Petrified

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by Ben Meeks


  “Eric? Really?” he questioned. “Hey, Eric, hold up a second.”

  Eric ignored him, disappearing inside. Holt followed in protest. The inside of the building looked more like the industrial processing facility that it was. All the equipment was steel, the floors were a dark red tile, and everything was spotless. The machines were custom builds Hob made to refine Pixie Dust. Eric put the demons on a massive scale to the left of the door.

  Holt walked up in front of him. “How long is it going to take to get the dust from these?”

  Eric gave him a blank stare and said nothing, continuing with his work.

  “Earth to Eric, anybody home?” Holt said waving a hand as close to Eric’s face as he could reach.

  “You really shouldn’t antagonize ogres,” I said.

  “He’s antagonizing me. I’m just trying to get a couple questions answered,” he said.

  While all this was going on, Tailypo Wilix, the foreman of the facility, had made his way behind Holt. A rather pudgy goblin with dark green skin and long pointy ears, bald on top with grey hair on the sides, he wore black plastic-framed glasses and barely came up to Holt’s knees. He held a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other that he promptly stabbed into the back of Holt’s calf and withdrew. Holt yelped and stepped forward, running into Eric, who didn’t seem to notice.

  “What’s the big idea?” Holt shouted when he put together what had happened.

  “You’re in the way and you’re bothering Eric,” Wilix said. “Obie, you do know what a secret is, don’t you? As in this is supposed to be a secret facility?”

  “Actually, this is Holt, my new apprentice. I expect he will be making plenty of drop-offs in the future so I’m just showing him the ropes,” I said.

  “Mm hmm, let’s see then, 387 pounds,” he said, cocking his head back to peer at the scale’s readout through the glasses resting on the end of his nose. He climbed a ladder to get a closer look at the demons. “One-and-a-half hell-hounds.” He shot me a look of disapproval.

  I smiled and shrugged. He went to make some notes on his clipboard when he noticed the end of his pencil had Holt’s blood all over it. He stuck it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around until it was clean, and made his notations.

  “So how long will it take to get dust?” Holt said.

  “About three months,” Wilix said, climbing down from the ladder. “Eric, go ahead and move them to the freezer, please.”

  “Three months? Can I get an advance or something?” Holt asked.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said, before he could embarrass us further. “Thanks, Wilix and Eric, appreciate ya.” Eric gave me a nod as I directed Holt outside. “Get in the truck, let’s get out of here.”

  “We didn’t talk percentages or anything,” Holt said when we were back in the truck.

  “Percentages of what?” I asked, cranking the engine.

  “You know, the dust, how everything is getting split up,” he said.

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I figure you’ve been doing this long enough where you have a nice bit saved up. Since I’m just getting started I should probably get a little more. Maybe a seventy-thirty split? That should get me up to speed pretty quickly,” he said.

  “It’s not a cash operation. You have to have an account set up before you can do anything, remember? Did you get your account set up?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Nah, I haven’t had time. I’ll get around to it,” he said.

  “Let’s wait till you do before we start talking business,” I said.

  Hob wasn’t on the porch anymore when we drove by the farm house. Maybe if he was I could have dropped Holt off and subjected him to hours of Southern hospitality as punishment. I never thought having an apprentice would be this hard. I could really use a vacation.

  “I’m going to drop you off at the house and get some help with these quills. I’ll swing by the church on the way back and see if Steve left us any clues there. Just take tomorrow off. If you feel like it you can go get your account set up and we’ll figure out how we’re going to split everything,” I said.

  We were going to split everything fifty-fifty, he just didn’t know it yet, and I wasn’t in the mood for another argument. That was actually generous for how much of his slack I had to pick up.

  C H A P T E R • 5

  Naylet lived deep in the mountains close to Suches, Georgia, the modern equivalent of a one-horse town. The house was small, one room and a loft; I had helped her build it decades ago. In typical Nymph fashion, she loved plants and she had a perfectly maintained lawn and garden. It was after dark when I pulled into my normal parking space, gravel hissing a protest under the tires. The light shining through the front window told me she was still awake and I couldn’t help but smile. I shut off the truck, got out, and headed for the front door.

  A nymph’s garden is distilled life, concentrated like Thera’s essence. Being one of her servants, I was particularly sensitive to it. The area felt more alive than the surrounding woods, the sound of running water coming from behind the house increased that perception. Lightning bugs danced in the yard, crickets chirped in the woods. The katydids’ rhythmic chanting always seemed like the heartbeat of the forest to me. The night was hot and muggy, as only a Georgia night in the heart of summer could be. This place was special and I loved it here. I gave the door a courtesy knock as I let myself in.

  “Anybody home?” I said, dropping my keys on the table.

  The house had a studio layout, with the kitchen and bathroom on the far side, and a combined dining and living area we called the lounge by the front door. The walls were covered with storage and shelving. There wasn’t much open wall space and what little there was had been covered by pictures of people and places, many of them she drew herself. I was featured in a couple of them, which is quite a compliment considering the amount of real estate and the long history competing for it. A ladder led up to a small loft sleeping area. Naylet popped her head over the edge, cascading her golden curls down, concealing her face.

