Deviltry

Chapter 1: part 2

She pulled into the employee parking behind the building, Sampson's massive frame already shifting restlessly in anticipation. He knew this place, knew the smells and sounds that meant other animals, interesting people, and the occasional treat from Dr. Leanne's secret stash.

The back door chimed as they entered, and Kyrsha was immediately assaulted by the familiar chaos of morning prep. The scent of disinfectant mixed with coffee, and underneath it all, the complex perfume of dozens of different animals who'd passed through these rooms.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Kourtney called from behind the reception desk. She was perfectly put-together as always—hair swept into a sleek bob, makeup that could survive a nuclear blast, and an expression that suggested the world had personally offended her and she was keeping score.

"Morning, sunshine," Kyrsha replied, unclipping Sampson's leash. "How's the zoo today?"

"f*****g weird." Kourtney's directness was one of her best qualities—you always knew exactly where you stood with her. "Three no-shows already, and it's not even eight-thirty. Plus Mrs. Henderson's cat tried to murder Dr. Leanne during a routine exam yesterday. Sweet little Mittens turned into a furry blender."

"Animals are picking up on something," came a gentle voice from the treatment room. Dr. Leanne emerged, her graying hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, concern creasing her kind features. "It's like they all know something we don't."

Chrystal bounced out of the supply closet, her current purple-and-teal streaks catching the fluorescent light. Today's chaos was apparently sponsored by mermaid colors. "Maybe it's that thing in Europe! You know how animals can sense earthquakes and stuff? Maybe they can sense plague too!"

"It's not a plague," Dr. Scarlett's voice cut through the speculation like a scalpel. She emerged from her office in full no-nonsense mode, white coat pristine, steel-gray hair pulled into a military-tight bun. "It's mass hysteria. People get scared, animals pick up on the stress. Basic pack dynamics."

"Mass hysteria doesn't make Pomeranians try to eat fingers," Kourtney pointed out.

"No, but fear does make people imagine their pets are more aggressive than they actually are."

Kyrsha kept her mouth shut, but she disagreed. There was something in the air today, something that made Sampson's ears twitch and his hackles rise just slightly. Not danger, exactly, but wrongness. Like the world had shifted a few degrees off its axis and nobody had noticed yet.

"Speaking of weird," Dr. Leanne said, checking her appointment book, "we've got Mr. Patterson coming in with Gizmo for a routine check. Third time this month. Says the dog's acting 'off.'"

"Off how?" Kyrsha asked, settling Sampson in the break room with a Kong toy.

"Won't say exactly. Just keeps insisting something's wrong."

The morning progressed with the usual controlled chaos. Kyrsha found herself dealing with increasingly anxious pet owners, each convinced their perfectly normal animal was somehow different. A tabby cat that hissed at shadows. A golden retriever that whined constantly. A ferret that had suddenly become aggressive toward its cage mate.

It was during the third TPR check of the day—routine temperature, pulse, and respiration on a nervous beagle—that things went sideways.

Mr. Patterson was in his sixties, a regular client who usually spent appointments chatting about his garden while Gizmo sat patiently on the exam table. Today he seemed jittery, sweating despite the air conditioning.

"He's just not right," Patterson was saying as Kyrsha took Gizmo's temperature. Kourtney stood nearby, holding the beagle steady while Kyrsha worked. "Keeps staring at things that aren't there. And last night, I swear he was trying to tell me something. Like he was warning me."

"Dogs are pretty intuitive," Kyrsha said absently, noting Gizmo's slightly elevated heart rate. "Sometimes they pick up on—"

Patterson's voice cut off mid-sentence. Not trailed off. Just stopped, like someone had hit a switch.

Kyrsha looked up to find him staring at her with an expression she'd never seen on a human face before. His pupils were dilated despite the bright exam room lights, and his mouth hung open just enough to show his teeth.

"Mr. Patterson? You okay?"

He made a sound—not quite a word, not quite a growl. Something that might have started as speech but got lost on the way to his mouth. His head tilted at that same wrong angle she'd seen at the gas station.

"Sir?" Kourtney's voice carried a warning note.

Patterson's lips pulled back from his teeth, and he lunged.

No warning. No buildup. One second he was a concerned pet owner, the next he was launching himself across the exam table with his hands reaching for Kyrsha's throat and that inhuman warbling sound pouring from his mouth.

Kyrsha threw herself backward, her hip slamming into the counter as Patterson's weight crashed into the space where she'd been standing. Gizmo yelped and scrambled for purchase on the slick table surface.

"What the f**k—" Kourtney started, then Patterson spun toward her with those same dilated eyes and bared teeth.

That's when Kourtney's inner gangster took over.

Her fist connected with Patterson's throat in a textbook strike that would have made Dr. Scarlett proud. He dropped like a sack of cement, gasping and clutching his neck, the inhuman sounds turning into very human choking.

"Security!" Kourtney yelled, though they didn't have security. "Dr. Scarlett! Now!"

The ex-military vet appeared in the doorway within seconds, took one look at Patterson writhing on the floor, and immediately went into combat medic mode.

"What happened?"

"Routine exam, normal conversation, then he just... snapped," Kyrsha panted, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Went from talking about his garden to trying to eat my face."

Dr. Scarlett knelt beside Patterson, checking his pulse and pupils with professional efficiency. He was breathing normally now, but his eyes still held that glassy, unfocused quality.

"Mr. Patterson? Can you hear me?"

He blinked slowly, confusion replacing the feral intensity. "What... where am I? Why does my throat hurt?"

Kyrsha and Kourtney exchanged glances. He had no memory of the attack. No awareness that he'd just tried to savage two women over a routine dog exam.

The last client left at 6:47 PM—Mrs. Chen with her ancient Siamese who'd spent the entire appointment glaring at everyone like they'd personally insulted his ancestors. Under normal circumstances, Kyrsha might have appreciated the cat's attitude. Today, she was just grateful for a patient that didn't try to murder anyone.

She turned the deadbolt with more force than necessary, the metallic click echoing through the empty reception area. The Poison Apple felt different now, like the morning's incident had stained the air itself. Even the familiar smells of disinfectant and kibble couldn't quite mask the lingering wrongness.

Voices carried from the large breakroom in the back—Kourtney's sharp tones cutting through the general murmur like a blade through silk. Kyrsha made her way down the hallway, Sampson padding beside her with his ears slightly flattened. He'd been on edge all day, picking up on the collective anxiety that had settled over the clinic like fog.

"—calling the goddamn cops, that's what we should be doing," Kourtney was saying as Kyrsha reached the doorway. "Man attacks two employees, we file a report. It's not f*****g rocket science."

Dr. Scarlett sat across from her at the small table, still in her pristine white coat despite the day's chaos. "We contact health services first. Patterson's never shown aggressive tendencies before. This could be a medical emergency—early dementia, brain tumor, medication interaction."

"Medical emergency my ass. He tried to rip Kyrsha's throat out."

"Kyrsha!" Chrystal's voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly there were arms around her—thin but surprisingly strong, smelling of vanilla perfume and the faint chemical tang of hair dye. The purple-and-teal streaks were slightly mussed from a day of nervous hand-running, and when Chrystal pulled back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Are you okay? I mean, really okay? Because that was so f****d up and if that bastard had actually hurt you I would have—I don't know what I would have done but it would have involved his balls and a very dull spoon."

Sampson whimpered softly, pressing against Kyrsha's legs. His amber eyes darted between the humans, trying to parse emotions he could sense but not understand. The room felt electric with leftover adrenaline and fear, and it was making him nervous.