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The hedgehog still lay in a trembling ball at the edge of the basket.
“Giancarlo?”
It twitched and pulled its head out of the ball to look at her. This one, at
least, she was certain about. Gingerly, Eva picked up the tiny beast. The
spines pierced her palm making her hiss. Slowly, she placed the
creature in the casket.
Nita was sitting on the ground by the house, weaving something out of
grass. Without glancing up, Nita nodded to the house’s door. “Through
there.”
“That’s it?”
Nita wove as though Eva were not there.
Eva took a deep breath and held it, just in case, before she stepped into
the house. Bitter cold dropped on her. Shivering, she staggered forward
three paces and was out. A full moon cast the clearing into silver light.
The casket writhed in her arms. She had time to think of the tale of
“Thomas the Rhymer,” before it twisted to become a man with the hind
quarters of a cat. He strained against her. Eva wrapped her arms
around him as the clawed feet kicked, tearing through her jeans. Eva
held tight and he changed again, to a yellow canary that stabbed her
hands with its tiny sharp beak. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself for
the next change.
Giancarlo twisted, beating leathery wings against her head and arms.
Each wing buffeted her, driving the air out of her lungs. One more. She
only had to hold him through one more.
LE PORTRAIT MAGAZINE
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