Cryptids & Cauldrons: The Sisters: Cryptids & Cauldrons, #1

By Stephanie Rabig

Dominik Esparza is a Research Agent for the ASPCA (A Society for the Prosecution of Cryptids and Assorteds). He spends his days categorizing demons, poltergeists, and the occasional rogue jackalope.

Then he makes a mistake on a case that results in several civilian deaths.

He's given a supervisor, Field Agent Danielle Belasco, and a new mission: to locate his best friend's sister, who was at the epicenter of his disastrous case and is now missing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Rabig
• Release date: Sep 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223701378

Stephanie Rabig

Stephanie Rabig has been a horror fan all her life (her grade-school librarian remembers her because she tried to check out Dracula while in kindergarten). Favorite subgenres include creature features; isolation horror (esp. snowbound. Thanks, John Carpenter's The Thing!); and ocean horror.  She also writes romance-- paranormal and alternate-history--with her partner-in-crime, Angie Bee (check her out on Tumblr @ zombeesknees). Author photo by ctrlaltcassie on Instagram

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Startled from his book by a familiar ringtone, Dominik picked up his phone with a wince.

He hadn’t heard from Kimberlee in weeks. Her brother Ben hadn’t confronted him, which meant she must not have said a word about that night two months ago.

Ben had gone to bed early, leaving him and Kimberlee finishing a movie. It was a scenario that had played out a million times—he and Kim were night owls, and Ben was one of those ‘early to bed early to rise’ types. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except at the end of this movie, Kimberlee had leaned over to kiss him.

It had startled the hell out of him and he’d reared back, only realizing as she scurried off to the bathroom how that reaction must have looked.

Chagrined, he’d knocked. When she’d finally opened the door, eyes red-rimmed, he’d felt like an asshole.

His it’s not you, it’s me speech had always gotten him through before, when he’d had to explain to some amorous ladies and a couple of amorous gentlemen that he really was at the bar just to drink and hang out with friends.

They’d all taken the hint. Kimberlee had just stared at him, leaving him fumbling through an explanation of asexuality and aromanticism before he’d finally remembered that she was a decade younger; she’d grown up on Tumblr and Twitter and probably knew more about this stuff than he did.

Anyway, he’d said, wondering what the odds were of an asteroid hitting him at this exact moment, that, um...that’s why. It’s got nothing to do with you. I promise.

Yeah. If you’re done protesting too much, I’d like to get back to my dorm?

He’d spent the next week anticipating a furious call from a protective older brother.

None had come, but neither had he gotten any of his traditional daily calls from Kimberlee, asking about his cases.

He and Ben both worked for the ASPCA—A Society for the Prosecution of Cryptids and Assorteds—and while he was happy to talk to Kimberlee about their work, Ben was close-mouthed. Kimberlee had known the truth about their jobs since she was fourteen and came across her older brother and his best friend trying to nurse a gremlin back to health in Ben’s apartment, but Ben still worried that if Nik kept indulging her, she’d ditch her dreams of becoming a veterinarian and try to become an Agent instead.

A Research Agent like him or a Liaison Agent like Ben would be fine. But if she got lured into Field Agent work? That was dangerous as hell.

Nik cleared his throat and answered the phone, wondering what he was supposed to say. Should he ignore that the incident had ever happened? Apologize again?

All those worries became moot when Kimberlee’s hurried voice came through.

Hey, can you get to my dorm? Now?

I guess so, he said. It was close to midnight. What’s going on?

Y’know our Halloween party?

That was tonight, he realized. He’d fully intended to go, since this was the 28th and it wouldn't interfere with his Dia de Muertos routines. But she’d invited him two days before the kiss. He’d assumed he was no longer welcome.

Unless she’d wanted to get things back to normal, and he’d just reminded her of the whole mess by not showing up? Kim, look, I— He scrubbed a hand over his face, and then realized that she’d been talking. I’m sorry, what?

I said we summoned a demon.

He laughed. Bobbing for apples not exciting enough anymore?

This isn’t funny!

Okay, you’re right, it’s not, he said, repressing a smile. She’d probably found some Charmed-style incantation online and summoned an imp that was busy trying to scare them. Did you call Ben?

No.

Good. Don’t. Ben would panic. He already got on his case enough about giving in to Kimberlee’s curiosity; if he found out she’d tried to summon something with her little sorority friends, he’d never hear the end of it.

Well of course I’m not going to, she snapped. Now can you just get down here?

Sure. Might as well play along. Do you know what type of demon it is?

