things?”

  “We’ve never needed one,” said Riley. “Do you have a log?”

  “No, sir, but there aren’t nearly as many of us, and we generally have a good idea of our resources.” And we always knew what our visitors were doing, didn’t we? When Uncle Mike and Aunt Lea came by, or when Aunt Mary was haunting the house, we knew, and we kept a close count on our bullets. It was a little mistrustful of our allies, maybe, but it meant that we didn’t encounter any nasty surprises.

  “Did you have silver bullets before, Dad?” asked Shelby. “I know you killed the werewolf that bit Tim.”

  “We did,” said Riley. “I bought them from a supplier on the Gold Coast, and I checked them myself before I allowed anyone to take them into the field. They worked like the records said they would, and I didn’t look any further.”

  “Then whoever swapped the bullets did it after they saw what they could do a werewolf,” I said. “Someone who was there. How many people went with you on that trip?”

  “Eighteen or so,” said Riley. “More knew where we were heading. I thought werewolves were just dumb beasts. All the records we had said that they were monsters, not opponents. You even said it yourself.”

  I hadn’t put it quite like that, but arguing with him seemed like a bad idea under the circumstances. “A werewolf that has transformed is a monster. A werewolf in the default shape of its species is a member of that species, just . . . a little more temperamental, a little faster to react and judge, a little more oriented toward survival of the self. They don’t make choices for the greater good, because the disease they carry won’t let them. New werewolves transform often and uncontrollably, like those sheep we saw tonight. Werewolves who manage to survive through their first cycles of transformation tend to be less functional, but more in control of their transformations. They can hide themselves a hell of a lot better.”

  “So they could have been with us this whole time,” said Shelby. “It could be someone back at the house.”

  “Not ‘could be’; almost certainly is,” I said. “They had to have had access to the ammunition, to your cellphones, and most importantly, to information. If you’re trying to set a trap like this one, you need to know who you’re dealing with, and how they’re likely to react. I really don’t want to reopen this topic, but when the two of you received the texts you thought were from each other, was there any mention of Shelby and me being engaged?”

  “No,” said Charlotte.

  “Absolutely not,” said Riley.

  “Then we’re in luck: we can move Raina and Gabby lower on the list of potential suspects—er, sorry.” I glanced at Shelby’s sisters. “Add in the fact that I don’t think you’re foolhardy enough to set up a trap and then walk into it, given the historical lack of loyalty on the part of most werewolves, and we can take you off the list completely. Those sheep would have eaten their puppet master as cheerfully as they would have eaten us.”

  “No offense taken, but just you wait until the toasts at your wedding,” said Gabby, in a mild tone. “It’s going to be all about how the first thing you did in Australia was damn near get yourself killed. See how you feel about baseless accusations then.”

  “We can write Mum off f
or similar reasons,” said Raina. “She’d never have walked into a trap, but if she’d been trying to get a rise out of Dad, she would definitely have mentioned the engagement.”

  “And Dad’s not stupid enough to walk into a field full of lycanthropic sheep just because he wants to see you get introduced to your lungs,” chimed in Shelby. Then she paused, a sour look crossing her face. “The only person not being cleared by this run of logic is me, you realize. Please come up with some clever reason that I can’t be the werewolf, all right? Just so I feel better.”

  “The mice still like you.” Shelby looked relieved. The rest of the Tanners looked bemused, their expressions barely visible through the gloom. My eyes were adjusting. I shrugged. “The mice were able to tell from my wounds that I hadn’t been infected. They adore Shelby—they consider her a priestess, which makes her holy, and makes anything that endangers her a very big deal. Even if she’d been in Australia during the initial attacks, which she wasn’t, the mice would have freaked out if they’d smelled infection on her. She’s clean. She can’t be our traitor.”

  “I could’ve told you that, but it’s nice to hear you stand up for my girl,” said Riley. He still didn’t sound terribly impressed with me. That wasn’t a surprise. Honestly, the only things I could think of that might get him on my side were martyrdom and grandchildren, and I wasn’t ready for either one.

