“The​ ​Rougaroux​ ​is​ ​a​ ​type​ ​of​ ​werewolf​ ​brought​ ​to​ ​America​ ​from​ ​France.​ ​Once​ ​upon​ ​a time,​ ​it​ ​fed​ ​its​ ​beastly​ ​appetite​ ​by​ ​picking​ ​off​ ​animals​ ​in​ ​the​ ​field,​ ​one-by-one,​ ​for​ ​meals.”

Angel​ ​eyed​ ​the​ ​strange​ ​old​ ​man​ ​hovered​ ​over​ ​she​ ​and​ ​her​ ​three​ ​friends.​ ​His​ ​clothes​ ​were three​ ​sizes​ ​too​ ​big​ ​for​ ​his​ ​thin​ ​body​ ​and​ ​fluttered​ ​like​ ​long,​ ​grey​ ​bedsheets​ ​in​ ​the muggy, Louisiana​ ​wind.

“Here​ ​in​ ​the​ ​city,”​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man​ ​continued,​ ​“the​ ​Rougaroux​ ​doesn’t​ ​have​ ​sheep,​ ​or​ ​cows,​ ​or pigs​ ​to​ ​steal​ ​from​ ​small​ ​time​ ​farmers.​ ​Here,”​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man​ ​said,​ ​dragging​ ​a​ ​dry​ ​tongue across​ ​his​ ​thin,​ ​cracked​ ​lips​ ​“the​ ​Rougaroux​ ​has​ ​to​ ​make​ ​due​ ​with​ ​the​ ​meat​ ​available.”

The​ ​slim​ ​old​ ​man​ ​shot​ ​a​ ​wet​ ​cough​ ​into​ ​his​ ​fist,​ ​wiped​ ​his​ ​palm​ ​on​ ​his​ ​hip,​ ​and​ ​paused​ ​to recover​ ​his​ ​wind.​ ​He​ ​breathed​ ​heavily​ ​through​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​--​ ​panting​ ​like​ ​a​ ​dog​ ​when​ ​he exhaled​ ​and​ ​gasping​ ​like​ ​he​ ​came​ ​up​ ​from​ ​underwater​ ​whenever​ ​he​ ​inhaled.

“Though​ ​this​ ​werewolf​ ​could​ ​take​ ​an​ ​adult​ ​and​ ​snatch​ ​the​ ​very​ ​scream​ ​from​ ​their​ ​throat. It​ ​would​ ​rather​ ​go​ ​for​ ​something​ ​weaker.​ ​Smaller.​ ​Easier.​ ​To​ ​save​ ​its​ ​strength!”

Abe,​ ​no​ ​more​ ​than​ ​11-years-old,​ ​twitched​ ​when​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​this.​ ​Which,​ ​annoyingly,​ ​made Angel​ ​twitch​ ​standing​ ​next​ ​to​ ​him.

The​ ​four​ ​kids,​ ​dressed​ ​in​ ​their​ ​daytime​ ​attire​ ​--​ ​ratty​ ​tank​ ​tops,​ ​loose​ ​t-shirts,​ ​rundown jean​ ​shorts,​ ​fake​ ​jerseys,​ ​and​ ​squeaky​ ​sneakers​ ​--​ ​stood​ ​still​ ​as​ ​statues​ ​listening​ ​to​ ​the​ ​old man​ ​speak.

Though​ ​it​ ​was​ ​nearly​ ​8​ ​p.m.,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​still​ ​warm​ ​enough​ ​in​ ​New​ ​Orleans​ ​to​ ​go​ ​swimming outside.​ ​Summer​ ​nights​ ​in​ ​the​ ​South​ ​felt​ ​as​ ​if​ ​someone​ ​dangled​ ​a​ ​giant​ ​heater​ ​over​ ​the entire​ ​city,​ ​blowing​ ​it​ ​non-stop.

Charlie,​ ​the​ ​youngest​ ​of​ ​their​ ​group​ ​at​ ​7,​ ​gripped​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​of​ ​a​ ​backpack​ ​so​ ​big​ ​it​ ​look like​ ​he​ ​could​ ​sleep​ ​in​ ​it.​ ​Charlie​ ​liked​ ​to​ ​carry​ ​his​ ​favorite​ ​t-shirt,​ ​blanket,​ ​and​ ​pair​ ​of jeans​ ​with​ ​him​ ​each​ ​time​ ​they​ ​snuck​ ​out​ ​for​ ​their​ ​“​missions​.”​ ​Worried​ ​other​ ​kids​ ​they lived​ ​with​ ​might​ ​try​ ​to​ ​steal​ ​them​ ​while​ ​he​ ​was​ ​gone.

