“It’s an RM in a residential neighborhood.”
The phone went silent. “How bad?”
“It went from mammal to insect after death. The insect is ten feet long, not counting the legs.”
“Sit tight. We’ll be there in half an hour.”
Experience said it would be more like a couple of hours, but I would take what I could get. I dialed Cutting Edge. Derek answered, his voice raspy. “Cutting Edge.”
“Can you meet us here?” I gave him the address.
“I’m leaving now.”
“Thanks. Is Ascanio there?”
“Ready and willing,” Ascanio said into the phone.
“Call the Dunwoody Police Department for me and please check if there were any complaints against the Oswalds on Chamblee Dunwoody Road.” I gave him the address.
“Yes, Consort.”
Either it was force of habit or he was jerking my chain. Probably the latter. I hung up and went into the garage. A toolbox sitting by the wall yielded a pair of needle-nose pliers. Perfect.
I found Curran outside. He had turned into a human, had pulled his clothes on despite being covered in slime, and was trying to rinse his mouth out with a hose.
“Did it taste that bad?”
“You have no idea. This goo doesn’t wash off with water alone. I tried.”
“Let me see your shoulder.”
He glanced at me. I lifted the pliers and made pinch motions with them.
“Are we done?” he asked.
“No. We have to wait here until Biohazard shows up.”
“Why? It’s dead.”
I sighed and sat on the stairs in front of the door. “Because it exhibited reanimative metamorphosis. It was dead and instead of staying dead, it turned into something else and came back to life. It also went cross-phylum, from mammal to insect. That means there is a good chance it might come back to life again as something really strange, like a terrestrial octopus shooting lightning from its tentacles.”
“Why don’t we just set it on fire and scatter the ashes?”
“Because the ashes could still metamorphose into something nasty like leeches or flesh-eating flowers. We killed it. That means we initiated the RM process, so now we have to watch over the corpse until Biohazard shows up and quarantines it.”
“And if we don’t?” His tone was getting harsher and harsher.
“It’s a mandatory ten-year prison sentence.”
“So we performed a service by killing this thing and now they are punishing us for it?”
“Yep.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re bleeding. Don’t lie to me, I can smell it. You’re hurt. You need a medmage.”
“I’m not hurt that badly.”
His lips wrinkled, showing his teeth. “How badly do you have to be hurt?”
“There is a right-to-life exemption, which permits us to leave the scene if our injuries are life threatening. We’d have to provide paperwork from a hospital, or a qualified medmage, showing that we had to get treatment or we would’ve died. My injuries are not life threatening.”
“Paperwork is not a problem.”
“Yes, but I won’t lie.”
“How do you know your injuries aren’t life threatening? You’re covered in the fluid from its guts. How do you know it’s not poisonous?”
“If it’s poisonous, we’ll deal with it when I feel sick.”
“Fine. I’ll stay here with this thing, and you will drive yourself to the hospital.”
“No.”
He hit me with an alpha stare.
I opened my eyes as wide as I could. “Why, of course, Your Majesty. What was I thinking? I will go and do this right away, just please don’t look at me.”
“Kate, get in the car.”
“Maybe you should growl dramatically. I don’t think I’m intimidated enough.”
“I will put you in the car.”
“No, you won’t. First, it took both of us to kill that thing, and if it reinvents itself again, it will take both of us again. I’m not leaving you alone with it. Second, if you try to physically carry me to the car, I will resist and bleed more. Third, you can possibly stuff me in the car against my will, but you can’t make me drive.”
He snarled. “Argh! Why don’t you ever do anything I ask you to?”
“Because you don’t ask. You tell me.”
We glared at each other.
“I’m not going to the hospital because of a shallow cut.” And possibly a sprained shoulder, a few gashes to my legs, and a bruised right side. “It could be worse. I could’ve hit a brick wall instead of a nice, fragile old fence . . .”