Saint Philomene's Infirmary for Magical Creatures

by W. Stone Cotter

  The security-guard search party seemed to be wrapping up—orders were no longer barked, boots no longer stomped, whistles no longer pealed, golf carts no longer screeched. He risked peeking out of the hamper. There: Room 2222.001! And no one visible in the hall except for a few distant figures. Chance silently unburied himself and tried to climb out of the hamper, but his leg was still asleep, so he fell hard on the linoleum. He recovered, flattened his body against the hallway floor, and peeked into the hospital room. Chance didn’t see the maid. Ah. There it was in the bathroom, its back to him. Chance glanced at the gurney. A strange creature, like E.T. except light gray and a bit more muscular, lay in a coma under a thin sheet, tubes and lines coming from its body. It looked exactly as Simon had described.

  Yryssy Ayopy.

  Chance sneaked into the room and quickly, silently slid under Yryssy’s gurney. He climbed up into the framework under the mattress, where he could hide. The maid cleaned the bathroom and changed the sheets and emptied the wastebaskets. It finished its task and left, closing the door. All was quiet except for the chuff of a machine pumping something into the tubes leading to Yryssy’s body. Chance did not want to know what that something was.

  He carefully extricated himself from the gurney’s framework and stood next to the comatose creature.

  “Yryssy?” whispered Chance, taking the little capsule of flerk out of his pocket. “Can you hear me?”

  Yryssy did not respond. Chance shook her by her skinny, almost nonexistent shoulders, but she didn’t stir. Maybe it’s best she’s comatose; she might panic in the presence of a human and refuse the flerk, he thought.

  “Okay, I’m going to give you some medicine,” whispered Chance. “Then, you’ll wake up and make some Ypocrasyne and give it to Dave Green. Got it?”

  Chance pried her lipless gray mouth open, revealing tiny purple teeth, rows and rows of them, all the way to the back of her throat. Her breath reeked of burned meat. Chance held the little bubble of flerk between his thumb and forefinger, forced it as far into her slobbery mouth as he could, then squeezed the little plastic capsule until it popped, releasing all the flerk into her mouth. Then Chance rubbed her throat, like one would do with a dog given a pill, until she swallowed, once, then twice.

  Chance’s job was done. Now all he had to do was find Arbipift Obriirpt, get the map, then get the heck out of this place.

  He heard voices outside the door. Chance dropped to the ground, rolled under the gurney, and climbed back up into the framework. Above him, Yryssy did not stir. Maybe it took a while for flerk to take effect.

  Chance watched as two sets of feet very much like the legs of small three-legged stools, came into the room, their owners conversing, one pushing a cart.

  “… a dumb Vyrndeet accused me of cheating at the egg-and-spoon race, and now it’s asking me out!”

  “The nerve. What’d you tell it?”

  “To go jump in a lake of fire. Okay, how many vials of ichor are we taking today?”

  “I can’t remember. Check the chart. Room 2222.001, Ayopy, Yryssy. Weird; yesterday, this room was guarded and chock-full of Balliopes and official creatures.”

  “Wait. Lemme see the chart. Oh look. This is yesterday’s.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. Here’s today’s chart. Looks like Ayopy was transferred out of this room, to an undisclosed location. This is Mrs. Bdeebee Rurriery. She just happens to be a Geckasoft, too.”

  The blood in Chance’s veins seemed to slow to a complete stop then begin to freeze. He could barely breathe.

  He had failed. He had failed Simon, Yryssy, the entire population of the infirmary, himself, and his dad, who was surely watching from the domain of the afterlife.

  CHAPTER 21

  While Rod Nthn puttered around his bachelor pad, straightening up, polishing statues, and arguing on the telephone with florists and caterers over prices and scheduling, Pauline watched from her bone-and-bottle-cap throne, trying to come up with a way out. Nothing. Her ankles and wrists were tightly bound to the throne, and the throne itself was glued to the floor. Pauline tried to summon Mersey, but to no avail.

  Suddenly, the whine of audio feedback could be heard, faintly, coming from the black hall beyond Rod’s swinging doors. She struggled to listen, but distance and Rod’s voice—he was still on the phone—kept obscuring the PA system announcement.

