Throughout the car ride, Junior and Charles are silent, not so much as glancing at each other. Finding the atmosphere increasingly awkward, George taps the passenger window. "Ralph, park here."
Uncertain what the hound's plan is, he parks by the sidewalk. The children, equally curious, gather to look outside. Right by their spot is a small brick-and-mortar shop named Hugo's Ice Cream. As soon as Ralph gets out of the car, he instantly understands the intention.
The shop is a humble, café-like establishment with white furnishings and a snowy mountain mural painted across its walls. A sign behind the register features an illustration of a goofy-looking yeti mascot, holding a double scoop of ice cream shaped like a bunny snowman. "Bugs Bunny's #1 favorite ice cream shop!" it proudly boasts. This in particular takes Ralph by surprise–he never expected the rabbit running the heart of the city to go to places like this.
While they decide what to buy, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Sylvester's name is shown prominently on the screen. He steps outside to accept the call. "Hey, Sylvie, you hanging in there?"
"Yeah," he answers, sounding fatigued. "Deputy Sheepdog's been going hard on Anne. I'm kind of worried. So how's Junior and Charlie?"
"The kits are fine. We went over to Cheese E. Sneezer's, but there was an incident, so we left to grab ice cream instead."
"Now that you mention it, I overheard something about an emergency at Cheese E. You made the right call, Ralph."
Guilt wells up in his gut. The police are going to look through the security cameras, and they're going to find out what happened… Wait, what happened back there? Charles mentioned something about having "lost control", and the hallucinogenic gas smelled identical to skunk spray. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense, crazy as it sounds. "Yeah, guess I did. Anyway, call me when you're out. Junior's worried about you."
"Will do." They exchange good-byes and end the call.
I don't trust him. I don't trust him one bit.
In the viewing room, Officer Shepherd watches the interrogation from the two-way mirror, with Herman as his sole company. He would rather have Detective Bloodhound or anyone else over this deranged wolf. Why is he still here, anyway? Shouldn't he be slicing up bodies in the morgue? The deputy must have a real soft spot for wolves, with how often he insists on giving them special treatment.
Compared to how he usually dresses on the job, Herman is dressed more like a teenage mall goth, sporting a black sweater with striped sleeves, ripped skinny jeans with chains, and a leather collar with a chunky silver ankh hanging from it. His glasses manage to make him look slightly more mature.
With a sneer, Shepherd asks, "Where'd you get your clothes from, Dark Matter?"
Ignoring the mocking tone behind the officer's question, Herman grins and answers, "Just the collar. The rest I thrifted and embellished myself. I could afford to expand my wardrobe, though. Especially after my best suit got torn up. Hey, we can go clothes shopping if you're up for it."
"I'm not much of a shopaholic, but thanks for the offer." His gaze lowers to the silver ankh. He was there when Deputy Sheepdog interrogated Blakesley. He always found the mortician off-putting, but watching him ramble about Negative Confessions and penance and brokenness while chained up put him on edge. Any second now, at the slightest provocation, this wolf is going to snap and kill him… At least, that's how he imagines it occurring.
"You're scared of me, aren't you?"
Shepherd snaps out of his trance and looks up at Herman. Before he can respond, the wolf continues. "I can tell from the way you look at me, the way your hands and shoulders tense up in my presence, the way you speak to me when we're in a conversation. Can't say I blame you–I get that reaction quite often. But you don't have to worry. As long as I'm under the Deputy's watch, I'm as harmless as a newborn kitten."
Shepherd shoots daggers at him. "I don't trust wolves, period. You gave your part, so you should head back to the morgue."
"That's a great idea! As fun as it is entertaining you pups, I do miss my old friends from the other side. And that mess of a body isn't going to autopsy itself." He stands up and pats his jeans pockets. "Oh, dear, it appears I left my wallet at home. I don't have a car, either, and West Quarter is quite the distance from here. You don't suppose one of you can offer a drive?"
He sighs in exasperation and picks up his communicator. "Officer Spaniel? Can you drive Mr. Blakesley back to the morgue? He's got some unfinished work to settle."
The police car drops Herman off in front of the West Quarter Funeral Home, where a Sheltie officer greets him at the door. "I did a perimeter check before you arrived. Everything's as it was when you left." The officer hands him the key. "It's all yours, buddy."
"Thank you, Officer Shetland." He unlocks the entrance. "If you're not busy, I can serve you some tea or coffee. I would appreciate the company."
