Saint Philomene's Infirmary for Magical Creatures by W. Stone Cotter

Author:W. Stone Cotter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.
Published: 2018-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

While Rod Nthn puttered around his bachelor pad, straightening up, polishing statues, and arguing on the telephone with florists and caterers over prices and scheduling, Pauline watched from her bone-and-bottle-cap throne, trying to come up with a way out. Nothing. Her ankles and wrists were tightly bound to the throne, and the throne itself was glued to the floor. Pauline tried to summon Mersey, but to no avail.

Suddenly, the whine of audio feedback could be heard, faintly, coming from the black hall beyond Rod’s swinging doors. She struggled to listen, but distance and Rod’s voice—he was still on the phone—kept obscuring the PA system announcement.

At … ion

“… or my name isn’t Rod Nthn, I won’t pay 340 clahd for Oppaboffian dandelions…”

Hu … n spo … ed … Fl … r …

“… hate the smell of gorbyroot buds…”

hu … otted, Fl … 2,222

“… outrageously overpriced…”

Lo … al a … nts, pl … r … nd

“… not flowers, you weedmongers…”

wi … deadly … orce.

“… good day and good-bye!”

Rod slammed the phone down, the old-fashioned kind with a round dial and a cradle.

“The nerve!” shouted Rod.

Pauline was trying to piece together the fragments of the PA announcement. She was pretty sure about the deadly force part. But another part—hu … otted fl … 2,222—what the heck did that mean? Huge slotted flowchart? Humid besotted floozy?

Wait.

Human spotted, floor 2,222.

Pauline had to get out of there. If they caught Chance, it would all be over. But Chance was a clever hider. One time he’d hidden in a couch. He had unstapled the thin cloth lining underneath and crawled up into the belly. No one would’ve found him if Dad hadn’t sat on the couch, squeezing a yelp out of Chance.

Pauline was struck by an itch at the tip of her nose. At least her head wasn’t restrained; she could bend over to scratch with her fingernail. As she straightened up, she got an idea.

Rod was busy sorting silverware in the kitchen, not paying Pauline the least mind. She bent down again and, with some effort, pulled off Mersey’s fangs, gripping them in the palm of her hand.

“Hey, Rod,” she called. “C’mere.”

“What is it, my sweet?”

“I have to show you something.”

Rod heaved a great sigh of impatience, but came over to Pauline. She stared at him. He stared back.

“What?” said Rod.

Pauline smiled, revealing fangless teeth.

“You’re…,” said Rod, eyes widening, jaw slackening, cheeks reddening, “… a human?”

“Yes, I am, and don’t you know we humans can spit thirty feet, and I’ve got an infection that will kill a Thropinese in minutes.”

“You can? You do?”

“So you better make your way over here, slowly, and unshackle me. Or I’ll infect ya, and you’ll die writhing in agony. Writhing.”

“But … but … dear, I don’t care if you’re human, or diseased. I love you anyway. We’re to be husband and wife. I didn’t realize you were so unhappy. What can I do?”

Pauline answered by leaning forward and baring her teeth in a spitting posture.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got my key. I’m coming.

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