Season of the Witch part 19

Morgan and Xen had been digging for half an hour through ancient transcripts and texts.  When the little ones complained of hunger, Morgan gave them packets of fruit snacks and told them to go play again.  But she knew that sooner or later they would have to go home.
Xen hadn’t stopped to eat.  She didn’t even notice what her companions were doing; she was reading frantically through everything, claws tapping agitatedly and chewing her lips, not paying attention to the amount of blood she was drawing.
Suddenly, she made Morgan jump with the loud whisper of “I’ve found something!”
“What?”
She shoved the vellum manuscript under Morgan’s nose.  Pushing it back so she could actually read it, Morgan said aloud, “The writings of Bogdana Ivanovna Volkana.”
“Yes!  Look down there!”  Xen jabbed an excited claw at a particular paragraph.
Scanning it, Morgan saw that-once again-it had to do with Koschei the Deathless.  But it was the story of how he first hid his soul.

“The only creature that saw him do it,” she read, “was a vodyanoy that happened to live in the nearby stream, and knew the woods like the back of his webbed hand; he saw the exact place where the chest was hidden.  But when Koschei realized that he had seen, and because the vodyanoy had been charmed by another sorcerer long ago, so he couldn’t kill him, he instead sent him far away, to a part of Russia where nobody would dare go: near the home of his rival, Baba Yaga.
"When the hero Ivan accidentally freed Koschei many years later, however, he and Marya came to the vodyanoy for help, because they found out that he knew where Koschei’s soul was.  They went to the place the soul was kept, stole it, and controlled Koschei into giving up his hold on the couple.  They intended to destroy the soul, but the sorcerer successfully stole it back; after that, Koschei realize who had told them about it, and this time locked the memory away in the vodyanoy’s mind, so it would never be spoken again.”
Xen’s eyes sparkled feverishly.  “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Morgan pulled out her phone and rapidly texted the information to Calla. That done, she said, “I need to get the kids home now. But call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”  After a pause, Xen became perturbed.  “I should see how Mom and Phil are doing…”  She looked torn between wanting to further help her husband, and taking care of her son.
Her friend gently reassured her, “There’s probably nothing more to be done for Tristan. But you can take care of your son. It will probably help.” She didn't have to disguise the longing in her voice. Xen knew how much it had affected Morgan to lose her baby three months into the pregnancy. 
She nodded slowly.  “You’re probably right.”  Then, with a sigh, she looked at the piles of books and manuscripts sprawled across the table.  “Do you think if we hurry, we can get away before the librarians see the mess we’ve made?”
“Bet I can beat you to the door!”
“Not with two girls to supervise, you can’t!”

***

It was quiet up here.  Nothing but the wind, and the occasional bird, and the repetitive motion of paddling the mortar through the air (Calla’s arms had finally stopped aching after every trip she took in it), and wisps of clouds overhead.  No need to think.  Just row, and stare out at the vast Russian landscape.  Focus on what you can control, not on the fact that you’re a useless weakling who can’t even stand up to the most powerful witch in Russia.
Thinking that made it sound a little silly for her to be so disgusted with herself; of course it would be difficult to do anything when going up against Baba Yaga.  But-but she’d fought Desmond Jessup once.  Sort of.  She’d pushed him into a cage.  Even if he didn’t have much magic, he was crazy and evil on a level equal with the witch’s power.  Surely if she could handle him, she should be able to take down Baba Yaga.  Instead she’d let her break the scrying glass, and was powerless to do anything about it.  Useless.


I’m not doing a very good job of not thinking about this.
Just then, her phone buzzed.  New text message.
Stopping the mortar (and giving it a stern rap with the pestle so it wouldn’t drop and lose altitude on her), Calla slowly pulled out her phone and read the message.
As she did, the despairing glaze fled her eyes, and a new fire erupted in her belly.*  Her body moved out of its hunched-over state, and she shoved the phone into her pocket, seizing the pestle and frantically changing direction until she was pointed towards the lake.
It seemed like an unbelievable coincidence...but something in her gut told her it was the case.  He’d been there for such a long time, and while vodyanoi weren’t that uncommon in Russia, perhaps he’d at least know who she meant if it wasn’t him.


Barely remembering to tie up the mortar, Calla leaped out of it and ran down to the lake.
“Pavel!” she shouted.
Nothing but bubbles in the water.
She spun a hand over it, creating a sort of tunnel, and shouted the name again, before closing it up over the sound.
Five seconds...ten...twenty…
Three red heads poked up out of the water.  The heads belonged to three beautiful young girls, all with fetching green eyes (with slitted pupils), pearly skin, and wide grins filled with sharp teeth.


