Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

E ven after a house decontamination, a glass of wine, and a hot bath, sleep eluded me. I visited my cozy reading chair in the backyard and waited for the greeting that very likely would never come.

After what happened to Hugo, he'd probably never want to talk to me again. Whether or not it was actually my fault, he'd blame me for turning into a rabbit. How could he not?

Still, I hoped against all odds that he'd show.

I couldn't feel him or hear any sign of him on the other side of the fence. Logically, I knew I was completely alone.

Even so, I whispered, "Hugo?"

Only silence answered.

I waited there for longer than I should have, and Hugo never showed.

Three days passed in the normal fashion. Nothing weird happened. I kept my lips to myself. Each night, I returned to our spot, filled with cautious optimism, only to be disappointed.

I found myself thinking about driving by the fire station on my way to work. I found myself thinking about him all the time.

But the longer we went without our midnight rendezvous, the harder it was to make up excuses. He didn't want to talk to me. I couldn't blame him. And as a responsible adult, I needed to respect his wishes.

I blinked at my computer screen. The recording had ended, and even though I'd listened to it in its entirety, I hadn't digested a single word.

The studio was quiet. My thoughts were loud. I pulled off my headphones and sank down in my seat.

Four days had gone by since my last interaction with Hugo. I'd kissed him. He'd turned into a rabbit. Then, when he turned back, he left without a single word.

I'd spotted Summer leaving for work this morning at the same time I'd been driving the girls to school. We exchanged a wave. I should have stopped the car in front of her driveway and asked how Hugo was doing.

Would it have come across as desperate and unhinged? Probably. Did I still regret not doing it? Absolutely.

If I'd gotten some kind of answer, even if it was that Hugo hated me and never wanted to speak to me again, at least I wouldn't be stuck here trapped in my head wondering. I'd be able to put him and all that glorious potential behind me. I'd be able to focus on work.

A gurgling sound came from my stomach.

"I agree." I gave it a pat. "This stewing business is no good."

I couldn't keep going like this. I had deadlines and responsibilities. Today after work, I'd suck it up and go next door and ask Hugo where we stood.

My stomach gurgled again, and this time it felt like disagreement.

I sat up straight and took a slow, centering breath. There, that was better. It was lunchtime anyway. Everything would go better on a full stomach. I opened up my lunch bag and popped a grape into my mouth. I placed everything neatly on the desktop, restarted the recording, and eyed the carrot cookie.

It reminded me of Brianna's suggestion that a food could have made me transform. Of course there had been no grand transformation that night, or since.

I ate a few bites of my tuna, and did not turn into a fish.

I ate my grapes, and did not turn into a vine.

I ate my cookie, and did not turn into a rabbit.

With a few clicks, I backed the recording up and hit play.

"A deep dive led to uncovering a startling trend," Chet said.

"Deep dive into your ass," Tyler said.

Laughter erupted.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, probably the same reaction I'd had the first time I'd witnessed this moronic conversation.

"Yeah, yeah," Chet said. "Seriously though, we've all heard about the probes and the implants."

"Mm-hmm," the other two agreed in unison.

From Chet's conspiratorial tone, I could practically hear the way he leaned in as he said, "But what the mainstream investigators won't tell you is that the Tentaculoids' bioengineering experiments sometimes go wrong."

There were no mainstream investigators of the Tentaculoids. The BroFOs invented them.

"Wrong how?" Nick asked.

"The abductee is returned wrong, " Chet said, as if that was actual clarification.

"Like…upside down?" Tyler asked.

"Sometimes, with feet on the end of their arms and hands on their ankles," Chet said. "You don't even want to know where their head goes."

Cackling ensued. As soon as Chet spoke and cued his minions with a brief silence, they behaved as if they were the laugh track on a sitcom.

Tyler snorted. "On their?—"

I paused the recording. I was going to need to cut out the number of butt references from about three hundred to one or two. That was pretty standard. I scribbled a note on my pad with the timestamp for later, then restarted the track.

