by Dixie Lyle
“None of those things is going to happen. I can sort of feel solid objects around me now, just by the way air moves around them, like having the wind for fingertips. No way I’ll put us anywhere dangerous—I don’t even want to move us very far, just to the other side of the graveyard. How about it?”
I looked at him uncertainly, and he grinned. I remembered how, on our first date, I’d let him blindfold me and lead me to a picnic. “I guess,” I said. “Hell, I’ve trusted you to take me to stranger places. Just don’t put us inside a mausoleum or something, okay?”
“Not a chance,” he said, and raised his hands. Lightning crackled and the air spun, stray leaves whirling around us.
I needn’t have worried. We touched down exactly where he said we would, on the far side of the graveyard. I was a little worried somebody might see us, but there was no one in sight except a few ghost bunnies that bounded past without sparing us a second glance.
Ben sighed. “Man. Am I glad to be out of that place. Couple of times I thought she was just going to chow down on both of us.”
“Oh? Is that why you kept trying to provoke her?”
“What?” He looked a little taken aback. “I wasn’t, really. But she was … well, kinda pushy, didn’t you think?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Pushy. Really. An actual, immortal, divine being on her own turf? How dare she act like we should take her seriously!”
“That’s just it, though—she wasn’t taking us seriously. It’s like she was playing with us, the whole time.” I could tell from his voice he was a little pissed off about that, too. Maybe more than a little.
“Okay, I’m confused. Was she being pushy or not taking us seriously? And why is this even bothering you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Thunderbirds and cats just don’t get along.”
“You didn’t act this way when we dropped in on Apedemek.”
He rubbed the back of his neck moodily. “Apedemek didn’t insult my heritage.”
“Your heritage? You mean that crack she made about ‘beings with feathers’? Come on—Apedemek practically threatened to eat us!”
“That was different. He was just being … who he is.”
Every now and then someone says something that totally flabbergast me. (Yes, the word flabbergast is part of my vocabulary, and no, I don’t use it lightly.) What Ben just said had that effect, because it made no—absolutely, utterly no—sense to me, and of all the people I know who occasionally do that, he is not one.
But after a moment of flabbergastery (it is so a word) I realized what he was actually saying, and my state of mental confusion was downgraded to mere disbelief.
“Wait,” I said. “Are you saying that Apedemek gets a pass for acting like a jerk because he’s a guy?”
“He’s not a guy, he’s a lion.”
“A male lion.”
“Well, yeah. But male lions act very different from female ones, right? That’s just how they are.”
“In the wild, sure. But this is a sentient being. He thinks, he makes choices. You can’t just write off his behavior as something he has no control over.”
“I can’t? Why not? Is there some psychology textbook on animal gods you’ve read and I haven’t? Because I don’t think you know any more about this than I do.”
I stopped, took a deep breath, then let it out before replying. “You’re right. I don’t. But Eli seems to think we can figure this out, and that’s what I intend to do.”
“I? What happened to we?”
“You already seem to have it all figured out.”
His frown became a glower. “Well, maybe I do. I think Augustus should go to Apedemek.”
“Why? Because Waghai Devi rubbed you the wrong way?”
“Because I don’t trust her. At least Apedemek was honest with us.”
“Apedemek’s Paradise was a boy’s club. It was stocked with lioness bimbos, red meat, and places to snore. At least Waghai Devi’s place would offer up a few challenges.”
He snorted. “Yeah, because that’s what people look for in an afterlife—more chances to fail. What’s wrong with a little unchallenging bliss?”
“Nothing, as long as it’s only a little. Eternity is a very long time to spend rutting, eating, and sleeping. Anyway, Tiger Heaven offers all those things, too—plus a chance to get in touch with his true nature.”
“Sure, as long as he follows orders from the Queen T. She might as well put a collar on him.”
My eyes narrowed. “Oh, is that what this is about? A strong female is a threatening figure?”
“No, of course not. I’m not threatened by her, goddess or not.”
“Who said anything about you? I was talking about Augustus.”
Okay, maybe that was unfair, but I was starting to get angry. Anger, in me, works like a lens on sunlight: My focus gets sharper and sharper, and then it starts burning holes in things.
“Forget it,” Ben said. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You sound like you’ve already made up your mind.” He started walking away, forcing me to follow him. That, unfortunately, was guaranteed to just make me angrier.
“Hang on,” I said, striding to catch up. “I haven’t made up my mind about anything. I just fail to see why Apedemek is a better choice.”
“Well, I fail to see why Waggy Devo is the better choice.”
I got in front of him and forced him to stop. “I never said she was. But while I want the best for Augustus, there’s more at stake than just his happiness. What do you think will happen if Augustus goes with Waghai Devi?”
“We royally piss off Apedemek.”
“Right. And he’ll roar about it and threaten and bluster, and eventually cool off. What did you think will happen if Augustus chooses Apedemek?”
“Same thing?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No. No way. She’s a schemer, and a schemer always has a Plan B. She’s playing nice first, because she has nothing to lose by doing so. But if that doesn’t work, she’ll follow up by doing exactly what tigers always do—she’ll go for the sudden, overpowering ambush. Full-out blitzkrieg attack, no warning. She’ll overrun the graveyard, hold it hostage, and demand Augustus be turned over to her before she’ll leave.”
