The cruel one’s sister pushed the box to the floor and scooted closer to the trickster. “Don’t you like it?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
Ah. But he did. It was a cage. The trickster hated cages—even tiny wooden cages.
“It’s a cricket,” the cruel one’s sister said happily. “I got you a pet.”
The trickster blinked and then held the cage high so he could look at the insect inside it. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened.
The cricket crouched in the corner, its forewings fluttering, its legs moving agitatedly. The wind moaned and stroked over its spindly parts. It smelled like new pennies. It smelled like luck.
“You don’t like crickets?” The cruel one’s sister sounded happier than she should.
The trickster grimaced. “Sorry. No.”
The cricket made a small clacking noise and sprang against the cage’s bars. It thudded back to the cage floor, stunned. It lay on its side, twitching.
The trickster winced.
“I made it,” the cruel one’s sister said, watching his reaction, “because I thought you would like it. But if you don’t, you can kill it. They squash as easily as a cockroach. Here?—”
She took the cage and began to unlatch the tiny door.
The wind gasped and pushed the latch down.
Would the trickster kill his lucky one?
The wind whispered in his ear, It’s the lucky one. It’s your . . .
The trickster brushed it aside, ignoring the wind. It fluttered and bounced through the cage’s bars.
“No,” the trickster said, taking the cage back. “Thank you.” He frowned at the cricket. It was hopping against the cage walls. “It wants out.”
“Maybe.” The cruel one’s sister shrugged. “Maybe not. It doesn’t know what it wants. A cricket is so stupid that if you put water in the cage, it’ll drown itself in it.”
The trickster’s gaze was riveted on the insect. “I’m not sure that’s stupid.”
The wind thought perhaps the trickster was thinking of himself in the cage.
“It is. Trust me. I’ve had a cricket. Wonderful pets, but very stupid. If you let it out, it’ll be dead in minutes. Eaten, crushed, smashed. Do you want to know how to care for it?” The cruel one’s sister bounced on the bed, seeming excited about the prospect.
The wind had never seen her so animated.
The trickster frowned at the cricket. “All right.” He didn’t sound as if he liked the cricket or wanted to care for it. In fact, the wind thought the trickster was probably going to drop it on a sidewalk as soon as the cruel one’s sister left, no matter what she said.
“This cricket eats aphids and insect larvae. Some like leaves, fruit, seeds, but not this one. This one only eats aphids and larvae. It’ll get sick if you feed it anything else.”
The trickster gave the cricket a disgusted look. “Why?”
“Just because. Also, it likes to be near you, so leave it on your nightstand. It’ll want to sleep nearby. It’ll like watching you. You might think it’s disconcerting, but that’s just what they do.”
“Really?”
The trickster was trying his best to pretend he liked the gift, but he was failing. Even the wind could see he didn’t want it.
“Oh yes. This is a very friendly cricket,” the cruel one’s sister said. “The best part is . . .”
The wind waited. The trickster waited.
