Something moving, disturbing twigs with their weight. Or a someone. Watching us. I try to think which would be worse, a beast or a human.
Heavy green ferns part, the massive head of a tiger emerging. It slinks toward us, five hundred pounds of stealth and teeth and speed, ocher eyes narrowing, trained on mine. I think I can hear it purr as it assesses what a satisfying meal we’ll make.
Morgan sucks in a sharp breath, whispers, “Any chance that looks like a unicorn to you?”
Thirty-Five
Sleep under the dog star and dream a wish to life.
Local Legends and Superstitions,
Tempest Family Grimoire
Beast. Beast isworse.
“I see a tiger,” I whisper.
Strong hands grip my waist. “So do I.”
Whenever I think of the wordpanic, I conjure up lurid colors and high, pounding volume. Bodies running, shouting, pandemonium, confusion. A blur.
This panic is silent. Falling Rock is calm, my vision crystal-clear. I have absolutely no idea what to do, the reality unfolding around us so surreal that I cannot think beyond fear. We must be hallucinating. There cannot be atigerin the woods.
Morgan slides his body in front of mine, shielding me. This is a terrible time to be distracted by the ram tattooed on his back, outlined in deep blue dots. He has got a truly magnificent back.
Out of all the ways we could die in this forest, being shredded by a tiger before I’ve gotten the chance to appreciate all that Morgan’s body has to offer has got to be the most unpleasant. “I feel like I’m underdressed for this.”
“Shhh,” he murmurs.
“I’m so sorry this is happening while we’re naked in a pond. It’s my fault.”
“Shhh.”
We’ve switched bodies. It’s the only explanation for why I cannot keep my mouth shut. “God, I love looking at you with your clothes off.”
“I appreciate that,” he whispers, “and I promise to give you as many opportunities as you want in the future, but please make like a tree and shut up.”
“That’s not the phrase.”
“Trees are very quiet.”
The tiger, listening to us hiss at each other, loses interest and prowls around the spring, nosing up to the tent. Morgan tenses, and I know he’s thinking of Forte curled up inside, snoozing in his salt circle. But the tiger keeps walking, eventually flopping down on a patch of leaves not far from where we stand.
And it doesn’t get back up.
I can’t calculate how much time passes before I finally venture: “Is it…asleep?”
“I think so.” Morgan brings his hands close to his face, and I can guess that he’s analyzing how wrinkled his fingers have become. “Staying in hot water for too long is bad for you.”
“Being eaten is also bad for you. I’m not getting out.”
He laces a hand through mine. “We have to.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Oh my god. Okay.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I will slowly climb out, get dressed, and then I’m gonna put your clothes over there.” He points to a bush on the edge of the spring that’s farthest away from the tiger. “Okay? Zelda, we are going to be all right.”
“You cannot possibly know that.”
