monster haven 06.5 - transmonstrified

by R. L. Naquin

  Silas was intentionally disgusting.

  “Zoey’s at work. And she’s really busy, Silas. It’s not a good time for company.”

  He snorted and scratched his belly. “Don’t be stupid. Zoey’s always busy. And I know she’s at work. That’s why I thought I’d grab a little breakfast over here. I thought I’d wait until this broad made breakfast, then move in close until my luck got her. Maybe she’d have to run to the hospital.” He shrugged. “Or worse. Either way, I’d get breakfast.”

  I stared at him, appalled. “Dude, seriously? Is that how you usually get your meals?”

  He smiled and didn’t answer.

  I shook my head. “You need to stay away from our house today. I’ve got a lot to do, and Zoey’s under a lot of stress. Go home.”

  Silas held his stubby arms up with his palms held out. “All right. All right. Don’t get all bossy on me. I brought her some information I thought she’d be interested in.”

  I inhaled and counted to ten. “What information?”

  “What are you, her secretary?”

  Asshole. “Let’s just say I’m her business manager. Everything goes through me.”

  Silas belched. “Fine. Suit yourself. You ever heard of Mytho-crockus?”

  Aside from the fact that Silas was an untrustworthy shit, the word sounded totally made up. I gave him my best eye roll. “You know I haven’t.”

  He examined his filthy fingernails, then used one to pick his teeth. “It’s a neuro-virus. Humans can get it when exposed to a large number of Hidden in their vicinity. It’s why large populations of us don’t generally hang out together around large cities.”

  I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or pop him in the eye. “I’m not an idiot.”

  He looked at me as if I were, in fact, an idiot. “Ignore me if you want. But that mummy I saw leaving your house isn’t the only one infected. Humans all up and down this street were exposed, and I’ve seen several acting like they think they’ve got magic powers. Mummy guy is harmless, but Sandra in there thinks she’s a harpy. If you don’t do something, the lady’s likely to jump off her own roof thinking she can fly.”

  I closed my eyes, imagining how upset Zoey would be that her helping so many Hidden creatures had put her human neighbors in danger. “Well, hell. So how do we cure this?” I looked around. “Silas?”

  He’d disappeared without a sound, just as Sandra came around the corner, dragging a ladder with her. She didn’t see me crouched in her marigold patch because she was too focused on securing the ladder against the side of the house. She hummed as she worked, an eerie, tuneless song that sounded more like it came from a carnival ride than the radio.

  She climbed the rungs, a weird little hop to her step, almost as if she were trying to flap a pair of wings she didn’t have. When she made it to the top, she stood tall, flung off her ruffled blouse and industrial-strength bra, and spread her arms wide.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Silas appeared to be telling the truth.

  Fortunately, I have that monster super-speed thing. Before she jumped, I scurried up the ladder, grabbed her from behind, and dragged her down the ladder and into her house, where I locked her into her own bathroom by hooking a chair under the doorknob. It all took about thirty seconds.

  I backed away from the door, breathing hard. She banged a few times, then shrieked, sounding very much like the harpy she thought she was.

  She never saw me, so that was something. Still, I couldn’t keep her locked in there for long. I rubbed my head. What was I supposed to do now?

  “It’s an easy cure, you know.” Silas sat in the next room at Sandra’s kitchen table, stuffing his face with toast that was liberally dusted with sugar and cinnamon. He belched and gulped down a glass of milk. “I can write down the ingredients for you.”

  “You would do that?” My tone was flat. “What’s the catch?”

  He made a face as if he were hurt. “No catch. I don’t want to see people suffer.”

  “Dude. You live to see people suffer.”

  He grinned. “Fair enough. I really do.” He wiped his greasy, sticky fingers on Sandra’s checked tablecloth. “But I’d rather not see Zoey suffer. You? You I don’t care about. But Zoey’s cool. I kind of owe her.”

  Before he could change his mind, I raced through the unfamiliar house and grabbed the first pen and blank piece of paper I could find. “Write it down.”

