by Susan Lain
"Whoa," Eliot muttered in awe. "That's not a face for the brochures."
Alek snorted. "Sometimes it pays not to advertise."
Eliot nodded in obvious agreement. "Ignorance is bliss." He cocked his head. "It's awfully quiet. That's good, isn't it?" When Alek had nothing to say, Eliot stepped closer and leaned in. Alek gripped his arm and yanked him back. Eliot glared at him. "What?"
"Those teeth can shred metal like it was paper, as evidenced by the destruction of countless oil platforms and refineries," Alek warned. "And so can its tail and its claws."
Eliot frowned but stepped back. "I don't see any claws."
"They're retractable. And lethal." Alek watched Baz continue to blow air the beast's way. "What are you doing?"
"They eat carbon dioxide. I just need it to sit still for a few more seconds." Baz hooked a tiny black light over the creature, hanging it from a chain. When it buzzed on, an unpleasant odor emerged. "I modified it myself from a mosquito trap," Baz explained. "It emits carbon dioxide, so he should be happy where he is for now." He winked at Alek who rolled his eyes. "Let's check the gas gremlin now, shall we?"
Since the oil hellion sat in place like an ebony statue of a twisted frog god, content under the carbon dioxide trap, Alek followed Baz and Eliot to the other end of the car. Baz opened the lid of the oil tank by popping it from inside the car.
Then Baz drew back and whistled low. "The thing's silent now. Weird. When I drove this ride in here, the beast made noise like nobody's business." He met Alek's gaze, pure professional now. "This the same problem as with the others?"
"More or less." Alek didn't go into specifics, especially about traffic circles and nighttime. After all, the incident with their car hadn't happened after dark. This was a discrepancy. He had no definite answers for why it had happened to them outside the pattern they'd established and found reliable. Was this an evolution of the main problem? His head hurt from too much thinking.
Since the garage already smelled a lot like exhaust fumes, it didn't take Baz long to draw out the monster with a soft cajoling voice murmuring nonsense. As soon as Alek saw it, though, he knew the situation was more complicated than it initially seemed.
Hunched, the gas gremlin's slippery skin had the light-tan color of pure petroleum and its four limbs appeared like those of humans, only tinier. It had webbed hands and feet and no tail or hair. Large pointy ears flapped a bit as it moved about twitchingly, two beady golden eyes watched everything and a fox-like muzzle offered an expression resembling a toothy grin.
The way the little creature huddled, though, told Alek without a doubt the gas gremlin was scared out of its mind. Its teeth clattered and the panic in its eyes would have been familiar even to a blind man.
"I…I don't think that's normal," Eliot whispered as he too watched the gas gremlin try to cuddle close to Baz's chest. "He's scared. Of us?"
Alek studied the tiny critter—and for the first time he couldn't do so dispassionately as an agent and a bona fide scientist. The problem exhibited by the mythkin had worried him from the start, but he'd learned not to let his emotions show. He'd always been able to maintain a professional distance. Now, when he saw firsthand how frightened and skittish a helpless little lifeform was, he couldn't remain objective.
"No, not of us," he murmured back. "Someone else. Something else perhaps?"
Eliot drew in a sharp breath and radiated anger. "Another mythkin?" He locked gazes with Alek. "The one you theorized existed? The one who might exert control over the rest?" His green eyes ablaze, Eliot burned with righteous indignation, and to Alek he'd never looked more desirable and divine. "If that is true…I don't care whether it's a human or a mythkin who's caused these gas gremlins so much terror, I want them caught."
Alek offered his companion a grim smile. "Agreed."
Eliot nodded firmly. "Now what then?" He glanced at the horrified gremlin, empathy in his eyes. "I don't want him to suffer anymore. Could we take another ride?"
"That'll have a gas gremlin too," Alek noted. "Unless Baz is hiding horses in here."
Baz chuckled but shook his head. "Sorry, man."
Despite how covered in petrol the gas gremlin was, Baz took it into his arms and cradled it against his chest. The low reverberation of his whispers rumbled inside his chest so much so that even Alek heard it. The creature seemed calmer, its eyelids drooping. It had to be exhausted. Terror could drain anyone dry.
