I threw a cushion at him. "Very helpful, Yoda. Should I meditate on it while doing a headstand? Or sip the koolaid?"
He caught the cushion with irritating grace. "Just brainstorming, Shortstack."
The front door burst open, and Milo bounded in with the enthusiasm of a puppy who'd been left alone too long.
"Sorry I'm late!" His arms full of what looked like ancient books and a cardboard box that was moving? "The necromancy conference ran long. You would not believe the debate over ethical reanimation practices. Professor Mortis nearly turned Dr. Bonecrusher into a zombie!"
"Milo," I nodded toward the squirming box, "please tell me you didn't bring home another skeleton."
"Not exactly," he set the box down carefully. "I brought research materials! And a surprise that might help with the prophecy thing!"
Fenric immediately abandoned his scanning devices. "What research materials? Any documentation should be properly cataloged and submitted through the appropriate…"
"The scroll!" Milo interrupted, spotting the parchment in my hand. "New prophecy instructions? What does it say?"
"'Bring the monster home,'" I recited. "'No, not Rook.'"
Milo's face lit up like I'd just told him Christmas came early. "A monster? That's perfect! I'm great with monsters! One time, I reanimated this basilisk skeleton for a museum exhibit, and it imprinted on me like I was its daddy. Followed me around for weeks, turning people to stone with its eye sockets. It was adorable!"
"This isn't about reanimating anything," Fenric sniffed. "It's clearly a prophetic trial requiring the retrieval of a specific entity."
"Wait," Milo's eyes widened. "Monster... home..." He started frantically digging through the books he'd brought. "I think I know what this means!"
We all stared as he flipped through pages at alarming speed, muttering to himself.
"Here!" He triumphantly held up a book with a worn leather cover. "Three years ago, I did a job for this family in the Swampy Quarter. Their grandfather had passed away, and they wanted me to temporarily reanimate him for the reading of his will because he was paranoid about lawyers changing his words."
"Fascinating," Fenric's tone suggested it was anything but. "How is this relevant?"
"Because," Milo continued, undeterred, I think he purposely made his voice even more chipper to annoy Fenric, "while I was setting up the ritual, the grandson mentioned something weird happening in the storm drains near their house. Something that sang Broadway showtunes at midnight and ate dead cats."
"Broadway showtunes?" I repeated skeptically.
"Specifically songs from 'Cats,'" Milo nodded solemnly. "The grandson thought it was ironic."
Rook chose that moment to rejoin us from the balcony. "You think the prophecy wants us to find a cat-eating sewer monster that likes musicals?"
"Not just any monster," Milo's voice dropped dramatically. "A manticore horror. A baby one."
The room fell silent.
"A baby manticore horror," I just blinked, deadpanned. "In the sewers."
"The Swampy Quarter," Milo corrected and pointed to his book. "It's more of a bog than a sewer. Very atmospheric! Lots of cursed fog, floating lights, that sort of thing."
"And you know this because...?" Zane raised an eyebrow.
"I helped the grandfather cross over after the will reading," Milo explained, as if this were all perfectly normal. "He wanted to investigate the singing monster himself. Said it reminded him of something he'd encountered during the Great Magical Convergence of 1976."
Fenric was already typing furiously on his tablet. "Bureau records do indicate an uptick in anomalous entities following the 1976 Convergence. Several extra-dimensional rifts were documented in what is now the Swampy Quarter."
"So you're saying there's an actual baby manticore horror living in a swamp, eating cats and singing showtunes," I summarized, "and the prophecy wants us to, what? Adopt it?"
"Bring it home," Milo corrected cheerfully. "Maybe it's lost! Maybe home is another dimension!"
"Or maybe this is completely unrelated to the prophecy," Fenric countered.
The scroll in my hand suddenly grew warm, the blue script glowing brighter.
