“Everyone stay by the barre,” I call, using my firm instructor voice. “Miss Bianca will be right back from her break, and?—”
Another shriek. This one is followed by giggling, which is somehow more concerning.
“It tickles!” someone yells from inside the closet. “Its tail tickles!”
Tail?
I move toward the costume closet, my brain cycling through rational explanations. A cat, maybe. Bellamy Cove has plenty of strays, and they’ve been known to slip through open windows. Or a raccoon—we had one get into the community center last year, and the resulting chaos had made the local paper.
But raccoons don’t have tails that tickle. And raccoons definitely don’t have?—
I throw open the closet door.
Two enormous yellow eyes blink up at me from a pile of practice tutus.
The creature is small, not more than two feet tall at most, with bat-like ears that swivel toward me like satellite dishes. Tiny horns curl from its forehead. Its skin is a mottled gray-blue, currently shifting toward a panicked purple as it registers my presence.
In its arms, it clutches approximately seven ribbons, three dance shoes, and a juice box.
“Oh,” I say, because my brain has apparently decided to take a vacation. Everyone knows supernatural creatures exist but, at least in Bellamy Cove, they are generally discreet enough to be politely ignored. No one mentions the fact that Solomon Abbott is a selkie as well as the best lobster fisherman in town. Just like it’s common knowledge that old Jamie Allenby is a werewolf, but everyone simply avoids his property during a full moon and accepts his presence the rest of the month.
This creature is not discreet. He is very clearly Other as he hisses, then bolts out of the closet.
“Monster!” Jilly screams with delight as it rockets past her, trailing ribbons like a small, demonic comet. “The monster’s coming!”
Chaos erupts.
The children scatter in twelve different directions, some chasing the creature, some fleeing from it, and at least two unable to decide. The little gray-blue thing ricochets off walls, knocks over my silk plant, and somehow manages to acquire additional stolen items during its frantic circuit of the studio including a hair tie from Emma’s ponytail, a water bottle from the parent observation area, and what appears to be someone’s car keys.
Mrs. Delacroix screams. Her daughter, oblivious to her mother’s terror, claps her hands and yells, “Catch it! Catch it!”
I should be panicking. I should be calling animal control or the police or possibly an exorcist. Instead, I find myself frozen in place, watching the creature vault over the balance beam with surprising grace, my brain finally connecting dots I should have connected weeks ago.
Yellow eyes in the mirror. Missing practice shoes. Papers that vanished into thin air.
Mal, blaming “drafts.”
The front door bangs open.
“Nix!” Mal’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Nix, get over here right now!”
Nix freezes mid-leap. Its ears flatten against its skull, and i skin shifts from panicked purple to a guilty, muddy green.
“Squeeeeak,” it says, in what I can only describe as an apologetic sound.
“Don’t you squeak at me.” Mal strides across the studio, completely ignoring the appalled parents and enchanted children. “We talked about this. We had extensive conversations about appropriate behavior in public spaces. What part of ‘stay in the apartment’ was unclear?”
Nix’s lower lip trembles. The effect is disturbingly adorable.
“The small humans have ribbons,” it says, in a high-pitched, scratchy voice. “Shiny ribbons. Nix wanted shiny.”
“Nix can’t have shiny things that don’t belong to Nix.”
“But—”
“No.” Mal snatches the juice box from its grip. “And what is this? You don’t even drink juice.”
“It has a straw.” Nix clutches the remaining stolen items tighter. “Nix likes straws.”