Staring up at her, they giggled behind their pale webbed hands.
“Where’s Pavel?” Calla demanded, using her best Russian.
“Why do you want that sack of lard?” one of the rusalki giggled.
“He’s no fun at all to talk to,” another said.
“He smells like the moss he lives in,” the youngest-looking squeaked.  Even though their insults weren’t particularly clever, they all laughed, with high, musical voices.


But Calla was out of patience, and knew she was running out of time.  She flung out a hand, and a spell wrapped itself around the first rusalka, lifting her squealing all the way out of the water.
To Calla’s hidden relief, she was wearing what appeared to be a kind of sarong.  It showed off her long legs and big webbed feet, as well as quite a bit of the rest of her, but better than nothing.
The other rusalki screamed, and grabbed her around the legs, trying to pull their sister back into the water.  Calla just used the spell to pull tighter, and asked again, in a clipped tone of voice that really wasn’t like her, “Where’s Pavel?”
“He-he’s in the middle of the lake somewhere!  Probably taking a mud bath or something!” her prisoner (it made her feel guilty to think of her like that, but she had to admit that it was probably true) wailed.
“Go and get him for me, now.”  After a second, Calla added, “Please.”


She released the rusalka, who fell into the water with a splash, and was off like a shot, sisters in tow.
Calla waited, hoping that they weren’t just running away, so she wouldn’t have to chase after them.
Finally, the waters parted, and the familiar frog-like head rose up into the air.
With a sigh of relief, Calla dropped to her knees beside him, and without preamble, placed her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes.
The vodyanoy was astonished.  Had she really threatened the rusalki?
Calla admitted that she had, kind of.  But she wouldn’t have actually hurt them, she just needed his help.  Did he know where the soul of Koschei the Deathless was being kept?


Pavel froze.  He tried to deny it, shivering in repressed fear.  But thoughts can’t lie, and there was something, back in a corner of his mind…
Calla touched the area, covered as it was by black shadows and chainlike spells.  Where was the weakness...show me the weakness...there.  It was powerful, but also old and frail from lack of use.  She had done this before; granted, it had been one she had made herself, but still.  She broke it open, releasing the memory.
Pavel gasped with relief.  Yes.  Yes, he remembered the place where the soul was.  He hadn’t been there in years, but he could point out the exact tree.  He hadn’t spoken of it since he’d met that nice couple ages ago who needed help finding it.
If I sent you there now, could you help my friend retrieve it?
The vodyanoy was hesitant.  If Koschei found him, he might actually kill him this time, regardless of the consequences.  Besides, it would be hard if he couldn’t get out of this lake…
Leave that to me.

*This one slightly more pleasant than her previous rage.

TANSTAV part 36

Chapter 10 part 2

As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary.  She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing.  How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious?  Let me see...oh, yes.  As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy.  Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life.  Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing.  One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.

"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.

"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it.  "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."

"They...shattered?"

"Oh, yeah.  Big time."

Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm.  I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.

She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places.  I idly wondered where she'd gotten it.  I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something.  As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away.  Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole.  As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds.  Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly.  I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage.  She came over to where we were.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied.  The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief.  It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.

It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better.  Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new.  I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me.  I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process.  What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me?  Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy?  Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"

I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."

"It's about time," she replied.

Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"

"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."

And then she kissed me.  I shut up.

When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen.  Please?"

I know, this was not in my original plans.  But I couldn't wait.  I had to ask now, before something else happened.  She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous.  Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me.  Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan!  I thought you'd never ask!"

Pulling me up, she hugged me.  I asked, "Does that mean yes?"

She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious.  Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan.  Yes, I will marry you."

That made everything all right.

After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing.  I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling.  She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed.  I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse.  Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.

"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died.  Give yourself some time."

Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her.  At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand.  She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch).  With effort, I returned it.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied.  "Someone's got to be there to look after you."

Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her.  It was sweet.

At that moment, the police finally arrived.  Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.

"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked.  "What happened?  What's all this mess?"

Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."

I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”

“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.

“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”

“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.

I nodded to her.  “Thank you, Calla.”

Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"

"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-"  Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.

"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"

"It's...complicated, chief.  I'll tell you in the report.  Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP.  And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this.  I need something to add to my collection."

(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)

With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.

"Hi," I said.  "You know, being behind bars really suits you."

"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"

"Spare me.  If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”

“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.

“No, some of them repeated themselves.  Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out.  And if you do, I'll be waiting.  You name the place."

"Yeah.  We'll be waiting too," growled Xen.  She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on.  She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."

It was then that we decided to go home.  I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.

