THE SKINWALKER

Ah, Fishtown,” said my grandfather as he steered the Sturdy Baker through narrow city streets. “Can you smell the sea?”

“All I smell is this car,” I said, leaning out my window.

“That’s my air freshener.”

“It’s very fresh,” I said.

“In the late spring they used to bring in so much shad from the Delaware River, the streets of Fishtown ran with scales and blood. Let me tell you, Elizabeth, there is nothing like a good plate of boiled shad with a drizzle of malt vinegar on top while you’re ankle-deep in scales and blood.”

“I believe it,” I said, laughing. “Nothing.”

This was the next Monday, when we had to suspend our investigation of the wooden-stake-wielding Pili so that Henry, my grandfather, and I could try to figure out how Mr. Topper ended up with his goat-devouring chupacabra.

“What’s that address again, young man?” said my grandfather.

Henry, in the back seat, looked at the piece of paper in his hand and read the address aloud for the fourth time.

“Yes, of course,” said my grandfather. “Where else would she be? And why are we going to see her?”

“We have some questions,” I said.

“Excellent,” said my grandfather. “It’s hard to get answers without a few questions. Ah, and here we are.” He stopped the car and peered out the window. “Why, I barely recognize the place.”

“That’s because this isn’t it,” I said, looking at the numbers on the door. “I think it’s on the next block, Grandpop.”

The right address, when we finally reached it, was a blocky brick building with narrow slots for windows, as if to keep something out, or, more worrying, to keep something in. A sign above the door read:

NASCHA’S HOUSE OF SPECIAL PETS: ENTRANCE BY APPOINTMENT ONLY!

My grandfather banged his cane on the door once, twice, and was about to bang it a third time when a salamander medallion on the door slid up and one brown eye appeared.

“Appointment only,” said a rabbitlike voice.

“We have an appointment. I am Ebenezer Webster the Third, here to see Nascha on important business.”

“What type of business?”

“Pet business, of course,” said my grandfather. “I’m not here for the pastries.”

The salamander medallion slammed closed, as if it was insulted, but a moment later the door opened.

“Come in, come in,” said the burly man who greeted us. “And welcome to Nascha’s.”

Just inside the doorway was a large display window, where a couple of sweet young creatures were frolicking. I couldn’t quite identify the species, half mammal, half bird, all cute. When Henry tapped on the window the creatures jumped about and spread their wings, delighted at the attention. Above them, wrapped around a fake tree, was a huge purple snake staring at the three of us.

“Does the snake look hungry?” I said. “I think it looks hungry.”

“Nonsense,” said my grandfather. “I’m sure all the special pets are well fed.”

“With what?” I said. “That’s the question.”

The store beyond the display window was chock-full of terrariums and aquariums and little cages with fluffy balls of fur. Fish with lizard heads swam, and lizards with fish heads stuck out their tongues, and catlike creatures lay on shelves wagging their multiple tails and staring at caged birds that sounded like trombones.

“I’m sorry for the questions at the door,” said the man. His skin was brown, his beard was brown, his suit and tie were brown. There seemed to be a theme. He leaned forward and rubbed his little hands together as his two oversized front teeth fluttered against his lower lip. “But we can’t have just anyone wandering in. I am Clarence. Now, how can I help you this fine afternoon?”

“We’ve come to talk to Nascha herself,” said my grandfather.

“Oh, I’m sure I can render whatever assistance you require,” said Clarence. “So tell me, what kind of pet are you looking for?”

“Do you have a gremlin?” I said.

“A gremlin? You don’t want a gremlin. Such disagreeable creatures. Now, we have those gryphons in the display window, which are just so adorable.”

“Adorable is right,” I said.

“But we only sell them in pairs. Two gryphons are a delight, one is a nightmare.”

“Do you have puppies?” said Henry.

“Puppies?” said Clarence as if Henry had just yanked his beard. “We have no puppies. Do you know about the mills in which they are bred? Barbarous. We have chimeras, and mini-hippocamps, and a jackalope, if you are ready for such a thing, but no puppies. We can get you a cat, if you choose. Just let us know how many heads, how many tails. Wings are usually extra.”

“What about a gremlin?” I said.

“Why on earth would you want a gremlin? Don’t you know the trouble they cause?”

“That’s sort of the point,” I said. “You see, there’s this goat in the neighborhood.”

“A goat?” said Clarence. “A gremlin won’t be of any use against a goat. Now, if there was a machine nearby making all kinds of noise, let’s say an air-conditioning unit, well then, a gremlin would be perfect. It could even spoil a piano for you in a pinch if that downstairs neighbor insists on playing Mahler through the night. But a goat? How could a gremlin help you solve a problem with a goat?”