I...I don’t really—Claire, get the book!

"You get the book!"

The book’s close to the pentagram, Kimberlee explained. We can’t—

Which book?

She answered, her voice so very small. One of yours.

Nik shoved his phone into his pocket, then grabbed his Notebook and camera and ran for his car.

HE PARKED RIGHT IN front of Kimberlee’s dorm, sliding between two cars and denting the back bumper of the one in front of him. He heard an indignant squawk but paid the person no mind, taking the steps to the dorm three at a time and throwing open the door.

The smell of sulfur was overwhelming. The college girls, about twenty of them, were all at the opposite end of the room, warily eyeing the thing that was trapped in a pentagram in front of the fireplace. Dominik stared at the beast, his eyes wide and a smile slowly forming.

He’d never seen one of these before!

This is amazing work, Kim, he said as she hurried to his side, keeping his voice low so as not to give too much away to the other students. You’ve got a natural talent. Not everyone would’ve been able to conjure something this size on their first try! I know Ben’d shit kittens at the thought, but if you want a job...

I’ll think about it, she said, and though her voice was nervous, she took his hand and squeezed it tightly, and he knew she was pleased with the compliments.

I didn’t think she was serious! one of the students called.

Yeah, you thought it was CGI, the girl beside her laughed.

Shut up, the first one muttered, elbowing her hard enough to make her spill her drink. Kim is friends with graphic arts majors; it made sense. Now c’mon, can you get rid of that thing? It stinks.

At least you won’t have to worry about your mom smelling pot when she visits tomorrow, another girl said.

"I think I’d rather risk the pot. This is awful."

As if it understood the insult, the demon roared, revealing two fangs that reminded Dominik of steak knives. Perfect, he said, taking a picture before it could hide its fangs again.

Nik, Kimberlee whispered. Nik, make it go away, please.

There was real fear in her voice now, and a few of the girls were crying. Poor kids, he thought. Some were putting on brave faces, but none of them were used to handling things like this. Of course, he said. He would like to spend more time with it—his drawings were always so much better when the subject was in front of him—but in this case picture references would have to do. He walked closer to the demon, getting several shots from different angles before he began to recite the banishment incantation.

The incantation worked from anywhere, but it always looked much more impressive to civilians when performed face-to-face.

Besides, being closer allowed him to take in all sorts of new details—the deep green and gold swirled together in its eyes; the intricate pattern carved into its horns; the orange and black Halloween lights glinting off the scales; the enormous claw curving up from each one of its big toes, giving the demon’s feet a dinosaur-like appearance. He snapped a close-up of the feet. He’d have to lighten these pictures; the room wasn’t illuminated that well and the demon’s dark green scales were hard to make out against the wooden floorboards.

Wooden floorboards.

His throat clenched as his eyes scanned for and quickly found what every wooden floor had—that one board that sat a little higher than the others. The chalk outline had been drawn over it, creating the tiniest of gaps.

Dominik didn’t have time to tell them to run; he barely had time to straighten back up before an arm the size of a tree limb slammed into his chest, flinging him into the wall.

His eyes opened and he saw blood.

They opened again and he saw white. No coppery scent of blood, no smell of shit or piss or demon.

Was it gone?

He waited for his vision to clear fully, and saw framed pictures of the founders of the ASPCA on the opposite wall.

Safe House. He was in a Safe House.

His vision blurred out again, mind swimming, and he closed his eyes, silently reciting the eleven names that every Agent knew by heart.

Addie Cahill. Imogene Taylor. Samuel Hersch. Josie Scott. Clarence Green. Ayamis. Ora Pendley. Wesley Cobb. Adam Premk. The twins, Anisha and Harry Henceroth.

Reciting them calmed his thoughts, and when he opened his eyes again to look at the pictures of their founders, they were in focus.

Relieved, Dominik tried to sit up, only to fail with a pained gasp as the motion strained at his side.

Don’t think you want to do that. Five busted ribs and all.

Ben, he rasped, reaching for the glass of water someone had left at his bedside. Man, am I glad to see you. You won’t believe what—

Ben’s only answer was to toss a newspaper at him. He instinctively reached up to catch it, realizing his mistake an instant too late. He clutched at his ribs. Ow! Dammit, be careful. I—

Then he saw the headline.

Twelve College Students Killed At Halloween Party

There was more to the article, something about how the students had likely been on drugs, given what the survivors had babbled about as the police arrived; how they thought the culprit might be the same spree killer who’d attacked some college students in Maryland six months ago. His mind soaked all that in but could only focus on one word, one person.