  The road in front of the car suddenly lit up. We all froze, barely allowing ourselves to breathe as the police cars that had earlier rushed by on their way to the meadow went roaring in the other direction. Apparently, there was only so much they were willing to do about a bunch of dead sheep after dark, even if the field looked more like a slaughterhouse than it had any right to.

  “Right,” said Riley, and started the engine. “Let’s go see who’s unhappy to see us.”

  Everyone was unhappy to see us.

  We pulled up in front of the temporary headquarters of the Thirty-Six Society to find the whole place lit up like a Christmas tree, to the point where our little walk through the woods—something these people seemed ungodly fond of—was a joke: no one was going to drive past this compound and not realize that something was going on just past that thin layer of foliage and forestry. There were too many angry voices raised from the direction of the house, and the floodlights weren’t even in the neighborhood of what I’d call “subtle.”

  “Oh, what are these bastards doing now?” Riley scowled and barreled forward, shoving his way through the underbrush. It sprang back with almost cartoonish speed, closing the path behind him.

  “Sorry, kids, I need to go make sure Riley doesn’t murder anyone for no good reason,” said Charlotte. She started to dart after him.

  Shelby grabbed her mother’s elbow. “What if there’s a good reason?” she asked.

  “Then I’m going to help him hide the bodies.” Charlotte shook off her daughter’s hand and dove into the brush. Again, it snapped back into place behind her with frustrating quickness, leaving no path for us to follow.

  “They do this,” said Raina, continuing forward at an only slightly hurried pace. “It’s best if you just let them get it out of their systems.”

  “Daddy’s frustrated because he can’t punch werewolves without getting infected, and Mum just wants him to stop being tempted to try,” added Gabby, pulling back a branch. “It’s business as usual. I’m surprised Shelly didn’t tell you about it before she brought you here.”

  “I’m not,” I said, flashing Shelby a quick, tight smile. “She wanted me to actually come.”

  Shelby shrugged, an unrepentant smile on her face. “You were going to have to meet them eventually.”

  “It might have been nice to do it under less crisis-ridden circumstances,” I said, and pushed forward through the brush, following her parents. When I reached the other side I stopped, blinking rapidly against the glare, and just stared. I heard the Tanner sisters come crashing out of the woods behind me; then all three of them stopped as well, and we were briefly, unexpectedly united in our sheer bemusement at the scene in front of us.

  What looked like the entire Thirty-Six Society was gathered on the lawn. The question of how they moved their equipment through the woods was answered by a row of little red wagons—literal little red wagons—laden with guns, ammunition, and some more exotic weaponry. I had to admire the Evil Dead-level dedication that went into thinking “I’ll take a chainsaw into battle against a werewolf,” even as I wanted to find out who thought it was a good idea and shake them until they realized the error of their ways.

  Almost everyone was shouting. Some were shouting at each other; some were shouting for the sake of shouting; and a ring had formed around Riley and Charlotte, all of them gesturing wildly while they shouted at the Tanners. It was the very picture of chaos, and for one ignoble moment I was tempted to grab Shelby’s hand, skirt the crowd, and return to the quarantine house, where we could lock ourselves in and let the Thirty-Sixers shout themselves out.

  The moment passed. I started forward, ignoring the twinging from my injured left arm, and pushed my way through the ring that had formed around Charlotte and Riley. Roughly half the people who had previously been yelling at them stopped dead, looking confused by my sudden appearance. I kept pushing, finally coming to a stop next to Riley. “What’s going on?” I had to half-shout to make myself heard, thus continuing the vicious chain reaction of the crowd.

  “Someone told all these people that we were dead!” Riley roared. There were no half-measures for him: he was making sure that everyone in range heard him as loudly and clearly as possible. I had to admire that, even as I started really wishing for a pair of earplugs. “Said we’d been ravaged by werewolves in the south meadow, and now no one wants to believe what’s in front of their eyes!”

