17 Chapter 17: Heaven 2.0, Part 5

Oshiro stepped inside. "Now," he said, "what was that I smelled?"

Gretchen scuttled back as Oshiro strode across the room. He smiled at the silver tray on the coffee table, and yanked the cover upward.

"Tuna," he said, marveling at the whole fish that lay before him. He inhaled a deep, long sniff. "Mmm, fresh. It smells delicious, with just the slightest tinge of cremated Cynocephali mashed into the gills." He swept the tray to the floor. "Honestly," he said, shaking his head. "Do you think no one has ever tried that?"

Gretchen glanced at the carpet. Oshiro was almost upon her, but he was not quite in the right spot. She needed him to stand between the router and the couch. She lunged to the side. He caressed the nape of her neck as she passed. A wave of ice water rippled through her veins, and she crumpled to the floor.

"Sad," he said. "That was just a week, mind you." He grinned. "You know us 'cat monsters,' we like to play with our food." Gretchen forced her shaking hand underneath the sofa cushion. She found what she was looking for, closed her hand around it, and pushed herself to her knees.

"Oh dear," Oshiro said. He touched her neck again and she fell, her veins full of ice water. She curled into a fetal position, cradling the object in her hands. "Now," he said, as if talking to a child, "what have you got there?"

Gretchen took a deep breath. She had copied Heaven 2.0 onto her hard drive, and broken the DVD-ROM into shards. She clenched the largest one in her fist, and drove its jagged edge into Oshiro's stomach.

It snapped on his silk shirt without tearing it.

Oshiro's eyes grew wide. "Clever bitch," he said. He hissed, his eyes blazing. He dove down, and clasped her face in his rubbery hands. His nails were hard, sharp claws that raked her skin. She screamed as her capillaries froze, the saliva in her mouth turning to ice. "Decades then," he said, as he ripped the years from her in a torrent of frozen needles. His skin and clothes ran together into a calico mixture. His ears flattened and pushed back on his head, while his nose and mouth stretched forward into a muzzle. "Who have you been talking to?" he demanded, his voice winding into a screeching yowl.

Then, abruptly, the pain stopped.

Oshiro stared at Gretchen, his claw-like hands falling to his sides. She fell back and rolled on the floor, gasping for breath. He took a wobbling step forward on his hind legs, as if drunk, "Who have you...?" he asked. His eyes, now slits, rolled back in his feline skull.

He exploded into a ball of orange flame that reeked of rotten fish and curdled milk. The windows shattered, along with the television.

Gretchen raised her head. Where Oshiro had stood, a hemisphere had been charred away in the coffee table, carpet, and couch. She felt between the remains of the cushions for her smartphone. She came away with a lump of plastic that was blackened and warped. She tried to curse, but no longer had the strength. She collapsed to the floor, and fell into a deep sleep.

Gretchen woke.

She stared up at the ceiling and deduced that she still lay on the floor, although now it was daylight. A pillow had been tucked underneath her head. She tried to reach for it, but something constricted her arms. Someone had wrapped her in her bed quilt. She lifted her head and the world spun around her, causing her stomach to churn. She flopped back down.

"Hello?" she croaked.

The sound of heavy panting approached. Gretchen struggled against the blanket, her panic rising. "Who's there?" she asked.

Hound-dog Sixty-Nine appeared above her, the Boxer's tongue lolling over her face. She leaned down, and licked Gretchen's cheeks with quick, sloppy laps.

"Hey!" Gretchen said, and tried in vain to roll away. The dog's blond owner walked into the room and knelt beside her, her pink sunglasses up on her head.

"Easy girl," she said, scratching the Boxer behind her ears. She appraised Gretchen's face. "Your cuts and bruises will take time to heal, but the years he stole from you are back. You need a new door, by the way." She sat cross-legged on the floor, and shook Hound-dog Sixty-Nine's jowls. "I felt Babirye being born into the world again. She's human, at last, but I couldn't tell you where she is."

"Babirye?"

"Wynette's real name, the one her mother gave her thousands of years ago. I remember all my brothers and sisters."

Gretchen stared at her. "You were a Cynocephali?" she asked.

The girl furrowed her eyebrows. "You blew up Oshiro and got my respect," she said. "Don't ruin it with stupid questions."

"Watch your mouth, kid," Gretchen said. "How did you get here anyway? You're not old enough to drive."

"My feet reach the pedals," the girl said. She smiled. "So tell me, because I can't figure it out. How did you do it?"

The melted remains of her smartphone on the carpet caught Gretchen's eye. "Wi-Fi," she said. "I streamed Wynette back and forth between my phone and laptop, via my router."

The girl's smile broadened. "And the signal, all the ones and zeros that made up poor Babirye's captured soul, went right through his wormy Bakeneko brain."

"Yep," Gretchen said. "It came down to something Wynette had said."

"What?"

"That it would take the byte of a Cynocephali."

The girl groaned, and pulled her sunglasses down. "You seriously suck," she said, swatting Gretchen's shoulder.

"Thank you," Gretchen replied with a smirk.

The girl turned her attention back to her Boxer. "We could use your help," she said.

Gretchen raised her eyebrows. "We?" she asked.

The girl nodded. "My brothers and sisters are reborn into the world all the time. There are only a few of us, and still hundreds of Bakenekos left. Would you like to give a good home to a reincarnated Cynocephali puppy? Help us with our network? We need someone like you."

Gretchen took a deep breath, and erupted into coughs. Her body shuddered. The girl helped pull her into a sitting position, loosening the quilt around her. Gretchen hacked up a wad of phlegm, and grimaced.

"Give me a few days to think it over," she said.

"Sure," said the girl, "but something tells me you'll say yes." She looked towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make myself a sandwich. Do you want anything?"

"Not now," Gretchen said. "I don't think I could eat."

"Ok," she said, striding towards the kitchen, Hound-dog Sixty-Nine in tow.

Gretchen watched the girl and her Boxer walk away. Then she leaned on the couch, took a deep breath, and pulled herself to her feet.