Page 16

The weeds behind me stir, and I freeze in place. This was it, I thought, and steeled myself for the giggling tackle of a small child.

But what grabbed me was not small.

Something cold and hard locked around my upper arm and yanked. I yelped and tried to jerk away, but whatever got me was strong and determined. The grip burned, like grabbing onto an electric fence. Magical energy shot through me.

Before I could twist around to see who—or what—had me, I was pulled through the reeds with a speed and violence that left the bayou spinning. I crashed through a patch of prickly palmetto and landed flat on my back in the mud, blinking up at a sky now blurred by pain and confusion.

There was no one standing over me. No prankster, no were-child, not even one of the neighborhood nutria Shifters. No one.

Except I could hear them. Two voices, low and whispery, arguing in a hushed tones so that I couldn’t understand what they were saying. One was deep and raspy, the other quick and lilting.

I rolled to my feet, covered in muck, and search the reeds. The voices kept up their back-and-forth, clearly bickering, but I saw nothing. Not even the fluttering wing of an insect. I tried to channel my magic, just enough for some basic sight— hoping to conjure a spells for tracking poltergeists or invisible friends—but my magic sparked, then fizzled. As it often did when I was stressed.

I rubbed my arm, still feeling the burn of the harsh grip. I heard the voices still, but they seemed to be getting farther away, receding into the maze of reeds and branches. I tried to focus, tried to memorize the cadence or at least a word or two, but it’s like trying to catch smoke in a butterfly net.

I stumbled after them, slipping in the mud, but every step seems to push them farther out of reach. I wanted to call for Etienne, for the kids, but the words died in my throat. My energy felt as if it had been sucked from me. Whoever—or whatever—just tried to snatch me wasn’t playing.

As the last of the whispers faded, I caught a single, clear word. It sounds like “prenze,” or maybe “brenze,” hissed out in a long drawl.

Then there was nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the distant “Found you!” in Lisette’s gleeful voice from the far side of the bayou.

I took a deep breath, swallowed my panic, and shuffled my way back toward the dock. No sense letting everyone else know I was just manhandled by an invisible force of nature. Not yet.

Lisette found me first, peeking out from behind a clump of cattails. “You are not hiding, Mommy.” She frowned. “And you are all dirty.”

I forced a smile and made to pick her up. But I realized I couldn’t. I felt as if I’d run an Iron Man after fasting for a week. I swayed, spots dancing in front of my eyes. No, I couldn’t pass out cold in front of my daughter. Now, that would be traumatizing.

Hugo arrived next, panting, with Etienne trailing behind at a much more dignified pace.

“I won,” Hugo declared, as if it’s a matter of public record.

Lisette tore her gaze away from me to scowl at her brother. “You did not win. I stopped looking.” Her worried look returned to me. “I stopped becauseMamanis covered in swamp.”

Now both Hugo and Etienne looked me over, concern flickering in their eyes.

I forced a wan smile. “I just tripped. Over a root. I’m fine.”

Etienne stepped forward, touching his fingers lightly to a spot on my forehead. I winced, not even realizing I had an injury there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his eyes roaming over me.

I nodded even though I still felt sore and lightheaded. “I’m right as rain. But I do think I’m a little tired out.” That was an understatement.

Etienne studied me a moment longer, then turned to the kids. “I’m getting a little tired too. Maybe we should head home, and I can turn on the sprinklers so you can run through them and cool off."

Both of the children cheered as another wave of vertigo and utter exhaustion hit me. I was never more thankful for one of Etienne’s suggestions.

The restof the day passed in an exhaustive blur for me, but I was determined to shake it off and not let anything ruin what had been a very special day. Etienne had spent much of the time sending me concerned and probing looks, but he didn’t press me.

That is until he joined me on the porch, where I sat curled in one of the wicker rockers with a cup of herbal tea.

He sat down in the chair next to me, a glass of bourbon on the rocks in his hand. “Okay, so are you finally going to tell me what happened today?”

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to spill everything—the grab, the voices, the icy pain in my arm. The draining of all my energy. But I didn’t want to upset him. Not when everything else had been so perfect. Plus, the more time that passed, the more I wonder if I had just hallucinated the whole thing.

Okay, that didn’t seem likely. But it had been truly surreal—almost dreamlike now. Or nightmarish.

I shrugged. “I think I must have just been so tired that I tripped.”