  He chewed as he scribbled, crumbs flying everywhere. It didn’t take long. He held out the paper, then pulled it away when I reached for it. “Wait.”

  “I knew there was a catch.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you want?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing much.” He tossed a crust on the floor. “I can’t live on toast, you know.”

  I shook my head. “Dude, I don’t have time to make you breakfast. I’m already an hour and a half behind schedule today.”

  “Dinner, then. Tonight. Steak.”

  Zoey hadn’t exaggerated. This guy was a pain in the ass. “Fine. But not a word of any of this to Zoey.”

  “Deal.” He handed over the list and shook my hand.

  I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my shirt for fear of my hand sticking to the fabric forever. “This is it?”

  He shrugged. “You’re dealing with a virus. You can’t actually cure it. It’s got to run its course. That list helps you manage the symptoms in the meantime.”

  I stared at the short list in my hand. It didn’t have a lot to offer, and none of it seemed likely. “Hairspray? Why hairspray?”

  He smelled his fingers, as if shaking my hand might have left a residue behind. I tried not to curl my lips in disgust as he licked his palm and fingers with a thoughtful look. “Hairspray is sticky. It helps to ‘set’ their true identity rather than the delusions their minds are projecting.” He stuck his wet fingers into the sugar bowl and swirled them around. “Any brand will do.”

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pulling a prank on me. “What about the calamine lotion? What’s that for?”

  “Makes them comfortable in their own skin.” He stuck a finger caked with sugar into his mouth.

  “The mints?” At this point, I was looking for hidden cameras, and I was ready for any answer he gave me.

  “You have to give them two. One to freshen them, the other to ‘re-fresh’ them. That should put their old personality back for a few days and give the virus a chance to work itself out.”

  “No.” I’d been ready for any answer but that, apparently.

  “Yes.” He sucked on his fingers and pulled them out with a loud pop. “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s really a thing. Ask that hag friend of yours, Aggie. She’ll back me up.”

  A thunk and an ear-bursting screech from the bathroom down the hall told me I didn’t have time to consult with Aggie the Hag. I either had to suck it up and trust Silas or call an ambulance for Sandra.

  I zipped up the stairs and rummaged in the closets of Sandra’s primary bathroom. At the back of the cupboard under the sink, I found an off brand of pump-type hairspray, then tore back downstairs with it.

  “So, do I just spray it all over her or…”

  Silas was gone. The kitchen was a wreck of sugar, buttery smears, and dirty dishes. I glanced from the mess to the bottle in my hand, then at the hallway where Sandra certainly sounded like a screeching harpy. If the spray worked, she’d be herself again for a while. She’d see the mess in her kitchen—a mess she never made—and possibly call the police. Also, I wouldn’t be able to get the lotion on her or get her to suck on a couple of mints, since I couldn’t let her see me.

  Sandra slammed herself against the bathroom door again, and I worried it wouldn’t hold.

  Get ahold of yourself, dude. Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.

  I trotted toward the front door and threw open the coat closet. I needed mints and calamine lotion before I could do anything else. The more times I had to come back here, the more chances I had of ge
tting caught and exposing the Hidden community to a human—even if that human did currently think she was part of the community.

  I stepped into the closet. A bright light shone from above me and my eyes flicked into closet-monster mode. The elaborate network of the Closet Superhighway lay before me in a grid of the world’s closets. I narrowed my focus first to the United States, then California, then Bolinas, and finally our little neighborhood.

  The Lohman’s up the street had two boys, and both had come home from camp last year with poison oak. They’d be the most likely to have what I needed. I touched the square that held their house, chose a door as the location loomed closer, and stuck my head through the closet door of five-year-old Max’s room. The coast was clear. I could hear Mrs. Lohman vacuuming downstairs, and the kids would be at school.

  Fast as a shooting star, I dashed into the boys’ shared bathroom, found what I needed, and made it back to Sandra’s before a floorboard had a chance to finish squeaking.

  Using that same super-speed, I cleaned up the kitchen, then rummaged in Sandra’s purse for a couple of slightly fuzzy mints. I checked the clock above the stove. Less than two minutes had elapsed. I gave myself a mental high five, since my hands were full.