TANSTAV part 33

Chapter 9 part 4

Well, at least he was being honest with us.  But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough.  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea.  However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination.  I'm just conservative like that.

Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan.  And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.

"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"

Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.

"Huh?"

"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires.  If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat?  I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us.  How well have you thought this through?  I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming.  "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"

Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'.  I should know; I've used that code before.

It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able.  I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.

This is great!

Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too.  Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side.  He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest.  I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening.  Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided.  I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.

Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but).  They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other.  Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any.  Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation.  Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.

"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically.  "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full!  An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman!  Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"

Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole.  Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free.  After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist.  But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me.  I was idly curious as to what would happen.

Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place?  That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier.  Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup.  Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee.  Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.

"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder.  "It could kill you if you went in there now!  It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"

"But what do we do?  He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.

Xen looked despairingly over at me.  To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!"  In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.

The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound.  It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped.  Fleming looked startled.  He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze.  He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him.  The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed.  If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.

You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you?  Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious.  I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing.  I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo.  While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.

Suddenly, the spell went berserk.  It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions.  An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail.  Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room.  We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time.  My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).

"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder.  "How?!  What did I-"

He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle.  Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.

I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.

"Oops."

Fleming was not appeased.

"YOU!" he screeched.  "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"

A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat.  Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible.  I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears.  Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language.  In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear.  I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.

TANSTAV part 19

 Chapter 5 part 5

Through gritted fangs, I answered, "She is just fine."

"Oh, good!"  I glanced over my shoulder; Jessup gave me what was masquerading as a nostalgic smile.  "It's a shame I didn't get a chance to play with her a little before you caught up with us, Wormwood.  It would have been such fun for me.  You wouldn't believe the sort of excitement I can create."

"I'd prefer not to know," I muttered.  I wanted to leave, but the taunting voice of the demon kept me trapped in place.

"That tiny body of hers is so fragile.  Almost as much as a human's (Well, if he thought that, he didn't know her that well, obviously.  Not that I'd want him to).  One false step for them on a flight of stairs, and there can be a torn tendon, or a broken neck, or even a cracked skull!  It's really quite fascinating.  Every species has so many ways it can be killed, if you think about it.  I've studied them all, and thought them all out.  Even the many ways you could kill me, right here, right now.  You'd like that, wouldn't you, Wormwood?"

"Stop it," I whispered.

"No, really!  It would be fun!  All you'd have to do is grab my neck in one hand, and my head in the other, twist, and snap!  No more me.  Or if you prefer suffocation, that'd be easy too.  Or even tearing me limb from limb.  You can do almost anything to me here.  No one would notice, and probably no one would even care.  After all, what's one criminal, more or less?  You'd just love that, I know you would.  Being rid of me, and doing it with your own hands, after I took your girlfriend so cruelly.  She was really scared, let me tell you.  Thought you wouldn't find her in time, before I could-"

"STOP IT!!"

I spun around, started towards him, claws outstretched, and then stopped myself.  Jessup grinned in delight at having got to me so easily.

I stood there and fumed for a few moments, repressing my urge to throw Jessup to the ground (which wouldn't work, anyway, since those restraints kept him stuck up there), and stomp on his head.  I wasn't an animal.  I was a rational, intelligent gargoyle, and as temperamental as I was, I was not ruled by instinct.  And I certainly wouldn't let a cheeky, psychotic demon bring me down to his level of wickedness.  Especially because doing so would also land me in prison, which was most likely his intention in baiting me.  It would not do me, Xen or Calla any favors.

"I'm no murderer, Jessup.  Not even of you.  Sorry."

I turned away (again), and started to leave (again), but he stopped me (again).

"You think you're so much better than me?  All it takes is a little push, and you're just as bad."

"Have fun in your cell," I replied.  This time I really left.  Outside, I told Flavius, "I'm done here."  And then I slammed a clenched fist on the RELEASE button, hearing a satisfactorily startled cry as Jessup hit the floor of his cell.

TANSTAV part 14

Chapter 4 part 4

I know, I sound completely callous and heartless towards the welfare of my fellow monsters. But at that moment, I didn't care. My mood was blacker than an imp, covered in Ghul blood, drinking octopus ink, inside a whale's gullet, at the bottom of the ocean, during the new moon. I burst into Higgins's house (the front door was always left unlocked, in order to admit patients), shaking and stomping, dripping water on the hallway carpet. His secretary, a heron man dressed in a custom-made suit, ran from his desk towards me, squawking in protest. For your information, he was of that species of monster that looks essentially like a human with some animal body parts. Very popular in Native American and Egyptian mythology. This particular one had a long, pointed beak, even longer skinny legs that looked like sticks, wings with hands on the ends, bright blue, feathery hair, and round yellow eyes.

