The Initial Insult - Mindy McGinnis Page 0,19

I’d always heard was there but never witnessed. And if there’s something in Hugh Broward I’ve never seen, maybe there’s something in my cousin, too. But Ribbit is just hanging from his fist like a piece of meat, actually smiling, showing all his teeth and inviting Huge to knock them down his throat.

“Your dude-bro vouched for him,” I say, and Hugh lowers Ribbit until his feet are on the ground. “Happy?”

“No, I’m pretty fucking far from happy. I don’t trust you, douchebag.” He pushes Ribbit in the chest with one finger, and my cousin almost goes off the edge of the porch. “You’re sticking with me for the rest of the night, got it? I’m keeping an eye on you so that you can’t miraculously find the dog.”

Ribbit nods, understanding. Pitifully, he seems almost happy. He gets to make time with Hugh now, even if he is a prisoner.

I need to get back downstairs.

That’s when my phone rings.

Chapter 14

Cat

Something small, made smaller

inside my mouth.

A new best / last.

Gretchen / shadow

Chapter 15

Felicity

I’m shaking.

I don’t know if it’s anger, or if it’s because I’m cold, or because I’m sick. I ranted at Tress’s retreating back as she went up the stairs, and now I’m exhausted. My throat feels like it’s in bloody tatters. My whole body is quivering, nerves on high alert . . . or maybe it’s because I’ve got a fever, and my body is trying to shed heat.

Everything is wrong, and I’ve got small trails of blood running down both arms. The stream from my head seems to have stopped, but there’s a drying red trickle going down into my cleavage. I hear the basement door, and my head jerks up, the ridiculous jester cap swinging to the side, hanging by a hair pin.

“Hugh?” I call, my voice raspy and useless.

“Calm down . . . listen . . . listen . . .” It’s Tress, and she’s on the phone, clearly irritated. She comes back to her chair, and it creaks under her weight.

“It was definitely locked,” she says, crossing her legs. “No, I did not let the panther loose just to fuck with you.”

A long stream of profanity to match the one I’d been screaming at her earlier comes out of the phone, and she holds it away from her ear. “Cecil . . . ,” she sighs. “And did it kill you?”

Another extended answer comes—an angry one—but Tress only shakes her head. “What do you want me to do? Wander around calling, Here, kitty, kitty?”

Apparently her grandpa doesn’t have a better suggestion, because Tress hangs up on him, another incensed response cut off with the swipe of her thumb. Tress blows her hair out of her eyes and glances up at me.

“Panther’s loose,” she says by way of explanation. Like it’s not incredibly alarming. Like she’s not saying it to someone she’s chained to a wall and threatened to bury alive. My heart kicks up a beat just thinking about it.

Tress is still in her chair, her eyebrows drawn together, looking at her phone. She’s distracted, not thinking about me, or her parents. Maybe I can keep it that way.

“What do you even do when a panther is loose?” I ask. “That seems . . . hard.”

It’s a really stupid thing to say, but Tress nods in agreement.

“Yeah, well, we can hope he comes home, where there’s shelter and food but . . .” She glances at me, and we’re having a conversation. A totally fucked-up one, but we’re talking.

“Cecil hasn’t exactly been nice to that cat,” she says. “If it comes home, it won’t be for anything good.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, encouraging her. “So what do you do?”

She shrugs. “Not much you can do. Hope it doesn’t kill anybody, first off. And pray nobody spots it. People find out it got loose, and we’re done.”

“Right . . . ,” I say, trying to think of how I can spin this, turn the topic away from Cecil Allan losing his income and a wild animal killing people. But there’s really no way for me to keep this conversation positive.

“So yeah.” Tress stands, stuffing her phone into her jeans pocket. “Hope and pray, that’s pretty much it. Not much we can do, so I’m not going to worry about it.”

She picks out a brick, turning it in her hands. My pulse thrums; my belly turns to liquid.

“Tress . . .” I shake, my bells jingling. “Could you . . .” I’m wild, searching for something to say. Anything. “Could