Page 122 of The Tenth Muse

That makes no sense.

I realize I’ve said the words out loud instead of just thinking them.

“It’s hard to explain, her food preferences are…strange.” She gives me another nervous grimace, “At best.”

The trap tilts itself up toward the ceiling, opening up slowly. It makes a wheezing-type of sound, and then the air is suddenly filled with pollen-like powder.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to see, we’re both coughing, swatting to clear the green fog but it’s everywhere. The entire store is engulfed in the plant’s spores.

My eyelids feel heavy, “What is that?” I say, but Runa is already on the ground, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to maintain consciousness.

I fall on top of her, muscles sluggish and numb to feeling.

And everything goes black.

five

. . .

Runa

Time is hazy.

It feels slower than normal, though no part of my body seems to notice, my heart still drumming faster than ever inside. My muscles are heavy, slow to move and impossible to lift. My lungs struggle, each breath harder to take than the last. It feels as if my chest is being crushed.

I’m slow to open my eyes, each lid almost sticking together, staying shut longer than I want. Cotton candy pink tufts of hair obscure my vision, I can’t make out anything except the feel of a body on me.

America groans–no, she moans.

The sound registers between my thighs like a metal fork in a wall socket.

I wrap my arms around her, squeezing tight, her voice igniting something like a protective instinct inside of me.

What the hell just happened?

“Did we fall asleep?” She half-mumbles, her face still pressed to my breasts.

“I think Chewieput usto sleep.” I grit, annoyed at the overgrown foliage.

The girl perks up, her eyes darting wide open once she realizes the compromising position she is in. She crawls backward to get off of me, but she’s just as woozy as I am from whatever was in that stuff.

I can barely see straight.

She wipes her hand over the green dust coating the ground, it sticks to her skin but comes off with just a flick of her fingers. “What is it?” I ask her.

America rubs the powder between her thumb and index finger, bringing it to her nose and wrinkling it at the smell. “Pollen, definitely.”

I groan, lifting my hand up to my temple to massage the throbbing, “I feel like I’m hungover.”

The girl nods, “She’s never done this before, then?”

I haven’t even finished shaking my head and America’s already pulling a little notebook out of her crossbody bag and jotting something down onto it. “I suspect this trap will die in the next few days, she probably won’t feed, even if she cries of hunger.”

Her voice is sad, like she understands how hard this must be for Chewie.

“I wish there was something we could do to make it easier for her.” I whisper, gently grazing the back of my hand along Chewie's leaves.

America’s eyes perk up, “Wait a minute!” She practically bounces to a stand, leaving the room in such a frenzy that it leaves Chewbacca wailing.

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