"Those types of mutations are obvious, though, so the Tentaculoids usually catch them before they leave. Then their mistakes aren't found here in the human world," Chet said. "Plus, the worst mutations can't be seen. Not at first at least."

"Like slowly growing a lizard tail," Nick said.

"Or developing the strength to crush boulders with their bare hands," Chet said.

Nick and Tyler gasped.

"Full-on mutations can force the victims to level cities with psychocombustic powers."

Psychocombustic wasn't a word. Also, was he implying the aliens wanted their abductees to destroy cities? Or was imbuing their victims with these powers supposed to be an accident?

I was thinking too hard about this. It was best to go into an editing session with a numb brain and no expectation of rationality.

I popped another grape into my mouth.

"Luckily these new powers usually manifest gradually at first," Chet said.

"Like destroying small towns instead of whole cities?" Nick asked.

"From what I could piece together, it always starts the same way—weird flashes of psychotic energy whenever the victim gets riled up or concentrates super hard," Chet said. "Like, they could make small objects shake or a lightbulb flicker just by staring at it intently."

"That's some poltergeist creep level right there," Tyler said.

That word belonged on ghost podcasts, not on an extraterrestrial one.

"Imagine what happens when you really piss 'em off—boom, nuclear doomsday," Chet said.

I paused the recording. There was a lot to unpack in this segment, starting with the fact that the correct word was psychic, not psychotic. But that wasn't what really sparked brightest in my mind.

What if turning into a rabbit worked like this made-up alien nonsense? It was a wildly unlikely longshot, so ridiculous there was almost no way it would work. But the BroFOs had me thinking, which was a thought I would never admit out loud.

Chances were that my transformation was a one-time event that would never happen again. But what would it hurt to try?

I set down my headphones, cleaned up my lunch, and stood looking at myself in the mirror.

I shook out my arms, took a breath, and focused on what it would be like to be a rabbit. It would be small and scary. It would be a relief to not be a person having to listen to this garbage anymore. It would be even more of a relief to get some answers.

A tingling sensation raced across my skin. It felt like a thousand tiny stars ignited in my veins, each burst propelling me closer to my second form. I could do this. I was doing it.

Then right before my eyes, in an instant, I dropped down to the floor.

I wiggled my way through my pile of clothes and looked into the mirror.

Staring back at me was a fluffy little rabbit with fur the color of caramel.

Excitement struck first, bloating me up with energy-fueled pride. A pang of uncertainty followed. What if I was stuck like this?

No need to fret. There was one way to figure it out. I'd do the exact same thing I'd done to instigate this.

I closed my eyes and focused on being me again, a person standing in my office on two not-as-furry legs.

The air crackled, or my body did, I couldn't say for sure which.

But when I opened my eyes, I was a person again—a pale and freckled, slightly saggy, naked person. I touched my face, marveling at the familiar contours under my fingers. Each wrinkle was exactly where it was supposed to be.

I thrust my fists into the air. "Yes!"

Every cell in my body buzzed with newfound energy. It was as if I had pulled a Sleeping Beauty for the last two decades, and had finally woken up. The world was ripe with furry potential, and I couldn't wait for round two.

With only my intention to guide me, I transformed back into a rabbit. It was ridiculously easy. I took a few hops around the studio floor to test my furry little legs. It felt amazing. Why hadn't I been doing this all along?

I popped back up into human form to prove to myself it was equally as easy.

Footsteps shuffled in the hall.

The thrill of my furry fun vanished in an instant, replaced by the cold awareness washing over my bare skin. Someone was on the other side of my studio door, poised to open it at any second, and they'd find me completely naked.

I dove for the door.

The locks were already in place, thank goodness.

The footsteps grew distant. Still, it was too close a call.

A laugh bubbled up from my throat, edged with hysteria. Maybe it wasn't even a laugh, but a whimper. There was no more time for fooling around in the office. Practicing my rabbit superpower would have to wait until I was safely at home.

