by M. L. Ryan
I noticed a very slight lift to one of the guard’s eyebrows, a clear indication that he, at least, understood every word. Both of them had been doing a pretty good job of appearing oblivious to the conversation. I wondered if they were supposed to eavesdrop, or if Captain Snoop was simply bored with standing around and decided to tune into our chat.
I turned slightly so my back was to the guards. “Ulut, I’m going to miss our daily baths together. At least I’ll still have the memories.”
I kept my tone casual, and when Ulut’s eyes flitted from side to side, I mouthed a silent, Just go with it, to let him know I hadn’t gone suddenly insane. Or more nuts than my usual level of crazy.
“Uh, yes,” he stammered. “I suppose continuing would be inappropriate now that I am no longer a dog.”
His voice rose slightly at the end of his sentence, and I gave a small nod to let him know he had provided a reasonable response.
“I’m kind of thirsty,” I announced, and asked the guards if they might escort us to find beverages. They complied, and as we made our way to the dining area, their heavy boots on the stone flooring provided enough noise to cover my explanation to the still obviously baffled Ulut.
“I’m just testing to see if the guards are reporting back to Alex or Sebastian,” I whispered.
“With a completely ridiculous story?”
“Yes, but absurd or not, if they are spying, they will still repeat it. And I’ll know if Alex or Sebastian know, because neither of them will be able to not ask about it, no?”
Ulut tilted his head. “Who can argue with that kind of logic?” We walked a bit farther before he spoke again. “I hope Alex doesn’t decide to beat the hell out of me. At least if I’m going to get my ass kicked, I’d rather it be for something I actually did.”
I felt like an idiot for not taking Alex’s reaction to the made-up tale into account. He was already acting unusually possessive, and I had to concoct something that was sure to raise his ire. “God, Ulut, I didn’t even think about that part.”
“That’s okay. If Alex does end up extracting his pound of flesh, I’ll pretend it is for all the times I inadvertently saw you naked.”
I hadn’t even thought about that. There were many times I paraded around au natural in front of Rufus. Well, maybe not paraded, but he’d definitely gotten an eyeful. “Hey, the least you could have done is averted your gaze,” I complained.
“Actually, I did. I even got as far away as I could the other night when you and Alex were… well, you know.”
Crap. And I thought Rufus was just freaked out because we were making so much noise. Regardless of his attempt at gallantry, there were plenty of times back home when Alex and I almost did the lust and thrust. Try as I might, I couldn’t recall if Rufus had ever been in the room on those occasions. The effort was giving me a headache.
“Let’s make a deal. We won’t ever mention what you may have seen or heard regarding Alex or me while you were in dog form.”
“You’ve got it,” Ulut promised. “It’s like it never happened.”
I might have believed him if I hadn’t gotten a glimpse of his expression. He did his best to hide it, but the amused curl of his lip made it clear he wasn’t about to forget any time soon.
“I wasn’t planning to bring this up, but you came very close to losing the two amigos while you were furry. And I have no problem completing that task the next time you transform if you don’t wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”
“Two amigos? I don’t understand,” he asked, still grinning.
“Testicles, stones, balls, the plums in the fruit bowl—get my drift?
The smirk vanished. “You wouldn’t.” His now-pale complexion belied his confident words. It was my turn to snicker.
“Just remember,” I said with my own smirk, “all who twitter may be geld, my friend.”
22
By the next morning, Aiden, who had been tasked with investigating any brutal homicides that bore Keem’s M.O., reported back. In addition to the ones we already knew about, there were two other unsolved murders that had Keem written all over them.
The first occurred near Decorah, Iowa about a month before the hikers were killed in North Carolina. A teenage couple looking for a secluded spot to drink beer and get laid found a woman’s body in the woods. Her remains were largely intact except her legs had been ripped off. Based on her wounds and DNA analysis of saliva and hair found on her corpse, the local authorities determined she had died after being attacked by a black bear. Aiden probably would have completely overlooked the grisly event had he not read a local’s quote about how rare it was to even see a bear in northern Iowa, much less have someone killed by one. When the Xyzok checked out the site, there were still faint traces of magic. Only Keem would think of forcing a bear to gnaw off some poor woman’s legs.