Ben blinked. “What makes you think so?”
“Because that’s what I would do,” I said.
He stared at me. It felt like one of those moments, you know, where he was going to say something like Remind me never to tick you off, and I’d make a joke, and then everything would be fine.
That didn’t happen.
“I see,” he said. There were whole thumb drives full of information in those two words, and none of it was good. There were folders in it labeled DISAPPOINTED, with files like apprehensive.ben and crazywomanmuch.yep.
“I’m just being realistic,” I said. “We need to be prepared for a worst-case scenario.”
“Well then, I guess I’m just naive. Because what I had in mind—what I was thought we were both working for—was the best-case scenario. You know, the one where Augustus gets to go to wherever he’s going to be happiest.”
“That is what I’m working for. What we’re both working for.”
“Oh? And who gets to decide what’s best for him? Because I’m starting to think it’s the one who’s used to making all the decisions, all the time.”
I glared at him. “That’s not fair. It’s my job to make decisions.”
“Yeah, it is. And it’s my job to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe that’s what I should go back to doing, since the opinion of a lowly chef obviously isn’t what you need.” He ducked around me and strode off, fuming.
This time I didn’t go after him. I just stared at his back and used every ounce of willpower I had to not get in a parting shot.
Dammit.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After Ben stalked off, I found Eli and brought him up to date.
“So far, so good,” the crow said. “You’ve gotten both o
f them to accept the two of you as go-betweens, anyway. But now the easy part is over.”
“Yeah.” I leaned against the headstone of a deceased billy goat, suddenly exhausted. “Now comes the part where we actually try to get them to agree to something.”
“We’re not there yet. Now we have to talk to Augustus.” He cocked a beady eye at me. “Once we decide what we’re going to tell him.”
“Yes. Which is?” I asked carefully. Beyond protecting the Crossroads, I wasn’t sure what Eli’s agenda was; I’d told him my concerns with Waghai Devi’s possible reaction, but he hadn’t said anything in response other than “Hmmmm.”
“The truth, Foxtrot. As plainly and clearly as you can convey it. No matter what the consequences are, this has to be Augustus’s decision. You understand?”
“Not really,” I sighed. “I mean, I’m doing my best, but all this god stuff—it’s a little hard to wrap my head around. I feel like a kid in kindergarten trying to work out a nuclear armistice. Are you sure I’m the right person for the job?”
“Nothing’s certain,” he said, which wasn’t exactly the sort of reassurance I was hoping for. “But that means anything’s possible. So we’ll do our best and see what happens.”
“That’s very laid-back. Are all talking albino crow spirits so fatalistic, or is it just you?” That was more forward than I usually was with Eli, but my fight with Ben had left me feeling a little raw.
“It’s not just me, Foxtrot. It’s how things work. Everything, everywhere.”
I suddenly realized what he was saying. “Wait. Is this … official? Because usually you don’t want to talk about these things. In fact, you usually pointedly tell me you can’t talk about these things.”
He raised both wings ever so slightly in what I took to be an avian shrug. “Things change. That’s kind of my point.”
Well, I had recently been promoted from graveyard sentinel to afterlife diplomat, so that was hard to argue with. “Anything’s possible, huh? People actually have Free Will, with a capital Free?”
Eli chuckled, sounding disturbingly like Waghai Devi. “Nothing’s free, Foxtrot. And that’s all I’m going to say about theoretical metaphysics today.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Ask me then. If we’re both still here and there’s still a Crossroads to ask questions in.”
Augustus was still napping. I checked in with Whiskey and Tango and told them both to stay there and watch him; if anything happened, one of them should come and get me. Then I took the opportunity to go have lunch. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
I needn’t have worried. Ben stayed in the kitchen, and I asked Consuela to bring some ham sandwiches to my office. I half expected them to show up laced with broken glass, but of course they were fine. That bad taste in my mouth had more to do with regretting what I’d said than his cooking.
Except all I’d done was tell him the truth.
And what was wrong with that? I kept replaying the argument in my head, trying to figure out where it went wrong, and I realized that the whole thing was less about what was said than how it was said. And isn’t that almost always the case when couples fight?
I tried seeing it from his point of view. First, this Foxtrot woman that I kind of like dumps a whole new pile of crazy in my lap, just when I was starting to get used to the not-quite-as-new crazy. Huge pressure, massive responsibilities, no prep time, unthinkable consequences if I fail. I don’t react so well, retreat into my man-cave for a little bit, roast some meat over the fire. Start feeling better. Get hauled back, brace myself—
And then get told I’m incapable of doing the job on my own.
I groaned. I’d walked right in and upstaged him. And initially, he’d been too relieved and confounded to object. But then we’d traveled to the lion afterlife, and things had worked out fine. And by the time we’d made the trip to Tiger Paradise, he was feeling like he could actually do this. That’s why he’d been more talkative with Waghai Devi than Apedemek.