"You can take my bike," Baz advised, rocking back and forth as one might do with a baby, never taking his eyes off the gas gremlin. "It's the red Zero SR electric motorcycle over there, by the office window, where I can keep an eye on her. Pride of place." He gave Alek the briefest teasing glimpse. "Don't bust up my lady or the whip will be on the other hand."
Alek ducked his head. The reference to his past with Baz made him way more uncomfortable than he was ready to admit. Perhaps it was the public space of the garage; perhaps it was Eliot, whose eyes narrowed dangerously.
Alek winced. Best get going before the situation blows up in our face.
Chapter Seventeen
"What did your friend mean when he asked you what the mythkin were saying?"
Alek gulped and hurried ahead of Eliot on the pebbly courtyard of Duke Arrington's manor house. Eliot's untimely question probed his insides like a rusty spoon, tearing him up. A part of him longed to confess the whole thing. His private self refused to even entertain the idea.
"Later," Alek grunted, knowing full well how the answer would grate on both their nerves.
"Fine." Eliot's bitter tone left no doubt in Alek's mind that Eliot was mad as hell. Alek understood. This case had cost people's lives. Alek would have hated being kept in the dark too. He vowed to explain at the first possible opportunity.
A gunshot rang in the air. Eliot and Alek both started.
"It came from the house," Alek growled out even as he sprinted into a mad dash toward the front door. In one fluid move, he drew his gun from his side holster and pulled back the safety.
"Alek, be careful!" Eliot called out, running a few steps after him.
Alek halted at the front door which was ajar. He pressed his back against it and scanned the foyer with a quick look. Lights were either dim or off. No sound or movement in any direction. The marble floor gleamed like water. His footsteps could be heard if he wasn't cautious.
"No one. Stay behind me. Find cover. And don't step in my line of sight."
If Eliot replied, Alek didn't hear it.
He snuck in through the opening. A sharp scream echoed from the study.
Alek knew the way, so he reached the open doorway in a few rushed strides. Eliot brushed his arm with his shoulder, coming to stand at Alek's side. Eliot's raspy, shallow breathing was hard to ignore.
His back to the wall, Alek craned his neck to glance inside.
In the leather chair behind the desk sat Duke Arrington—his chest covered in blood from a recent gunshot wound. It must have just happened, since blood still pumped from the hole. If Duke was still alive, he'd need immediate medical attention.
To the right of the desk, over the body, stood Leslie the bodyguard—with a literal smoking gun in his hand. He was staring at the slumped form in the chair in shock, his eyes huge and dark, his mouth gaping open.
Alek ducked inside and aimed his weapon at Leslie. "Federal agents! Drop your weapon!"
Leslie started, spinning around toward the sound. He looked utterly confused, a deep frown marring his forehead, his lips opening and closing. "I…I…" he kept stuttering, his voice cracked.
"Drop your gun now!" Alek commanded again—just as he heard a faint sniffle to his left.
A swift glance revealed Shiloh hiding behind a couch in the corner, sobbing. "He shot my father…"
Alek inched closer to Leslie. "Hey, man, you don't want to do this. Put down your weapon and we can solve this. Just you and me. What do you say?"
Leslie's jaw trembled. Tears welled in his eyes. He banged the side of h
is head repeatedly with his palm. If he was trying to knock some sense into himself, it was too late. "I…I don't…understand…"
Alek was about to try again and talk the man down. He could do it. He'd done it before. Diplomacy didn't always require a special sensitive person.
Leslie, however, blinked. Then his gaze focused on Shiloh. His features contorted in rage. "You…you monster!"
Shouting, he raised his gun.
Alek fired his weapon.
Leslie grunted and fell backward, a hole through his shoulder. A heavy thud on the parquet floor told Alek he'd dropped the gun. Alek rushed over hunched, pointing his weapon at Leslie the entire time. As soon as he had eyes on both, he kicked the gun away from Leslie's reach.
"Eliot? Call the police and an ambulance."
From the doorway, half out of sight, Eliot replied with a shaky voice, "Already done. Still on the line. You have him?"
"Yes. Tell them I've shot the perpetrator and disarmed him. What's their ETA?"
