Assuming I was capable of moving under my own power by then. Closing my eyes, I lay flat on my back and waited for the feeling to come back into my feet.
§
The weeks between the roster going up and the final matches of the season dissolved like sugar in hot water, wisping away into nothing but cloudy memories and the smell of topical muscle relaxants. Elsie and Carlotta broke up, got back together, broke up again, and got back together again. My father sat me down for a talk about priorities after I skipped my third hunting trip in a row due to practice–related exhaustion.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I said. “The season’s almost over. I just need to make it through the last game without eating track, figure out what the hell this Adrienne girl is and what she’s doing to the other players, neutralize her, and hang up my skates until the next season starts.”
“Even so, it’s taking up a lot of time,” he said.
“Think of it as a hunt — I wouldn’t have gone out for the All–Stars if I wasn’t chasing a potential danger. So now I’m hunting.”
My father raised an eyebrow. “You know, hunting normally doesn’t involve quite this much blunt force trauma.”
“That’s because you’re doing it wrong.”
That seemed to close the discussion: he agreed that I would be allowed to resolve the Adrienne situation as I saw fit, made me promise to help him randomize the traps in the woods around the house, and let me get back to work.
Artie and I spoke daily during the run up to Regionals, referencing and cross–referencing as we tried to figure out what Adrienne could possibly be. Finally, the night before the match was set to begin, he said, “We’re down to four possibilities. She’s a previously unknown form of gorgon who can stun with her gaze but doesn’t need to wear glasses to avoid doing it —”
“A step below the lesser gorgon? That seems pretty unlikely.”
“I know, but it fits the symptoms, if we assume that it would be a power reduction comparable to what’s seen between the lesser gorgon and the Pliny’s gorgon.”
“Possible, not probable,” I allowed. “Next?”
“Succubus.”
“Wouldn’t Elsie have noticed her?”
“Succubi notice incubi, incubi notice succubi. We don’t notice each other.” He sounded deeply uncomfortable taking the conversation onto such potentially personal ground. “Elsie always knows when Dad gets home, but I never do.”
“This is one more reason you should come down to Portland for tomorrow’s match. You’d be able to spot immediately if she’s a succubus.”
“And if she wasn’t, I’d be packed into a warehouse full of excited, sweaty girls, many of whom have been drinking.” I could actually hear Artie’s full–body shudder through the Skype connection. “No, thank you. There are much more pleasant ways for me to die.”
“You’re going to have to deal with girls again someday, Artie. If nothing else, Emerald City Comicon. You know it contains females.”
“Yes, but those are familiar girls. They’re girls I know how to avoid.”
I sighed. “Right. So succubus is still on the table — what’s our third option?”
“She could be a mara.”
The word was vaguely familiar. I paused, dredging through the recesses of my memory as I tried to find a set of characteristics to go with the name. Finally, I ventured, “Aren’t mara another form of succubus?”
“Closely related, but not quite the same. I’m sending you over the file on them now. They come in both male and female varieties, and their victims are generally assumed to have dropped from ‘exhaustion.’ The symptoms sound a lot like what you’ve been seeing in the affected players.”
“That’s not good.” My computer beeped as Artie’s email arrived. I opened the attachment and started skimming. A line in the first paragraph caught my eye. “Wait — they feed on the life energy of their victims? That’s not very neighborly.”
“No, and they are succubi in the sense that they need intelligent food or it isn’t very nourishing or filling. They tend to go after sapient species, but that’s about it. Mara aren’t picky eaters.”
“Can this get any more charming?”
“A mara who’s fed recently can project bad dreams onto her enemies, and can even use that as a way to increase the ‘volume’ of available food, since fear makes people produce more immediately accessible life energy.”
I eyed the computer. “I hate you. You make this shit up just to hurt me.”
“Blame evolution. I’m just the messenger.”
“I do blame evolution. Every morning I get out of bed and say ‘how can evolution fuck me over today,’ and every day, evolution finds a way. What’s our fourth option?”
“Something we’ve never heard of before.”
“…wow. Way to look on the bright side.” I glanced at the clock next to my bed. “Hell, it’s almost midnight. You sure I can’t convince you to come to the match, Artie? You’ll enjoy it. It’s Regionals.”
“Every time you say that, I picture the kids from Glee,” said Artie. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time slamming into your enemies and fighting the good fight, but I’m going to have to decline. Dropping an incubus into a roller derby arena strikes me as one of those things that gets included in your obituary.”
“Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse?”
“No, thanks.”
I laughed. “Good night, Artie.”
“Good night, Annie.”
I was still laughing as I climbed into bed, turned off the light, and tried to convince my over–taxed brain that the best thing it could do was let me sleep. My brain wasn’t listening. That was nothing new. Eventually, soothed by the steady creep–creep–creep of the frickens outside my window, I slipped into unconsciousness.
§
“Welcome to the Pacific Northwest Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby Association Regional Semi–Finals!” shrieked the announcer, a skinny little man who looked like a cross between Walt Disney and Grandpa Munster. He was mugging for the microphone like he was on stage at Madison Square Garden, not standing on a raised platform near the edge of a makeshift roller rink. I had to respect his dedication to his art, even as I questioned its value. “Are you ready to roller derby?!”