The second happened about two weeks later right in Tucson. The remains of a homeless man were discovered on the outskirts of Davis-Monthan Air Force Base. No one knew how the guy ended up inside one of the thousands of decommissioned aircraft parked in neat rows in the aptly named aircraft, “Boneyard.” The death had been reported in the local papers, but hadn’t aroused our interest because nothing was missing—part-wise—and he had died well before we realized the Dekankaran was a problem. Or even existed. Once again, Aiden listened to his inner instincts and sent a team to check for a magical signature. Bingo—Keem.
Of the four places we knew about where Keem entered the human world, Aiden mapped the corresponding points in the Coursodon dimension. When Keem’s magical signature was detected, elite teams of powerful law enforcement types secretly staked out the locations. Of course, catching him would only be possible if he used one of those portals, assuming there weren’t other places we’d overlooked. If someone out there were giving odds on the likelihood of our success, they would not be in our favor. There were only a few days left before the shit was supposed to hit the fan, which given Keem’s twisted psyche might actually be what he had in mind. What a way to go, buried in voluminous swaths of excrement.
Ulut worked tirelessly to help, mostly with Sebastian, but his efforts were such that that even Alex had to admit he might be wrong about “the dog” as he liked to call him when we were alone. It was odd; usually Sebastian was the cynic, but in this case, he had no apparent trust issues. Tannis was convinced her brother’s reticence had more to do with jealousy rather than the possibility Ulut was in league with Keem. I thought Alex was erring on the side of extreme caution and much as I wanted to appear annoyed by that, I couldn’t really blame him. After all, the world as he knew it was riding on the decisions we made in the next few days. It didn’t make any sense to me that Alex might obsess over a potential case of puppy love.
As the day of reckoning came closer, people’s reactions to the dire situation differed widely. Convinced the end was near, some resorted to rampant self-indulgence with uninterrupted orgies and drunkenness. Others stopped going to work, eating, or bathing. While most sucked it up and soldiered on as best they could, the Debauchers and the Lazy Asses caused a load of problems for everyone else.
Governments responded to the impending apocalypse by placing ever more stringent restrictions on people’s movements. We were told that most cities imposed strict curfews and when one was able to leave home, identity checks and searches were the norm. Not that anyone wanted to go out that much. The persistent eruptions had spewed so much ash into the atmosphere that the air quality around most of the globe was poor, and some regions hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. Part of me thought these rules made sense, but I couldn’t help wonder if it might not be better for everyone to try to act as normal as possible. After all, it would really suck if everyone “sheltered-in-place,” and it turned out Keem’s plan involved a magical means to destroy only residences. I could picture the masses, huddled in their homes in those final seconds, thinking, Damn it, we’d have been better off enjoying the woods rather than cowering under the dining room
table.
With two days to go, Alex and I lay entwined in our bed with neither sleep nor sex able to assuage the unspoken fear. We decided to spend the evening together without any mention of what the future might hold. Even though we weren’t discussing it, the tension was thick and cloying.
“So, how are we doing with this whole ‘let’s-ignore-the-elephant-in-the-room’ thing?” I murmured into Alex’s warm chest.
He kissed the top of my tousled hair. “I think we may have deluded ourselves a bit. The more I try to not think about the possibilities, the more the negative consequences seem to pop into my head.”
“It’s probably wishful thinking, but deep down, I feel like everything is going to turn out okay.”
“You’re not frightened?”
“Oh, I’m scared shitless. I guess I’m having a hard time imagining life as we know it could cease to exist. It doesn’t seem real.”
Alex took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you are involved in all this. If you hadn’t gotten mixed up with Sebastian and me, you’d be sitting at home with Vinnie, safe and sound.”
I pushed myself up on my elbow so I could see his face. “And bored out of my mind. I’d rather be spending my last moments here with you than go back to that predictable existence I led before.”
“I’ve never had someone ready to die with me before,” he said with a wry smile.
