by Stacey Jay
“Shocking. Those wife-beaters look so expensive.”
“A man don’t need fancy clothes when he looks like this, sweetcheeks.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes and flick my phone off silent mode, but don’t dare look down until we’re past the white goat stalking the area around the portal, pawing at it with his hoof. Or hoofing at it with his hoof, since he has hooves and not . . .
What . . . the . . . ?
“Wait up.” I veer toward the animal. It lets me get close enough to see the blue tag with the white M stuck in its ear before prancing away. “Shit.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Shit goes down a lot, Tucker.”
“Amen.”
“That’s one of Mrs. Malky’s goats.” I point after the animal trotting down the tunnel in the opposite direction. “She used to brand them, but she starting using those tags a few years ago. They changed directors at Sweet Haven and the new guy got all het up about human-rights violations.”
“Do goats have those? Not being human and all?”
“Right. But that’s not the important part.” I start walking again, figuring this story is best told on the move. Tucker’s right. As soon as Cane gets free, he’s going to come looking for me. I have to make sure he knows I’m safe. I check my phone, but there’s no service yet. I guess we need to be closer to the surface.
“What’s the important part?” Tucker asks, falling in beside me.
“The woman who owns that goat works at Sweet Haven. And Deedee was saying the other day that she doesn’t have any trouble sneaking out because Mrs. Malky’s always off campus on goat business.”
“So this woman might be involved with the people living down here.”
“People I’m assuming are the ‘good’ people Cane said were going to take care of Amity, but still . . .” I run a hand through my nearly dry hair, grateful my fingers are starting to feel normal again. “I don’t like this. That woman is supposed to be taking care of Deedee, not wandering around in the bayou above a lab where bioweapons are being developed. What if she’d caught something and brought it back to the kids?”
Tucker grunts. “Shouldn’t be a problem now. The lab is gone.”
“It might be an even bigger problem now. Look at the room we just left. If anyone opens the porthole, they could be infected. Who knows how long that mist is going to hang around? There could be chemicals leeching into the rocks and seeping into the tunnels and—And you know what?” I ask, getting angrier the more I think about it. “Even if it’s safe down here, that woman should be at the fucking home looking after the kids. There are children in need, and they’re a hell of a lot more important than that stupid goat. I hate that goat.”
“Good,” Tucker says. “I like it when you’re hating things other than me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Great. Now I feel bad again. “I’m sorry. I . . . I thought . . .”
“Quid pro quo.”
“What?”
“I think you should get your quid pro quo,” he says. “Ask me a question. I’ll answer it, whatever it is.”
My lips part and the wheels start spinning in my head. “What do you know about the pixies?” Might as well start with the most recent mystery. “How is the Big Man involved?”
“That’s two questions.”
“No, it’s one question with two parts. He said he’d been trying to round them up for a month.”
Tucker nods. “That’s about right. They broke out a few days before Grace’s body was found. At first the Big Man thought one of them might’ve killed her.”
“Why? I thought you said they weren’t violent. Broke out from where?”
“Four questions.”
“Subsidiary inquiries under the umbrella of the first question.”
He grunts. “You sound like my lawyer.”
“Why do you need a lawyer?”
“That’s definitely a second question.”
I sigh. “Why did you think the pixies killed Grace?”
“I never said I—”
“Just answer the question Mr.—” My lawyer impression falters as I realize I don’t know his last name.
“Mr. Tucker.” He grins. “First name’s Jamie.”
“Jamie.” That’s unexpectedly . . . adorable. “I like it.”
“Don’t think it’s too young sounding? Takes away from the raw sex appeal?”
I bite my lip, refusing to smile. “I don’t know. Why don’t you answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”
It’s his turn to sigh. “From what I’ve heard, the pixies and fairies mutated around the same time. But there weren’t ever as many pixies. The people working here rounded them up and kept them contained, males separate from females.”
“They escaped from this lab?”
“No. When the Big Man and his partners left, they took the pixies with them.”
“Stole them?”
“Had to. He uses a chemical they produce during digestion in the shots. But he can only take a little at a time. That wasn’t a problem when there weren’t that many people needing injections, but now . . .”
“How many of us are there? You said—”
“So a couple of months ago, the Big Man started letting them breed,” Tucker says, making it clear there are some questions he still won’t answer. “Big mistake. Turns out their magic is stronger when they’re mating. We thought illusions were all they could do, but they’ve got . . . other talents.”
“Like . . .”
He hesitates for a second. “We thought they could shapeshift.”
“Shapeshift.” I know this stuff shouldn’t faze me anymore, but it’s hard to keep the skepticism from my tone.
“You grew up around here. You’ve heard the stories about alligator men and the rugaru.”
“Yeah, but I assumed they were only stories.”
He lifts one shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not, but the pixies aren’t shapeshifters. They’re parasites. They use magic to enter a body, then set up shop in their host’s stomach lining.”
Ugh. Shudder. “I thought you said they were vegetarians.”
