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“This is not a scenic tour!” I yelled at the driver. “Hurry this up! We don’t have all night!”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
We picked up speed.
Neighborhoods blurred by. The five black SUVs held their formation behind us.
I bounced my leg, trying to calm myself.
Tisha watched me. “The Lion in love. What a sight.”
“Am I different than I’ve ever been?”
“Tonight, you dove into a pit of alligators for her.”
I gazed out the window. “And I would do even more.”
The car shot down the narrow streets, swerving around slower vehicles and pedestrians who had strayed too far from the sidewalk.
The phone was still in my hand, and I realized my grip had not loosened. I forced myself to put it back in my pocket.
Stop worrying.
I shoved out as much unease as I could.
New images of my mouse entered my mind—her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she looked at me. These memories were a balm to my fraying nerves.
Yet, they also sharpened the knife of worry.
What if something went wrong? What if this healing changed her, took away the very essence of who she is?
I tried to push these thoughts aside, to trust in Delphine’s powers and in the strength of Emily herself.
But love was both a shield and a tormentor. It protected, but it also left me vulnerable and exposed to fears I never knew existed.
Goddamn it. Never again will I leave her side, while we are here.
Once the car hit the highway, it sped up even more, cutting through the thick air of the swamps.
Still, every second, every passing of a mile marker, felt agonizingly slow.
I bounced my leg some more, trying to calm myself.
I was used to being in control, to being the one who called the shots. But in this moment, hurtling through the darkness, making my way back to Emily, I remained helplessly adrift, caught in a current of fear and uncertainty.
I gazed out the window, watching the landscape change more and more as we ventured deeper into the bayou.
The trees became increasingly gnarled and tangled. Their branches reached out like skeletal fingers. The murky waters of the bayou churned below, reflecting the ghostly glow of the moon.
Mysh. . .
My thoughts went to my mouse down in that basement.
What are they doing to you?
I couldn’t shake the image of Emily—alone and vulnerable—in the grips of some horrific ritual. My imagination painted vivid scenes of her lying there in some shitty, dimly lit basement, surrounded by the drummers and chanting—strangers.
My mind conjured up the rhythmic beat of drums, the flicker of candlelight casting strange shapes over her face.
