Tricks for Free (InCryptid #7)

First he wandered around the rooftop for a little while, making sure he hadn’t been followed. Then he did a few sets of squats, trying to force himself to relax through endorphins alone. Finally, he sat down on the rooftop refrigeration unit, and said, “Sorry about the soap.”

“It’s all right.” Mary walked out from behind a big metal rectangle he still didn’t know the purpose of. She was back in color, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans, moving at an easy slouch. She looked utterly relaxed, like all of this was normal.

“This isn’t normal,” Sam blurted. Mary raised an eyebrow. “Us. Me, you, Annie being missing, you and me worrying about her, it’s not normal. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

“Maybe and maybe not, but here we are,” said Mary. “Annie’s a brave girl. She’ll be all right until she isn’t, and once she isn’t, we’ll figure out how to help her.”

“You know, it would be better if we could help her before she was in trouble.”

“Probably,” Mary agreed. “But then she’d never believe us when we said that we’d only be trying to help. She’d say everything had been under control, and why did we feel like we needed to butt in.”

“And then she’d be mad,” said Sam.

“Then she’d be mad,” said Mary. “I try not to make my friends mad when I can help it.”

“So what, you’re going to hang out haunting me until it’s time to ride to the rescue? Because if that’s the case, we’re going to need to talk about boundaries. Like when I’m in the shower, that’s a no-haunting zone. There are things you don’t need to see.”

“I like how you assume I haven’t already seen them,” Mary drawled. Sam shot her a stunned, borderline offended look. She burst out laughing. “Chill, chill, Mister Monkey. I have not been spending my afterlife peeping in the showers of men much too young for me. And before you make some comment on my looks, I’ve been dead so long that I’m not even a cougar. I’d be a saber-toothed tiger at best. I meant more in the greater ‘spend seventy years or so dead, you’re going to see every possible kind of mammalian genitalia, and some kinds you weren’t sure were physically possible’ sense.”

“Oh my God,” said Sam. “Annie’s dead aunt is a weirdo pervert.”

“I prefer ‘bores easily,’ but whatever makes you happy.” Mary hoisted herself up onto a refrigeration unit and sat. “No, I’m not going to be haunting you full time. I’ve been checking in to make sure you were okay—Annie’s bound to ask about you, and I want to know what to tell her—but when I saw that you’d finally delivered the mice to the airport, I figured it was time to give you a little reassurance. As a reward.”

“What do you mean, ‘finally’? I got them there as quick as I could.”

“I know. Remember, this hasn’t been easy on any of us. You’re here, with no way of reaching her; she’s cut off from her entire support structure, her entire family; her family’s worried sick; and I’m the only one with any potential to move between all three of you, and there are so many rules governing what I can and can’t say that I could scream.”

“Are you . . .” Sam hesitated. “You’re allowed to tell me that she’s okay, once you find her. Once you know for sure.”

“Yes, as long as she words it right.”

“I guess that means you’re allowed to tell her that I’m okay, too.”

Mary smiled. “I am, in fact, allowed to carry that sort of small, observational update. And I intend to. This may surprise you, bon vivant that you are, but our Annie has never been one to make friends easily.”

Sam snorted.

“I know, it’s shocking, with the snarkiness and the cynicism and the random acts of violence, but there you have it. She holds herself back. She doesn’t connect. I blame her siblings, mostly. They bonded with each other so tightly that they didn’t leave much room for her. Three’s a hard number. You, on the other hand,” Mary leveled a finger at Sam’s chest, “she likes you. She cares about you. She wants you to be happy. She also wants you to be safe, but I’m pretty sure those two goals are going to be mutually exclusive at some point.”

“What do you want?” asked Sam. He paused. “Uh. If that’s not the kind of question where answering it means something creepy shows up and tries to buy my soul. If it is, I take it back.”

“Clever,” said Mary. She drummed her heels against the refrigeration unit. “What do I want? I want my family to embrace the merits of dying in their beds, peacefully, of extreme old age. I want them to learn about self-control and nonviolent solutions and being careful.” Something about the way she spat that last word made Sam think there was a story there, and more, that he didn’t want to hear it. “I’m not going to get what I want, and I’m okay with that, since people who live the lives I want for my family don’t tend to be the sort to encourage ghosts to hang around for no good reason. But I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure they’re happy, when I can.”

“Huh,” said Sam. “I guess that makes sense.”

Mary smiled a little. “Wait until she takes you to meet her parents.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Whoa, hold on. We’re not, like, serious or anything.”

“Uh-huh,” said Mary. “I know. But you’ll still have to meet them eventually. So much about Annie will make sense once you meet the rest of the family.”

“I dunno,” said Sam. “So much about her started making sense when I met you. I’m not sure what else is necessary.”

“Just stay alive until I can find her and get her to give me permission to tell you where to find her, okay?” Mary smiled lopsidedly. “It shouldn’t be too difficult a job, even for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re dating Annie. Clearly you have a Price-worthy sense of self-preservation.”

“Hey,” protested Sam.

Mary laughed, and disappeared. Sam scowled at the place where she had been.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s annoying.”



* * *





MINDY


We emerged into the public concourse with caution, squeezing our bodies beneath the door and out onto the carpet. The numbers overhead told me that we had moved well in the correct direction; the gate from which our flight was intended to depart was nearby.

“Come,” I murmured, and began to scamper, close to the wall, hopefully out of sight. Mork followed close behind me, the two of us forming a single unbroken line as we ran.

The gate was filled with a scattering of humans. Humans, and—I paused, sniffing at the air, ears swiveling. Mork looked at me with some concern.

“What is wrong?” he asked. “What do you smell?”

“If we are blessed, salvation,” I said.

The large vehicle approached. I signaled for Mork to accompany me, and together we ran across the open space, darting under the vehicle just behind the front wheels, and darting away from it just ahead of the rear wheels. No shout was raised. Our clever obfuscation had gone unnoticed. The urge to hail and rejoice rose in my breast. I forced it down. The Precise Priestess had chosen me above all others for this mission because I could hold my tongue, and I would not disgrace her now.

My silence is a rare talent, practiced and honed since my youth, since the Precise Priestess came to us and spoke of the need for subtlety, for secrecy. All Aeslin know how to hide, how to conceal, but I am rare, for I can do those things even in the presence of family, even when the need to rejoice has taken root deep within my soul. Mork . . .

Mork, too, is silent. Mork, too, can conceal himself even when most of our kind would bubble forth in religious ecstasy, unable to hold their tongues a moment longer. But his silence is not rare. All among the Lost Colony share it, for their fear of discovery is greater than any I have ever seen. Discovery not by the wide and terrifying world, which is so full of dangers for such as we: discovery by their gods. Discovery by the ones they believe in, who should keep them Safe, who should keep them Secret, who have kept them Sacred.