“Don’t get me wrong, Blondie, I’d much rather we both survive. I’m trying to say I have no regrets, no matter what happens.” I plunked myself back onto his chest, and he wrapped me in his arms.
“I was thinking,” he began in a measured tone. “Assuming we both manage to make it through all this alive and well, perhaps we could make our relationship more… permanent.”
Rationally, I knew Alex was nothing like my adulterous, pond scum of an ex-husband. Unfortunately, there was nothing logical about my reaction. For a lot of women, having this type of a conversation with the man they loved would result in a less horrified response than I experienced. My first inclination was to run into the bathroom and lock the door, but that seemed incredibly immature. Besides, whatever it was in my brain that motivated me to hide was overruled by the apparent paralysis in the rest of my body.
I just got used to saying, “I love you” without breaking out in hives. I’m not ready for this kind of commitment, I thought as panic made me hyperventilate. I tried to calm myself by picturing tiny skiers slaloming down Alex’s chiseled abs, but the image wasn’t as distracting as I’d hoped. Somehow, what was meant to be amusing morphed into something entirely different: skiing brides, their white veils flapping behind them, racing through the valley between Alex’s six-pack. They continued downhill, following the line of hair that extended from his navel to his groin until, using his tonsil tickler as a ski jump, they flew off in various directions, presumably to their demise. The symbolism of my daydream was not lost on me.
Alex alertly noticed my discomfort—actually, my nails digging into his shoulder probably clued him in as much as anything—and placed a gentle hand on my cheek, after he dislodged my fingers from his flesh, of course.
He spoke in a quiet voice, like he was trying to convince me not to leap off a high-rise. “Relax, carisa. I am only suggesting that we commit to living together once your new place is finished.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t we already live together?”
“Yes, but by circumstance, not by design.”
Now that I thought about it, he was right. He lived at my house when we were trying to restore Sebastian to his body. When we started our relationship, he stayed at my place because he didn’t have one. And when we had to move to Sebastian’s, we never had a discussion about the living arrangements, we just shared a room. That was all he meant, living together? A piece of cake compared to where I thought he was going. Blowing out a relieved breath, I answered, “I’d love that.”
Alex rolled me onto my back. His crooked smile revealed the reasons for my panic attack did not go unnoticed. “One step at a time,” he teased as his lips captured mine. If there were an inter-dimensional gold medal for kissing, Alex would win hands down. Or tongue out, I supposed. Part of me wanted to point out that my commitment issues were well-founded, and I didn’t appreciate the mocking—albeit good-natured—tone. Fortunately, the parts below my waist overruled my head and any objections were largely forgotten. When Alex’s head dipped below my waist, I couldn’t remember my own name, much less whatever I found so irksome moments before. It was definitely a world-record performance in yet another event. Given our dire circumstances, I felt a little guilty over our erotic pentathlon. Not enough to stop it, of course. I almost threw in the towel after the fourth trip to the medal stand, but I figured once you were in the zone, why mess with team chemistry?
Between the warm-ups prior to discussing our future living arrangements, and the subsequent marathon after, the foreboding had ratcheted down significantly. But, really, even mind-blowing sex couldn’t make me completely forget what might be in store if Keem made good on his threats, no matter what thousands of romance novels might like us to believe.
Eventually, we had to get out of bed. While Sebastian and Alex went off to do Xyzok duties, Ulut and I swapped details about our respective abilities to transform. Turned out there were more differences than similarities, particularly regarding how much of our real selves persisted while an animal. Ulut had to work hard to ensure his personality wasn’t overtaken by canine instincts, particularly those involving territoriality and dominance. For me, except for the bird-of-prey food cravings, I felt like me dressed up in a hawk outfit. Granted, I’d never spent anywhere near as much time feathered as Ulut had furred, but he said even a short shift was problematic. He had a really hard time around female canids in heat, and reluctantly admitted to an ill-fated tryst with a she-coyote in the Smokey Mountains.
“How did that go?” I inquired. Although I tried to disguise my squeamishness over his confession of what amounted to quasi-bestiality, I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose.