"F-five m-minutes," Eliot said.
Alek didn't dare look away from Leslie who lay on the floor by the bookshelf, squirming and moaning in pain. "Eliot? It's over. Take a deep breath. We're fine." Then he added, "Check on the girl. Is she hurt?"
Rustling and hurried footsteps sounded behind Alek's back. Then low voices, some sniffles, and a quick indistinct conversation. Then Eliot said, "She's okay. We're okay."
Finally daring to lower his guard an inch, Alek nodded to himself. Two gun-related attacks in two days related to the same people? Aside from within a warzone, this was setting a record.
His peaceful civilian life left a lot to be desired.
*~*~*
An hour later, the noise had died down. The ambulance had taken Duke's body with them, and another had claimed Leslie under armed guard. The police had questioned Alek, Eliot, and the daughter, Shiloh. Her story had been consistent with what Alek had witnessed, namely that Leslie had shot and killed Duke and then tried to do the same to Shiloh. She was unharmed and, after the interview, all three of them were released.
The police and the medics vacated the mansion, leaving Alek and Eliot alone with a fragile Shiloh. Eliot found the kitchen and made her tea. Alek appreciated Eliot's consideration.
The three of them sat down at the dining room table. Shiloh drank her tea and fiddled with an open archaeology book on the Woodland Period laid out on the table.
Surprisingly, Eliot had opted for a glass of scotch which he nursed with almost religious fervor, grimacing after each sip.
Alek watched both of them with mild concern.
"Ms. Arrington," Alek spoke after a long, unpleasant silence. "Is there anyone I could call to stay with you? I am sorry for your loss."
Eliot gave him a suspicious look. Alek had no trouble telling what that was about. He said the words, but he didn't feel the empathy. They were just what one said in times like these. He hadn't known Duke well enough to call him a friend. Alek felt only irritation that a valuable lead had gone up and died on him.
"Please, call me Shiloh." Her voice was dark and sensuous. Alek surmised that she might have had a sublime blues singing voice. "T-thank you for your help." She held the cup between her hands, as if trying to stay warm or to ground herself. "It was so horrible."
Alek exchanged glances with Eliot. He saw how Eliot wanted Alek to be patient and subtle and tactful. Alek was none of those things at that moment. Enough time had been wasted.
"Why do you think Leslie murdered your father?" Alek asked.
A swift kick under the table hit him in the shin. He suppressed a grunt of pain and glared at Eliot, who merely glared back. Clearly they had differing opinions about how best to proceed.
"I apologize for causing you further discomfort," Alek started to say, trying to find a well of compassion inside his heart. If not for himself, at least for Eliot—and Alek's shins.
Shiloh shook her head, her long, bronze patina-colored hair veiling her face. "No, no, it's alright. My father and I…we weren't that close."
"Did Leslie have some reason to do what he did?" Alek pressed, remembering to keep his tone level and soothing. He wasn't good at this, but he did his best.
Shiloh looked up, her hazel eyes huge and unforgettable, a deep sadness permeating their mirror-like depths. "I…at first I thought…he did it for me."
Alek frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Because of what my father did to me." Shiloh shook her head. "But I know that's not true. They were arguing. It was about money, I think. Leslie demanded a bigger cut for a special job, as he called it. My father refused."
A special job? Alek met Eliot's gaze, and Eliot nodded. Apparently, they were on the same wavelength. Leslie must have been one of the men who had ambushed Alek and Eliot at the parking garage. The goon that got away. That certainly explained the extra, already bandaged wound on Leslie's side that had been exposed when the paramedics had worked on him.
"What did your father do to you, Shiloh?" Eliot asked in a gentle, hushed voice, snapping Alek out of his ponderings. Then he was shown exactly how out of it he was when Eliot added, "Does it have something to do with you being trans?"
At least Alek managed not to gasp out loud in shock. He studied the girl, Shiloh, with an intense and discerning eye. To be honest, he couldn't tell she was transgender. She looked like a girl. An awfully slim, flat-chested young woman. Obviously Eliot saw more in people than Alek did. That was a skill and a gift Alek envied a little.