"Coffee sounds great. Thanks, Mr. Blakesley."
Herman leads the officer inside and up to the second floor, his personal residence. Macabre oddities decorate the walls and shelf surfaces, from framed skulls and bones to aged greyscale photos of Sapients past. In the living room, a taxidermied chimaera of crocodile, lion, and hippo sits, like a pet waiting patiently for its owner. Shetland briefly makes eye contact with the reptile-headed creature and turns away. "Don't worry about Ammit, Officer. She doesn't bite. Usually."
The kitchen, in contrast to the rest of the home, is relatively normal in design. With little past the bare minimum of essential devices and furnishings, he is able to keep up appearances even on his worst days. He prepares the electric coffeemaker and sits at the dining table across from Shetland. As they exchange small talk, the lights start to fluctuate, turning bright as day then dark as night and back. Yet the coffee still brews, uninterrupted.
"Is something wrong with the power?" Shetland asks warily.
"No, the lightbulbs do that sometimes. Nothing to worry about." Indeed, there is nothing for himself to worry about. His companion, on the other hand, is a different story. Once the pot is filled, he pours the dark roast into a mug. "How do you like your drink? I've got milk and sugar if you need any."
"Just sugar is fine." A strange feeling suddenly strikes him, and he turns to face the living room. Now the lighting over there is wavering. When the room turns dark, he swears he can see small dots of white and striking blue eyes…
He blinks. The room is back to normal, as if nothing happened.
Herman serves him his mug along with a small pot of sugar. "I hope I didn't put too much." He brings his own drink over and fills it with milk and sugar. "As you can see, I have something of a sweet tooth."
Shetland takes a sip. "It's fine." Hesitant, he asks, "Mr. Blakesley–"
"Please, call me Herman."
"Herman. Do you believe in ghosts?"
The wolf silently drinks his coffee, then smiles. "If you're asking whether this building is haunted, I'm afraid I can't provide a good answer. Yes, I've seen some odd things in my lifetime, but alas, I have yet to witness anything supernatural in my short time here."
He empties his mug and stands up. "Well, I don't want to distract you from your work, so I'll take my leave."
"Understandable. Have a nice day, Officer."
Shetland gives him a passing smile. "Please, call me Frank."
Soon, the house is silent. Herman finishes his drink, then starts walking downstairs into the basement. When he opens the door to the morgue, he unveils a room of darkness. The blackness is darker than night, impenetrable save for scant specks of light and a pair of icy blue eyes. With a wistful chuckle, he says to the hidden entity, "Ah, Ma'ii, I figured you were up to your old tricks again. Now, would you mind shedding some light? I have an autopsy to perform."
Ma'ii gradually brightens the room, revealing a white-freckled coyote with fur dark as shadows. "You seem to be doing better these days," they comment. "Same for our 'child'."
"You've gone off to see Wiley, have you?" Donning an apron and gloves, he walks over to the mortuary cabinets, opening the one marked with last night's date. The corpse, mangled and headless, is near past the point of recognition. "Gloves and aprons are in the next room, if you'd like to make yourself useful."
With the coyote at his assistance, they bring the body to the center table and resume their conversation throughout the autopsy.
"It's a miracle he survived his journey. Had Ralph not found him, he would have starved to death." Herman looks up at them. "What's your purpose here, anyway?"
"Is it a crime to want to be with my mate, Nooby?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "That's a bold statement you made, calling me your mate. Though I suppose it's not entirely inaccurate. Still, I never would have expected to find you here, of all places."
"I followed your scent trail to this city. And knowing you, I figured you were looking for the coyote pup." More seriously, they add, "I didn't come just to drop by and say hello. I came to send him a special request. One only he can be trusted with."
His hands turn still. "What kind of request, may I ask?"
"To kill the hare allied with the Cosmic Ones and destroy their empire."
By midday, Wile is released from the hospital after a series of tedious tests and blood extractions. The doctor commented on his robustness, crediting his unusual blood composition as a potential factor. Physically, he is destined for a long life. "Don't overwork or put yourself into fatal situations," their orders state. "Even you have your limits." His mental state, on the other hand, they found concerning.
One hand in his coat pocket, his fingers brush against a folded sheet of paper. "This is a list of therapists in the area who can help you," the doctor said to him. "I recommend consulting one of them." He contemplates throwing it out. I toughed it out for more than half a lifetime. What reason would I have to change that? He leaves it where it is. I doubt I'll actually need it, but it's better to keep it as a reference.
