“Cleary was convinced it was a dinosaur egg and he hoped to hide it and sell it to the Smithsonian for a small fortune. If he’d admitted he found it in the mine, the officials he worked for would have seized it and taken it for themselves, so Cleary hid it away. But I do not think he found a petrified egg. I believe he uncovered the egg of a gorgon.”
“They breed using eggs?” Soren asked.
“Why not?” Terry replied. “Many reptiles do. If there’s one common element to the story, it’s that whatever this creature is, it’s related to a snake.”
“So, what, Cleary finds a gorgon egg, it hatches and he makes it his pet?”
“You jest, but that is probably exactly what happened,” Terry said.
“Why wouldn’t it just turn him into stone?”
“Creatures have been known to imprint on the first person to see them after they hatch,” Terry said. “It’s possible that the beast viewed Cleary as one of its own.”
“Sorry, Terry, but you’re making a lot of assumptions,” Soren said. “You have to have more evidence than that.”
“The letters refer to a small creature that hatched from the egg,” Terry said. “He doesn’t describe it in any detail, but one thing is clear: the creature didn’t harm him. At some point it must have harmed someone else, however, by turning them to stone. The letters stop not long after the creature hatched but I can guess what happened next.”
“You’re saying the Carnival of Stone was made of real, live people,” Soren said. “For some reason, Cleary started showing the monster to people in private and got a new, perfect sculpture. That’s sick.”
“He became a wealthy man once he started selling his sculptures,” Terry said. “And he seemed to produce them very rapidly. You have to admit, it’s an amazing coincidence if he didn’t find a gorgon egg.”
Soren had the image in his mind of a man dressed in 1930s style clothes leading someone into a back room. Once they were alone, Cleary opened a door to reveal a giant snake. Before the victim could even scream, they turned to stone. Soren shivered.
“How do you keep a thing like that hidden?” Soren asked.
“At the time, the mining business was drying up in that part of Virginia,” Terry said. “He could easily have hidden it inside a mine.”
“And why would it resurface now? Cleary died in 1934. Wouldn’t this thing have been terrorizing the mountains ever since?”
“Not if it was caught in the landslide that killed Cleary,” Glen cut in.
“Wouldn’t that kill it too?” Soren said.
“The legends vary depending on which creature is being discussed, but they agree monsters like the ones we’re talking about are difficult to kill,” Terry said. “According to myth, gorgons were immortal. They could be slain—Perseus killed Medusa, after all—but they did not seem to age. The most effective way of dispatching them was to show them their own reflection. Basilisks, meanwhile, can only be killed by their own venom. Finally, cockatrices can only be defeated by the ‘scent of a weasel.’”
“Seriously?” Soren said. “That’s helpful. Do people, like, carry a bunch of weasels around with them, just in case? Can you special order ‘scent of a weasel’? Maybe go to Macy’s and pick some up?”
“You’re in a weird mood today,” Glen said.
“It’s been a weird day,” Soren said. “I was almost blown up by a leprechaun.”
“Weasels are a traditional predator of snakes,” Terry said. “Leonardo da Vinci himself vouched for the ‘scent of a weasel’ in fighting basilisks and cockatrices.”
“Isn’t he the guy that thought he could fly by gluing bird feathers to sticks and flapping them up and down?” Soren asked.
Terry ignored the question.
“My overall point is that the gorgon might not have died in the landslide,” Terry said. “It could have been trapped. Jay was part of an expedition digging to find the lost Carnival of Stone treasures. It’s possible that the team unearthed something very different.”
Soren thought of someone digging in the rock only to have a monster suddenly rush loose—one that had been trapped for decades. He tried to push it out of his mind.
“So Jay and his friends were attacked,” Soren said.
“That’s my supposition,” Terry said.
Soren nodded his head.
“It’s a good theory,” he said and then stood up. “Best of luck killing the thing.”
Soren turned to leave.
“That’s it?” Glen asked. “I save your life and you’re just going to leave when we need your help?”
Soren turned back and stared at him.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Soren said. “You asked for my help, and normally I’d love to travel to the mountains so I can get turned into a Soren statue, but you’ve caught me at a bad time. I have a responsibility to someone, and that takes priority.”
“I told you I could help you with that,” Terry said.
“It’s not good enough,” Soren said. “Sara and her son are in danger. I need to find who hired the leprechauns and take the bastard out.”
“I can assist with that,” Terry said.
“Great, give me the address,” Soren said.
“It’s not that simple,” Terry said.
“Really? You’re going to strong-arm me here? There’s a kid’s life on the line, Terry.”
“And there’s roughly a dozen students with their lives on the line,” Terry said. “Not to mention anybody else the gorgon comes across.”
“I’m sorry, but Glen’s friend is dead already,” Soren said.
“You don’t know that,” Glen said.
“I don’t need to,” Soren said. “Sara needs me now and she and her son are very much alive. They may not stay that way if I leave.”
Terry cleared his throat.
“I have never asked a favor of you, Soren,” he said. “But I’m asking one now.”