  “Wait, who said that?” I asked. “I mean, that seems sort of important—”

  “You’re standing there with a werewolf!” someone shouted, not waiting for me to finish. “You expect us to believe you when you’re standing there with a werewolf?”

  “Fuck off, North,” shouted Charlotte, somehow manage to make the suggestion sound almost genteel. That was a talent she definitely shared with her daughter, who could sound perfectly pleasant while suggesting anatomical impossibilities. I’d just never heard it done quite so loudly before. “Alex has a clean bill of health from a doctor and the Aeslin mice.”

  North—whoever that was—didn’t reply. Apparently, “the mice said he’s okay” was starting to carry weight with these people, probably because they were desperate and the old books all said that Aeslin mice were trustworthy. I made a mental note to give the mice extra cake at their next banquet.

  Sadly, the rest of the shouting just redoubled in the wake of Charlotte’s words, becoming a loud, muddled mess from which only the occasional syllable could be picked free. Shelby pushed her way through the crowd next to me, a worried look on her face.

  “I think these folks are likely to get violent soon,” she said. “Not that I mind a little rumble, but does anybody know how to calm them down?”

  “They’re your people,” I said. “When my whole family fights, we do it in one room, not an entire yard.” Maybe there was something to be said for not having that many members. Fewer people to help, sure, but that also meant fewer people to fight with you. “Who told them we were all dead?”

  Shelby scowled at me for a moment before her eyes lit up and her scowl became a grin. “You’re right! They’re my people! Daddy, cover your eyes.”

  “What—” began Riley. Charlotte, who was slightly faster on the uptake, reached up and clapped her hand over her husband’s eyes, interrupting him before he could say anything else.

  Shelby whirled to face the crowd, and shouted, in her best “I am in charge of this tiger show, and all you visitors better shut up and sit down” zoo employee voice, “We have not been bitten by any werewolves! Look!�
�� And then she pulled her shirt off over her head and spread her arms, putting every inch of her torso not covered by her polka dot lace bra on display.

  The shouting stopped instantly. You could have heard a pin drop. Then Raina pushed her way past me, snorting laughter all the while, and stopped next to her sister. Jett followed, tail wagging, and stopped next to her new mistress. A nice wall was building between me and the hostile parts of the crowd, really.

  My left arm gave another twinge. I resisted the urge to apply pressure to the wound. Reminding these people that I couldn’t pull the “take off your shirt to prove you haven’t been bitten” trick didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment.

  Shelby continued, “We were set up, and someone wants you to think we all got torn to bits, but since we’re all here, and mostly not too covered in blood—”

  “—except for Alex,” interjected Raina.

  “—yes, all right, except for Alex, but that’s because he gutted a werewolf and got the insides all over his clothes, thanks Raina,” said Shelby, giving her sister a poisonous look. “He wasn’t bitten a second time. None of us were bitten, even though we were out in a meadow full of werewolves without any silver bullets, thanks to someone on this property. So can you all calm the fuck down and let us tell you what happened?”

  The crowd still wasn’t shouting, although they weren’t quite as quiet anymore. A low murmur ran through the assemblage. It could have meant anything. It was unlikely to mean total acceptance of Shelby’s words, which was potentially a problem for us. I’d never been lynched before. I wasn’t looking forward to starting now.

  “For the love of God, Shelly, put your shirt back on,” said Riley, pushing in between his daughter and the crowd. A few people were gauche enough to make disappointed noises, and in that moment, I think Riley and I finally found common ground in the desire to beat those people into pulp. He scowled at the assemblage, hands balled into fists, and shouted, “We were set up! Someone sent us out there to get eaten by werewolf sheep. One of our own people sent us out there. I knew that some of you didn’t like how I’ve been running things, but I always thought better of us. I never thought any of us would be cowards.”