  At … ion

  “… or my name isn’t Rod Nthn, I won’t pay 340 clahd for Oppaboffian dandelions…”

  Hu … n spo … ed … Fl … r …

  “… hate the smell of gorbyroot buds…”

  hu … otted, Fl … 2,222

  “… outrageously overpriced…”

  Lo … al a … nts, pl … r … nd

  “… not flowers, you weedmongers…”

  wi … deadly … orce.

  “… good day and good-bye!”

  Rod slammed the phone down, the old-fashioned kind with a round dial and a cradle.

  “The nerve!” shouted Rod.

  Pauline was trying to piece together the fragments of the PA announcement. She was pretty sure about the deadly force part. But another part—hu … otted fl … 2,222—what the heck did that mean? Huge slotted flowchart? Humid besotted floozy?

  Wait.

  Human spotted, floor 2,222.

  Pauline had to get out of there. If they caught Chance, it would all be over. But Chance was a clever hider. One time he’d hidden in a couch. He had unstapled the thin cloth lining underneath and crawled up into the belly. No one would’ve found him if Dad hadn’t sat on the couch, squeezing a yelp out of Chance.

  Pauline was struck by an itch at the tip of her nose. At least her head wasn’t restrained; she could bend over to scratch with her fingernail. As she straightened up, she got an idea.

  Rod was busy sorting silverware in the kitchen, not paying Pauline the least mind. She bent down again and, with some effort, pulled off Mersey’s fangs, gripping them in the palm of her hand.

  “Hey, Rod,” she called. “C’mere.”

  “What is it, my sweet?”

  “I have to show you something.”

  Rod heaved a great sigh of impatience, but came over to Pauline. She stared at him. He stared back.

  “What?” said Rod.

  Pauline smiled, revealing fangless teeth.

  “You’re…,” said Rod, eyes widening, jaw slackening, cheeks reddening, “… a human?”

  “Yes, I am, and don’t you know we humans can spit thirty feet, and I’ve got an infection that will kill a Thropinese in minutes.”

  “You can? You do?”

  “So you better make your way over here, slowly, and unshackle me. Or I’ll infect ya, and you’ll die writhing in agony. Writhing.”

  “But … but … dear, I don’t care if you’re human, or diseased. I love you anyway. We’re to be husband and wife. I didn’t realize you were so unhappy. What can I do?”

  Pauline answered by leaning forward and baring her teeth in a spitting posture.

  “Okay, okay, I’ve got my key. I’m coming.”

  After Rod freed Pauline, she shackled him to his own throne. She left the key by the dishwasher and put her fangs back in.

  “And no screaming, or I’ll come back and spit in your eye. Remember, we humans have ultrasensitive hearing, too—I’ll be able to hear you forty floors away.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Now, tell me how to get to the 2,222nd floor.”

  Rod told her.

  “Don’t let anyone know I’m in this hospital, or I’ll come back and—”

  “I know! I know!”

  And Pauline took her leave of Rod Nthn.

  Pauline found elevator bank 85, pushed the UP button, and waited for the car that went all the way to 2,134. The elevator finally arrived, discharging its cargo of creatures, none of which paid her any attention. Pauline jumped on.

  The upward journey was repeatedly interrupted by creatures embarking and disembarking. Pa
uline kept her teeth bared, so there was no mistaking her as a human. She prayed no real vampires would get on.

  At one point, the doors opened and in strode a pair of Vyrndeets, one short, one tall, in the middle of a conversation, the shorter pushing a stroller.

  And in the stroller was a toddler vampire. When it saw Pauline, it opened its mouth and pointed at her.

  “Hooma,” it said, its needlelike fangs showing. They were a bit crooked. Someone was going to need braces. “Hooma.”

  Pauline turned away and froze, watching the floors as they slowly went by. If this kid outs me …

  The taller Vyrndeet said to the shorter, “I’m going to Bholph’s to get my fur done, maybe some blond highlights here and there. Come with me, Dirgette.”

  “Wooky,” said the little bloodsucker. “Hooma.”

  “Oh, Bholph’s is way too expensive for me, Pipth,” said Dirgette.

  “You ought to quit babysitting and come work for me,” said Pipth. “I could use a paralegal, and you’d make three times what you’re getting now.”

