Page 39 of Zombies, Satyrs and Vampires, Oh My!

chapter

nine

Harriet

And that is what spurs me into action. First, I call the sheriff. He’s a minotaur, for the record, and seems to be a good guy. But he had a word of warning for me—Chris has a temper and his threats should not be considered empty. They’ve evidently had some issues with him in the past.

Nothing too violent so far, but he seems to be extremely territorial. So, if he felt he had a claim on me, then he might make good on his threat to Jace.

Ultimately there was nothing the sheriff could do since the threat wasn’t made against me and instead another party. But I know Jace won’t make a formal complaint.

I tried messaging him to convince him, but he’s not worried. Refuses to take it serious at all. So now I have to take matters into my own hands. Grab the bull by the horns. Or the satyr’s horns, as it were.

All I can think about is the fact that Jace’s horns and hooves won’t protect him against the claws and fangs on the beefed-up, angry kitty.

So, for the third night in a row, I come to the abandoned church. The music pours out into the darkness. I grip the zip ties in my hand tighter. In my other hand, I’m holding my secret weapon, flowers from the valerian plant. Thanks to a little tidbit Jace’s friend, Xander, shared with me.

The conversation was brief, but went something like this…

“So, I need to protect Jace from this cat dude in town that got his tail all twisted up because he thinks I belong to him. Or whatever. Jace isn’t taking the threat seriously and I’m afraid he’ll get hurt.”

“You don’t think Jace can protect himself?” Xander asks.

“No, it’s not that. I mean it’s sorta that, but only because he doesn’t have claws or fangs.”

“True, but he’s got a mean mother fucking kick.”

“Well, that’s good to know. But it’s my fault he’s in this mess and he refuses to take it seriously.”

“What are you thinking you want to do?” Xander asks.

“I want to kidnap him and take him somewhere I know he’ll be safe.”

“You want to kidnap him? A nearly seven foot tall satyr?”

“Yes?” it comes out as a question even though I don’t mean it that way.

“Fuck, you’re perfect for him.”

“Uh, thanks. So, does he have any weaknesses? I mean I don’t suppose if I startle him—say throw a ball at him—it’ll make him faint? Like those adorable fainting goats.”

Xander laughs. “That would be fucking awesome if he did that, but no. He’s not a fainting goat. Okay, here’s what you need. He has an allergy or is just super sensitive to valerian flowers. We had to yank up all the plants over by that church where he plays piano because it makes him crazy lethargic.”

“Perfect!”

“So, get him woozy and then zip tie his hands together and throw him in your car. It wears off quickly though, so you need to be quick.”

And now here I am in my car with a very surly and unamused satyr in my back seat.

“Harriet, this is ridiculous,” Jace mutters from behind me.

“Can you just humor me, please? Or I can turn around and we can go directly to the sheriff’s office, and you can file a complaint.”

He turns and stares out the window, his jawline clenches.

“He’s dangerous.”

“I can protect myself,” he growls.