Beside me, Juniper giggled.
“Yes. You have. Now, go join the others,” she told Kevin and me, gesturing to the dance square.
“Good evening, Missus Windsong,” Juniper greeted my mother politely.
“Juniper, dear. I didn’t see you there. No wonder Primrose was distracted. You have such wonderful friends, Primrose, such elegant and successful women with such serious businesses. You know, Juniper, I was wondering if you would look at this mole on my neck. I have tried everything to get rid of it with a rosemary tonic, but?—”
“Come on, Kevin,” I said, gesturing for the potato man to join me in the dance square. For once, I was glad for an escape from both my mother’s constant jabs about my work not being serious enough and her physical complaints.
Looking over my shoulder, I mouthed sorry to Juniper then turned to face my punishment.
Behind me, I heard Granik try—and fail—to escape Marley’s clutches.
We were both trapped in country dance purgatory.
When the reel started, Kevin and I began our dance.
It went about as expected. He knew the moves, but he was so…lifeless. No fire. No spark. Just…potato man.
“What do you do for fun, Kevin?”
He blinked, as if he’d never considered the question before. “I…collect bugs.”
“Bugs. What kind of bugs?”
“All kinds.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
He paused in our dance and opened the pocket of his shirt, revealing a beetle tucked inside. “Mainly beetles. This was on the sunflowers.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Do you have a terrarium for them at home?”
“No. Why?”
“So they have somewhere to live?”
“I wait until they die and then display them in shadow boxes.”
“Oh, I see…” I said, suddenly envisioning the walls of his home covered in dead creatures, their faces all looking at me in nightmarish terror. “Well… What about your work? Do you enjoy your work?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from nightmare fuel.
“I go and do the work.”
“But don’t enjoy it?”
“I don’t dislike it.”
“I see,” I said, praying the reel ended soon.
Dying here. I am literally dying here.
I locked eyes for a moment with Granik who appeared to be in similar pain.
“Pets? Do you have any pets?” I asked, suddenly worried about some poor, unsuspecting caticorn whose fate was to be displayed in a shadow box.
