Cry Havoc by Baxter Clare

at the Mother’s fingertips, careful not to touch the gory nails. She reeled off the standard request to call if she thought of anything, no matter how trivial it might seem. The Mother picked up the square of paper. She tapped it with a lacquered nail, smiled at it.
    “Come back sometime for a reading, Lieutenant. You might be surprised how accurate I am.”
    “I bet I would be.”
    She turned to make her exit, but the Mother said, “Lieutenant?”
    A hint of a smile curved the Mother’s generous mouth. Her eyes reflected the yellow candle glow.
    “Yes?”
    “Look out for a red dog.”
    “A red dog?”
    “Yes, child. A red dog.”

9
    Working their way back through the network of halls, Lewis mumbled, “I don’t care for this place. It’s kind of strange, don’t you think?”
    “Wouldn’t put it high on my list of favorite vacation spots,” Frank agreed. She paused at a T in the maze.
    “Right or left?”
    “Right,” Lewis said without hesitating.
    “You sure? I think it’s left.”
    The rookie grumbled, “Then what are you asking me for if you’re so sure?”
    “Lewis, you’re a bona fide pain in the ass, you know that?”
    “I been told.”
    Frank twisted a door handle in passing. Locked. She tried another. It yielded. Frank peeked in.
    “What are you doing?” Lewis complained.
    “Just checking things out while we’re here. We’re lost, right?”
    Light from the hall illuminated what looked like a collection of old appliances. A dank, moldering odor drifted out. Frank closed the door. The next one she checked was locked. And the one next to it. Moving into a new hall, Lewis said, “We should have left bread crumbs.”
    Frank tried another handle and it turned. She pushed on the door and the room erupted in shrieks and flapping noises. Frank swung the door shut, then slipped her hand through to feel for a switch plate. Finding it, she eased inside.
    Hens in crowded cages squawked at the sudden light. A black rooster jumped on her leg. Frank swore and threw it by its neck. The bird landed near a crate of pigeons. They thrashed against the bars in a panic. Living birds trampled dead or dying ones.
    The rooster shook itself off and raced back over to Frank. She kicked it away. It trotted back but maintained a wary distance.
    “Damn hoodoo freaks,” Lewis complained tightly, “we ought to call Animal Control on these nasty mothers.”
    Frank stepped carefully around a few loose animals, an eye on the rooster. Feathers lifted around her as she walked to a table piled with boxes. She pulled out a bottle.
    “Palm oil,” she read from the label. Pulling a jar from another box, she hefted it and said to Lewis, “It’s honey. What the hell’s all this for?”
    “What? I’m supposed to know just cuz I’m black what all this crazy-ass shit’s for? How am I supposed to know? I wasn’t raised in no mucketty swamp mixing up little bottles of love potion number nine, mumbling spells under my breath. Damn! I don’t truck with none of this back-woods bullshit.”
    Lewis had mounted her politically correct high horse for a ride up and down Frank’s spine, but Frank said, “Just calm the fuck down. I thought maybe you were smarter than me, but now I see you’re not.”
    Lewis huffed but kept her mouth shut. The birds settled down while Frank poked around in more boxes. Holding a bottle out to Lewis, she turned and saw Spic and Span looming in the doorway.
    “Took a wrong turn,” she explained quickly. “This is some interesting shit. What do you do with all these birds? Eat ‘em?”
    Frank held her ground as if she had every right to be snooping through the Mother’s private property.
    One of the genies growled, “I thought Mother Love told you to leave.”
    “We’re trying, but you took us through so many doors we got lost. If you want us out of here you gotta show us the way.”
    He made an inarticulate rumbling sound at the twin glowering next to him. Lewis squeezed past and Frank