Chapter 10 Emma
TEN
Emma
Deva leaned forward, scanning for obstacles below. She squinted at the ground. “Still crawling with mutant hot dogs. And the purple stuff is expanding.”
Carol, instead of observing the parking lot, stared intently at the patch of sky overhead. She shaded her eyes with her palm, then cracked a smile. “At least the air’s clear up here. Pretty view, if you ignore the biohazards.”
A crash from the lower rungs drew our attention. The hot-dog-dogs, unthwarted by our ladder escape, had discovered how to pile on top of each other. The stack was three links high and growing, with one plucky bratwurst almost making the bottom step.
“Is it just me, or are they learning?” I said.
“They’re scavengers,” Deva replied. “I bet if one tastes blood, we’ll never get out.”
Carol rummaged in her cardigan. “We need a distraction,” she muttered, pulling out a tangle of rubber bands, a miniature paintbrush, and a single dollar bill. She set them on her lap like a bird preparing to nest.
The dogs began to whine, a sound pitched somewhere between a squeaky toy and the dentist’s drill.
The topmost one leapt and landed on the metal step two feet below us.
It gnawed at the grated edge, tongue wriggling, and for a terrifying second, I imagined it would eat through the ladder and us with it.
“Any ideas?” I asked, trying to keep the panic in my voice to an attractive minimum.
“I say we wait it out,” Deva said, then paused. “Unless someone wants to be the meat shield.”
“Meat shield, ha!” Beth squawked. “Don’t be such wimps. Check your pockets. Always check your pockets.”
Carol looked up. “Already on it,” she said.
Deva snorted, then leaned in and whispered, “You got anything in yours, Emma? Or are we doomed to death by sausage?”
I dug through my jeans and came up with a mini bottle of hand sanitizer, two bobby pins, and a half-eaten granola bar. Not promising.
Carol, meanwhile, squinted at a small item Deva had extracted from her pile. “Aha!” She waved it for us to see. “Ketchup.” The packet glinted like a ruby in the morning sun. I wasn’t sure why Deva had a ketchup packet in her pocket, but owning a restaurant had to be cause for odd items tucked away.
Deva shrugged. “What are you going to do with it?”
I failed to see how a condiment could help, unless we intended to season ourselves for the impending feast, but Carol seemed confident.
She whispered under her breath, tore open the ketchup, and dabbed the red goop onto her finger.
“The scent will be amplified,” she said as she waved her finger around.
The dogs below caught the scent instantly. The one nearest began to shudder, then reversed direction and slithered back down, yipping. The chain effect was immediate. Every hot dog in the pile recoiled, and those on the perimeter began to howl in terror.
Carol pursed her lips. “Time to amp it up.” She pressed the remaining ketchup between her palms, said another rhyme, and clapped her hands.
The ketchup packet bulged, doubling, then quadrupling in size, inflating until it resembled a small water balloon.
She chucked it down at the pack. When it burst on the tarmac, an impossible flood of ketchup sprayed outward, painting the dogs, the steps, and a good portion of the wall in a lumpy red glaze.
The transformation was biblical. The hot dog dogs writhed, screamed, and bolted back into the supermarket, shoving each other through the broken glass doors in their haste to escape. One or two slid helplessly on ketchup slick, but they were gone in moments.
“There. Problem solved,” Carol announced, brushing the remaining glitter from her hands.
I turned toward the ladder. “Let’s get after Susan before she hides her tracks.”
The coast clear, we navigated down the fire escape, careful to avoid the bloodbath of tomato and processed meat. Deva led the way, her boots sticking with every step, and I trailed, one hand on the rail for dear life. Carol took her time, humming as she went, like a woman on a lazy escalator.
We cut around the far side of the building, out of sight from the crowd gathered in the lot. Susan was there, hunched over, phone pressed to her ear. She didn’t see us approach.
“Yes, I’m sure!” she was saying, pacing in tight circles. “You have to send someone. It’s gone absolutely bonkers in there. No, I don’t know what happened. Just hurry.” She paused, then added, “No, I haven’t seen her since.”
She turned, spotted us, and immediately ended the call. “You four!” she hissed.
“Nice to see you too, Susan,” Deva replied, folding her arms. “Are you running from us or just from your own mess?”
Susan blinked, caught off guard. “What? I—why would I run from you?”
“You tell us,” I said. “You disappeared the minute things got weird.”
She glanced between the three of us, eyes darting, calculating. Her hair had lost its composure; the bun had wilted and left her with a stringy halo. Glitter clung to her face in accidental constellations.
“I thought your focus was finding Alice,” Susan said, defensive.
“It is,” Deva replied. “But do you mind explaining the mutant hot dog situation?”
Susan’s mouth worked, but no sound came out for a moment. “It’s a defense spell,” she said. “Sort of a last-ditch alarm system. Nobody was supposed to trigger it.”
Carol peered at her. “You mean, if someone breaks into the spell pantry, it releases the dogs?”
“It’s not supposed to be literal,” Susan protested. “Just a deterrent. A warning.”
“Looks like your spell is more literal than you thought,” I said.
“Now, what did you do to Alice?” Beth questioned, looking angry.
Susan pressed her lips tight. She looked exhausted, and for the first time I saw real fear in her eyes
“I didn’t do anything to Alice,” Susan said, quieter. “If you’re trying to pin this on me, you’re wasting your time.”
Deva shrugged. “You were the last to see her.”
“That’s not even true!” Susan snapped. “She was in the store, but she left. I checked her out myself.” She shivered at the memory. “She didn’t say anything, just left.”
“Then why did you run?” I asked.
Susan looked at the ground, unwilling to meet my eyes. “Because I knew what was about to happen. The containment spell on the staff lockers is old, okay? It’s not mine. When I heard the crack, I panicked. I didn’t want to get slimed, so I ran.”
Carol snorted. “Coward.”
“I called the owner!” Susan barked back. “He’s on his way. I did what I could. And anyway, you’re the ones who kept poking around and made it worse.”
I chewed my tongue, trying to gauge if Susan was lying. There was a desperation to her now, not the smug superiority of earlier. If she was faking it, she deserved an Oscar.
“So you didn’t see Alice leave with anyone?” Carol asked.
“No,” Susan replied, shaking her head. The corners of her mouth pulled down, making her look suddenly much older. “I hope nothing happened to her. I really do.”
Deva relaxed a fraction, then offered, “If you remember anything, you’ll let us know?”
Susan hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
Carol straightened up, dusted imaginary dirt from her skirt, and declared, “Okay, then. We’re good here.”
Susan glared but said nothing more before walking back toward the ruined store.
Deva put a hand on my shoulder, gentle but steady. “Let’s go home,” she said.
We sloshed across the parking lot, passing shell-shocked shoppers and the occasional feral hot dog hiding behind a trash can.
Beth stopped short. “Hold it,” she yelled. “Nobody gets in my car covered in whatever the hell this stuff is.”
Deva lifted a sleeve, inspected the layers of slime, then grinned. “You got a hose?”
Beth snorted. “I got better. I got some spare clothes in the trunk. But you’re changing in the lot. No way you’re tracking that onto my seats.”
Carol groaned, but I didn’t argue. Honestly, the idea of peeling off my disgusting hoodie right there was more relief than embarrassment.
When we reached her car, Beth tossed us the clothes, then added, “And next time, you’re driving.”