Page 8 of Pets in Space 10

Landry squinted through the screen door as the putt-putt-putt of a struggling outboard motor drifted across the water. The skiff chugged into view, low in the water, like it was doing its best impression of a stubborn old hound too tired to swim but too proud to sink.

Cap.

Landry’s jaw relaxed slightly. Cap was a fixture in these parts — a sixty-something Cajun with more bite than most of the wildlife and a sense of humor that could gut you if you weren’t paying attention.

In front of him sat his son, Hogarth, better known as Hog, and his grandson, Tyson.

The three generations were crammed together in a boat that looked like it had been inherited from Noah’s lesser-known cousin.

He turned to call out a heads-up to Harmonia — only to stop cold.

She was barefoot.

She was barefoot, wearing his jeans — which somehow hugged her hips like they’d been custom-stitched by a denim god — and his old flannel shirt, rolled at the sleeves. Her braid trailed down her back like a silky rope of midnight.

Landry forgot how to breathe.

My shirt should not look that good.

Before he could question what in the hell she’d done with the dragons, his gaze darted to the bed. Empty. Sheets still wrecked, but no signs of scaled squatters.

Then he caught it — the front screen door cracked open half an inch.

“They’ll stay hidden,” Harmonia murmured, walking toward him. “Close, but out of sight.”

“Right,” he muttered, mentally adding telepathic dragon babysitter to her growing resume. “You sure they won’t… breathe fire or something?”

“Only if they’re startled,” she said, amused. “And besides, it’s the water spears you really have to watch out for.”

“Comforting.”

Before he could dwell on that unsettling qualifier, a booming voice echoed over the water.

“Landry! You alive, boy, or has that gator finally got ya?”

Landry gritted his teeth, shot one last glance at the alluring alien woman in his damn clothes, and stepped out onto the back deck, bracing himself like he was about to be hit by a social hurricane.

He caught the rope Tyson tossed his way and yanked the skiff up to the deck, the old boat groaning in protest. Cap cut the motor with a cough of smoke and spit into the water with a grunt.

“Boat’s been dyin’ slower than my patience lately,” Cap muttered.

Hog stood and grabbed the side to steady it. “You need to replace the motor, Pop.”

“You volunteering to pay for it?” Cap shot back.

Tyson stepped out next, offering a steadying hand to his grandfather.

Cap ignored it with a grunt. “I fall in, I fall in. Maybe the gators need a new chew toy.”

Landry chuckled. “They’d spit you out.”

“Damn right they would. Too much iron in my blood and too little nonsense.”

The men all laughed until the cabin door creaked open behind them.

Every head turned.

Harmonia stepped out, backlit by the soft light of the early morning, looking like she’d always belonged there — shirt hanging loose, jeans clinging, toes curling slightly on the old wooden deck.

“Would you gentlemen care for some refreshments?” she asked, her voice as smooth as bayou honey.

Cap’s lips pulled into a slow grin. “Well, now… I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Hog let out a low whistle. Tyson’s eyes widened, then he quickly looked away — then back again. Hog elbowed his son.

“Now that’s what you should be bringing home instead of that painted doll from New York who looked like she stepped out of a magazine. Where in the hell you find a woman like that, Landry?” he murmured, only half teasing. “We’ve known you since kindergarten — you don’t bring people home.”

Landry scowled. “I didn’t bring anyone. She… showed up.”

“Right,” Hog drawled. “Fell right outta the sky onto your porch, huh? And wearing your jeans and shirt. Amazing!”

Tyson gave him a pointed look. “You’re not exactly subtle, Da.”

Landry felt heat crawl up his neck as he led the group inside, shooting a warning glare over his shoulder.

He didn’t like the way Hog was looking at Harmonia.

Didn’t like the way Tyson flushed when she handed him a glass of tea like she’d always been there.

He really didn’t like that flutter in his chest when she smiled back at the younger man but barely glanced his way.

Cap settled into the only chair that didn’t wobble, sighing like he’d just returned from war.

Hog and Tyson took the bench near the wall.

Landry, ever the host, felt like a sudden third wheel.

Muttering dire threats under his breath, he busied himself by picking up the rolls of laminated maps — for a second time — after the dragons had knocked them over during their explorations of his cabin.

He was feeling a bit more controlled until he looked up through the screen door.

Lilypad. On the bow of Cap’s boat. Nosing a tackle box.

Pug was right behind her, sniffing at the old minnow bucket like it held the secrets of the universe.

No. No, no, no —

Landry sucked in a breath so hard he nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Everything alright, son?” Cap asked.

Landry snapped back to attention. “Yup. Peachy. So… what brings you out this far?”

Cap leaned back, his face creasing with something less playful. “We didn’t just come for sweet tea and your girlfriend’s hospitality.”

Landry opened his mouth to correct him, then closed it. There was something in Cap’s tone — gravelly, serious, more lined with concern than humor.

“Talk,” he said, crossing his arms.

Cap gave a curt nod to Hog.

Hog leaned forward, all humor gone. “We’ve been finding things. Dead things. Gators, birds, snakes — torn up bad. And not in any way I’ve ever seen.”

Tyson’s voice was quiet. “There’s a blackness spreading through the cypress groves. Like ink. Real slow. Real wrong.”

Cap spat into an old cup by his boot. “Fog, too. Not the regular kind. Hangs low, don’t burn off in the sun. Makes your ears ring if you stand in it too long.”

Landry frowned. “You think it’s pollution? Algae bloom?”

“Nah,” Hog said. “This feels different. Like… mean.”

