Bayou Moon

“He isn’t that handsome.” Cerise hesitated. “Okay, yes, he is.”

“Hrmph,” Mikita said.

“You like him!” The older woman grinned.

“Maybe a little.” Understatement of the year. “He’s an ass.”

“Hrmph!” Mikita said.

“I believe my son is trying to tell us that we’re offending his delicate sensibilities with our girl talk.” Aunt Petunia grimaced. “You look tired, dear. And you smell like humus.”

Thank you, Auntie. “It’s been a long week.”

“Go. Bathe, eat, sleep, flirt with your blueblood. It’s good for the soul.”

Mikita lumbered off to unlock the door.

“He isn’t so much on flirting,” Cerise murmured. “Either he doesn’t like me or he doesn’t know how.”

“Of course he likes you. You’re lovely. He probably just doesn’t get it. Some men have to be hit over the head with it.” Her aunt rolled her eyes. “I thought I’d have to draw your uncle Jean a giant sign. That or kidnap him and have my evil way with him, until he got the message.”

“Hrrrmph!!”

“Go,” Aunt Petunia waved her on. “Go, go, go.”

“All right, all right, I’m going.” Cerise climbed up and stepped out.

Mikita carefully closed the door behind her and locked it.

Flirt with your blueblood, yes, yes. Cerise started up the stairs. How do you flirt with a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word?

“THREE,” Ruh whispered. “Two …”

“One,” Spider said.

* * *

AN explosion shook the staircase.

Oh, Gods.

Cerise whirled, covering the ten steps in two jumps.

Heavy thuds hammered against the door. A hoarse scream ripped through the cacophony of shattering glass.

“Mikita!” She pounded the door. “Mikita, open the door!”

Something thumped inside. Boards splintered with a dry snap. Metal screeched against the stone.

“Aunt Petunia?”

A dull thud answered her and dissolved into the drum of drops on metal. The decontamination shower. Someone was alive in there.

“Mikita!”

Above her a door banged and people rushed down the staircase. Erian landed next to her, light on his feet. Above him William popped into her view and jumped, clearing the stairs in the single leap.

“The door won’t open!” she told him.

He glanced at the door and ran back up the stairs, almost knocking Ignata, her cousin, out of the way. A moment later Ignata ran down, her worried face a pale oval in the tangle of curly reddish hair. “Mom? What’s going on?”

“Something exploded in the lab. Your brother and your mother are both in there, and I can’t get through. The decontamination shower is on.”

“Mikita! Mom! Mother!” Ignata waited for a breath. “We must open the door.”

“We can’t,” Erian said quietly. “They’ve triggered the shower.”

“They’re hurt,” Ignata said.

William had taken off. She had no time to wonder where he was going.

“Erian is right.” It hurt her to say it, but it had to be said. “If we open it, we risk spreading whatever it is they’re trying to contain all over the house.”

“You two are out of your minds.”

“There are children upstairs,” Cerise said.

Ignata stared at her. “They could die in there!”

“If they do, you can blame me for it later.” Cerise clenched her teeth.

Richard appeared in the doorway above. “What’s going on?”

Erian held up his hand. “Noise. Water running.”

Ignata leaned against the wall and hugged herself, her hands white-knuckled on her forearms.

A faint scratch cut through the sounds of water. Cerise put her ear to the door. “Mikita?”

“Here.” His voice came in a hoarse whisper.

She closed her eyes for a second, overwhelmed by relief. Alive. He was alive.

“Aunt Pete?”

“Hurt.”

Oh no.

“Can you open the door?”

“Stuck … tight.”

“Hang on, Mikita,” she breathed. “Hang on. We’ll get you out.”

Think, think, think. The magic-treated neutralizing solution would kill any contamination. She had no doubt about it—her grandfather had taught Aunt Petunia to make it, and his magic never failed. “Erian, do we have any neutralizing solution left?”

“How much do you need?”

“As much as you can carry.”

He ran up the stairs, taking them two at the time.

Cerise glanced at Ignata. “I need you to move, so I can have room.”

Ignata climbed up the steps.

She had to cut the lock out. “Richard, I need a knife.”

He passed her his knife. She concentrated on the blade. The door was three inches thick. It would take more than one strike.

Cerise flashed, slashing at the door handle with the blade. A three-inch-long gouge scoured the metal.

Slash. She broke through the metal.

Slash.

Slash.

Sweat broke out on her forehead. Not fast enough.

Slash.

Slash.

Finished. A ragged crescent cut cleaved the lock from the rest of the door. Cerise rammed the door and bounced off. Stuck tight.

William landed on the stairs next to her, a roll of pale bubble gum lined with paper in his fingers. He tore a chunk of bubble gum, pressed it against the upper hinge, tore another strip, stuck it on the lower one, peeled the paper away in one single-layered movement, grabbed her hand, and ran up the stairs, pulling her into the crowded kitchen, away from the door.

“Explosives!” Richard barked.

The family pressed against the wall.

A second passed.

Another.

The explosion popped, small, almost like a firecracker going off.

William dropped her on her feet and dashed back down the stairs. Richard followed. Cerise chased them.

“Mikita, get away from the door,” Richard called out.

Erian reappeared, carrying a bucket of the neutralizing solution. Cerise grabbed one side of the bucket, he grabbed the other.