When I opened my eyes, I was lying on squishy, wet, uneven ground, and insects were buzzing around me. My head lolled to the side, and I blinked past the daze and confusion until I could focus my attention on something. Anything. But even before I could see much at all, I knew from the smell of wet moss, the croaking of toads, and chirping of night birds that I was in the swamp.
Careful not to slip into the questionably sturdy ground beneath me, I rolled on my shoulder and reached around blindly for something solid to hold onto, like a tree root, a rock, or a vine. But my fingers succeeded only in digging into soil riddled with creepy, crawling insects and coming away caked with wet earth.
When I saw the tree standing not far from where I lay, I decided to roll onto my front and start crawling, one hand and leg in front of the other, until finally I reached it, and I was able to use the trunk to bring myself to a standing position. It was a cypress tree, and fingers of Spanish moss hung from it, tickling my face and hair like hundreds of invisible fingers.
I kept blinking and squinting my eyes, trying desperately to clear the daze, willing my sight to focus, but it was dark out here. The new moon was out, offering nothing in the way of illumination. Toads croaked in the distance, an owl hooted in a tree somewhere, maybe the tree I was standing next to now, while gnats buzzed loudly around me. That earthy, dirty swamp smell assaulted my nostrils, and my head was starting to pound. Each of these things painted a picture of where I was, which was useful because in this darkness, seeing anything except for the vague impressions of trees was impossible.
Alright, don’t panic. Don’t panic. Just think. You don’t know where you are, can’t call for help, but you’re definitely in the middle of the swamp and there could be gators out here. First things first—light.
I took a series of calming breaths and let my left hand stretch out in front of me, palm facing up toward the sky. “Lumière,” I whispered, taking a page out of Nicole’s book, and my hand began to radiate silver light, touching tree trunks, branches, and even glinting off the bodies of gnats as they buzzed around. It wasn’t exactly the same effect Nicole had when she invoked the magick, but it was the only thing I could think of, and it was at least enough.
Slowly I moved away from the cypress, keeping my eyes low and walking in a straight line toward wherever there wasn’t a body of water. I used to be a girl scout, and also happened to be well enough into cosmology that I could pick out different constellations in the night sky. As luck would have it, there weren’t many clouds in the sky, making it easy enough for me to pick out the North Star and get my bearings.
If I was in the Ninth Ward, and I had been dumped in a nearby swampy area, then what I wanted to do was head north. I would be walking for hours, but eventually I’d hit the interstate, or water, around either of which I would find lights, if not people.
I had been stupid to go and talk to Tamara alone. This was the thought keeping me company as I started on the long trek through the swamp. She was clearly bat-shit insane, and dropping me in the middle of a swamp proved it if nothing else would. Thinking about it now, stupid wasn’t the word to describe my decision to go and talk to Tamara alone. There should be a medal for people who screw up as much as I just had.
A twig snapped somewhere nearby, and I almost jumped out of my skin.
Scanning around in a wide arc with my glowing hand stretched above my head like a lantern, I saw nothing of note. The swamp was alive and moving, but there was nothing to suggest what could have caused that noise. Still, my heart began to thump against my chest, and my head started to swim. Maybe it was the knock or the blood loss, maybe it was a little bit of both, but the dizziness seemed to be getting worse.
I realized then the light wasn’t bringing me too much comfort. In fact, the darkness wasn’t the worst thing about this place; it was the noise. There was rustling, and bubbling, and swishing, and I didn’t know where any of it was coming from. The twig snap had been loud, louder than the other sounds, but the others were there all the time, as an awful, unsettling background noise. Whether caused by a gator, a snake, a fish, or something much darker—like the rougarou—, the bayou was alive, and I was not safe here on my own.
I turned again and found west by way of the North Star, then continued on my walk, but something was different. The impression that shadows were shifting quickly around me, zipping between trees to avoid detection, stuck like a catchy old song I couldn’t shake. Then a thought crossed my mind—a dreadful, panic-inducing thought.
What if I’m not alone out here?
Immediately, I went on the defensive, my back stiffening as the hairs on the nape of my neck rose on their points. I remained as still as I could and watched the swamp for movement, turning slowly. For the most part, the area was still. Pockets of air in puddles bubbled to the surface while slithery things crawled low to the ground. But my line of sight was as static as a landscape painting of the swamp itself.
That was, until the air began to shimmer, and the darkness spat out a soft, green glow.
The light seemed to have pushed itself into existence out of nothing. I stared at it, backing away slowly but also mesmerized by the way it swirled and shimmered like a mirage—a twisting, shifting green flame no bigger than a cat, burning between the trees. And from it, a small creature emerged. One I recognized.
It was an imp.
The imp came toward me, not walking slowly or carefully, but running—a small pixie with pink skin, green eyes, floppy, pointed ears and a rat like tail, leaving a trail of green fire as it ran. If I hadn’t known what it was, if I hadn’t encountered any of them before, I may have started to run, but I stayed where I was and even knelt to greet this oddly adorable thing.
But I didn’t see happiness in its eyes, or even friendliness. Its mouth was open in a wide O of fear, its hands up and flailing. The imp seemed to be pointing at me and shouting, though I couldn’t understand what it was saying. I hadn’t learned their language, and Jared wasn’t here to translate. It was only when death’s icy cold breath caressed the back of my neck that I knew; the imp wasn’t pointing at me, but over my shoulder.
I spun around, palms up and crossed in front of my face, and bid magick to come flowing through me like water blasting out of a fire hydrant, striking whatever was behind me.