Page 10

“Jocko?” I hissed. “What are you doing out of your tank?”

His antennae whipped around. “You are supposed to stay in bed.”

“Says the crawfish who just made me think there was a burglar.”

He skittered closer. “I figured I was going to have to save myself. There is something in the house. I heard it. Not just you two snoring like freight trains.”

I scowled. “I do not snore.”

He clicked his claws. “Whatever you say,mon petit. But I swear, I saw a shadow moving in the kitchen. I am not the only one up tonight.”

That last part sent a chill crawling up my spine. I scanned the dark room, every nerve screaming that we were being watched.

I considered calling out for Etienne, but if there really was someone—or something—in the house, I didn’t want to make myself a target. I leaned down to scoop up Jocko, who only grumbled slightly at being manhandled, then tiptoed through the dining room, every floorboard groaning in protest.

We reached the kitchen. The only light was the green digital glow of the microwave clock. The back door was locked and the windows shut. But the pantry door stood slightly ajar, just enough to see inside.

I gripped my geode and reflexively also squeezed Jocko. He wheezed, but didn’t swear at me in French. That made me realize he was truly scared. That realization did nothing for my own bravery. But I took a deep breath, raised the geode, and nudged the door open. Nothing but flour, beans, and my ever-growing collection of hot sauces. The air was still, except for the faint, unmistakable smell of… cigarette smoke?

Jocko snorted. “I told you.”

I shushed him and listened. Now I heard it too—breathing. Heavy, irregular, just on the other side of the laundry room door.

My mouth went dry. “Climb up to my shoulder,” I whispered opening my palm so he could use my arm as a ramp. I was afraid if I kept him in my hand, I might crush him. Or throw him at whatever was on the other side of that door in my panic. He got situated, holding onto the material of my baggy tee with both claws.

We edged closer, my grip tightening on the geode. The breathing stopped, replaced by a slithery sound. I hesitated, then pushed the laundry room door wide.

At first, I didn’t see anything in the dark. Then I spotted a hunched shadow loomed by the back window. For a split second, I thought it was a person, but then it moved in a way that was just… wrong. A ripple ran through its body, and the moonlight caught illuminating pale, gauzy skin that seemed to almost dance away from its body. Not human. Not even rougarou.

It made a low guttural noise.

Jocko squeaked, “Run,” and that was the only sensible thing he’d ever said.

I sprinted back through the kitchen, Jocko clinging onto my shirt for dear life, slamming the swinging door between us and the thing. I didn’t stop until we reached the front hallway, breathless and wild-eyed.

Jocko looked up at me, his shell trembling. “Told you we should have left the salt at the door.”

“I did. You know that, but I guess that thing used the back door.” I wanted to laugh, but mostly I wanted to puke. But I didn’t have long to think about my newest wave of nausea. I could hear footsteps, coming quickly and coming from the direction of the kitchen.

I scurried into the front sitting room and hid behind a large chair in the corner. Not the best hiding place, but all I could find in my panic.

And that is where Etienne found me and Jocko crouched in a ball, hyperventilating and armed with absolutely nothing but a decorative geode and Jocko’s claws which held out in front of him like a karate master. Etienne took one look at us—wide-eyed, panting, possibly feral—and immediately went into husband/pack leader mode.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, hands scanning me for wounds I didn’t even have.

“Not hurt, just… startled,” I managed, voice way too high.

Jocko dropped his claws and flopped onto his back, gasping. “I think I’m having a heart attack, but nobody cares about the crawfish.”

To punctuate that point, he slid off my shoulder and landed on the carpet with an, “oof.”

Etienne ignored him. “What happened? I heard you running, but I saw nothing.”

I tried to collect myself, but the image of the thing in the laundry room kept flickering behind my eyelids. “There wassomething in the house. Not a person, not a rougarou. It was… I don’t even know.”

“It was a zombie,” Jocko said, still laying on his back on the carpet.

Etienne frowned, his skepticism visible despite the dim light. “You are sure it was not an animal?”