  “You’re late,” she said. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

  “Sorry. I had a little trouble at work today.”

  “Nothing too serious?”

  “I lost another pair of shoes and this.” I held up my hand with the barbs protruding and wiggled my fingers, making the barbs wave.

  “That’s gross,” she said.

  “Can you help me out?”

  She tumbled off the loft, landing gracefully on her feet, and held out her palm. I put my hand on hers and she looked closely at my injuries.

  “Yep, you healed up nicely. We’re going to have to cut them out,” she said, sounding a little too happy about it.

  “I think there’s a few more in my back,” I said, giving her a sheepish grin.

  She pulled out a spare blanket and pillow and laid it out on the floor. “Take your shirt off and lay down.”

  I tried to remove my shirt but it was caught on the barbs imbedded in my back. She stopped rummaging in the kitchen for a minute and returned to help.

  “I think this shirt’s had it. It’s full of holes back here. We’re going to have to cut it.”

  “I am going to kill the hell out of that imp when I get my hands on him. This is one of my favorite shirts,” I said.

  “It’s ratty. You should have thrown it out already,” she said, cutting it free.

  I lay down while she went back to the kitchen. She returned a minute later with a scalpel, scissors, a plate, and a newspaper.

  “Remember when we didn’t spend our nights doing minor surgery?” she asked.

  “I remember when I did my best without you,” I said. “This is a lot better.”

  “Mm hmm. Stay still.”

  I spread the paper on the floor. It had become our routine that I read something while she patched me up. It started as a way to distract me from the pain but turned into something nice that I did,
even if I wasn’t being cut on. Reading to her had become one of my favorite pastimes.

  “So, what’s going on in the world today?” she asked. That was code for This is going to hurt. Before I could answer I felt the pinch of the scalpel.

  I looked at the front page and read the headline: “Baby Stephanie missing ten days. Police say no new leads. Deborah Olson says her newborn daughter was taken from a second story window around 10:30 P.M. while she was downstairs. Police investigate all possibilities. Continued on page— Ow! Damn Naylet.”

  “Don’t be such a wimp,” she said with the distant tone that comes with focus. “I hate that kind of news.”

  “Yeah, I would think you would be used to the terrible things humans do to each other by now,” I said.

  “Unless it wasn’t human. The baby was taken from a second-story window and the police have no leads? From what I have read there aren’t any witnesses or any evidence at all. Nothing they are sharing anyway. That’s why the baby’s picture has been plastered everywhere. They are hoping to get lucky with a sighting.”

  “So what, a ghost decides it’s lonely so it floats into a random house and takes a baby? Hate to break it to you but a ghost wouldn’t need to open a window,” I said.

  “It would to get the baby out, genius, but I never said it was a ghost.”

  She had me there. “I don’t think so, this has ‘inside job’ written all over it. The mother did it. Had to be,” I said. “She probably tossed the kid into a dumpster or off a bridge. Humans are crazy like that. I heard a story about a guy in Atlanta that threw a baby out of a car on the interstate.”

  “That’s horrible,” she exclaimed, giving me a poke with the scalpel that I am pretty sure had nothing to do with getting barbs out of my back.

  “Hey, I didn’t do it. Just calling it like I see it,” I said.

  “Well, when I saw her pleading on the TV to have her baby returned I could tell she didn’t do it. A woman can tell these kind of things,” she replied.

  “A nymph can tell those kinds of things maybe,” I said. “And when did you see her on the TV? You don’t even have one.”

  “When I was out with the girls last week. Don’t think my life revolves around you, Obie.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “So . . .” she said.

  “So, what?”

  “Are you going to look into it?” she inquired.

  “Look, if you don’t want me around so much you can just say so. You don’t have to make more work for me,” I replied, turning to look at her.

  “You know that’s not what I’m doing. That baby needs help, and if you can help her then I would like you to do whatever you can to make sure she gets home to her mother safely.”

  “I tell ya what. I’ll stop by first thing in the morning before I follow up on my other lead,” I said.

  “You promise?”

  “I give you my word as a gentleman.”

  “If that’s the best you can do I guess I’ll take it. Now find me something happy in there. This stuff is depressing,” she said, pushing my head back to the paper with the dull side of the scalpel.

  “You know this is a newspaper, right?”

  “Ok, that’s all of them from your back,” she said. “Let’s move to the table for your hand. Don’t bleed on the couch.”

  I got up off the floor, taking the plate of bloody quills and moving it to the table. There had been six in my back but my hand had that beat easily, not to mention my arm.

  “What would you think about taking a trip? Maybe to the beach?”

  She stopped working on my hand and looked me right in the eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I just thought it would be nice to get away, that’s all.” I looked down at the paper.

  “What are you trying to get away from?”

  “Nothing . . . Everything . . . I don’t know. Things with Holt haven’t gotten any better. He got himself shot tonight and I had to handle everything by myself. Then he tells me he should get a bigger cut of the dust than me. It’s like he’s living in some fantasy world where he is actually contributing something.”