“They are. Usually. But they can live off what their host eats, too.”
“Like a tapeworm.”
“But they don’t just steal food,” he says, sounding as creeped as I feel. “When a pixie’s inside something, the pixie helps call the shots.”
“Mind control.” My mouth goes dry. “What about humans? Can they—”
“They can. That’s how they got out, but they can’t live inside a person for long. The pixie dies after a day or two, and takes the host out with them. They do better inside animals, but most critters start acting out if the pixie stays inside them for any length of time. That’s how the Big Man’s hunting them. He sends teams out looking for animals doing things animals don’t usually do, traps ’em, and cuts the pixie out of their stomachs.”
“Sounds like fun.”
He laughs beneath his breath. “I wasn’t complaining about spy detail, I’ll tell you that.”
Hm. Spy detail. “Why were you spying on Barbara? What’s the Big Man—”
“Nope. You’re turn.”
“You’ve spied on me for weeks. I think I deserve one more question.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should haul ass back to town and make sure your boyfriend’s all right. Then we’ll pick you up a shot from my stash, and grab some supper at your place.” I’m about to remind him I don’t cook, when he adds, “Then I think we should make a trip out to Sweet Haven.”
“What? Why?”
“You said the goat lady wasn’t taking care of Deedee the way you’d like,” he says. “You going to do something about that?”
I shake my head. “I can’t confront Mrs. Malky. Not until I know more about—”
“I didn’t say you should confront her,” he says. “I think you should take Deedee off her hands.”
; I freeze and turn to shoot him a dirty look. “I can’t take Deedee.”
“Why not?”
I laugh, but he doesn’t join in, apparently not understanding how absurd this conversation is. “They’d never let me. There are forms and rules and hearings and shit.”
He shrugs. “Then we’ll go pick up the forms.”
“You’re serious.”
“I’m serious. You can at least get things moving.”
“I don’t want to get things moving.” I start walking, faster than before. We’re getting close to the outside world. I can smell bayou and the tang of fresh rain. I should have cell service soon.
“I think you’re lying,” Tucker says.
“I’m not lying. I’m not foster-mom material. I can’t take care of Deedee. I can’t handle my own life, let alone someone else’s.”
“You don’t have to handle her. You have to love her. I think you do that already.”
I swallow, ignoring the burning feeling at the back of my throat. “I’m not sure love is enough.”
“You know . . . I gave you some bad advice. Love isn’t a mistake, not when someone needs you as much as that girl does. I saw her huggin’ on you in the Quik Mart. The way she was looking at you . . .” He trails off with a wistful hum. “It was almost as sweet as the way you were looking at her.”
“You have to stop spying on me.” I keep my eyes on my phone, praying for bars to pop up and give me something to do besides talk about Deedee. “It’s disturbing.”
“Life is disturbing. Love makes it worth it. I’d give anything to hug my kid again.”
I look up, phone forgotten. Tucker’s eyes meet mine for a bare moment that assures me he’s not joking.
“My son’s name was Ike.”
“Ike.”
“Weird name, but it fit him.”
Tucker. A dad. My mind boggles, but I manage to say, “It’s a nice name,” in something resembling a normal tone.
“It was his mama’s Daddy’s.” The side of his mouth curves up. “He was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I know you think I’m pretty, Red, but that kid was . . .” He takes a long, slow breath. “He was something else. The way he smiled . . .”
“What happened?” I ask softly, already knowing it was something awful.
“Doesn’t matter.” Tucker’s expression hardens. “He’s dead. Been dead for a while.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.” He takes my hand and holds it. I let him.
We walk on in silence as the air around us grows lighter. Around the next bend a wink of daylight appears at the end of the tunnel.
“What about your wife?” I finally ask, wondering if she’s the person Tucker’s protecting from the Big Man.
“Never had a wife. You don’t have to be married to make babies. That’s something you should remember, Red, when you’re rolling around in bed with one of those—”
“Don’t talk about my sex life,” I warn. “It really grosses me out that you’ve watched that kind of thing. Really.”
“I have a confession to make.” He squeezes the hand he still holds. “I never watched you through your bedroom window. I was messin’ with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He laughs. “Believe what you want, but I’m not all bad. I could even help you with the kid.”
“With Deedee?”
“I’m good with kids. And you’re going to need someone to work that front room over for her. I could put in a door, build a loft bed with a desk underneath so—”
“No.” I pull my hand from his. “I’m not ready for that kind of help from you. Not yet.”
He laughs again, a longer, happier laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
He turns to me, dimple popping. “You said ‘yet.’ I’m growin’ on you, ain’t I?”
I sigh and turn back to my phone, relieved to see one tiny bar. “I’m calling Cane.” Tucker is growing on me, but not nearly enough to trust him around Deedee. If she comes home with me, he’s going to be even less welcome than he is now. I can’t have invisible men popping up in my bedroom if I’ve got a kid in the next room.
A kid. Deedee. In the next room. It scares the shit out of me, but I might ask her if she’s up for it. I might ask her today.