  The vampire baby reached around and grabbed Dirgette’s leather leggings and began to tug.

  “Dirgie, wook, hooma.”

  “Yeah, but I love kids,” she said, reaching down to remove the tiny hands yanking on her leggings. “Even little Marvoob here, who tries my patience. Isn’t that right, Marvoobie?”

  “Hooma,” said Marvoob, pointing at Pauline. “Bah.”

  “What’s he saying?” said Pipth.

  “No clue. Marvoob, please be quiet.”

  But Marvoob began to wail. He reached for Pauline, his slender fingers only inches away from her jeans.

  “Hoomahoomahooma. No.”

  “I think he said, Whom a who ma hoomano.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Toddlers don’t make much sense. That’s their job.”

  “Bah hooma.”

  A Thropinese on the elevator piped up.

  “I think the baby’s saying human,” it said.

  “He wouldn’t know that word,” said Dirgette.

  “There is a human loose. Maybe the kid saw it.”

  “They didn’t catch it?”

  “Waah, hooooooma.”

  “No, it must’ve escaped the 2,222nd floor somehow,” said the Thropinese. “Could be anywhere now.”

  “I bet it’s still there, but those dumb Balliopes couldn’t find him.”

  “Hey,” said a Balliope, who was hidden in a corner. “Take that back.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Speaking of 2,222,” said Dirgette, “here we are. Who’s getting off?”

  “Me,” said Pauline.

  “Hooma!”

  The doors opened. Pauline found herself on the very floor she hoped and prayed her little brother was hidden on.

  CHAPTER 22

  The two nurses left the room. With the Geckasoft above him metabolizing the only centiliter of flerk left on the planet, Chance Bee Jeopard, hiding in the framework of the gurney, began to cry for real.

  Dave Green was out there somewhere, dying, in his fist the ruin of Saint Philomene’s Infirmary for Magical Creatures. Chance would have to find him and wrench the vial from his hand.

  Impossible.

  Chance was truly tuckered out. He began to drift off.

  “You’ll be out of surgery and eating Jell-O in less than two hours, Mrs. Rurriery.”

  Chance woke.

  “You like Jell-O, don’t you, Mrs. Rurriery?”

  He was in motion. The gurney in whose framework he was nestled rode smoothly down a light blue hallway, guided by a creature with skinny, chickenlike legs shod in glittery orthopedic footwear.

  The creature was speaking gently to the gurney’s occupant above him, Mrs. Rurriery, the Geckasoft in whose mouth Chance had squeezed the flerk, and who was now apparently on her way to have an operation.

  How long had he been asleep?

  “Mrs. Rurriery, did you know the chief of surgery himself is going to remove your kidney boulders? You’re going to feel so much better.”

  They took a sharp left and then stopped. Chance dared to peek out.

  They were in an operating room filled with stainless steel and bright light and creatures in green scrubs. They moved Mrs. Rurriery from the gurney onto an operating table. Then someone moved the gurney into the hallway, which was teeming with creatures.

  A golf cart raced past Chance and down the hallway, the driver shouting “Delivery for Mr. Bee, delivery for Mr. Bee!”

  The voice sounded familiar. Chance looked out as the golf cart sped away down the hall. Just as it was rounding a corner, he saw the driver’s curly mass of fiery red hair. Then the cart was gone.

  Could it be? If that was Pauline, how in the world did she get here? Why was she here? To get him? Chance hoped not. If he had somehow inadvertently involved his sister … He shuddered.

  He had to act now. He might never see her again. And they needed each other, now more than ever. Chance decided to make a run for it.

  Pauline was nowhere in sight. He sped down the hallway, racing past gasping, pointing, shouting, screaming creatures, following what he hoped was his sister’s path through the maze of corridors, listening for the squeenk of tires on polished linoleum, watching for flashes of red hair—

  There! One hundred yards ahead, just turning a corner—Pauline. Chance picked up speed. Beings were starting to chase him now, and still others tried to trip or tackle him as he ran by, but most just ducked into their sanctuaries—rooms, supply closets, laboratories, bathrooms—and slammed their doors behind them.

