Jabberwock Jack by Dennis Liggio

impressive you survived, even more so unharmed," he said appraisingly. "Tell me about it. I've heard most of the details from Meat, but I want to hear it from you. Tell me everything about the beast."
    I looked to Szandor, who nodded that I could tell it. I recounted the story, focusing on the monster details and the location.
    Afterward Jericho nodded. "As I had suspected. My time here is not wasted. There is no doubt that it is the beast. It is Jabberwock Jack." He said the name with a combination of hatred, respect, and pain.
    "He hates when you call him that," said a voice from the bottom of the steps. I swung my head to see a woman standing there. I was surprised that she had come down them without any of us noticing. With how loudly Jericho had come down the stairs, I expected them to make a bunch of noise when anyone came down them. Yet she had made no noise that I noticed. Sure, we were all talking and that was distracting, but my hearing is usually on alert for movement in enclosed spaces. It's an occupational skill.
    "He and I share enough hate," said Jericho, "that misnaming him is just a drop of spite in an overflowing bucket."
    The woman slinked her way over to us. There was something very smooth in her movements, like a forest predator or a dancer. She was thin, her form lithe; she was maybe five foot nothing. She wore ripped jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt that was too long, so the sleeves stretched past her hands. She had the darkest eye makeup I had seen outside a dance club. That first made me think she was our age, but as I took in the rest of her face, I realized she was older than us, but at best in her very early thirties. There were feathers in her dark hair and a wreath of necklaces the dangled on her chest - crystals, more feathers, amulets, and at least one medicine pouch. Based on her skin, I couldn't guess her background - something in me wanted to say she was Native American, maybe a holdout from the Appaquagh tribe that was once local to New Avalon, but there was something different, almost Asian, mixed in with her features. Of course, I could be completely wrong. And maybe she was just trying to suggest Native American with her necklaces. It was very possible that she had no authentic claim, just the one-sixteenth Cherokee I had so often heard in bars.
    "When you are in each other's orbits, even the smallest change can alter the winds and the tides," she said mysteriously. "Disrespect and hatred are deep rivers, but the flow of any stream can be changed."
    Szandor turned to me with a look and movement of his hands that said What's up with this bullshit?
    But at least one person took her words seriously. Jericho's face changed. "In his orbit? Then he is close! You're sure?" His voice was frantic and needy, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
    The woman smiled wanly and shook her head, her eyes nearly closing in the gesture. It would almost be cute if it wasn't in the context of so much weird. "Unclear. He may be close, he may be far. He may be running silent and deep, just to arise suddenly. A vast moon coming over the horizon, far too close, far too large, but the tides will change."
    "The fuck?" said Szandor. "That didn't make any sense." I agreed with my brother but said nothing.
    "Fala is... uh, an advisor," said Meat. He seemed to not be comfortable with that statement.
    "She is our best expert on Jack's behavior and history," said Jericho confidently. He had been calmed from his outburst by her crazy words. She was like the Obsessive Whisperer. "I trust her completely when it comes to this beast."
    "I trust more the historical documents Paulie has dug up and your own experience," said Meat, but under Jericho's withering stare he softened his opinion. "But we're also using Fala's expertise."
    "Still seems like bullshit," said Szandor.
    "So what's this all about, really?" I said, heading off an oncoming argument that served no purpose. "You'd already heard about the monster from Meat, you didn't