  “What would you think about having kids?” she asked out of left field.

  “I think that’s the opposite of a vacation. Where did that come from?”

  “Just something I’ve been thinking about,” she said. “We’ve been together a long time and we would be good parents.”

  “I’m not disputing that. I’m just not sure Georgia is ready for a bunch of little wereotters running around. You know that’s what they would be right?”

  “I think the world could use more of them actually,” she said.

  “We don’t live together, what about that?”

  She turned my hand over in hers deciding where to start. “We can fix that.”

  “And Holt?” I asked.

  “We can figure all that out later. I’m just asking if it’s something you would be interested in.”

  “Yeah, I’m interested,” I said. “How about this: we get away for a week and when we get back we’ll figure all that out.”

  “When did you want to go?” she asked.

  “As soon as I take care of this P.V.T. situation. I should have a little free time after that.”

  “I need a couple days to take care of the Japanese beetles eating the peach trees, so that will be perfect. Don’t worry about a thing. I’m going to plan the whole trip,” she said.

  We chatted for most of the hour it took to remove all the quills, about places to go and things to do. Seeing a sea turtle was on the top of her list. I didn’t really care as long as I got away. When she was finished, I tied up the quills into a bundle. I would drop them off at Hob’s next time I was over there.

  “I’m going to get a shower. I still have a change of clothes here, right?”

  “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll get it for you,” she said.

  The water felt great and it was nice to wash off the dried blood and grime. The only sign of my injuries was a little discoloration in the skin. By morning there would be no trace.

  “Let me get your back,” Naylet said, sliding into the shower with me.

  I had no objection, of course, it felt great. I turned around to face her and she kissed me.

  “What’s that for,” I asked.

  “Be careful, okay?”

  “Hey, there’s nothing to worry about. This time next week we are going to have the sand in our toes and drinks in our hands.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  I tossed my clothes off the loft onto the floor and kissed her on the cheek before climbing out of bed as quietly as I could. I had been laying there staring at the ceiling and listening to Naylet’s gentle breathing for hours. Having a personal connection to Thera was good in a lot of ways, the rapid healing was a plus, and learning to channel her energy to heal others came in handy. Being hooked into a power that great also meant that Keepers didn’t sleep; we never get tired since we live in a state of constant regeneration. It also means we don’t have to eat. We can eat, but most choose not to. When you don’t sleep, nights can be tough. If you don’t stay busy they drag on for what seems like forever, even with the best of company next to you. You find ways to pass the time, get some reading done, learn a language or three, maybe pick up a ukulele every now and again. I became a Keeper when I was just into double digits, it’s been so long now I don’t remember what sleep is like, probably like being knocked unconscious but without the headache when you wake up.

  I got dressed, filled the coffee pot, and set the delay for an hour, she should be getting up around then. Leaning against the counter, I thought about what Naylet had said about having kids. I imagined taking them down to the creek to teach them how to catch crawfish or watching them play in the yard. Having kids wasn’t something I had thought would ever happen but now that it was a possibility, I was starting to look forward to it. First things first, I had to find P.V.T. and get the grimoire. If I could arrange a litt
le revenge on that imp for messing up my shirt, all the better. I let myself out and crossed the yard to my truck. The sun would be up in a few minutes and I had a lot to do.

  C H A P T E R • 6

  About an hour south in Alpharetta, I pulled up to what was more of a mansion than a house. It seemed like another world compared to the modest means I was used to. A massive white building with Roman-style pillars and an immaculately kept yard made me feel out of place in my cargo shorts and tee shirt. Being around expensive things has always made me uncomfortable. Through no fault of my own, things tend to get smashed up when I’m around and it’s a lot of liability, if it can be traced back to you. The sun was just coming up when I parked in the driveway. I wondered if anyone was up yet. I got out and walked up the stone steps to the front door. I hesitated, feeling a little self-conscious about my casual attire.

  “Too late now,” I said, ringing the doorbell.

  There were no sounds from inside the house. I couldn’t see a car in the driveway, maybe no one was home? If so I could break in and have a look around. A place like this was bound to have a security system. Even better, if no one answered I could just tell Naylet I tried but no one was home. She would probably bring it up again, but it would get me off the hook for now. Just when I had given up and turned to leave, I heard footsteps inside. A woman opened the door. It was evident she was fresh out of bed, sporting a bathrobe, messy hair, and puffy red eyes.

  “Hello, Ms. Olson? My name is Obie. I was asked to look into the disappearance of your daughter Stephanie,” I said. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced but I was hoping you could spare a few minutes to talk to me.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “You don’t look like a detective.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not.”

  “Do the police know you are here?”

  “No, I work independently of the police, kind of like a private investigator.”

  “Do you have any credentials, like a badge or something?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”

  “Are you some kind of scam artist? Oh I know, you work for a tabloid, right? Trying to get some pictures or some front page quote to make me look like I did something to my little girl. Why don’t you crawl back to whatever sewer you came out of and leave me alone.”

 

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