The crowd shrieked approval, indicating that it was, in fact, ready to roller derby.
Carlotta and Elmira had pulled us all off to the side as we arrived, and were reviewing the day’s assigned matches with us. “We’re skating third,” said Elmira. “Who we’re skating against is yet to be determined, but we’re going to kick their asses and skate all the way to the final round. Who’s with me?”
General cheering and a few middle fingers greeted this inspiring speech. I yawned, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Tired, Thompson?” asked Elmira.
“Tired of standing around not getting any skating done,” I said.
“Then go sit your butt down,” she said. “It’s going to be a while.”
The whole team took that as an invitation to scatter. Some moved toward the concessions and vendors that took up the front half of the warehouse where we were holding Regionals. Others went to sit amidst the sea of roller girls that ringed the track, avidly watching the skaters who were starting to circle. I scanned the bleachers until I spotted Elsie, holding down a prime piece of real estate in the very front row. Motioning for Fern to follow me, I skated over and plopped down beside her.
“Did you remember to grab breakfast before we left the house?” I asked. “I’m starving.”
Gravely, she produced a foil–wrapped packet of bacon from inside her purse and handed it to me.
“You are my absolute favorite cousin with bright red hair,” I said, pulling out a piece of bacon and munching it as I considered her new dye job. Finally I ventured, “Showing team colors?”
“That, and I figure I may as well come pre–dressed for a blood bath.” Elsie grinned. She was wearing a Si
lver Screams league T–shirt, a denim miniskirt, and fishnet stockings that were practically predestined to wind up discarded on the floor of Carlotta’s apartment. “What’s the plan?”
“Sit, watch, wait,” I said. “The Poisonous Garden — that’s the league the Rose Petals belong to — will be skating in the second round, and if they win, they advance. Assuming they keep winning their brackets, and we keep winning ours, we should get to skate against them in round six, around seven o’clock tonight.”
Elsie blinked. “That’s seven hours from now.”
“You can do math.” I withdrew another piece of bacon. “For now, we watch.”
The first round match involved teams from two leagues I wasn’t particularly familiar with. Their fans were enthusiastic, whooping and hollering until one of the teams skated their way to victory. No one collapsed on the track. I looked around the stands, but I didn’t see Adrienne. That made sense: her team was one of the next up. She was probably off with her coach and teammates, getting a few last minute instructions before the game.
You’re lucky, I thought, as the winning team took their ceremonial lap around the track, slapping palms with the waiting spectators. The thought was directed to the losing team as well. None of them had been drained and discarded by a potential mara. That was a win in my book.
We finished the bacon. Carlotta joined us, bringing gluten–free vegan cupcakes from one of the vendors. I didn’t complain. Never look a gift cupcake in the mouth. Elsie snuggled up to Carlotta. I leaned forward, waiting for the next bout to begin.
It wasn’t a long wait. The Poisonous Garden took the track, amidst cheers and boos from the stands. Their opponents, the Beaverton Honeys, got the same reception. I tensed a little as the Honeys skated out. The Bad Idea Bears belonged to the Beaverton Honeys, and the jammer who’d collapsed during the Bears’ solo bout against the Rose Petals was part of the pack. If mara liked targeting the same snacks more than once, that girl could be in serious danger.
Adrienne skated with the rest, a vision in her green–on–green uniform. She was smiling. And she looked hungry.
The whistle blew. The bout began.
I won’t bore you with a blow–by–blow — describing every play of a roller derby match is like describing every random monster encounter in a game of D&D. It’s fascinating if you’re into that sort of thing, and deadly dull if you’re not. The first interesting thing happened during the second jam, when I saw Adrienne intentionally bleed off momentum during her jam in order to “accidentally” brush her fingers against the wrist of a blocker from the opposing team. She recovered speed quickly, but the damage had been done; the lead jammer called off the jam, and the Poisoned Garden came away without any additional points.
“Did you see that?” I murmured to Elsie.
“Could’ve been an accident,” she said.
“And I could’ve been a kindergarten teacher, but I’m not, and neither was that.”
Carlotta gave us a curious look. I smiled wanly and turned my attention back to the floor.
A new jam was beginning. It started normally, with the jammers trying to fight their way through the pack and claim the lead. The jammer for the Beaverton Honeys was the first to break free. Adrienne followed at an almost leisurely pace, seeming to put no effort into taking the lead. The pack pursued them, maneuvering to cut off avenues and force the jammers into undesirable positions.
All except for that one blocker from the Beaverton Honeys, who was falling behind the rest of the pack. She was still skating, but she looked confused, like she no longer knew where she was. One of the referees blew the whistle, and the blocker was escorted off the track for medical reasons. She was barely standing up on her own when they got her to the chairs, and once seated, she collapsed forward, head between her knees.
I glanced at the track. Adrienne was standing amidst the crowd of confused, concerned girls with her eyes closed, a serene expression on her face.
“That bitch,” I hissed.
Carlotta followed my gaze. “What?”
“I —” I stopped, shaking my head. “Nothing. Ignore me.”
