The Haunts & Horrors MEGAPACK®. Lawrence Watt-Evans

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СКАЧАТЬ big glass bakery cases, one refrigerated. They were packed full of the most amazing assortment of sweets imaginable. He had miniature cakes and pies only six inches across and huge brownies that promised “Death by Chocolate.” There were muffins of twelve different flavors including a ham and cheese breakfast muffin, as well as miniature éclairs, Danish, and dozens of different types of cookies.

      “What are those?” I asked, pointing to some tan-colored cookies shaped like leaves and labeled, “Lembas.”

      “Elfin shortbread cookies,” he said. “Here, try one.”

      It was the best shortbread I’d ever had.

      “This stuff is great. Who’s your baker?”

      He smiled and leaned toward me conspiratorially.

      “Don’t tell anyone but…”

      My ears pricked up.

      “…I have a crew of elves that come in at night and do it all. If Keebler ever finds out, they’ll sue me. Haw, Haw, Haw.”

      I laughed at his crummy joke and bought a bag of those amazing shortbread cookies. It wasn’t long before Ann showed up. I bought her a Diet Coke and we shared the rest of the cookies.

      “So what did you find?” I asked.

      “You mean besides discovering I’d prefer doing research back home with my feet up and my nose in an occult book? Just about everyone in the neighborhood has lost a cat or a dog and all in the last six months. Something is definitely going on here.”

      “That means whatever is attacking the pets strikes almost every night, then.”

      She nodded.

      “Well, come on, then. We’ve got some shopping to do before dark.”

      * * * *

      Long after dark we were back at the Fitzsimmons place in their living room with the lights off and the curtains open. Outside in the middle of the lawn we’d staked out a little yap dog we’d picked up at the pound. Our bait wandered about in a circle constrained by the length of rope we’d tied to his collar.

      Ann crossed her legs in the easy chair she was sitting in. “I’m still worried about that poor dog.”

      “Don’t be,” I said. “If anything happens we can be out the front door in a flash. That’s why we’re watching like this.”

      “It’s certainly boring.”

      “All true detective work is.”

      “I bet you got that from one of those detective novels you keep in your desk drawer in the office. What is that? Continuing education?”

      “You’re just jealous of my elite detecting skills.”

      She sniffed. “If that’s what you call eating donuts and reading the exploits of Mike Hammer.”

      “You just wait. I’ve already got this whole case figured out.”

      “Okay Sherlock, then what happened to the dog?”

      “Dog? Mrs. Fitzsimmons is missing a cat, or did you miss that part?”

      She gestured at the window.

      “Yeah, and now we’re missing a dog.”

      I looked at where she was pointing. The stake was still there and the rope was still attached to it and to the dog collar. But there was no dog wearing the collar.

      We jumped up and ran outside. The dog had vanished.

      “So much for your elite detecting skills,” she mocked.

      “No, this just proves what I thought all along. There’s no way a coyote or another animal could have taken that dog, not right under our noses. Even a human being couldn’t have snuck up, untied the dog without it making a sound, then retied the collar and made off with the dog in the few seconds we were arguing. No, there’s something supernatural behind this.”

      Ann looked at me, the corners of her mouth turned down scornfully.

      “Last I checked I was the one with the occult library. But I’ll play. So what exactly is responsible for the missing pets?”

      “It’s elves. They work at night in that bakery making all those pastries and cookies. Then on their break they grab a quick snack in the local neighborhood. That’s what happened to Missus Fitzsimmons’s cat.”

      She stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

      “That’s your big theory? Carnivorous elves? When did you switch from detective novels to fantasy?”

      “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

      “I didn’t think of it because it’s stupid. There’s no such thing as elves, especially carnivorous ones.”

      “Yeah, well, we didn’t think there was such things as vampires or skin walkers or nefil-watsits…”

      “Nephilim,” she corrected.

      “Yeah, Nephilim, before we got into this business either, so there might really be carnivorous elves.”

      She shook her head, saying, “No, but it is carnivorous, whatever it is. That poor dog. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

      “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”

      “Where?”

      “To that bakery.”

      She shook her head but followed me out to the car.

      We drove over and parked under a security light. It was after midnight so everything in the center was closed, most of the lights were off except for security lights. I led her up to the front door of the bakery. Inside you could see the red light from the big Coke machine. The cash register was open, the empty drawer propped up so that you could see there was no money inside. I knocked on the door. There was no answer.

      I pulled out my key ring and began banging on the glass with it. It made a terrible racket but got no different result.

      She tugged at my arm. “There’s nobody here. Let’s go. This doesn’t prove anything.”

      “On the contrary, it proves everything. There’s nobody here. But it’s a bakery. Bakers always work at night so their stuff is at its freshest in the morning. I asked that guy who made his stuff and he said elves. There’s nobody to answer the door because the elves are in the back making his cookies. Don’t you remember that story about the elves and the shoemaker?”

      “Now you’re quoting the Brothers Grimm as your occult source? I keep telling you there’s no such thing as carnivorous elves, fairies maybe, but not elves.”

      “Okay, so they’re fairies, then. Whatever. Come on. Let’s check out the back where she said she found those dead cats.”

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