Shiloh smiled shortly. "Yes and no. I was assigned male at birth. By the time I was six years old, I knew I was a girl. I didn't have to tell my father. He figured it out when I wore pretty dresses. He didn't quite understand it, but I was still his child. Even when I just a kid, he let me be…me, Shiloh. And when I turned eighteen he gave me the money for my gender reaffirming surgery."
Eliot smiled softly. "He sounds like a devoted father."
Shiloh sighed deep. "He was, about that anyway. But not about the other thing." A shadow crossed her face. "I'm twenty-one now. A legal adult. And with my father gone, I'm finally free of him."
Alek and Eliot looked at each other. Why didn't this bode well?
Shiloh let out a choked chuckle without joy. "Over the past, oh, fifteen years I've been in and out of mental institutions dozens of times, courtesy of my dear father."
Eliot gasped. "I thought he was fine with you being trans."
"Oh, he was." Shiloh straightened and crooked her fingers around the tea cup many times, like a compulsion. "That alone would have been fine by him. But my apparent madness…well, he took exception to that."
"Madness?" Eliot repeated, his voice going hollow. Alek wanted to take his hand, squeeze and interlace their fingers, to grant his companion some of his own strength. Alas, he couldn't bring himself to do so.
Shiloh nodded. "My father only brought me out last year, after Loreblast."
Alek gulped, his body tensing. He suddenly sensed where this discussion was headed and it scared him. Yet he could do nothing to stop the train wreck ahead; his silence tied him to the rails. He tried to focus on breathing, to calm his heartbeat, but it proved next to impossible.
"You see, since I was a child, I've had…I suppose the clinical term is 'visual and auditory hallucinations'." Shiloh pursed her lips. "Personally, I call them 'visions'. But since my father was the only voice that mattered, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia."
Eliot had stiffened too; Alek saw his posture change slightly. Eliot rested his hands on the table, probably to avoid them trembling. Alek again wanted to take his hand and tell him everything would be alright. Even if it was a lie.
"They let you out, so you must be, uh, better," Eliot murmured.
Shiloh laughed. "How could I be cured when I was never sick to begin with. You see, my visions? They were all about the mythkin—before Loreblast even happened."
Eliot drew back, gasping in shock. "What?"
Shiloh lifted her chin proudly, apparently no longer
afraid of anything. "I've seen the mythkin for years, since I was a kid. Long before the rest of humanity detected a hint of them."
A deep knock from the front door almost made Alek jump out of his skin.
"I called a friend," Shiloh commented with a cryptic smile. "To stay with me during these tough times."
She sprung up from her seat and dashed out of the dining room and out of sight. One of the books sitting in a pile on the corner of the table—this one about shamanism, mound builders and earthworks—tipped over the edge and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.
Ignoring it, Eliot leaned in closer to Alek and whispered, "I have no idea what's going on. Do you?"
Alek wanted to speak. It was now or never. But he didn't get the chance.
Shiloh returned in the company of an old Native American man. She beamed, bouncing on her feet, as she gestured to him. "This is Viho Gazing Mustang, my shaman."
Both Alek and Eliot stood to welcome the visitor. His long white hair had been braided, his brown eyes studied them thoroughly, and his weather-beaten skin resembled old leather. He had on jeans and a tan-hued fall coat, heavy boots and a necklace with bear teeth. Alek couldn't tell just by looking at him whether or not he was a charlatan.
"Shaman, I was about to tell them about my visions," Shiloh remarked eagerly as she sat. The others followed her example. She smiled. "I think they will understand."
The old shaman said nothing, merely bowed his head and waited.
Shiloh took a deep breath and began. "My visions showed me beautiful and terrible things. Strange wild creatures I'd never seen or heard of. Exotic places of true wilderness unlike any forest or mountain I've come across."
Alek couldn't believe it. "Wait. You both see and hear the other dimension? I thought one could only hear it."
"What?" Eliot breathed out, alarmed and flummoxed.
Alek winced inwardly. But he neither dared to look at nor talk to Eliot. He had to learn everything he could from Shiloh first. Unfortunately, in this instance, Eliot came second. Man, Alek really needed to reevaluate his priorities.