While walking down NQ Main with Pepé, he catches sight of the ACME Corp name looming above the other buildings. He thinks back to his encounter with the strange coyote Mai. What's the difference between a rabbit and a hare, anyway? Aren't they basically the same thing? Why make the distinction? He shakes away the thought. There are more important matters at hand. Like stopping the Underground's criminal activities and locking Anne behind bars.
At Pepé's insistence, they drop into the bookstore café for coffee and lunch. Sitting at one of the windowside tables is Calamity, and across from him is a purple-furred striped skunk with bright golden eyes. Cal is holding his tablet normally, but Wile can faintly hear his "voice" coming from its speaker. It sounds like he got the volume adjustment system under control.
Wile debates whether it's appropriate to step in and interrupt their lunch date. He considers occupying a nearby table when Cal spots him. "Hey, Wiley! It's been a while, hasn't it? This is my friend Fifi, by the way."
The purple skunk waves with a "bonjour". She notices Pepé beside him and peps up, rushing to shake his hand. "I've heard all about you, Monsieur Le Pew. Fifi La Fume, ACME Corp Chemistry Department. I am so happy to meet you!"
Pepé, surprised, replies, "Enchanté, madame." He isn't sure what else to say. All he can see are golden eyes. La Fume… Marie La Fume… "You know, you remind me of someone I knew," he blurts out. "A perfumer I met during a trip to Québec. Maria, I believe her name was?"
"Oh, yes, Tata Marie. She was the best perfumer in the entire province. And her husband, Henri La Moufette, was a brilliant man. It was his work that inspired me to pursue this path. I never got to meet him in person, but I hope to someday, wherever he is now."
So they are related. As soon as she mentioned his former name, the pieces all clicked. This meeting is, as his wife would call it, serendipitous. "You never know, Madame La Fume. He could be much closer than you think. And I can say with absolute certainty that he would be proud of you."
Perhaps he acted a bit too sentimental, he realizes as Fifi's eyes start to water. "Goodness, I never considered…" She blinks her tears away, and for a brief moment, her face shows a sign of recognition. "Merci, Monsieur Le Pew. I'm going to work harder than ever before and make Oncle Henri proud!" She turns to Calamity and tells him, "Sorry to cut our lunch date short, Cal, but there's something I need to get done. I'll be in the lab if you need me. Ciao!"
With Fifi out of the picture, Wile is finally free to converse with Cal. While Pepé is off to grab lunch, they chat a bit about life updates, including his recent hospital visit. "The situation sounds a bit ridiculous now that I'm saying it, but that's what happened."
"It's not ridiculous at all! You have more guts than I do, Wile, so if even you couldn't handle it, I don't think I would, either."
"Is what happened to that victim last night really that unusual?"
"God, yes! There's an unwritten rule among Sapients that forbids us from eating our kind. Not just of our own species, but of the entire Sapient population. Doesn't stop some from doing it, though. Especially not during extreme life-or-death situations. The same even happens with humans, too–just look up the Donner Party or Miracle Flight 571. As far as crimes against morality are concerned, cannibalism is among the absolute worst things a Sapient can do."
Years of guilt compounded inside Wile have arisen once more. This time, though, he makes certain not to let it get to him. "Changing the subject, has there been progress on the Tears of Isis case?"
"Fifi and I can confirm that Tears consist of highly concentrated Illudium mixed with Sapient blood. We've also gotten word from investigators that the source is from Alexandria, Egypt."
"You have any idea what species the blood might be of?"
"Our geneticists are still compiling data, but so far, we know that the blood is definitely from the genus Canis. As for species, they recognize it as Canis familiaris, but have yet to narrow down the breed. They're comparing the DNA profile in the samples to the rest of their genetics database. That said, there is some speculation of the blood belonging to a local breed, possibly a hound of some sort."
"A hound, eh?" Wile cannot think of any Egyptian gods based on domesticated dogs, but he once stumbled across an article about dog breeds native to the country. Assuming every immortal Sapient from ancient times was deified, that would greatly narrow down the possible options. This has him wondering: if the "jackal" gods he met are different from history's perception of them, could there possibly be even more secrets within the Kemetic pantheon?
Alexandria, the Bride of the Mediterranean. A beautiful and thriving cosmopolitan city packed with two-thousand-plus years of history, art, and culture, it is also known as the home of one of its biggest companies: Wedjat. In contrast to the more specialized Lycopolis in Asyut, Wedjat is an all-rounder business akin to ACME Corp, with an especially strong grasp on exports. Watching the ships from above is its founder and leader, Altair Ahmed.