"You are ruining the floor!" he squealed indignantly. "We just had the carpets cleaned yesterday! How dare you come here in this state!"

"Stuff it, stilts," I growled, "I'm here to see your boss."

"Not in that condition, you're not," the heron man said primly. "You must be dried off first. Furthermore, I'm not sure you have an appointment with Doctor Higgins."

I reached out, grabbed the secretary by his scrawny neck, lifted him off the ground, and moved him out of my way. Then I dropped him and moved on down the hall, going for the stairs. Higgins’s office was up there, and I meant to see him, come hell or high water.

"You can't do that!!" the heron man cried, grabbing my arm. "The doctor has given strict orders against anyone coming in without an appointment!"

"I am here to schedule an appointment with him!"

"You certainly do need one, but-"

"Not for ME, you dodo!" Wrenching my arm free, I prepared to take off. A sudden scream of fury rent the air, and I felt the secretary slam into my legs, knocking me to the floor, despite his scrawniness.

"I-AM-A-HERON!" Stilts shrieked. "NOT-A-DODO!!!"

Well, technically, he was only part heron. But I understood his meaning. Things were getting contentious, when a reedy voice cried, "What is all this racket about, Ivocnavi? I'm trying to work!" Standing at the top of the stairs, clad in his typical pale beige suit, was Doctor Archibald Higgins, in all his psychiatric glory.

Every time I see Higgins, my skin crawls. To humans, and even to most monsters, he looks very normal: tallish, thin, early to mid-'40s, receding gray hair that gives him a big forehead, a narrow, intelligent face. But I hate his eyes. As I've mentioned, I'm not impressed by flaming red orbs, and stuff like that. But his eyes are a completely different story. Cold, gray, calculating, like you'd imagine the eyes of Professor Moriarty. And how unfeelingly analytical they are! Sometimes he just stares at people without blinking, studying every movement, every sentence, and you just know he's also x-raying their thoughts-ugh!

I slowly disentangled myself, stood up, and shook water from my hair, eliciting another squeal from Mr. Ivocnavi. I ignored him.

"Hey, Doc. I'd like to set up an appointment with you."

Unadulterated delight spread in a reptilian grin across his pale face.

"You require an appointment, Mr. Wormwood? But of course! I would simply love-"

"For a friend of mine," I interrupted. Why was it, I wondered, that everyone assumed I needed psychiatric help?!

Higgins was disappointed, but also intrigued. I felt him starting to probe my thoughts (which is very hard to describe; to understand it, you'd have to experience it yourself), and began reciting the periodic table of the elements mentally. The doctor can only read thoughts on the surface of your subconscious, because he doesn't have enough power to push any further. Too lazy to practice, I guess. I didn't want him digging around in my brain just now, so it was easy to shut him out. He looked annoyed; the probing stopped, and he descended the stairs.

Once he reached us, I told him- in a nutshell- about Calla, and his delight returned.

"Wonderful!" he cried, with all the happiness of a scientist who has just discovered a new type of plant that can cure cancer. "And in only three weeks?"

"Yup. Healed up enough that she can go to the police."

"Oh, I just love a challenge!" Higgins rubbed his hands together gleefully, making a repellent shush-shush sound. "When do you want her first appointment?"

"I was thinking Wednesday."

"Ivocnavi, when am I free Wednesday?"

The heron man scrambled to the front desk, shedding a few feathers, and flipped through the appointment book.

"Either from 7 to 9 a.m, or 2 to 4 p.m."

"I'd prefer afternoon," I said.

"Splendid!" Higgins practically chirped the word. "Fill this out, please."

He waved a hand, and the book and a ballpoint pen flew from the desk, and landed in my hands. I read the page it was open to, making sure I wouldn't be selling away my soul or anything like that. It was just a formality for setting up the appointment, without enchantments, concealments, or alternate dimensions. I filled it out to the best of my ability (since I didn't know Calla's birthday, names of her parents, or the exact nature of her mental ailment; for that last one I just wrote "trauma"), signed, and handed both of them over to Higgins.

"Thanks. I'll be going now." I turned back down the hallway, passing the front desk (where the heron man glared at me), and unwittingly let slip a thought about where I was going at the moment when Higgins probed again.

"Galveston?" His interested query made me pause. "Why are you going to Galveston, Wormwood?"

After a moment, I replied, "That's my business. I'm not one of your patients, Doc." Then, humming loudly the song "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" in my head, I exited the house into the rain.