“Exactly!” I said.

“Hello, Ebenezer,” came a melodious voice from behind us. We turned to see a woman approaching.

“Nascha,” said my grandfather. “How nice to see you again.”

“That is all, Clarence,” she said. “I’ll take care of Mr. Webster and his coterie.”

Clarence nodded and bowed. “As you wish,” he said before backing away from the woman. He kept backing away until he passed through a beaded curtain and disappeared into another room.

Nascha was tall and thin, skeleton thin, with cheekbones so strong they could wrestle a bear. She wore a patterned purple dress and was barefoot. Behind her we could see the tree in the window display, now without the purple snake. I remembered then that my grandfather had described her as a skinwalker, and I suddenly sensed what that might mean.

“Allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Elizabeth,” said my grandfather.

“So you’re the Elizabeth I’ve heard so much about,” she said. “I thought you’d be older.”

“I’m working on it,” I said.

“And this is Henry Harrison,” said my grandfather. “He was the wrangler for that gremlin you sold to Mr. Topper. You remember the creature, don’t you?”

“I seem to, yes,” said Nascha, her gaze still on me. There was something about her eyes. It wasn’t like she was looking into me as the countess had, it was like she was reaching into me and trying to rearrange things. I quickly looked away.

“Well, funny story,” said my grandfather. “It was not a gremlin at all. Imagine Mr. Topper’s surprise. It turned out to be a chupacabra.”

“You don’t say,” said Nascha.

“I was wrangling a chupacabra,” said Henry.

“That’s quite impressive, young man,” said Nascha. “And I see no scars. You must have had quite a helmet.”

“No helmet,” said Henry. “Just jerky.”

“Astonishing,” said Nascha. “We might be looking for some help around the store. Clarence is getting so… robust, and we could always use another hand.”

“Would I get it back?” said Henry.

“My my, Ebenezer,” she said. “Your friends are so charming.”

“Who did you buy it from?” I said, still avoiding the woman’s gaze.

“Buy what, dear?”

“The chupacabra.”

“We didn’t know it was a chupacabra,” said Nascha. “We thought it was a gremlin.”

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t,” I said. “And maybe we’ll let the judge decide if our client, Mr. Topper, decides to sue you in the Court of Uncommon Pleas.”

“On what possible grounds could he sue?” said Nascha.

“Breach of contract,” said my grandfather as he put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s really straightforward. You agreed to sell Topper a gremlin and sold him instead a dangerous beast.”

“Or maybe fraud,” I said. “That’s a tort. And I’m not talking about apple pie.”

“Does it get tiring being so clever, dear?” said Nascha.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “It really does. But maybe it wasn’t fraud, maybe it was a simple mistake on your part. Maybe, despite all your years of experience, you yourself were fooled. And that is why we are here and not in court. How did you end up with the chupacabra?”

“Look me in the eye, girl.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, Ebenezer. You must be so proud.”

“More than you know,” said my grandfather.

“A man came into the store carrying a cage,” said Nascha. “An officious little man with a hat and a mustache. I thought he might be an accountant. He said he had recently come into possession of a gremlin, which he could not keep because it was agitating his goats. He said the gremlin was of a rare type he’d bought in Puerto Rico. I took a look. I had never seen that kind of gremlin before but took him at his word as to what it was. The man sold it to me at a very fair price. A few days later Mr. Topper came into the store with his sad story. I thought the gremlin would be perfect for him. That was the end of it.”

“Did you get the accountant’s name?”

“Fred, I believe it was.”

“That makes sense,” said my grandfather. “In my experience, all the best accountants are named Fred. Why, our firm’s current accountant is Frederica Himmelfarb. Deliciously clever with the numbers, I must say. Never skimp on your accountant, Elizabeth. That way leads only to misery.”

“Fred what?” I said to Nascha.

“Abiz, dear,” she said, and when she said it I couldn’t help but glance her way. A victorious little smile lit her face, as if from the moment we had walked into her store she’d been waiting to give us this jolting little fact. “His name was Fred Abiz.”

It wasn’t so hard to decipher. I had guessed right away who might be the officious little man with the mustache, and when I heard the name I knew it was no man at all. I had met it in court when it was clothed in its accountant’s garb, and suffered its threats when it took its truer form, a horned demon with clawed hands and hooves for feet. The demon Redwing, whose proper name was Abezethibou, had set up Mr. Topper so Mr. Topper couldn’t interfere with the demon’s plans to extend his dominion into our world. And for some reason he wanted me to know.

Was is a taunt? Was it a threat? Did it matter?

No, it did not matter. Redwing’s horns were red and they blazed with fire. Either way I was toast.