“I’ve been ignoring her for years,” said Elsie.
That seemed to be enough for Carlotta, who shook it off and went back to watching the game. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and waited. Soon, I thought. I’m taking you down.
The bout continued.
§
The Poisoned Garden beat the Beaverton Honeys with no further mysterious accidents. The Silver Screams beat the Coastal Cruisers, meaning that both leagues moved on. We’d be skating against each other that night.
I borrowed Elsie’s keys before I snuck out behind the warehouse, pulling my phone out of my bag, and dialed the house. My mother picked up on the second ring, with a cheerful, “We don’t want any.”
“Mom, how do I stop a mara?”
“Aconite and unicorn water, same as a succubus,” said Mom, without hesitation. “Why? Is it a mara that’s been hurting your little roller derby friends?”
“I’m not in third grade anymore, Mom,” I said, scowling at the phone. “But yes, I’m pretty sure that it’s a mara. She hasn’t killed anyone, and I don’t feel like killing her, but she has a pattern of hunting derby girls, and I need her to stop.” Mara might have to feed on humans to survive. That didn’t mean she needed to be going after people who were on roller skates and had the potential to be seriously injured if they collapsed.
Sometimes being a cryptozoologist means admitting that monsters have a right to exist, no matter how much you might disapprove of them. From there, it’s just a matter of minimizing the damage that they can do.
“Well, you just be careful. Mara aren’t very fond of being stopped when they’re feeding.”
“Is anyone? I’ve seen what happens when you come between Dad and a cheesecake.”
She laughed. “Do you need any supplies, or are you set?”
“I brought my kit,” I said, and started walking toward Elsie’s car. I had at least an hour before I’d need to be on the track again — longer if Adrienne decided to munch on someone else and slow down the course of play. “I’ll call if I need backup.”
“Okay, honey. Don’t stay out too late.”
“I’ll be home by dawn.” I hung up, dropping the phone into my bag before unlocking and opening Elsie’s trunk. Aconite and unicorn water wasn’t a difficult blend to put together, especially since — if mara worked like succubi — I didn’t need to worry overmuch about the ratios. I just needed to dump a bunch of aconite essential oil into a spray–top perfume bottle full of unicorn water and I was good to go.
No one noticed me as I slammed the trunk, tucked the bottle into my bag, and walked back to the warehouse. I kept my head down, watching for signs that I was being followed, until I had rejoined Elsie and the others in the stands. Fern was gone, replaced by Leya; Carlotta was still there, her head resting comfortably against Elsie’s shoulder.
Elsie caught my eye. ‘Well?’ she mouthed.
‘Aconite,’ I mouthed back, exaggeratedly.
She wrinkled her nose and inched away from me, causing Carlotta to grumble. Aconite has a weirdly sedative effect on succubi and their relations. It blocks their powers, which can be good, but it also makes it hard for them to resist suggestions, which can be bad, especially if you’re the succubus in question.
I shrugged in sympathy and turned back to the track, where two more leagues were duking it out for the right to progress one more slot in the rankings. I leaned forward, making myself comfortable, and for a little while, I forgot about anything but the sport that had brought me to this old warehouse filled with laughter and the sound of wheels endlessly circling the track.
§
During the halftime between round five and round six, Carlotta and Elmira gathered the members of the Silver Screams into a huddle, assigning our positions for the first jam. I was going to be the opening jammer; Elmira would take second jam, and so on, until one of u
s needed a break. That’s when Leya would take her turn. Our blockers were set, and we had a decent idea of our overall strategy — all of which would go to hell the second we hit the track, because that’s the nature of the game.
“Everybody know what they’re doing?” demanded Carlotta.
“No!” chorused the rest of us, in gleeful unison.
“Good. So what are we going to do?”
“Let’s drink some beer!” we all shouted.
“What else?”
“Let’s smoke some pot!” Everyone in the nearby stands was shouting with us now, even the people who weren’t necessarily fans. It’s hard to resist that kind of battle cry.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Let’s have premarital sex! I love premarital sex!”
“Then let’s win this!”
Whooping and cheering, the members of the Silver Screams swarmed the floor, joining the throng of Poisoned Garden skaters who were already circling. I scanned the pack as I skated through, finally spotting Adrienne on the other side of the track. I smiled sweetly at her. She sneered and sped up, moving out of my line of vision.
“This is going to be a fun, fun game,” I muttered to myself, and focused on warming up.
I was just settling into my groove when the whistle blew to mark the end of halftime. We all skated to our side of the “bench,” plastic chairs set up for the players to use when they weren’t on the track. All around me, girls double–checked their safety equipment, put in their mouthguards, and adjusted their helmets, looking for all the world like they were going to war.
“How’s my arterial spray? I was trying for a sort of ‘sexy slasher victim’ look.”
Exactly like they were going to war. “It looks good,” I said to the skater who’d asked, and pulled the perfume bottle out of my bag, spraying the contents liberally all over myself. A few players glanced my way, but shrugged and dismissed whatever I was doing without asking about it. The aconite didn’t have a strong smell, and there’s nothing in the rules against being damp at the start of play. Portland wouldn’t have any roller derby at all if we required players to be dry.
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