A surge of panic welled up in him at the thought of slowly turning into a monster, but he squelched it. That had to have been a bluff, even if Norris being stuck as a fish wasn’t. How would that even work? It was probably impossible.
But either way, he owed Norris. The man had come all the way to the swamp to warn him about Balin—correctly, as it had turned out. Norris had protected him and Fen, and had gotten stuck as a fish for his pains.
“I’ll—we’llfigure out a way to get you out of this,” Carter promised. “Will you be okay in the swamp till then?”
Norris flapped his fins.
“Was that a yes?” Carter asked.
Norris flapped his fins.
Fen rolled her eyes. “Norris, let’s set flap for yes, no flap for no. Will you hate it in the swamp?”
Norris didn’t flap.
“Will you starve to death?”
Norris didn’t flap.
“Will you be fine?”
Norris flapped.
Fen grinned. “Want to go terrorize the hunters and make sure they stay on their island till the police collect them?”
Norris flapped hard enough to splatter Carter’s clean clothes with swamp water. He heaved a sigh.
“Okay, Norris,” Carter said. “As soon as I figure out how to change you back, I’ll come to the swamp and send up a flare. If I can’t figure it out, I’ll fetch you and take you to Eunice.”
Norris flapped, did a barrel roll, and swam away.
Carter was left standing on the island with Fen and the Defen—his team. He reeked of swamp water. Everyone knew his terrible secret. And he might be slowly turning into a monster.
He didn’t think he’d ever been happier.
Chapter 16
A familiar squeakcaught Fen’s attention. Sugar glided in, landed on her shoulder, and dropped something cold and wet into her cleavage.
She let out a yelp and yanked it out. It proved to be a Leatherman multi-tool, dripping with swamp water.
“Thanks, Sugar.” Turning to Carter, she asked, “Is this yours?”
“I think it must’ve belonged to one of the hunters.” Carter flipped out one of the tools, a large knife. “Sugar probably thought you needed a weapon.”
“Aww. How sweet. Though a bit late.” Fen popped the Leatherman into her purse. “It’s mine now.”
Precious flew in, her usually fast and elegant flight jerky and slow. She was clutching something black in her taloned paws, which she dropped into Carter’s waiting hands.
“My gun! You’re the best, Precious.” He examined it. Like the Leatherman, it was dripping with swamp water. So was Precious. “She must’ve dived into the swamp to get it back for me. And the Leatherman, too, since Sugar’s not wet. What a sacrifice. I know she doesn’t like getting dirty.”
Carter lovingly dried her off with the least swampy parts of his own shirt.
“I never thought I’d see the day that Carter Howe voluntarily messes up his own clothes,” remarked Pete.
Carter gave him a sardonic smile. “You still won’t. These aren’t mine.”
“All aboard,” Roland called.