Soren looked up at the ceiling and ran his hands through his hair.
“Terry!” he said. “Don’t give me that shit. I owe you more than I can repay, but I owe Sara more, okay? I can’t...”
“She’ll be fine,” Terry said. “I told you before; the leprechauns don’t know who she is. If they did, they would never have bothered to attack you. You are their only lead.”
“For now.”
“You misunderstand me,” Terry said. “I am not asking you to choose between me and Ms. Ignatius. I agree she and her son are a priority to protect. But this is important too. I need time to dig up the current location of the leprechauns’ boss. If you do this for me, I will use every resource I have to locate the threat to Sara and her son.”
Soren lifted an eyebrow. Terry had a great number of contacts, far more than Soren himself. As the situation stood right now, Soren had no idea where to look next. But Terry clearly did.
“You wouldn’t come with us?” Soren asked.
“I’m not cut out to make this trip,” Terry said. “That’s why I needed you brought in, Soren. It is a fantastic opportunity. We can save whoever is left and capture or kill one of the world’s deadliest creatures. While you do that, I will ensure Sara and Alex Ignatius remain hidden.
“Besides, right now, you are the greatest threat to them. The leprechauns have clearly been watching you. If you run to protect your friends, they will find Sara and Alex. It’s a smarter play for me to handle their situation while you handle mine.”
Soren hated this. Every instinct in his body told him to run to Sara and protect Alex. He’d nearly lost them before—nearly failed Alex’s father, John, once again—but he’d barely averted disaster in time. He’d sleep on Sara’s couch every night until he knew she was safe.
Or maybe sleep in her bed?
The thought came unexpectedly into Soren’s head, and he was immediately shocked and appalled by it. He and Sara didn’t have that kind of relationship; they never had. They’d been close friends for most of their lives, but she was his deceased be
st friend’s fiancée. There had never been a romantic attachment. He wasn’t sure why the thought had popped into his mind at all. He just wanted to protect her.
But Soren grudgingly saw the logic of what Terry was saying. Soren’s mentor had a lot more wherewithal to help Alex than Soren did. And if he rushed to Sara’s side, it would very likely put them in more danger, not less. He didn’t even think calling her was a good idea in case his phones were tapped.
As if he could read Soren’s mind, Terry continued.
“If you go to Sara, you compromise her,” Terry said. “You should instead head where the leprechauns least expect.”
Slowly, Soren nodded his head.
“If you see any sign of trouble for Sara…” Soren started.
Terry held up his hand.
“I’ll call you immediately,” he said.
Soren sighed.
“I’m going to regret this, I can just tell,” he said.
“That sounds like an agreement,” Terry said.
Soren gave him an unhappy look. He hated to admit it, but the old man had boxed him in.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
Soren looked at Glen, who for some reason seemed just as displeased.
“Looks like you and me are going on a trip.”
Chapter Five
Soren and Glen slept for a couple of hours at Terry’s house, a small home on the outskirts of Leesburg, and left at five in the morning.
Soren had wanted to go home, but Terry insisted it was a bad idea since it was likely that Lochlan and Keevan—or others who worked for the same boss—were there waiting for him.
The result was that Soren was in the same clothes with none of his usual equipment. They could have gone back for Soren’s car, but given that it was an hour to D.C. and another one back, it seemed like a poor use of their time. Soren didn’t know if he owned anything that would help them anyway. It wasn’t like he kept weasels in his car, just cameras and an EV recorder used for paranormal research.
All Soren had with him was his gun, which was his most used and useful piece of equipment anyway. Unfortunately, the situation also meant that Glen was the one in the driver’s seat and Soren was left grumbling on the passenger side about the speed and quality of his new partner’s driving.
Soren didn’t know exactly why he disliked Glen, but the previous evening and this morning had done nothing to temper it. Soren had briefly insisted that he should go on his own, but both Terry and Glen had derided that as ridiculous. It was their case, for starters, and Glen could at least identify Jay if they found a body or, even worse, a statue.
So here he was, on a four hour trip west on Route 66 and south on Route 81 into the hinterlands of Virginia with a man who annoyed him and just a vague idea of what they were going to do if they found the gorgon. The only suggestion Terry had was to pack several mirrors into the car, all of different shapes and sizes. Soren and Glen had tucked a couple of the smaller ones into their pockets and stashed the rest in the trunk.
“Maybe you can kill it with your sunglasses,” Glen said as they drove.
Soren was jarred out of his reverie.
“What?” he asked, putting his hand to his face and adjusting the sunglasses slightly. Like always, he hadn’t remembered they were there.
“Maybe you can kill the gorgon if it looks into your reflective sunglasses and sees itself,” Glen said.
Soren waited a beat.
“You realize there’s a huge flaw with that plan, right?”
“You’d be turned to stone because you’d look directly into its eyes? I wouldn’t say it was a flaw, exactly. I thought of it as an added perk.”
If anything else, Glen’s attempt at humor told Soren his new partner was no more fond of this arrangement than he was. Soren knew he sometimes rubbed people the wrong way; he just had trouble giving a damn.
