The headless corpse of a chupacabra lay in the mulch below the lion topiary. “Third time this month,” grumbled Tom the gardener, prodding at the thing with his foot as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
“But what about all this? Your ranch, your dream of running a Christmas-themed coffee shop right here in a small New Mexico town? And what about the people of Elephant Butte?”
Gn’thiv smirked at the image carved into the face of the stone monument. He often marveled at what ancient beings would do to protect their treasures.
Lunette imagined the sound of the metal spade swooshing down. She imagined their wails and it made her smile, made her hand hurt less.
The Archives was the fever dream of a second-grader with a box of crayons and an architectural CAD program. It was a library built by M. C. Escher and furnished by Salvador Dali; it defied description and taste and possibly some of the tenets of Euclidean geometry. It was the heart and soul of The Center.
There was no reply, but a few moments later, they heard a frustrated grunting noise, followed by the muted thud of footsteps. A woman strode through the doorway, blew past Noble like a subway car gone express, and sat at the table. “Hi, Becca,” Noble said.
There was a protocol for cases like this. She didn’t get the sense he wanted out completely—not that she could’ve granted such a wish. He just wanted a fair shot, and that she could do…for a price…
Roger furrowed his brow and leaned back in his chair. “And you’re absolutely certain that’s what she said?” Noble nodded, chin up, chin down, decisively. “She was pretty close to my ear. I’m sure that was it.” “Hmm,” said Roger. “Ok. So what does it mean?”
He turned back to Eloise. “What are you doing here?” he asked the cat, quietly. “I don’t mind that you’re here,” he said quickly, “but I don’t understand why. And why do you disappear sometimes when I look away, but not this time? Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
As the bus shuddered to a stop at a red light, cars and trucks and mopeds in the other lane zipped past the trees lining the sidewalks. Most were saplings with small leaves just beginning to unfurl, but the bright yellow aspen on the corner stood taller than any of them. It certainly had more cats—three, by his count.