Something I Don't Know

29: grubs are apparently demonic

Sybil and my dad are yelling again.

Safiya's apartment has vanished, and now, instead, I stand in the center of the living room rug at the old subway house—in a circle of what looks like crushed cannabis, no less. A trail of incense spills towards the ceiling as Sybil and my dad face off—Sybil, standing by the television with one hand on her hip, and my dad, standing at the mouth of the living room with his massive arms folded across his even more massive chest, eyes blazing.

I'm not sure what I've just walked—zapped—into, but I'm pretty sure that it's nothing good.

Sybil says, "You have no right to get angry at him, Alvanor, he was probably protecting himself—"

"HE WAS PROBABLY STICKING HIS NOSE IN BUSINESS THAT IS NOT HIS! IF THERE'S ANYTHING I KNOW ABOUT THAT BOY—OH. THE SPELL WORKED."

Dad's eyes have landed on me, my hands halfway raised to my ears. This is his scary demon voice when he's actually mad, which is way worse than his scary demon voice when he's just messing with me. Okay. Now I'm certain this is nothing good.

Sybil regards her husband warily, leaning forward to scuff the weed circle with the toe of her boot. "Sorry, Grey," she says. "I had to do a summoning spell. We...have to talk."

I press a hand to my temple, as if I can rub the dizziness from the spell out of me. I eye the couch, think about sitting down—but something in the air, some tension, some fear, keeps me from moving. "Gee," I say. "That's not foreboding at all."

"GREY," bellows my father, and though all of us wince, he in no way alters his tone. "I WOULD LIKE YOU TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY MY BROTHER OZAMON'S BODY WAS JUST UNCOVERED THIS MORNING AT THE BRIGHTER ATLANTA ZOO."

Ah.

So they know about Uncle Ozzie.

I shrug. "Maybe he was mauled by a tiger?"

"Grey, there was a bullet hole in his head," says Sybil, and when I glance at her, she has her face hidden behind her hand. "I don't think he was mauled by a tiger."

"Unless it was a tiger with a gun."

"TIGERS CANNOT USE GUNS. THEY ARE STUPID AND HAVE NO THUMBS."

I point at him. "Careful. The gunslinging tigers will hear."

"Grey Meesang," says Sybil, and though I expect it to come out snappy, it doesn't. It's soft, low, practically a whisper. When I look at her, Sybil's lifted her face from her hand, and now looks straight at me, dark eyes earnest and unyielding. I have rarely gotten this look in the twenty years I've known Sybil, but if anything, it's taught me to recognize it faster. This is her tell me the truth look. Not the tell me the truth or I'll change you into a pygmy toad look, just...tell me the truth.

I would rather have the pygmy toad look.

"If you know something," Sybil goes on, her gaze still level, "you have to tell us."

I swallow. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, Grey."

"Fine," I mutter, dropping my gaze to the floor. I wish Midge were here, or River. They always know what to say and how to say it, which is a skill I have never acquired, no matter the increasing amount of time I spend around those two. "You're right; I killed Uncle Ozamon. He's...he's dead because of me."

Sybil lets out a heavy exhale. Dad, on the other hand, clenches his fists, his teeth bared in a scowl. My four fangs may intimidate people, but it's nothing compared to my dad's full set. It's like a shark's mouth in there. I'd be lying if I said I'm not trembling a little.