9 A Cage in the Basement
A Cage in the Basement
Down in Winnie’s basement, I lock Calvin in the same cell where I tried to keep the vacuums. It’s made of clear, bulletproof material with ventilation, a little hatch, and a lock that only Eldi and I hold the combination to.
And until I know how the lycanthropy virus will manifest in him, it’s the safest option for everyone.
Plus, I can’t say I’m eager to face him.
I did deliberately shoot him and accidentally overdose him on tranquilizers, after all.
My only defense is that I didn’t mean to shoot him the first two times.
And I kind of forgot about the tranquilizing effect, if I’m being honest. I panicked and could only think about trying to get the vaccine into him, hoping it would counteract the bite.
It was a string of stupid and careless mistakes on my part.
He must have followed us into the forest, and I wait for my anger to arrive.
He shouldn’t have pried into my business.
But I can’t muster anger at anyone but myself.
I drag in an old armchair and curl up in it to wait, hoping it’s the ordinary type and not haunted or cursed.
Eldi waits with me, nestled in my arms. I don’t rest; I’m too on edge.
A man in a cage. Me, justifying his captivity.
What kind of monster does this make me? I’ve been trying to believe I’m a good person, but it’s increasingly hard to rationalize.
If I try and still fail, does it redeem me at all?
Or am I innately doomed to do bad things?
Is my nature to end up the villain? I’m disgusted with myself, pretending I have no choice even as I lock his cell.
The feeling of my past racing to catch me and converge with my present is overwhelming.
Everything is falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.
It’s hours later when Calvin finally stirs.
Plenty of time for me to have come up with a game plan, yet I still don’t know where to begin.
Guess I’m winging this thing. I belatedly consider what a bad look this is for me as he stirs groggily and eyes his surroundings, taking in his prison and my presence as jailer curled in my cushy chair.
Calvin stumbles to his feet, snarling as his gaze lands on me.
“What the fuck, Reggie?” he yelps, frantically pushing at the walls, looking for a way out.
“That’s a rather complicated question,” I hedge, shifting in my chair, waking Eldi, who’s instantly alert.
“You shot me!” he says accusingly.
“It was a tranquilizer, and I didn’t mean to shoot you the first few times. I was trying to help.”
“How would that help?”
“It also has a dose of the lycanthropy vaccine and antidote, but the antidote doesn’t work in humans, and the vaccine was too late because—”
“Eldi! Eldi?” Calvin interrupts, and turns to squint at her. “You’re all right,” he adds, half question, half statement.
She’s got her watch, but it must not be cloaking her true nature anymore.
It is pointless after what Calvin’s witnessed tonight.
I see the confusion flit across his face as he studies her, takes in her eyes, her fangs, the things that make her different.
He adds them to the scene that unfolded tonight with the werewolves.
As it sinks in and finally sticks that she hasn’t had a birthday, hasn’t aged in the years he’s known us.
“You’re not human, are you?” he asks her.
She shakes her head no, and for a moment, she lets her human facade fully down and shows a truer form.
I’ve only seen her do this a few times over the years.
Her skin takes on the faintest glow, almost bioluminescent, changing color like an octopus, flashing and rippling before settling on an iridescent shimmery silver.
Her face elongates into something more snoutlike, and her fangs lengthen to lethal-looking sharp points.
A whiplike tail lashes out behind her, and her hair recedes, growing in reverse as a set of spiky protrusions sprout along her spine.
She flexes them, fanlike, and holds out webbed fingers for Calvin to see, claws sliding from her fingertips.
Then, between one breath and the next, she’s all human skin, disheveled silky hair, and toddler-fat rolls again. Calvin stares, mouth agape.
“I’m not sure what she is,” I say. “She’s not actually mine either”—Eldi twitches and glares at me like I’ve offended her—“I mean, she’s mine to care for.
One day she just appeared on the front steps; she’s been with me ever since, but I certainly never gave birth to her.
Her watch, I think it’s some sort of cloaking thing.
It’s why you’ve never noticed she doesn’t grow. ”
“You’ve been raising a monster in secret?” Calvin says, reeling back from us.
Eldi growls angrily.
“She’s not a monster,” I say. “Not any more than you are.”
Calvin pales and looks down at the bite marks on his arm, horror and confusion warring on his face as he examines the silvery scars. The only evidence it was recent is the dried blood streaking his skin. He raises shaking hands to his face, feeling for a wound that’s no longer there.
“Werewolves, they’re real? One bit me? Am I—”
He’s losing control. He’s breathing fast, almost panting. His lip is curling back as his eyes dart nervously, like an animal backed into a corner.
“Hey, cool it or you’ll transform. That’s why I have you in there, by the way. You can come out when you’re finished with tantrums and can handle yourself like a big boy.”
I know I shouldn’t taunt him right now, but teasing him comes as easy as breathing, and I want so badly for things to be normal.
Calvin lunges for the glass, his hands elongating into claws as he scratches deep gouges into it.
Despite myself, I jerk away from him, sending Eldi tumbling from my lap to the floor.
There’s no way he’s getting through. He startled me is all.
I stare at the deep gouges on the cage wall.
I can’t tear my eyes off the damage. The only monster here is me, locking Calvin in here.
Eldi paces in front of his cage, fangs and claws unsheathed, predatory. She leans forward and to Calvin softly says, “Monster.”
He fights to breathe deeply and shrinks back into himself as he eyes Eldi. His control of his temper, even with everything I’ve thrown at him, is impressive.
Calvin kneels in front of Eldi to speak at her level. “You’re right, Eldi, I’m sorry. You’re not a monster. Of course you aren’t.”
Her expression barely warms. “Asshole,” she mutters, and turns away.
I snort. “That’s almost a compliment, coming from her. Don’t worry, she forgives you. Don’t treat her like an ordinary human two-year-old anymore, though, now that you know. She’s . . . a lot more than that.”
Calvin looks at me again and reels off a list of half-formed questions. There’s so much to tell him. I figure we’ll start with the most pressing.
I explain the lycanthropy virus, how he’ll have to figure out how it affects him, but I can help since I have a decent knowledge base to work with.
That leads to explaining my true job, finding and protecting all this extraordinary and supernatural stuff.
Which in turn has me explaining Winnie’s off-market features.
Then a brief overview of magic. It leaves me feeling overwhelmed by all there is to explain to Calvin.
After spending my entire life knee deep in this mess, I’ve never felt unequipped.
I’ve always known about monsters and magic, taken the supernatural world for granted.
I can’t even imagine how he must feel, thrust into this all in one evening.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth about all this?” Calvin asks.
“You mean besides everything you’ve seen with your own eyes?” I say. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”
“That’s asking a lot,” Calvin snorts, “considering you have me locked in a cage.”
“I needed to talk to you first. It was for your own good before you ran your mouth about werewolves and Chupacabras and me on your show.”
“You could have just asked,” Calvin says. “Can I come out now? I promise I’m not going to say anything about you or Eldi.”
It’s surprisingly awkward after I let Calvin out. I mean, what’s a person supposed to do after locking someone in a cage in their basement and then confessing world-altering secrets? Shake hands? Hug?
“So, want to go upstairs and have a coffee or something?” I say. It’s rolled back around to morning by now.
“You make shit coffee,” Calvin says. “I’ll make us some when I get back over to the Airstream.”
There’s another wary silence, and Eldi mutters something under her breath and bounds away.
“I never should have bet against werewolves,” Calvin says. “I guess I owe you a drink.”