As I got dressed, the ghost of a thrill still thrummed through my veins. I wanted to share this feeling, this experience with Hugo. Maybe that was crazy. Maybe he'd shut me down or ignore me like he'd been doing.

But I had to take my shot.

After work, I'd suck up my reservations and talk to Hugo.

With that settled, I forced myself to listen through the recordings again. This time, because I had a plan, I focused well enough to piece together a full, salvageable podcast.

As I left the studio, I checked my phone. I found a slew of unimportant texts from Chet. I sent a simple reply— We will discuss it during office hours on Monday.

There was also a voicemail from Brianna. I hit play.

"Hi, Daisy," she said. "It's definitely a virus. Confirmed source rabbit has been contained by The Library. It's over. No one will turn into a rabbit anymore, including those already infected. No new infections will be possible. You're in the clear."

Except that wasn't true.

I couldn't speak for the entirety of the message, but the part about me not being able to transform now was definitely wrong. I'd just done it, multiple times.

I stood in the parking lot staring at my phone. I wasn't sure what to think about the things she'd said. Should I call Brianna back and tell her the truth?

If her Library could really steal away my ability to transform, I wasn't so sure they were the good guys. I liked transforming. A lot. It made me feel special, light, and happy. It was fabulous, really. I'd just gotten this ability, so why would I willingly give that up?

Easy answer—I wouldn't.

I stuck my phone back in my bag and set off to pick up Ivy from her after-school program and Citra from soccer practice. As usual, Ivy dominated the conversation on the drive home.

As we pulled up to our house, I spotted Hugo's truck in his driveway. He was home.

A bubble filled up my chest. If I didn't confront him now, not knowing would keep eating me up inside, and I didn't have the energy for that. Plus, I had news. He'd want to hear that at least, right?

We climbed out of the car, and I gave Citra my keys. "Go ahead in."

"I want to try the keys." Ivy tried to snatch the keys out of her sister's hand.

Citra lifted them easily over her sister's reach. "I want to go in today, not next week."

"It won't take me that long," Ivy protested with a stomp of her foot and a glare at her sister. "I can do it. Let me show you."

"Nope." Citra grinned. "Mom gave them to me."

"We can practice the locks later, okay, Ivy," I said. "Now go ahead in, both of you."

I waited until I heard the door click shut. Then I forced myself to be brave.

With shaky steps, I approached the mahogany door. It felt like wading through wet cement, each step heavier than the last. As I reached my destination, my heart thundered in my chest, a wild drumbeat that echoed in my ears.

Suck it up, Daisy.

I could do this. I had to.

Movement caught my eye. I spotted a large shape just inside the window. A t-shirt stretched across the back of a hulking figure. I recognized the logo—the Dogwood fire station.

My insides twisted. He was right there.

It took me a moment to regain my composure, then I knocked.

Whispers came from inside. The curtains snapped shut. A moment later, Summer came to the door.

"Hi," I said.

She was holding the door tightly, like I might try to barge in. I wasn't that desperate.

Her smile was tight. "Hi, Daisy. What's up?"

"Is Hugo available? I need to talk to him."

"He's not here."

His truck was in the driveway. I'd seen him in the window.

"He's not here?" I repeated.

"Nope. But I'll tell him you dropped by. Have a good night."

The last thread of hope frayed until there was nothing left.

Before I could say another word, Summer snapped the door shut.

And I had my answer.

Hugo wanted nothing to do with me. It wasn't a mismatch of timing or that he needed a chance to think things over. The world tilted on its axis, leaving me disoriented and queasy.

Hugo probably hated me. As much as I wanted things to be different, as much as I wanted another chance, I couldn't blame him.

I didn't open up to new people. I didn't date. I was never tempted to break that rule or even consider pursuing something romantic with someone until I met Hugo.

And now it was over.

And no matter how much I told myself this was for the best, it did nothing to mend my tattered heart.