The thought is so simultaneously frightening and awesome that I barely have time to stress about Cane answering his phone before he’s picking up.
“Annabelle? Are you okay?” he asks. “Abe called a few minutes ago and said you were—”
“I got out. I’m fine and headed back to town. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m at the station. She let me go by the gate. Like she said she would.”
“Thank god.” I take a deep breath. When I let it out my chest feels looser. “I can’t believe she—”
“I can’t either, but we shouldn’t talk about it on the phone. I’m getting ready to head to Mama’s for dinner. Want to meet me there?”
“What?” My forehead wrinkles. “Don’t you have a ton of paperwork to do?”
“Nope,” he says. “Other than those new fairies, it was a pretty quiet day.”
Pretty quiet day, my ass. I guess this means Marcy convinced Cane to keep quiet about the lab and everything else. Maybe she used the CIA card, maybe she threatened him or someone he cares about, maybe she asked nicely while Cane was strapped with explosives and he just couldn’t say no. No matter how she got the promise out of him, it seems Cane is ready to break a few more rules.
No, not rules. Laws. He’s breaking federal laws, including the one demanding he report the deaths of the two dock workers and everything he knows about their murders. It’s so . . . not him.
Even though I think it’s best we keep everything that happened today quiet until we learn more about what the government and the Big Man are up to, it troubles me. Walking the line is part of who Cane is. A big part. Will he know how to be himself with all these dark secrets on his conscience?
“You want to meet me at Mama’s in half an hour?” he asks. “We can go for a walk on the levee, talk about . . . things. Have some dinner.”
“Dinner. Right.” I pull the phone away to glance at the display—checking the time and the box warning I have three messages, at least one of them from Jin-Sang—before putting it back to my ear. “I can’t believe it’s only four o’clock.”
“Tell me about it,” Cane says.
I lean against the last patch of tiled wall. We’re close enough to see the opening to the outside world about fifty feet ahead, but the tunnel narrows significantly between here and there, becoming a tight, rough-walled cave that we’re going to have to crawl through to get out.
I hold up a finger to Tucker. He nods and wanders away, giving me the illusion of privacy.
“What’s going on with the FCC?” I ask. “Did they put out a code red? I’ve got a message from Jin, but I haven’t listened to it yet.”
“Yeah, they put out the code red. All the shuttles out of town are cancelled until tomorrow morning, and I saw a couple helicopters circling on my way back,” he says. “I haven’t talked to anyone, but Dom took a call from the FCC central office. They said the air looks clear, but they’re sending a team out tomorrow, anyway. They’re going to conduct an investigation into the possibility of a new species. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to us.”
“I’m sure they will,” I say. “But what are we—”
“I told them you were helping me answer an anonymous tip at the Gramercy docks when we spotted the swarm and took shelter in the garage,” he says, answering my unspoken question. “I’m writing up the report on the dead men we found right now. Putting it down as accidental poisoning until I learn different.”
He’s not completely ignoring the bodies. It makes me feel a little better.
“This might end up being a federal case, but even if it isn’t, Dom and I aren’t going to be able to finish the i
nvestigation or remove the bodies until the FCC lifts the code red. So there’s not—”
“You and Dom can’t go out there. You’ve only got one iron suit and didn’t you leave it—”
“I’m going to borrow a couple of suits from the FBI,” he says. “Agent Rideau said he’d have some sent up from New Orleans when he sends the car back.”
“What?” Surely I heard him wrong. “He did? When did you—”
“Talked to him a few minutes ago. He’s giving Abe a ride back to town before heading to New Orleans in my cruiser. Said he figured a suit loan was the least he could do.” He pauses, then adds in a stiffer voice. “He wanted me to tell you he’d talk to you soon.”
“Oh. Okay,” I say, not knowing quite how to feel about that.
It makes me crazy that Hitch had the balls to leave a message for me with Cane, but it’s also kind of a relief. He’s taking a step away, back to Stephanie and the baby and his life in New Orleans. I know there will come a time when we’ll have to talk about the lab and Stephanie’s part in it and where we go from here, but I’ve got my own life, and it feels like our past has finally been put to bed.
Bed. I’m going to need another one. I can probably find a frame in the junkyard, but I’ll have to special order the mattress from New Orleans. But maybe—if I file the paperwork tonight and Deedee gets to come home with me in the next week or so—I can borrow a mattress from Bernadette. I know she has a daybed in her guest room.
“Annabelle? You still—”
“Cane?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to skip dinner and go start some paperwork at Sweet Haven.” I don’t know where he and I are going from here, but he deserves to know Deedee might be along for my half of the ride. “I want Deedee to come live with me. Assuming she’ll still have me after—”
Cartoon cats crying crystal tears flash on my mental screen.
“Gimpy! Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Gimpy’s at the vet again,” I say, pacing away from the wall. “I totally forgot. I have to go check on him, too, so I really can’t—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Do what you need to do. I’ll swing by your house tomorrow morning before work. We can talk then.”