“You’re funny,” Soren said, before adding something John used to say, “but looks aren’t everything.”
Glen looked over at him, grinning.
“And here I thought you couldn’t make a joke,” he said. “What’s up with the glasses, anyway?”
“What do you mean, what’s up with them?” Soren asked.
“Are you sensitive to sunlight? Is there a medical reason you wear them? You always have them on.”
“I don’t always have them on,” Soren said.
“It was the dead of night last night and you were still wearing them,” Glen said. “You didn’t take them off inside Terry’s house. I’d say that’s a pretty serious commitment to your sunglasses.”
“They’re expensive and change polarization when I go inside so I don’t lose any fidelity on my eyesight.”
“That’s not true,” Glen said. “You’re pulling that right out of your ass. No sunglasses can do that.”
“Mine can,” Soren said. “They were specially designed by the elves of South America, and shipped to me via the Chupacabra.”
“Asshole,” Glen said. “It was just a question.”
“What do you want me to say?” Soren asked. “I’m used to wearing the sunglasses. I can see inside just fine with them on.”
“Whatever,” Glen said.
And this was why Soren didn’t want a partner. He was too used to doing things on his own. Seven years ago, his life had been different. He’d enjoyed socializing, going to parties and generally being around people. But the accident, along with taking chunks of his memory, had left him feeling alienated. Or maybe it wasn’t the accident that had done that, but its aftermath.
Now he was paying the price for his antisocial bent. He was out of practice in making small talk. He just wanted Glen to shut up and drive, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen.
“What’s with the girl?” Glen asked a moment later.
“What girl?” Soren replied.
Glen took his right hand off the steering wheel and snapped his fingers.
“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll think of her name in a minute. It was the one Terry mentioned.”
Soren kept his mouth shut, unwilling to say her name.
“You know who I’m talking about,” Glen said. “The one who’s kid you helped.”
“What about her?” Soren asked.
“She your girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend?” Glen asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but neither,” Soren said. “Just a friend.”
“That you’re willing to die for to save her son? Quite a friend.”
“Look, I’m willing to die to save most people,” Soren said. “So that by itself means nothing. But if you want to know whether I have extra incentive here, the answer is yes. The boy’s father was my best friend.”
“A-ha,” Glen said. “She’s John Townes’ widow. I should have guessed.”
Soren stared at Glen without saying anything. Glen looked over after a minute, discomfited.
“What?” he asked.
“You’ve been doing research on me,” Soren said.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Glen replied. “Of course I did. You think I want to drive out into the wilderness with someone I don’t know without doing a little homework?”
“What did you learn?”
“Your whole sordid story, or at least what’s in the files,” Glen said. “Seven years ago you were arrested for the murder of three friends, including John Townes. You were eventually released due to lack of evidence. You’ve maintained your innocence ever since.”
“Innocent people tend to do that,” Soren said.
“So do guilty ones,” Glen said.
“Touché. But if I did it, would Terry be working with me? Would he send me off with his nephew?”
Glen shrugged and glanced at Soren.
“Honestly? Yeah, maybe,” he said. “You have met my uncle, right? He’s a little... coldblooded. If he thinks you’re useful, I’m not sure he would give a shit if you killed three friends.”
“Interesting,” Soren said. “I’d hoped he wa
s more principled than that.”
“Oh, he’s principled, but he operates under his own code,” Glen said. “He’s not a black-and-white kind of guy.”
“So I gathered,” Soren replied.
“Which brings me to the big question: did you do it?”
It was Soren’s least favorite question in the world, and yet the one everybody eventually asked him. Except for Sara; she’d never broached the subject.
“Would I tell you if I had?” Soren responded.
“Probably not, but I’m decent at spotting lies,” Glen said.
“I didn’t do it,” Soren said. “Can we move on to other topics please?”
Glen nodded his head, apparently satisfied. Once again, Soren hoped for some peace and quiet, but he was interrupted by a call on his cell phone. He pulled it out of the phone holster on his belt, hoping it would be Terry with more news on the leprechauns or Sara. Instead it was a number he didn’t recognize. He took the call.
“Attention! This is not a sales call!” said a robotic man’s voice, clearly a recording. “We’ve recently detected unusual activity on your credit card...”
Soren shut off the call.
“Weird,” he said.
He slumped back into his seat, annoyed. He looked at his watch. The drive was another four hours. They were heading to the far western part of the state, to Shenandoah County near the border with West Virginia.
The Carnival of Stone had been tucked out of the way at the base of the Shenandoah mountains. Soren planned to drive to Hilltop, which was the closest town to the spot, and see if they could find out any information about where exactly the students were digging.
“Do you really think Jay is dead?” Glen asked.
Soren wanted to be irritated by this question too, but he looked over and saw the expression on Glen’s face. There was a mixture of anxiety and hope there. He wanted Soren to say “no,” and was scared he would say “yes.” Soren intuited that the earlier questions had been leading to this one, the one he actually wanted to ask.
Carnival of Stone: A Novella (The Soren Chase Series) Page 4