But by then it was too late. Foxtrot Lancaster, Gal Friday—and Saturday, and Sunday, and the rest of the week—was on the case by then. Inexperienced Thunderbirds need not apply. “Making decisions is my job,” I’d told him. I might as well have said, Hit the road, loser. You blew your chance and I stepped up. Hey, this is what I do.
No wonder he was so pissed.
Somehow, along the way I just took over. Treated this whole thing like it was a fire that needed putting out and I was a garden hose.
“Facilitate,” I muttered to myself, my eyes closed. “That’s what I was supposed to do. Not orchestrate, not negotiate, not dictate. Facilitate, as in to help. Not screw up, help.”
There was a knock on my door. I opened my eyes and said, “Come in,” hoping it was Ben.
It wasn’t, though. It was Oscar, and he had a satisfied smile on his well-tanned face.
“Spare a moment of your time? I have returned from my mission behind enemy lines with sensitive and valuable information.”
I waved him at a chair. “Terrific. Regale me with tales of your exploits and derring-do.”
He took a seat and studied me for a moment. “Are you all right, Foxtrot? You seem less than your usual annoyingly chipper self.”
“Nothing a nap and a straitjacket couldn’t fix. What have you learned?”
“That some people shouldn’t drink before noon. Myself excluded, of course.”
“Of course. And who was your early-bird tippling partner?”
“Jaro Karst. He joined me at poolside for a little sun and we discussed the necessity of regular doses of quinine to stave off malaria.”
“Quinine?”
“Commonly found in tonic water. We both agreed it was best administered in a medium of gin.”
“Wise. So, did you and your fellow anti-malaria crusader talk about anything interesting?”
“Tut-tut, my dear Foxtrot. If I’m going to be your agent in the field, you must let me deliver a proper debriefing. One does not simply ask a general who won the war; you allow him to describe his campaign first.”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “I’m a little confused. Are you James Bond or Colin Powell? Because the first one prefers vodka and I don’t know if General Powell even drinks.”
“Anyone who prefers vodka over gin is a barbarian. An alcohol with no flavor? You might as well be drinking water.”
“What a terrible, terrible notion.”
“Isn’t it? Now, where was I … ah, yes. I hadn’t started yet. If I may?”
I sighed. “Please do.”
“Thank you. I began with the usual pleasantries, to put him at ease. That accomplished, I moved on to form a common bond—a mutual dislike of Mother. Not genuine, of course, but easily faked.”
“Mmm.” I restrained myself from making a pointed reply.
“We commiserated for a time on the foibles of women in positions of authority. Again, I relied on my imagination to produce a credible response.”
I bit my lip, and tried to smile.
“I segued smoothly into intimating that women couldn’t hold their liquor, which produced the desired effect of increased consumption. Feeling that we had now become comrades, I expressed admiration for his profession and interest in his past exploits. Adding compliments to alcohol is like adding fertilizer to a plant; the ego bursts forth into the sunlight, sprouting boastful anecdotes like a flowering bush.”
“You should have been a gardener, Oscar.”
“Don’t be absurd. If I’m going to be on my knees in the dirt, it’s because someone’s about to shoot me in the back of the head.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Even then, I think I’d decline. Better to be shot on your feet, wouldn’t you say? More dignified.”
“I’d prefer not to be shot at all, Mr. Bond-Powell. Please continue.”
“Yes. As I said, the anecdotes were in bloom; they were colorful, plentiful, and smelled strongly of testosterone. Most of them had to do with his experi
ences ‘in the bush’ as he put it, and revolved around dangerous encounters with wildlife. It was here that I sensed a certain reticence on his part, which I took to be his belief in my attitude toward animals. Playing a hunch, I confided that I was something of a huntsman.”
I frowned. “Oscar, the man’s a conservationist. He’s not going to be enthusiastic about people killing animals for sport.”
Oscar smiled. “I’m aware of that. Should he have taken offense, I was going to play it off as a joke—that I used a camera, not a gun. But as it turned out, my instincts were correct.”
“What?”
“It seems our Mr. Karst is quite the marksman. He’s killed any number of animals—it seems he’s less of a conservationist than … well, whatever the opposite of a conservationist is. Oh, he claims those days are behind him and that he’s simply a guide these days, but I took the liberty of memorizing a few names he tossed about. An online search produced some very interesting results.”
He pulled a small notepad from his breast pocket and flipped it open. “Here are the sites I visited. Note the man in the background of several of the photos, and the dates.”
I pulled up the first of the URLs on my computer. It was a link to a company called Big Shot Safaris, and featured a great many pictures of grinning people with rifles posing over dead animals: Cape buffalo, zebras, even giraffes. Who would want to shoot a giraffe?
And, more than once, the person standing next to these ghouls was Jaro Karst.
“Don’t waste time looking for his name,” said Oscar. “He’s labeled in those pictures as Helmut Shreck, which I suspect is authentic. Jaro Karst seems to be someone whose identity he either usurped or fabricated.”
“Shondra is not going to be happy about this,” I muttered.
“Nor should she be. It’s her job to prevent these types of situations, is it not?”
“In theory. But let’s keep some perspective; this was about finding a home for an orphaned animal, not screening for potential terrorists. She did catch the fact that Navarro seems to be a made-up name, though.”