  The screeching from the bathroom had turned to squawking. If I didn’t do this quickly, Sandra was going to do damage to herself and her bathroom.

  I checked the list one last time, but nothing new turned up. No magic words. No special order in which to apply the items. No instructions of any kind.

  Thanks for you help, Silas. You’re a real prince.

  After stuffing the mints and the hairspray in my pockets, I uncapped the lotion and pulled the chair away from the door. Sandra stopped making angry bird noises, but I heard her pacing back and forth.

  In one smooth motion, I threw open the door and flicked the open bottle so it splattered lotion on her bare chest. I did this while trying to avert my eyes, because, seriously, I am not equipped to deal with human boobs.

  Sandra flailed around for a few seconds, then stopped, rubbing her hands over the lotion in fascination. While she was distracted, I fished the mints from my pocket, defuzzed them as much as I could, popped them both in her mouth, then spun her to face the window so she couldn’t see me when the delusion passed.

  I gave one last glance around for hidden cameras, then pumped the nozzle of the hairspray, giving her a liberal coating from behind.

  “Hey!” She looked down at her naked chest covered in stinky pink lotion and held her arms out in disgust. “What the hell?”

  By the time she turned around, I was home, having escaped through her coat closet. I kept the lotion and hairspray, just in case.

  I gave the top of my head a vigorous rub and dropped into a chair in my own kitchen. I was two hours behind schedule, the sun was now far too bright to risk making my garden rounds, and I’d left my shopping bags behind at Sandra’s house.

  The homeless shelter would have to do without the fresh fruits and vegetables I usually smuggled into their pantry in the mornings. They never knew where it came from, but they really needed it. I couldn’t risk the trip though. The windows of opportunity both for collecting the produce and delivering it were gone. Margie would have to be disappointed in her anonymous benefactor for today.

  I made a mental note to go out early tomorrow and double my usual collection.

  Something stank. I sniffed myself and found a streak of calamine lotion across my arm. Wrinkling my nose, I washed it off at the sink, then refocused. My day wasn’t shot. Only derailed a bit. I could get back on track.

  I preheated the oven. Earlier, I’d thrown together a nice pastry crust, cut it into tiny circles, then lined a muffin tin with them. The tiny crusts, now baked and cooled, waited on the counter. I whisked some eggs, added a little cream, veggies, and cheese, then filled the pastry cups. The oven hadn’t finished preheating yet, so I made the beds, vacuumed, cleaned the bathrooms, dusted the furniture, and scrubbed away a new stain in the hallway carpet.

  When the oven beeped, I tossed the mini quiches inside and went back into Zoey’s room to consider my options.

  Zoey was a slob. I knew that when I moved in. I liked things neat. She’d told me several times that she appreciated all I do around here, but that she felt guilty when I cleaned her room.

  I could not let this stand, though. Clothes were everywhere. Dirty. Clean. Tried on, worn a few hours, then discarded. Her entire wardrobe was in a jumble on her bedroom floor. If I hung it all up, she’d probably be pissed.

  I tried to walk away. I really did. But damn, that girl was like a force of nature in her destruction. I gathered up the clothes, sorted them, and tossed the dark pile in the washing machine. While they ran, I washed her delicates in the bathroom sink and hung them over the shower rail to dry.

  When I was done, I checked the time. Ten minutes had passed. I’d been taking my time, since the mini quiches needed fifteen minutes to bake, but I still had a few minutes left.

  I made myself a cream cheese and jelly sandwich and sat in the living room to watch a little television and relax.

  Relaxing was out of the question. To my horror, a special news report ran on the local station. The cameras went live to the outside of a Sausalito bank robbery in progress. The robber or robbers had hostages, though authorities weren’t sure about how many there were of either.

  I dropped my sandwich on the plate and wiped my fingers on a napkin. Zoey’s office was half a block from there.

  I flew through my closet and into a janitor’s closet at the bank, opening the door a crack to peek out at the lobby.

