Page 95 of Tracking Snow

It’s Not for Brownies

TWO

"This was not a good idea," I say, as wings flutter every which way around us in Snow's small apartment.

Ariel and I stare wide-eyed at the flutterbuns that have found various perches in the living room. From the window ledge to the top corner of the television, and atop a bookcase.

As soon as we brought the cage of vampire rabbit creatures to Snow's apartment, she opened the door, releasing them without warning.

They exploded in a frenzy, trying to escape their prison. Almost as soon as she released them, Snow announced she'd be right back and to watch them for her, then darted out the front door.

Ariel had been on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes tired and red-rimmed from crying over Carolee, but now they’re wide as saucers as she, and I warily watch the newcomers to the apartment.

"Err, I'm going to go to bed," Ariel says, transferring from the couch to her chair seamlessly, still shooting a wary gaze around the room. "I took a metric ton of melatonin already and I plan to jam earplugs in and pretend like none of this is happening."

She rolls carefully, eyes darting every which way as if expecting an attack, but none of the flutterbuns seem interested.

"And Seven, Six, whoever the hell you are right now," Ariel says, pausing at the threshold of her room. "I'm putting it on you to get this place cleared out by tomorrow. Also, the lock on our bathroom is broken, so no barging in unannounced. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, wanting to sound sarcastic, but it comes out entirely sincere.

We’re not afraid of her, One reiterates with impatience.

The rest of us silently disagree.

Ariel narrows her eyes at me in consideration for another beat before disappearing into her room.

It's not long before Snow returns with a large paper grocery bag clutched to her chest.

"What is that? Where did you go? Don’t you think we should have just released them outside?" The questions fall from my mouth quickly.

Normally, I'm the laid back one, but nothing about this situation makes me feel at ease.

My skin crawls as I feel the many red eyes on me, and I get the sensation that as soon as the flutterbuns are acclimated they'll move onto plotting my delicious death.

Snow drops the heavy brown bag on the counter, then reaches under a cabinet and pulls out a large baking tray.

Are we making brownies? Five asks with a little too much hope.

I don't think so, Six says skeptically but at this point none of us underestimate what Snow might suddenly do.

I hope it's brownies, Five says quietly.

Then Snow crosses to the window above the fire escape and shoves it up one-handed. Warm, damp air rolls in.

"They stay until they're ready and then they can leave when they feel like it." She returns to the bag and removes what looks like a partially full trash bag. "I figured even though they were lured in with food, they'd be stressed and hungry. And we can't let them back out into the wild just yet. What if the HAMs are out there sharpshooting these poor little guys? I think it would just be safer if we made sure they were okay here for a while."

Snow flips the bag over, and several pounds of raw beef slap onto the tray.

Wings erupt from every corner of the room. Air gusts over my face, stirring the warm, coppery smell until my stomach turns. The flutterbuns launch themselves at the meat in a frantic blur of white fur, red eyes, and tiny snapping fangs.

All but one.

A single flutterbun remains inside the cage, wedged against the wire where one wing is twisted at a wrong angle. His little body rises and falls too fast, exhausted from fighting a trap that didn’t break. His nose bumps the metal once. Twice.

Then he looks right at me with wet red eyes.

My heart twists at the sight of it for some strange reason. It shouldn't.