Landry looked at Harmonia. She stood stone still, brow drawn, lips pressed tight. When she finally met his eyes, the look she gave him sent a shiver down his spine.

It wasn’t Earth’s doing.

He saw it in her gaze — this thing didn’t belong here.

“Any idea what’s causing it?” Hog asked.

Landry’s jaw tightened. “Not yet. But we’re working on it.”

Cap’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We, huh?”

Harmonia stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on Landry’s arm. “We’ll let you know the moment we have answers. In the meantime, don’t approach the fog. And avoid contact with any injured wildlife.”

Cap watched her for a long moment. “You speak like someone who’s seen this before.”

“I’ve seen enough,” she said quietly.

Tyson straightened. “You military?”

Harmonia smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

Landry ran a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath again.

Water dragons in the boat. Magical rot in the swamp. And the woman beside him? Possibly not just gorgeous, but also the only thing standing between them and something far worse.

He had no idea what tomorrow held.

But somehow, he was sure of one thing:

He wasn’t about to let any alien fog destroy the only place he had ever called home.

***

The bayou held its breath.

A thin layer of fog coiled through the cypress groves, clinging low to the water like a living thing. The air had weight — humid, electric, trembling with something ancient and wrong. The birds had fallen silent. Even the insects, ever-buzzing, ever-biting, had disappeared.

Beneath the still surface, the serpent moved.

Its body, sleek and scaled like midnight oil, slithered unseen through the brackish water, each ripple trailing shadows that whispered of things best left forgotten. It did not hunger for flesh. No, that need had been replaced. Twisted. Transformed.

Now, it fed on energy.

Fear. Pain. Power.

It had once been a simple beast, ruled by instinct and hunger — but no longer. When it had chased the water dragons through the portal, it had fallen into a realm untouched by light, where time fractured and screams echoed forever. A prison. A graveyard of forgotten gods.

And in its desperation, it had made a deal.

It had been consumed, and in its place something else had slithered back.

“You shall have your revenge,” the darkness had whispered. “In exchange… you shall be mine.”

And now, it was.

The serpent wound silently up the gnarled roots of a towering cypress, coiling around the massive trunk with grotesque grace.

Algae dripped from its belly like blood.

Its body flattened against the bark, merging with the shadows.

Eyes like molten gold narrowed as a faint rumble echoed across the water.

Puttt-puttt-puttt-putttt.

A struggling outboard motor.

A small skiff chugged through the fog, carrying three humans — one old, one middle age, one in the prime of his life. The serpent watched as they passed beneath its perch, unseen, unnoticed.

But not unmarked.

It followed, gliding down the trunk like liquid night, dropping silently into the water with a ripple no larger than a sigh. Beneath the boat, it swam, circling, coiling, tasting the air with its forked tongue.

“Foolish creatures. Blind. Soft. I will bleed them slowly… until the swamp sings with silence.”

The skiff rounded a curve in the bayou. The fog thinned slightly, revealing a floating barge — its wood weathered and sun-faded, its edges tangled with moss and water hyacinths. A dwelling sat atop it, modest, but sturdy. A cabin built by generations.

And there, on the back deck, stood a man.

The serpent paused.

Something shimmered in the surrounding air. Old magic, subtle and raw — like the kind buried deep in blood and bone, not taught in schools or etched in tomes.

“Interesting,” the creature hissed, its gaze gleaming. “You are not ordinary.”

The man — Landry Savoy — called out in greeting to the skiff. Laughter floated up from the boat as Cap spat over the side and Hog joked about gator bait.

The serpent curled tighter around a submerged log, watching.

Then the cabin door opened again.

And everything changed.

The woman stepped out barefoot, her braid trailing down her back, her eyes bright with hidden knowledge. She wore mortal clothing, but her aura —

The creature reeled as if struck.

“Stormhold.”

Its eyes flared, golden fire leaking into the water.

“Yessssss. So powerful. So unaware. The daughter of an Archmage. The key. The key to all of it!”

Rage churned beneath its scales, but also glee. Delight. An evil anticipation.

“Soon. Soon the Rings will be mine. The Mage Council will fall. And everyone, including you, Harmonia Stormhold…” its voice curled into a hiss of hate, “you will kneel.”

It watched as Harmonia offered refreshments, as the men joked, unaware that death watched them from the reeds. One of the younger men — Tyson — reached to take a glass from her hand, smiling at her with a flirty grin.

The serpent’s tail lashed the mud below, stirring up silt like a storm.

“Such powerful magic hidden inside. I will enjoy feasting on the Stormhold mageline.”

But it wasn’t ready. Not yet.

It needed more strength.

More fear.

It slipped silently back into the deep, stirring fish into frenzied flight. Turtles dove for cover. A heron took to the sky with a panicked cry.

No one noticed.

Inside the cabin, Cap settled back into his chair and scratched his chin. “Landry, you see anythin’ strange out this way lately?”

Landry blinked. “Strange how?”

Cap’s face hardened. “Black water. Fog that don’t lift. Dead animals. Like the swamp’s turnin’ sick.”

Tyson leaned forward. “It’s spreading.”

Hog’s voice dropped. “We think it’s comin’ from deeper in the marsh. Somethin’s wrong out there.”

Landry’s throat worked. He looked to Harmonia.

She didn’t speak — but her eyes said everything.

She felt it too.

Far below them, the serpent drifted in darkness, listening. Waiting.

It had tasted the edge of their fear.

It would have more.

“Time,” it whispered. “All I need is a little more time… Then the veil will fall. The lines will break. And this world will drown in shadow.”

It vanished beneath the lily-choked surface — gone without a ripple.

But the bayou knew.