  Several customers lay flat on the floor, cringing in fear. Two men in dark ski masks paced, their weapons pointed at the ceiling.

  Because Zoey is entirely incapable of keeping out of trouble, her yellow beret shown like a beacon from among the hostages. That upped the difficulty level of taking these guys out without anybody noticing. Zoey would definitely notice if I set so much as a sneaker toe out there.

  As one of the robbers walked past my closet, I reached through and pulled him in. He was unprepared, blind in the dark, and slow. I was none of those things. I managed to knock the gun from his hand, spin him around, secure his hands with a length of twine I found on the shelf, and stuff a reasonably clean rag in his mouth. Then I turned his ski mask around so his eyes were covered. The golden rule of being part of the Hidden community was to stay hidden. I couldn’t have him looking at me when I opened the door and let some light in.

  I checked my watch. If I didn’t leave now, my mini quiches would burn.

  Someone, presumably the other bank robber, shouted in the lobby. The guy at my feet gave a muffled cry.

  “Shh.” I prodded him with my sneaker. “Don’t make another sound. Seriously, dude. You’re not in a position to make trouble for me.” I peeked out the door again and saw the other guy talking on his cell phone. “Don’t move.”

  I zipped back home, pulled out the tray of quiches, turned off the oven and went back to the bank. In the thirty seconds I’d been gone, the guy in the closet hadn’t moved. I wasn’t sure what to do. The second guy was out in the lobby, where I couldn’t get to him.

  I faced the back of the closet and shifted my eyes to see the rest of the bank’s closets and cupboards. I found a space on the other side of the lobby that was behind the mail slot on the wall near the bank robber, so I stepped into it. He paced a few more times, then stopped in front of me. A woman on the floor near his feet shifted, and I caught a flash of badge.

  Perfect.

  I tore back home and grabbed a bottle of vegetable oil, then came right back. The masked man still stood in front of the mail slot, blocking me from everyone else. Quiet as a swamp bogey tracking a flargsnozzle, I tipped the bottle and poured oil on the floor beneath him.

  He took one step, slipped, and landed on his ass. As I had hoped, the cop on the floor was quick to take over and, within seconds, had him subdued. I went back to the jani
tor’s closet and shoved the other guy out the door, then ran home, confident it was all over.

  As I finished my sandwich, I watched the live coverage on the news of the hostages—Zoey included—coming out of the bank.

  I took my plate into the kitchen to wash it. “Not bad for a lunch break.”

  Zoey’s laundry was done, so I tossed it into the dryer, then put her whites in to wash. I hummed while I washed the dishes and popped the cooled quiches into a pretty, napkin-lined basket. As I made my way through the backyard to drop off my gift at the mushroom house where Molly and the rest of the brownie family lived, a rustling in the bushes made me stop.

  What the hell? Nate Saunders from across the street stood with his arms in the air, feet planted in the ground. I mean, literally planted.

  I sighed. Dude thought he was a tree. Or more accurately, he thought he was a dryad.

  He wasn’t actually doing anything but standing with his arms in the air, so I had a few minutes before I had to deal with him. I continued on my way toward the back corner of the yard, weaving between the empty tents, fire pits, and chairs that had recently housed dozens of refugee monsters and mythical creatures.

  A puff of smoke rose in front of my face, and I stopped, glancing down. “Oh, hey, Bruce.”

  A green dragon, about the size of a collie, lay curled in the opening of a small canvas tent. He snorted a greeting at me, then sent a double spiral of smoke from his nostrils. When he growled, I understood the friendly question, even though I didn’t speak pigmy dragon. Molly spoke it, but there was no need to bother her. I knew what Bruce wanted.

  “No problem, buddy. The jewelry Zoey and Sara borrowed from you is safe and sound in my closet. I’m kind of busy at the moment.” I held up the basket of quiches. “If you’re sticking around awhile, can I bring it out to you later?”

  Bruce tipped his head, winked, then closed his eyes. Dragons slept a lot. He’d be fine until I had a chance to get his stuff for him, even if it took until tomorrow.