Marcus Pelegrimas - Teeth of Beasts

Rico sat up and grabbed his bandaged midsection. “What’s that?”

Not wanting to give him a reason to jump off the couch, Cole e-mailed the video to himself and said, “Just another Mongrel.”

The new home page for Digital Dreamers, Inc. had some flashy animations advertising new projects that Cole hadn’t even heard about yet. The only mention of the game he’d been consulting on was that it was “alive, but indefinitely postponed.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled to himself. “I know how that feels.”

“Did you hear me before?” Rico growled. “What’re your damn measurements?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he closed his browser and pushed his chair away from the desk. “Take your best guess.”

“At least tell me yer coat size.”

Standing up, Cole caught himself looking at every one of the room’s cluttered shelves and dusty surfaces. If he stared long enough, he could find clean spots that had been left behind by the fingers of its former owner.

“Get me a tape measure,” Rico said. “I think Ned kept one in the top drawer of that desk.”

Cole opened the top drawer, found the tape measure amid some old lottery tickets and brought it to Rico.

Holding both arms straight out and to the sides, Cole asked, “Where’s Paige?”

“Dogtown.”

“Is that still in St. Louis?”

After jotting down one set of measurements into his little spiral notebook, Rico grumbled, “Yeah. Just south of Forest Park, right around Clayton Avenue.”

“Can you be more specific than that?”

“Sure I can. First let’s discuss lining and pockets.”

Less than an hour after his session with the ugliest seam-stress in history, Cole parked in front of St. James the Greater Catholic Church. He double-checked the address scribbled on the piece of paper torn from Rico’s notebook as well as the screen of his GPS. Not even the Cav parked nearby with smashed windows, dented doors, missing bumper, and multiple coats of rust was enough to fully convince him he was in the right place.

St. James was beautiful in the same way that most churches were beautiful. Stained glass caught the sunlight and scattered it throughout a large room filled with rows of pews and well-cared-for statuary. There wasn’t a mass being performed, so most of the seats were empty. A small line formed near a confessional, and a priest in his late fifties or early sixties acknowledged Cole’s arrival with a curt nod. He returned the nod and spotted Paige sitting just right of center of the sixth pew from the front. As he scooted over to her, he couldn’t decide if she was praying, studying one of the leaflets stuck in the hymnal rack in front of her, or sleeping.

A few silent moments passed before he smirked uncomfortably and said, “I never know what to do in Catholic churches. There’s all the books and shelves and these folding padded things down there. I guess those are for kneeling.”

Her eyes were fixed upon the front of the chapel, assessing the notched altar and the stoic, vaguely distracted faces on the statues around it.

“Speaking of kneeling,” Cole fumbled, “I have no clue when to drop down, when to stand up, when to cross myself. Do I eat the bread? Should I pretend I’m singing if I don’t know the words or just stand there? When I go by that big water bowl, do I touch it, flick it, make a wish?”

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

“Rico told me.”

“How did he know I was here?”

“Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Reaching out to run her finger along the closest hymnal, she replied, “I guess not. Shouldn’t you be at Jack in the Box or something? I think Eat Rite is open twenty-four hours.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Paige looked up at the saints and martyrs frozen in everything from plaster to colored glass. “Good thing I came here. If you’re not craving greasy food, the world must be about to end.”

Closing his eyes and flattening both hands on the uncomfortable bench, Cole savored the cool touch of the old wood upon his scars. “I had to get out of Ned’s house. I know Rico’s still not feeling very good, but he’s acting as if we just checked into that place like another hotel room. I see all of Ned’s stuff, right where he left it, and think I’m still not allowed to look in those jars. I step over his shoes when I walk past the couch. His clothes are still on the hooks by the door, and I just can’t get over the fact that I had to identify his body. Is there even going to be a funeral?”

“No. He was already cremated.” Paige didn’t have to look at Cole to know what he was thinking. The breath he let out was slow, tense, and loud enough to echo within the quiet calm of the church. “Skinner funerals aren’t a good idea,” she explained. “Having too many of us together in one spot away from a defensible location is too juicy a target for some Nymar gang looking to prove themselves or someone like Liam or Burkis, who might decide to wipe our slate clean.”

“Did you see that video from Wyoming?”

She nodded.

“So you think that’s really Liam?”

“Full Bloods don’t live so long just because they can. They fight for it tooth and nail.”

Too tired to pursue that subject, Cole shifted to the previous one. “Wouldn’t you like to say goodbye to Ned? Maybe have a send-off or something?”

“Do you really think something like a funeral matters, Cole? If Ned’s going to hear us or see us when we’re all crying in our nicest clothes, he’ll hear us or see us whenever. He’s gone and it doesn’t matter where his body is or who gets his stuff. All that does matter is that he accomplished something while he was here. Ned was a Skinner, through and through. So were Brad, Gerald, and all the others who were killed fighting our fight. They made a difference where they could and passed on what they learned. That’s all anyone can do.”

“What about us?” Cole whispered.

“We did a hell of a lot. No matter who comes after you for any of those files or anything else of Lancroft’s, we’ll stick to our guns and take each case as it comes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You weren’t contacted yet?” Paige asked.

“No. Contacted by who?”

She sighed. “There are other Skinners who want anything Lancroft touched. Journals, notes, records, experiments, you name it. They also know we’re one of the few to see his home away from the reformatory.”

“So they don’t know about the house in Philadelphia?”

“They know about a house and they know it’s somewhere in Philly, but that’s about it. Lancroft’s coming-out party hadn’t gotten rolling before we broke it up. Anyway, things may get touchy here between us and the rest of our little community.”

“I suppose it may be a bad time to bring this up, but I found some hardcore evidence on the Internet.” Reaching out to hold both of her hands, Cole stared into Paige’s eyes and told her, “There’s been a Bigfoot sighting in Colorado. It…looks like a bad one.”

After a few seconds she laughed quietly and rested her head on his shoulder.

“How’s the arm?” he asked.

“The same. A little stiff. Hurts. You know.”

“Rico told me he only drank some of the Memory Water and gave the rest to you.”

“I gave that to Daniels,” she said. “He knows he’s infected with the first component of Pestilence, and after all he did for us, I figure he deserves some peace of mind.”

“And you deserve to get your arm back. After all we did for those nymphs, I’m sure Tristan could find some more of that Memory Water for you.”

“Oh, she owes us and she’s going to pay up. Remember that deal Rico hashed out? We really have been granted access to the A-Frame Airlines. All we need to do is give them some notice and we’ll be transported in style. Well, if you can stretch your boundaries enough to call those tacky beaded curtains stylish.”