Ulut nodded his head, affirming my discomfort. “I know, it seems nasty, doesn’t it? But I couldn’t stop myself.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I didn’t want to stop—the dog instincts overpowered everything else. The longer I stayed a dog, the more dog-like I became. I didn’t feel uncomfortable about it until I changed back into me.” He lowered his head and glanced up at me through his thick lashes. “That’s why I greeted you with my snout in your, well, you know. I couldn’t help myself.”
I assured him there were no hard feelings. It was entirely possible I’d have the same issues if I had to stay a bird for weeks or months, but I’d have to ask Hewlyxnathin if there were guidelines for sexual dalliances between Yterixa and their natural animal counterparts because the moral implications seemed a bit murky. Would it be considered cheating? I could imagine the conversation, “It’s okay, honey, you have no reason to be jealous. He means nothing to me; I just couldn’t control my raging hormones.” That sort of reasoning never worked under normal circumstances and I wasn’t sure it would fly here either, no matter how understanding a partner one had.
I also wondered if congress between Yterixa and their non-human species could produce offspring. Ulut grimaced, and I realized I must have spoken out-loud.
“Well, it’s not such a bizarre question,” I countered. “If we can physically change into a different form, what’s to say our DNA doesn’t do the same?” My mind became flooded with years’ worth of experiments to determine exactly what happens during a form bend. Of course, I could never get funded for such research in my dimension, but maybe Coursodon had grants available.
“I hope there aren’t any of my spawn running around out there in your world,” Ulut said, frowning.
I wasn’t sure if his angst was based on the idea that he had cross-species progeny, or that he’d likely never see his Rufus-yotes. Based on his expression, which now resembled more of a grimace, I didn’t feel he wanted to dig d
eeper into the subject. Nevertheless, a scene from the classic film, Chinatown, flitted into my head. But instead of Jack Nicholson slapping Faye Dunaway because she couldn’t decide if her sister was her daughter, I pictured Ulut similarly waffling during an interrogation about a scruffy, curly-haired dog.
“He’s my pet!” Slap, slap. “He’s my son!” Slap, slap. “My pet!” Slap. “My son!” Slap. “My pet and my son!” For some reason, I found that hilarious. I didn’t think Ulut would be similarly amused, so I refrained from sharing.
I noticed it had begun to rain. Not a pleasant drizzle, or even a moderate shower, but rather a torrential downpour. In itself, that wouldn’t arouse much notice, but for weeks the skies had been grey with volcanic ash, and there had been no precipitation. While I was used to abrupt weather changes growing up in Arizona where sunny days in the summer often changed into explosive thunderstorms within hours, this meteorological about-face had nothing to do with advancing low pressure. This was a magical drencher.
“This isn’t good,” Ulut reported as water pelted the window. “Yet another reminder from Keem, no doubt.”
Like anyone was about to forget. “Not only is he a sociopath,” I observed, “his gargantuan ego apparently also requires frequent stroking.” He probably has a micro-dick too.
Ulut continued to stare at the rain. “Maybe he plans to destroy Courso with a flood.”
“Keem strikes me as the type to have something a bit more grandiose up his sleeve for the main event, but judging by the amount of precipitation in the last few minutes, death by deluge could be a possibility.”
I turned to leave the room, and Ulut called after me. “Where are you going?”
“Checking to see if the summer residence has an ark.” Ulut blinked, obviously not getting my biblical reference. “Never mind,” I added, “just follow me.”
23
Turned out, there was no big-ass sailing vessel. Not that I really thought there would be, but it never hurts to ask. From what I could see—which was difficult without actually going outside, as the unrelenting downpour made the view through the windows difficult—the gardens looked like swampy ponds and the Tryplexyn Sea was rising. The summer residence, being a fortress, was elevated enough to keep us out of immediate danger but reports from around Courso indicated we weren’t the only ones experiencing rain capable of producing epic flooding. It wasn’t just the potential loss of life that had everyone on edge either—the economic damage alone could be staggering.