Page 43 of Bad Bunny
I slow without meaning to.
There’s nowhere left to go.
Open water stretches out ahead of me. To my left, the dock is packed with tourists leaning over the railings to watch the boats come in. To my right, restaurants and shops press close, but the sidewalks are choked with people. There are no taxicabs to jump into, no bikes to steal and ride away into the sunset on.
A sob tries to work its way up my throat.
I turn.
They’re already stepping onto the street a few blocks away but getting closer. The men who aren’t really men. They don’t even try to hide their unearthliness. Even from this distance slit-like pupils stare back at me, tinged pink. Noses twitch and snuffle.
They’re coming for me.
My chest tightens. My lungs burn. My legs feel like they’re made of wet sand.
I can’t outrun them.
I can’t fight them.
I—
A voice cuts through the panic.
“All aboard! Last call for the sunset cruise!”
My head snaps toward the sound.
A sailboat idles at the end of the dock, gangplank down, its engine rumbling low. Sailors are already untying it from the pier, piling thick rope into coils at their feet. A crew member in a navy polo shirt waves the last of the tourists aboard, ready to pull the plank.
He calls out to me. “Ma’am? You’d better hurry! Aren’t you joining us?”
I don’t answer.
I run.
Chapter six
I'd Steal Anything For You
Sorren
I’m still slightly seasick from the boat ride when we reach the butterfly sanctuary. The building is made almost entirely of glass, three stories high with its panes curving upward in graceful arches. Through the windows I glimpse lacy ferns and vibrant flowers, winding stone paths, and fountains that bubble softly. Its lights are dimmed so that it glows gently from within, warm and golden, like a lighthouse in a storm.
I break the lock on the back door easily. Just twist the knob right off.
Nora tenses beside me. She’d argued that we would set off an alarm. That there would be flashing lights and sirens. I told her I doubted anyone was protecting the butterflies with that degree of enthusiasm. Especially in a publicly run botanical garden.
No lights come on.
No alarms sound.
Only heat spills out to meet us when I open the door, warm and damp, thick with the scent of soil and growing things.
I step inside first, scanning the space automatically, though I sense no immediate threat. The glass walls rise overhead, trapping the day’s warmth. Moonlight filters through the ceiling in pale silver bands.
Something brushes my shoulder.
I still.
