“Malena,” said Malena. “I’m a chupacabra.”
“Dominic,” said Dominic. “I’m . . .” He hesitated, clearly looking for a definition that wouldn’t send us plunging into deeper water. He finally settled for, “I’m married to the dancer.”
“I can vouch for him, and you know my grandmother can vouch for me,” I said. “Please, I need to talk to whoever’s in charge here. It could be a matter of life or death.”
“You got that right,” said another voice, again from behind us. This time, it was female. I risked a glance back. Three ghoul women had appeared on the lawn. One of them was holding Aurelie, who looked more annoyed about the disruption of her tea party than anything else.
It must have been nice to be young and unaware of the dangers of the world around you. I didn’t have that luxury anymore, if I ever really had. I looked back to the men, and said, “She’s missing. Alice is missing. She disappeared in the basement of the Crier Theater, where we were trying to catch the snake cult that’s been sacrificing my fellow dancers. I know we’re not welcome here, and I know we’re not friends of yours, but please. If you know anything about that place and what’s underneath it, we need to know. I need to get my grandmother back.”
The ghoul who had been speaking for the others blinked slowly, looking at me in confusion and disbelief. “Alice Price-Healy, missing? Are you sure?”
“She went into the basement to wait for the killers. She never came back out, and she wasn’t there when we went down to look for her.” I nodded. “Missing.”
The three ghouls looked at each other, confusion and concern struggling for control of their expressions. Whatever they were thinking, they weren’t making an effort to hide it, and I wished once again that Sarah were with us.
Finally, the spokesghoul turned to us and said, “Come inside. We need to talk about the theater.”
Fifteen
“The only bad neighbors are the neighbors who try to kill you, discredit you, or steal your lawn equipment. All the rest can be good, in their own ways.”
—Enid Healy
The sitting room of a family of urban ghouls, trying not to worry about being eaten alive
THE HOUSE WAS SURPRISINGLY NORMAL INSIDE, although my impressions may have been influenced by my own weapon-and taxidermy-draped childhood. The furniture was the mix of Ikea and Goodwill that I expect in any home that doesn’t have its own interior design team. The wallpaper was old enough to have faded into a dusty purple, and the windows were covered by blackout curtains. That made sense: ghouls are primarily nocturnal. Keeping the windows covered during the day would let them keep their own hours.
We walked through the living room to the converted bedroom that served as their sitting room. I noted the toys scattered on the floor. Aurelie might be the only child living here, but she certainly didn’t lack for the trappings of childhood.
“You know, there’s a witch in Ohio who makes fashion dolls for cryptid kids,” I said, as our guide motioned for us to take our seats. All six adults had followed us inside, after putting Aurelie back down on the lawn. Apparently, she wasn’t in any danger if we weren’t there. Humans ruined everything. “I could give you her info, if you wanted.”
One of the ghoul women perked up. “Really? Because we’ve just been buying her the gray-skinned Monster High dolls and telling her to ignore the stuff about them being zombies.”
“Really,” I said. The spokesghoul was starting to look impatient. I offered her an apologetic smile, and said, “I’ll bring it by later.”
“For a woman who has managed to mislay a member of her family, you certainly spend a great deal of time discussing fripperies,” said the ghoul.
“I’m so worried about her that I feel sick,” I said. He gestured toward our seats again. This time I sat, sinking into the slightly musty-smelling embrace of a couch that must have been almost as old as I was. Dominic and Malena settled wordlessly on either side of me. “Alice is the oldest, most dangerous member of my family, and she’s gone. How am I supposed to defeat something that can take her out? How am I supposed to tell my father I lost his mom? But I can’t stop paying attention to the world just because I’m scared. I’m too well trained for that.”
The ghoul nodded. “Your grandmother was a good woman, and she spoke highly of you. That doesn’t make you our friend. We have allowed you to enter our home because it was better than having this conversation on the street. Please don’t mistake pragmatism for welcome.”