  Chance rounded a corner. There she was, fifty yards ahead.

  “Delivery for Mr. Bee!”

  “Mr. Bee, here!” shouted Chance. She didn’t seem to hear. He was nearly out of breath. “Pauline!”

  She looked over her shoulder. Chance frantically gesticulated.

  “I’m coming, hold on!” she shouted.

  Pauline accomplished an excellent three-point turn and accelerated toward him.

  Then, Balliopes. Half a dozen of them with halberds and weighted nets poured out of a doorway, Chet leading the way.

  “I remember you, human,” said Chet.

  There was no way to get past them. Chance stopped, and he put up his hands.

  “Don’t spear me, I give up,” shouted Chance. But still the Balliopes came for him, halberds lowered and ready to pierce. Chance was about to turn and flee when he noticed some of them were airborne.

  Pauline had driven right through them at top speed, scattering them like tenpins.

  “Get on,” she said when she pulled up next to Chance. He jumped into the passenger’s seat. He had never been so glad to see his sister. He had never been so glad to see a human.

  “Now what!” said Pauline and Chance at the same time.

  “I don’t know!” they said, also at the same time.

  Pauline took a quick turn down a short, vacant hallway, at the end of which were the open doors of what looked like a large event room.

  “Dead end,” said Chance.

  Pauline drove right in.

  It was a theater.

  It was empty except for a few folding chairs. A beautiful red velvet curtain framed the stage.

  “Come on,” said Pauline, jamming on the brakes just in time to avoid crashing into the stage. “See that air vent in the ceiling?”

  “We can’t reach that.”

  “Grab a few chairs,” she said, ignoring him. “Put them on top of one another, just under the vent. Hurry.”

  Chance grabbed three and helped his sister stack them up. There’s no way this will work, thought Chance. Our foes will easily see where we went.

  Pauline carefully climbed the chairs. Security was getting closer, and the PA was now blasting updates. She reached the ceiling and popped out the vent.

  Then she dropped it to the floor.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Chance, looking behind him. He was waiting fo
r security to come barreling around the corner, signaling the end of their adventure and the beginning of their life sentences in the basement.

  Then his sister climbed down.

  “Pauline!”

  “Now, let’s hide behind one of the big doors by the entrance,” Pauline whispered, just as Chance opened his mouth to protest. “Come on.”

  They ran toward the doors, hiding behind them as the security force arrived. More Balliopes, Chet leading the way, as well as a fifteen-foot ogre that had to stoop to get into the room.

  “Curses,” said Chet. “Up in the air ducts. They’ll be hard to find. You, Bweetoy, and you, Jim. In the ducts, now! Find them!”

  Two Balliopes climbed the stack of chairs and disappeared into the air duct. The rest of the security team marched out, never noticing Chance and Pauline.

  The two young Jeopards held their breaths for a full minute before Pauline signaled the all clear, then rushed up and gave her brother a hug. Chance noticed his sister was prominently fanged.

  “How … how…,” Chance started to say.

  “We’ll talk about it later. Now, we need to hide for real. Look, what’s behind that door?”

  There was a black door near one corner of the theater. It opened onto a room that smelled of wax and hand soap. They shut the door and breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  The small room was painted black and lined on the left side by racks of clothes and costumes, and on the right with two vanities whose mirrors were surrounded by lightbulbs. Pauline flipped a switch below one of the mirrors, bringing the powerful bulbs to bright life and illuminating the two white vanities covered with small glass jars of colorful powders and creams, hairbrushes, hair clips, lipsticks, and other materials used to bring forth in living color the stage actor.

  Pauline sat at one vanity and Chance at the other. Over the next hour, they discussed how the last couple of days had unfolded, how each of them came to be where they were now.

  “You really worried me, sibling,” said Pauline. “You know, Mom is out of town. We have to be home before she gets back.”

  “Oh, I forgot!”

  “She was kind of upset she didn’t get to say good-bye.”

  “I had to come here.”

  “Oh, here’s one more thing,” said Pauline. “I’m in contact with Mersey—sometimes—and she can intercept signals from communications devices here through a website whose owner is located in Rincón Oscuro, which is right over the infirmary. Walkie-talkies and such. Like the security forces here use.”