“It’s a mess, Crow,” I said.

He made a contented churring noise. I sighed and closed my eyes, continuing to stroke his wings. I had a lot of work to do, but other than preparing my notes on the situation, there wasn’t much that I could do now. I lay on my bed and listened to the joyful songs of the mice, trying to let my worries slip away, just for the moment, just for now. I needed to get some food in me like Grandpa had instructed. I didn’t want to move.

If this situation turned out to be as bad as I was afraid it was going to be, I wasn’t going to have any more moments like this one for a while. So I stayed where I was, and tried to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

I tried.

Seven

“Perhaps you misunderstand me. I am not afraid to die. Neither am I afraid to kill you. Now how about we put down the guns and discuss things like breathing men, rather than continuing this conversation in the afterlife?”

—Jonathan Healy

An only moderately creepy suburban home in Columbus, Ohio, waking up after an impromptu nap

CROW WAS CURLED UP on my stomach when I woke up. I blinked at the ceiling, only gradually coming to realize that I’d been woken up by the sound of someone knocking on my bedroom door. I sat up, sending Crow tumbling, and rubbed my face with one hand while he squawked in irritation.

The knocking continued, now accompanied by my grandmother’s voice calling, “Alex? Are you awake?”

“I’m up, Grandma,” I called back, giving my face one more good rub before I swung my feet around to the floor and stood. I grabbed my usual glasses off the table as an afterthought. It wasn’t like I needed to worry about being turned to stone in my own home. “Crap. I didn’t mean to go to sleep. What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Crap.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket as I walked across the room, and found a text from Dee telling me that she had made it home. That was a relief, at least. I opened the door to find my grandmother standing in the hall, still wearing her work clothes, a concerned look on her face. I forced a wan smile. “Did Grandpa tell you what’s going on?”

“He did,” she said, with a nod. “Are you all right?”

“I am. Andrew’s not.”

“Now, you don’t know that. He could be getting his afterlife orientation right now.”

My Aunt Mary used to babysit my grandmother, and she died decades before I was born. That doesn’t stop her from showing up at every family reunion and Christmas party she can get to. I shook my head. “Breathing people like to keep breathing. When you stop, you’re not all right anymore, even if you get to have a new existence as a semi-corporeal houseguest. Has Grandpa heard back from the morgue?”

“He has,” she said. “The autopsy is being performed locally, which is good news—”

My stomach sank. “But it’s not being performed until the morning, is it?”

Grandma shook her head. “They’ve already ruled out contagion—there’s nothing to indicate that turning into stone is something you can catch. So while it’s being treated as a chemical attack for the moment, it’s not urgent.”

“Then we have to break into the morgue. I need to see the remains.” I shook my head, wishing I was the telepathic one, so that I could make her understand why this mattered so much. “Petrifaction isn’t a thing that just happens in the human body. We need to know how it happened so that we can determine what did it, so we can stop—”

“Alex, you need to stop.” Grandma folded her arms, looking at me gravely. “I love you, but you have the same problem your father does. You assume we haven’t been fighting this battle without you for centuries. You’re not the only answer to every problem.”

Her words stung, but she was right. I frowned before allowing my shoulders to sag. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I just want to help. This could be my fault.”

“Because of your basilisks, or because it happened at the zoo where you happen to be working? Sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence, you know.”

“And sometimes it’s the start of something very large, and very unpleasant. I can’t bank on one and ignore the other.”

“I know.” She smiled slightly. “You’re my grandson, after all. Come on down to the kitchen. We have a proposition for you.”

Grandpa was waiting in the kitchen. Grandma led me to the table and pushed me into a chair, and Grandpa set a tuna fish sandwich in front of me. “Eat,” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and picked the sandwich up.

They waited until my mouth was full and I couldn’t protest before Grandma said, “You’re staying home with Sarah tonight while we go on our date. You’ll get your autopsy results in the morning.”

“And no, we’re not breaking into the city morgue,” added Grandpa.

I swallowed my half-chewed mouthful of sandwich, managing not to choke, and said, “But I need to see—”

“You need to learn patience,” said Grandpa. “There’s no good reason for us to see this as anything other than an isolated incident right now, and there are quite a few good reasons for you to stay home.”

“For instance, we only have two tickets to the theater, and I’m not going to buy another one from a scalper just because you don’t feel like waiting here,” said Grandma. “And there’s Sarah to be considered. Someone has to stay with her. That’s why we arranged this date night in the first place. I know you want to serve the cryptid community, sweetheart. Well, tonight, you serve the cryptid community by babysitting.”

“I don’t believe this,” I said.

“The autopsy isn’t going to happen any faster if we cancel our date,” said Grandpa. “He’s scheduled for the morning. Learn patience.”

“Can you at least promise I’ll get the file as soon as the autopsy is complete?” I asked. My head was spinning. Of all the possible solutions I’d considered, “you stay home and babysit because patience is a virtue” wasn’t on the list.

“Yes,” said Grandpa firmly. “As soon as he’s released to the city morgue, I’ll call you, and we’ll examine him a second time together. But tonight, we need you to stay home. Please, Alex, can you do that for us?”