Kimberlee?

Not there.

He’d been steeling himself for the word ‘dead’. Not hearing it threw him for a loop. What?

You heard me.

So she got out? Did she go get you? Is that why damage control was so quick to get there? Drugs and a serial killer on the loose, they did a pretty good job here.

You’re not listening! Ben snapped, and Dominik blinked up at him. She. Wasn't. There. She’s missing, dumbass.

What...? No. She can’t—she was with the other kids. At the back of the room. There was a gap in the pentagram.

Obviously. But hey, at least you got some nice candids, he said, holding up Dominik’s camera before he dropped it and stomped down. Nik couldn’t stop the instinctive yelp of protest, but wisely said nothing when Ben looked up, his brown eyes shining with something close to hate.

Just five days ago, they’d met for drinks and laughed about their latest cases. Ben had done an imitation of one of the more stoic Agents that’d had Dominik almost falling off his barstool; Nik had shown him pictures that his phone had brought up under Memories: six years ago, when he'd helped Ben shave off his shoulder-length locs and taken pictures halfway through the process, Ben crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue at the camera.

They’d trained together at the ASPCA; been assigned to the same Safe House for the past decade. Ben was charming, friendly with everyone, but Dominik was the only Agent he regularly invited to his apartment. The only one Kimberlee had asked to attend her high school graduation.

She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. Maybe she’d panicked and run and was still hiding. Shock could make people do weird things. Could someone get PTSD from a ten-minute encounter?

Whatever had happened, she had to be all right.

Ben, look—

Instead of listening, Ben turned and walked out of the room. I’ll see you at the hearing, he called from the hallway, and Dominik listened as the sound of his footsteps faded away.

CHAPTER TWO

T hank you, Nettie said, though the woman who’d just dropped a couple of quarters into her styrofoam cup didn’t look back.

Oddly, though she felt the cup was impersonal, she’d found that she got more money if people could just drop it without having to actually make eye contact.

That probably said something about humanity, but she was too tired to think much about it. One city was just like another, some people cruel and some kind and most apathetic.

Nettie eyed the little diner across the way, a 24-hour place that served all-day breakfast. They had fifteen types of pancakes: heaven in a dingy building.

It’d be dark soon. She’d get some pancakes and then poke around for a safe place to sleep. Hopefully she could just use the same alley she’d crashed in the past three nights. So far no cops or fellow homeless had come around to bother her.

Two young men headed down the sidewalk toward her, talking excitedly. One glanced her way and dug a hand into his pocket, pulling out some change.

Thank you, she said, as he leaned down to drop the money into the cup. But instead of releasing his hold on the coins, he reached out and shoved her over, laughing as his friend grabbed the cup and they both ran.

Goddammit, Nettie hissed, brushing her palms off on her threadbare skirt as she watched them disappear around the corner. As much as she wanted to chase them, what would that get her? At best laughed at and at worst hurt.

She sighed and sat back down, propping her sign up in front of her again. She’d put the three dollars she’d gotten this morning into her pocket, but there had been six in that cup.

Should’ve emptied the cup into her pockets more often. And she knew that.

Still cursing at herself, she laid her sign over instead, giving people something to (hopefully) drop change onto. Maybe, if she got lucky, she’d get a few bucks within the next hour and buy a plate of pancakes and a drink; have a full stomach tonight.

She wouldn’t hold out hope. Might just be able to get a small plate of sausages. She’d be starving first thing in the morning, but with the change left over from the sausages she could snag a candy bar and fountain drink from the gas station a few blocks away.

God, she hated thieves.

A blonde woman came strolling up the street then, a wide smile on her face.

Spare any change? Nettie asked.

As a matter of fact, yes, the blonde said, and triumphantly held out her styrofoam cup.

Nettie stared at it for a few seconds, uncomprehending. What the—how did—

I was across the street there when they decided to be dipshits, she said.

Nettie took the cup from her outstretched hand, shock flooding into her again when she looked inside. There’s at least thirty dollars in here.

I may have charged them interest.

Oh wow, Nettie said, stuffing the money into her skirt pockets. Thank you so much. Really.

No problem. Hadn’t gotten a chance to threaten an asshole in a while; made my day. Want to get something to eat? she asked, motioning with her thumb toward the 24-hour diner.

Um. Sure, Nettie said, feeling suddenly flustered. Within a matter of minutes she’d gone from an awful day to having a pretty—and badass—woman ask her to dinner.

Pancakes didn’t exactly count as a date, she reminded herself, but still couldn’t tamp down how giddy she felt. I’m Nettie.