Altair is a distinguished peregrine falcon whose most noteworthy traits are his eyes: his left eye is white over a black sclera, and his right is black over white. Though not the tallest of those employed within his company, his radiant presence makes him larger than life. Rich, intelligent, successful, few things can cause him to lose his temper or sense of control. One of those things being…
The door to his office slams open, and a panicked white rabbit storms in. "Heru, we have an emergency. Set has escaped!"
Altair turns swiftly, the room turning into an even split of shadow and light in accordance with his sclera. "And what have you done to prevent this?"
"I'm just a delivery rabbit. What can I do against the Lord of Storms? What can any of us do? He broke out of his prison, destroyed the lab, and slaughtered all of the Instant Martians."
"Damn useless dodos," he grumbles. One of his many gifts from Amun-Re is a bag full of black, shimmering seeds. "Instant Martians", as he called them, are a hybrid of Earth birds and extraterrestrial biotechnology. With water, the seeds grow into large, green-feathered avians. An impressive idea on paper, but terrible in execution, with the birds having a much worse intelligence than their earthly, non-Sapient counterparts. To the rabbit, he snaps, "Think, Wenet! Where can that mongrel go if Egypt is no longer safe for him?"
Wenet thinks for a second, her gaze shifting to the large window behind the falcon. Through the glass, the ocean stretches towards the horizon, merging with the sky. "If he stowed away on one of our ships, there's only one place he can go to."
Altair turns about face, his thoughts in agreement with the rabbit's. "Acme City."
Suddenly, the television monitor on the side wall turns on. On display is the Eye of Ra surrounded by an ouroboros, and below it in red is the name "AMUN-RE". From its speakers, a deep, distorted voice booms out. "Re-Horakhty, I seek your attention and yours alone."
Altair silently shoos Wenet away, then answers the voice. "My lord Amun-Re, what is it you wish to discuss?"
"I inspected the security footage from the past twenty-four hours, and I have found this." The display changes to a black-and-white video of the docks, where–briefly–a slender canid hiding among the crewmen of the trade ship Hor-Aha, wearing an employee's uniform and cap. The image freezes and enhances, confirming their identity. The timer on the video dates to minutes before Wenet's appearance when the boat made its departure.
"I see. The Hor-Aha is set for Acme City, correct?"
"Correct. Running at twenty-four knots per hour, it should arrive at Acme City in approximately nine days."
Altair smiles. "Perfect. Speaking of Acme, have you kept in touch with Michabo lately?"
A pause, then: "No, I have not. Aset has been watching over that domain since her arrival, so I saw no reason to interfere." Grimly, Amun-Re continues. "But with the Was scepter in Lycopolis' possession and Set seeking solace in the New World, perhaps it is time for a reunion."
"If it will bring back my biggest money maker, by all means go for it! The holiday season is upon us, and for Americans that means spending money on gifts and spending time with family. You can visit dear Mother and your 'child', and my nemesis will be in my possession once more. It's a victory for the both of us."
"I do not consider the Queen and Michabo as family, but your logic is sound otherwise. Very well, then. I shall relay a message to ACME Corp of my arrival. Farewell for now, Re-Horakhty." Then the screen turns black.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Kicking August off with a shiny new chapter! I'll confess that I think I might have released this a bit too early, but for the time being I can't think of any major changes to make, so I'm putting this here for now until something comes up.
On that topic, there are times when I would edit something in a chapter that seemed like a good idea at the time but in hindsight was not. As a minor example, Wile's real given name being Wilder was an on-the-spot idea that, even at the time, was pretty darn nonsensical. It took me a day or two to make the edit, but because it was so insignificant of a change I didn't bother to log an update note for it.
I know I mentioned a few entries back that I was considering having the OCs take a backseat for this arc, but like the stubborn buggers they are, they snuck their way back into the story regardless. I also fell back into the very tendency that led to the numerous writer's blocks I struggled with since the Repo Man arc started. I'll see if I can tighten the narrative with fewer POV shifts in the next part.
I can't think of anything else to say, so for now, I'll sign off here. Thank you for reading this far.
8/3/2022 UPDATE: Edited the opening of Wile's scene with additional info and internal dialogue. Without jumping the gun, I do have an idea for a potential scene that I wanted to build up ahead of time. On a much smaller note, I corrected an error regarding a minor character's pronouns.
