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Her eyes had fired; she hadn’t liked that word. “Why don’t you shove it, puppy?”
They’d argued like that for fifteen more minutes, until Connor or Lulu—or maybe both of them—had stormed into some other part of the house. I’d peeked into the closest box, found a battered book of manga, and settled in to read.
“The comic is in mint condition,” Petra was saying. “Theo saved up.”
“Good luck to him,” Connor said. “Nice addition to anyone’s collection.”
“So Theo and Yuen are currently indisposed,” I said mildly. “You said you had two things—what’s the second?”
“Second, I have information regarding your cryptid,” she said.
“Give it to me, baby.”
“The Beast of Owatonna,” she said, drawing out the words like a storyteller around a crackling fire.
“Ha!” I said, and poked Connor in the arm.
Petra’s expression fell. She looked disappointed we hadn’t responded with confusion and surprise. “You already know about it? Then why did you call me?”
Connor rolled his eyes. “We know it’s nonsense. Local hokum.”
“A shifter suggested the Beast of Owatonna was involved,” I explained. “But we’re nowhere near Owatonna.”
“And the footprints were made by a real creature,” Connor muttered.
Petra rolled her eyes. “The story only begins in Owatonna. It does not end there.”
“Few good stories do,” he said.
I put a hand on his arm. “For the sake of argument, why do you think this is the Beast of Owatonna?”
“Because the shoe fits,” she said. “Or the footprint, anyway. Like you guessed—the track wasn’t made by any known domestic or wild animal, and certainly not by anything that’s native to the area. Too long, too wide.”
“But it matches tracks made by the Beast?” I asked.
“Technically,” she said, “we don’t know that, because there aren’t any confirmed tracks of the Beast. But,” she said, raising a finger, “the Beast is wolfish but bigger. Stalks prey throughout north and central Minnesota, usually at night. Prey is usually livestock. Sheep, cows, roosters. And, drum roll, there are multiple reports of attacks on humans.”
“What kind of attacks?” I asked.
“The humans generally report they were assaulted by big, hairy, canine-type creatures. Some reports have them on four legs. Some reports have them on two. Chasing, lacerations, torn clothing, bites. And one alleged incidence of interspecies flirting.”
“Someone was propositioned by the Beast of Owatonna?” Connor asked.
“That’s the story. Mildred Farmington of Albert Lea, Minnesota, says she was walking back to her home from her neighbor’s house when the Beast approached and began to flirt with her.” Petra looked down, frowned at something offscreen. “Quote, ‘She was wooed weekly for approximately seven weeks, at which time she told the Beast she was unwilling to make a commitment, and the Beast moved on,’ unquote.”
Connor whistled. “And humans think Sups are bizarre.”
“Humans are the strangest of all,” I said. “At least we have a magical excuse. Tell us more.”
Maybe—okay, almost certainly—this wasn’t really the Beast of Owatonna. But maybe, like many other tall tales, the tales had some origin in fact. Maybe there was some clue we could glean out of the stories.
“It’s a carnivore. Has a taste for chickens—they tend to go missing when the Beast is roaming. It’s more active in the summertime. Not active at all in the winter.”
Much like a hibernating bear,I thought.
“Prefers to hunt after one o’clock in the morning, during what they call the ‘wicked hour.’”
“Is that like the witching hour?”