Danielle.

The two of them walked across the street and into the diner. Nettie’s stomach growled loudly at the smell of sizzling bacon, and she hoped Danielle hadn’t heard it as she slid into a booth next to the front window.

So what are you doing around here? Nettie asked.

Some PI work. Trying to find a guy. What’re you doing? Aside from the obvious, Danielle said, nodding to the cardboard sign sitting on the vinyl booth next to her.

Basically just this, Nettie said, smiling as the waitress came over to take their order. Danielle ordered black coffee and blueberry pancakes. Nettie ordered coffee with cream and sugar and chocolate chip banana pancakes.

She looked up to see Danielle giving her an amused look. Chocolate chip and banana? Really?

I know, Nettie said, glancing away. The plain ones are cheaper, but—

Whoa, hey, that’s not what I meant, Danielle said. It just sounds more like dessert than dinner. And yeah, the plain ones are cheaper but those are gonna taste better. Did someone give you shit for daring to eat anything other than dry toast?

More than once, she admitted. I’m going to get my feet back under me. But until then, little luxuries seem a million times more important, y’know?

Absolutely. Got to keep your mental strength up as well as your physical.

Pancakes’ll be ready in a few minutes, girls, the waitress said, setting down their coffee.

I am, however, going to tease you mercilessly about drinking milk and calling it coffee, Danielle said, eyeing her cup with mock disdain.

I prefer to enjoy drinking something rather than choking it down, Nettie said primly, and Danielle laughed.

So how long have you been out there? she asked, motioning out the window. You don’t have to answer. I’m nosy, kinda comes with the territory.

Been in this city for a few weeks, Nettie said. Out on the street for... she frowned, took a sip of her coffee. About six years? I couchsurfed for a while, had some roommates for another while after that, but after I lost my job and couldn’t contribute... She took another drink. It’s not so bad, though. At least I don’t have to worry about one of my roommates blasting their music at 2 a.m. anymore while the other one leaves enough dishes in her room to draw roaches.

That’s a plus.

How long have you been a PI?

Since I was fifteen.

Nettie blinked. Is that even legal?

Family business, Danielle said. Got introduced to it early. She smiled over at the waitress as she brought their food. Thanks.

You’re welcome, the waitress said. You two let me know if you need anything else.

We will, thank you, Nettie said. Restraining herself, she managed to not flat-out attack the food in front of her. So who’s the guy you’re looking for?

A run-of-the-mill creep. Attacks prostitutes because he thinks no one’ll bother investigating.

From what I've seen, he's right, Nettie said. You got a picture?

Danielle nodded, reaching into her ratty backpack. Now this is just so you know to steer clear if you happen to see him, she warned. No searching. Got it?

Don’t worry, Nettie said, looking over the photograph. I’m 100% coward.

Danielle put the photo away and they ate in companionable silence, Nettie finishing her plate before Danielle was even halfway done. She sipped her coffee, surreptitiously watching the other woman. Everything about her screamed 'practicality'—sensible clothes, sensible shoes, shoulder-length blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail to keep it out of the way. The only thing that was even a little personal-looking was the large backpack that was sitting next to her on the bench, which had once been sturdy canvas but was now looking threadbare in a variety of places. Had to be some sentimental value to it, Nettie thought. Otherwise why not replace it?

You know, Danielle said, not every job in the PI world deals with tracking or fighting people. Somebody’s got to handle the paperwork. You interested?

Oh god, Nettie thought, embarrassment and disappointment crashing into her. She’d thought that had been interest on Danielle’s face. Had it actually been pity?

No, that’s fine, but thank you. And thanks for dinner. Well, I mean, thanks for getting my money back so I could buy my dinner. Shut up, Nettie told herself. Just go.

She gave a nod goodnight, picked up her sign, and hurried back outside, making it most of a block before she realized she was being ridiculous.

This is why you haven’t gotten your feet under you, Nettie thought. You wouldn’t recognize a good opportunity if it kicked you in the ass. People can be sympathetic without pitying you.

Nettie turned around, intent on going back and apologizing, then paused when she saw a figure walking toward her.

Hey, darlin’, he said. How much you charge?

It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked that. Normally she just told the guy to head a few blocks east and that was the end of it. Now she opened her mouth to give her usual spiel, but nothing came out. He'd come close enough now that she could see his features.

This was the man from the photograph.

She had to tell Danielle; she could get to him before he reached the girls on 17th and—

And what? Danielle could obviously handle a couple of