Page 47 of Touch of Evil

“Um,” I say.

Okay, where to begin.

Bren backs us away. “Holy shit. He is fucking a fish.”

“Gerald is actually just feeding,” I explain.

Bren doesn’t believe me, and why would he? Farrah’s eyes are spinning, her gills and lips cyclically flapping.

“What the hell is going on here?” Bren roars. His jaw pops open when Merche pokes her head around a large pile of broken rock. “Emme, is that a goddamn hamster?”

Merche gives a little wave with her paw, her whiskers twitching anxiously. “I, um, no,” I reply. “Actually, I think she might be a guinea pig.”

Bren is not in his happy place. He reels on me. “I leave you alone for fifteen fucking seconds and this is the shit I find you in? Fish girl and leech boy going at it—”

Gerald stops feeding just to yell at him. “I need to eat, man.”

“—and a naked mouse with hooters watching the show,” Bren snarls. “This is some PT Barnum freak show, Emme. We’re getting out of here,now. Guardian of the Earth or not, I draw the line at this bullshit. Christ, I thought you were dead.”

He reaches for me, only to freeze when my eyes sting. I specifically told myself I wouldn’t cry, except here I am. With Bren this close, with him being exactly how he is, protective, mouthy, and fierce, it’s like I can cry, I can release those feelings I pushed aside.

He’s right. I almost died. Somehow, I lived and now he’s with me.

Fear replaces the anger sharpening his features. “Jesus,” he says, clutching me against

him. “That thing, it hurt you, didn’t it?”

All I can do is nod.

Bren stiffens. “How bad?”

I release a breath. “Pretty bad,” I admit.

I wipe away my tears and look up at him. “There’s a lot you need to know, and we don’t

have much time. That thing that grabbed me, she’s still out there and she’s coming for all of us.”

Fury shadows his face. “All right,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

He takes my hand and leads me as far away from Farrah and Gerald as we can manage. It’s hard to find a place to stand. In the short time that’s passed, the pool has expanded significantly and there’s not much left of the beach.

I speak fast, telling Bren all I know, including my plan.

“I don’t know about this, Em,” Bren mutters. “I say we ditch the fugly mutants and find a way out on our own.” He winks at Merche when she looks up at him. “How’s it going, fuzz face?”

Merche wrinkles her nose at him, her whiskers all a flutter. “I think she’ll prefer it if you call her Merche,” I tell him.

Bren grimaces when Gerald steps away from Farrah and Merche throws off her cloak and scrambles to him. Merche exposes her neck, offering herself eagerly. I expect jealousy from Farrah but she barely notices. She throws herself into the pool and starts doing laps, eager to cool her flushed skin.

Drops of Tahoe’s water land on my head. A new pinhole has formed in the ceiling.

“Damn it,” Bren mutters. “This whole place is coming undone.”

He lifts me and places me on an incline where the sand is less moist. It’s strange. He could have just asked me to move. He didn’t have to touch or move me as he did.

“Bren, I realize your hesitant to align with the others and that you’re anxious to leave. I am, too,” I whisper. “But I’m not certain we can find our way out without some help and I’m less certain we can take Una on without them.”

Bren rubs his jaw, considering our choices. “Em, all this is not what I expected,” he says. “Except while I don’t trust them, I do trust you. We’ll try it your way.”

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