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Technically, I was only its curator and Mr. Jones was the owner. But, I had plans to change that. My tiny savings account was growing each month. Soon, I’d have enough saved to approach Mr. Jones with a proposal.
If he allowed me to buy in and partner with him in running the museum, I’d take it to the next level. We’d create interactive displays. Draw more people off the streets. Have special exhibits once a month that cost extra. It was all outlined in my proposal. Now, I just needed to get up the courage to present it to him.
“Listen, Mr. Jones…”
He flew past me, depositing the toad’s cage haphazardly on a shelf, and plucked one of his Egyptian parcels off the floor. I followed him through the storeroom, putting the cage on more solid ground, and righting a tower of boxes he nearly sent tumbling to the floor.
“Can’t talk now, dear.” He ran a hand over the thick gray beard that jutted from his chin. “We have a special visitor coming this week. Must get the museum ready. Bring our best displays out.”
I nodded. On the rare occasions Mr. Jones was in town, he would always entertain someone at the museum. He’d grown up among the rich and haughty of Arcana. His friends frequently visited, dripping in furs and diamonds.
I wasn’t sure how a disorganized and down-to-Earth human like Mr. Jones kept such dazzling company. It could be due to his vast bank accounts – at least that’s what Angel and I suspected. How else could a sixty-year-old man afford to go gallivanting around the world, collecting rare objects for a museum that barely stayed afloat financially? He had to be loaded.
Following my boss out of the storeroom, I froze. The museum lobby tilted and spun, sending me straight down to my knees. In a blink, the displays van
ished and in front of me was a dark street. I recognized the splitting headache and the taste of metal in my mouth. It was another vision – the clearest one yet.
A young woman swayed toward me, glossy black pumps on her feet, and a leather jacket hanging off her shoulders. She dug in her purse, bright red nails disappearing in the black bag. I wasn’t sure how she stood on those heels. From the looks of her, she’d had one too many to drink that night. In another hour, she’d probably be draped over a toilet, regretting her life decisions.
Behind a parked Chevy Cavalier with a dent in the side, appeared a man with a hood pulled over his head. He watched the young woman pass by, her attention still locked on the contents of her purse. The block around them was abandoned, and the busted streetlights left the road blanketed in darkness. I knew the moment he pulled the switchblade from his pocket, that girl was in danger.
“Watch out!” I yelled.
But, just like in all my visions, my voice went unheard.
The hooded man grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and yanked her to the ground. Her screams were cut off by his hand closing over her mouth. He dug a knee into her stomach, pinning her to the concrete with his body weight.
“What a yummy surprise,” the man cooed. He smiled, displaying three rows of sharpened teeth.
I watched helplessly as he sunk his teeth into her neck like a shark, and began to devour her alive. There was so much blood and pain. My eyes couldn’t look away.
Finally, the vision came to a sudden halt, and I found myself back in the museum lobby, my face melded to the tile floor.
“Did you have another one?”
Angel came rushing to my side. She helped me sit up and lean against the wall. The room still spun around me. At any second, I could eject the turkey sandwich I had for lunch all over the floor. Moving was out of the question.
“Yes, just as bad as the last one.” I held a hand to my head. “No, wait. Scratch that. This one was worse.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile and crouched down on her heels. “At least you’re saving lives.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I’d had four visions since Nicky left town, each one getting steadily worse. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside my head. What used to happen once a year, was now happening once a week. At this rate, I’d be spending the rest of my life in bed, nursing magical hangovers.
“Tell me, was it a theft or something worse?” Angel asked, studying my face. “Your last vision was that guy stealing from a bank. I almost wanted you to let him get away with it.”
Angel had a little bit of that down with the man attitude. I blamed it on her hippy mother. She’d been big into the love and peace movements of the sixties. Drank too much and smoked everything she could find. It was a good decade for her.
She was proud of the fact that she’d conceived Angel in a weed-fueled night at Woodstock. Didn’t even know the guy’s name. But she got Angel, and that was all that mattered to her.
“No, this was way worse,” I moaned. “Like, murder worse. I saw a manticore chow down on some poor drunk lady. It was bloodier than a Tarantino film.”
Angel grimaced. Manticores weren’t exactly common around here. They were one of the creatures forced to register with the Supernatural Investigations, or the SI as we liked to call them. As a typically man-eating species, the SI liked to keep a close eye on their lot.
“I’d better call Gideon.” I used Angel to pull myself off the ground. “He’s going to want to report this one right away. I think it’ll happen tonight.”
Angel straightened my royal blue sweater and swiped a hand on my rear, dusting off the particles from the floor. She was the kind of friend that didn’t mind pointing out a piece of food stuck in your teeth. It only made me love her more.
