Page 45 of Bad Bunny
I can feel it, the egg, just over the rise. Foreign magic thrumming through the night air.
Alien. Ominous.
Who built it? Where did it come from? What does it want?
I did not ask those questions of my father when I came here as a boy, and now I curse my oversight. I had no way of knowing, then, how important it would become.
Vibrations from the egg call to me, like it recognizes something in me. How we both come from distant lands. I ignore it. Guided by moonlight, I move deeper into the garden toward the area that’s been developed to resemble a farm. Cows low softly from the direction of the petting zoo. A single cricket sings from the bushes.
Raised beds stretch in neat rows beneath low canvas covers meant to guard against the chill. I pull one aside and duck beneath it. Tomatoes hang heavy from vines, protected from the night air. I pull one free with a soft pop and put it in my mouth. Juice explodes across my tongue when my teeth close over on it. I eat another and then another. A cucumber snaps cleanly from its vine. Carrots come next. Radishes. Snap peas. I eat my fill, tucking extras into my pockets, until my stomach loses its hollow feeling. I’m always ravenous after shifting, even in my homeland. Here I’ve done it four times in two days. That’s a lot, even for me, and I’m guessing I’ll need to do it again tomorrow.
I emerge from under the plastic sheeting, still chewing, and my gaze drifts back toward the rise where the egg rests, its strange pulse stirring the night air.
It still sings out to me. An incessant hum. A subtle pull.
I find myself moving that way without meaning to, until the egg rises before me, luminous in the night. Pale yellow, the same color as the moon overhead, it flickers. From the outside, it stands nearly ten feet tall, its base as wide as a car. Nora said they use a crane to move it to the garden every Easter.
Inside it must bemuchlarger. Large enough to hold the treasures I’ve heard about for years.
I place my hand against its rough surface and feel a steady throb that echoes in my mind.
There is an awareness here.
It reaches for me, like a hand flattening against my own.
I wait for a click. A seam. Something.
If I could open it now and retrieve the amulet and sword without risking Nora, it would solve everything.
Please,I beg it silently.Please open.
I trace its cracks with my eyes. There are more now. Even more than in the photo Nora showed me. I wait for one of them to widen, just enough for me to slip through.
Nothing happens.
The egg sits, silent and uncaring.
I think of the sword it contains, Thornreaper. The only thing strong enough to break my uncle’s winter magic.
I think of the Amulet of Springtide. The only thing strong enough to protect Nora. She does not know what it does yet. I have not told her. Deliberately, I kept that knowledge from her. Almost from myself.
Because I hate it.
Hate what it will cost when she wears it around her neck.
Hate how it will ruin me.
I told her it washes everything clean. That it will remove all my world from her, and that’s true. When she places it over her head and lets it rest on her chest, nestled against her heart, it will nullify all my power over her…including the bond that binds us together. It will break the tie so my uncle will no longer know her as mine.
My claim.
My mate.
So if I can’t defeat him, he will not be able to come back and find her. To rape and torture her in my name, which I know, without a doubt, he will do. To murder her and her mother in the most unspeakable way.
I cannot,will not, let that happen.
Once she wears the amulet, she will forget all about me.
