Running On Empty

APOCALYPSE MEOW (Write to Rank 2023 Round 8)

"Goddammit," muttered the vet. "Exhibit B. I liked that mug."

From behind us, a plastic jar leaped off of a counter packed with bottles of medications. As it hit the floor, the lid spun away, and white powder cascaded across the brown tiles.

Exhibit C.

I whistled and leaned on my staff. "Is there an Exhibit D, counselor?"

"Did you see all the cats outside?" Dana picked up the leaking bag of saline and put it in a trash can.

"Sure. I figured there must be a feral colony nearby."

"Maybe, but ferals don't tend to come right up to the door during broad daylight and try to get in." She gestured at a square blue cat bed on top of a cabinet. "I had to take our clinic cat home. He was getting too stressed by the meowing at the windows."

"Huh," I grunted.

"What do you think? Is it a—a poltergeist or something?" Rather than frightened, her eyes expressed only a kind of manic interest.

I wondered if she'd worked too many late nights with bad coffee. "Probably not. Poltergeists tend to stick to homes."

"Oh, duh. Silly me."

I had to chuckle. "Give me a minute to check the place out."

"Be my guest."

I turned, concentrated for a moment, and surveyed the clinic with my Sight.

A wizard's Sight shows him things as they really are, all concealing veils and ordinary camouflage stripped away. I saw a chaotic, shifting wave of magical energy flowing around us, rippling and fading and coalescing before swirling back into existence.

I followed it as it slithered back into the lobby. It spiraled into a shape similar to a strand of DNA, dancing before a glass case, before streaming away into the treatment area again. I heard something else crash, and the vet emitted a curse that was impressively vulgar.

"Everything okay back there?" I closed my Sight and followed the noises.

"Ugh. Yeah, it just dumped one of the mop buckets in the kennel. It'll dry. But, Mr. Dresden—" She hesitated, back over by the spilled white powder. "Or can I call you Harry? Take a look at this."

I went to her and peeked over her shoulder at the powder. "What is that stuff?"

"It's just a dewormer, don't worry. Very safe unless you're a tapeworm. But look, there's writing in it."

She was right. A series of misshapen symbols were drawn in the powder as if by a demonic four year old with a stick.

"Hmm," I said. "Can you give me a minute? To...to focus on this?"

"Sure." Dana shrugged and left. A second later I heard the sound of broken pieces of the amusing mug being swept up.

I rooted in the deep pockets of my leather duster, and pulled out a bleached white human skull. "Bob?" I whispered, and blue lights flickered to life in the eye sockets.

"Present and accounted for, boss," said the skull.

Bob the Skull is a spirit of knowledge, my personal Google. If anyone could read the symbols in the white powder, he could.

"I want you to take a look at this writing. Do you recognize it?"

"Hmm," the skull mused. "Haven't seen that since at least the Roman Empire. Loosely translated, it says, 'I ain't got no body.'"

Bob sang the last bit in the style of David Lee Roth.

I sighed. "No time for this, Bob."

"Sorry. Let's see...you're probably dealing with the psychic residue of an old animal deity. Very likely ancient...did I hear the lady vet talk about cats?"