Angel​ ​once​ ​again​ ​eyed​ ​the​ ​saggy​ ​skin​ ​on​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man’s​ ​face​ ​which​ ​hung​ ​in​ ​lumped creases.​ ​She​ ​couldn’t​ ​put​ ​her​ ​finger​ ​on​ ​where​ ​the​ ​slender​ ​old​ ​man​ ​came​ ​from,​ ​or​ ​at​ ​what point​ ​he​ ​joined​ ​their​ ​conversation.​ ​Only​ ​that​ ​he​ ​immediately​ ​snatched​ ​their​ ​attention.

“Legend​ ​has​ ​it,​ ​this​ ​beast​ ​now​ ​stalks​ ​the​ ​narrow​ ​alleyways​ ​of​ ​this​ ​very​ ​French​ ​Quarter. Of​ ​course,​ ​no​ ​one’s​ ​ever​ ​gotten​ ​close​ enough​ ​long​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​escape​ ​and​ ​tell​ ​what​ ​they’ve seen,”​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man​ ​hesitated,​ ​​falling​ ​into​ ​a​ ​trance.

“You​ ​just​ ​hear​ ​an​ ​ear-splitting​ ​scream,​ ​then​ ​whip​ ​your​ ​neck​ ​around​ ​to​ ​see​ ​​something with​ ​bluish-grey​ ​fur,​ ​perched​ ​on​ ​hind​ ​legs,​ ​slipping​ ​into​ ​the​ ​darkness,”

He​ ​held​ ​out​ ​a​ ​thin,​ ​trembling​ ​hand​ ​to​ ​the​ ​darkness​ ​as​ ​if​ ​reaching​ ​for​ ​something​ ​in​ ​the distance.

“​Flick​.​ ​Flickering​ ​shadows.​ ​Stretched​ ​along​ ​a​ ​far​ ​wall.​ ​The​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​hard​ ​shoes​ ​scraping against​ ​the​ ​wet​ ​pavement.”

Angel​ ​looked​ ​around​ ​their​ ​circle.​ ​Her​ ​partners​ ​Drew,​ ​Charlie,​ ​and​ ​Abe​ ​were​ ​all​ ​staring up​ ​at​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man’s​ ​narrow,​ ​wrinkled​ ​face​ ​with​ ​the​ ​same​ ​expression: wide-eyed-open-mouthed-not-blinking.​ ​In​ ​a​ ​daze.

Angel​ ​sighed,​ ​rolling​ ​her​ ​eyes,​ ​becoming​ ​anxious.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​late.​ ​They​ ​were​ ​wasting time.​ ​She​ ​paused.​ ​She​ ​​sniffed​.​ ​Then,​ ​​sniff-sniffed​​ ​again.​ ​Angel​ ​breathed​ ​a​ ​whiff​ ​of​ ​a​ ​scent so​ ​bad​ ​she​ ​felt​ ​she​ ​could​ ​taste​ ​it.​ ​She​ ​frowned,​ ​bitterly.

What​ ​was​ ​that​ ​smell​ ​on​ ​old​ ​people?​​ ​Did​ ​old​ ​people​ ​have​ ​expiration​ ​dates​ ​like​ ​milk?​ ​Did old​ ​men​ ​suddenly​ ​‘go​ ​sour’?​ ​Or​ ​did​ ​their​ ​body​ ​parts​ ​rot​ ​from​ ​the​ ​inside​ ​like​ ​stale​ ​fruit?​ ​If you​ ​bit​ ​an​ ​old​ ​woman,​ ​would​ ​you​ ​find​ ​a​ ​little​ ​worm​ ​inside?

“When​ ​those​ ​lamps​ ​come​ ​on,”​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man​ ​wheezed,​ ​lifting​ ​a​ ​long​ ​finger​ ​to​ ​the​ ​lamp​ ​post they​ ​were​ ​standing​ ​under,​ ​“it’s​ ​awake!”​ ​He​ ​gazed​ ​wildly​ ​into​ ​the​ ​light.​ ​As​ ​if​ ​it​ ​were​ ​telling him​ ​a​ ​brilliant​ ​and​ ​terrifying​ ​story.

Angel​ ​inspected​ ​the​ ​dancing​ ​glow​ ​locked​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​those​ ​little​ ​glass​ ​windows​ ​atop​ ​the greenish​ ​pole.

“Why​ ​does​ ​it​ ​look​ ​like​ ​there’s​ ​fire​ ​inside?”​ ​Drew,​ ​the​ ​tallest​ ​and​ ​oldest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​group​ ​at​ ​13, asked.

“Yeah,”​ ​Abram​ ​seconded​ ​“I​ ​thought​ ​these​ ​lamps​ ​had​ ​light​ ​bulbs​ ​in​ ​them.”

“Everything​ ​is​ ​different​ ​down​ ​here​ ​when​ ​the​ ​full​ ​moon​ ​is​ ​out,”​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man​ ​replied.​ ​“You kids​ ​really​ ​shouldn’t​ ​be​ ​in​ ​the​ ​French​ ​Quarter​ ​at​ ​night.​ ​You​ ​should’ve​ ​stayed​ ​hidden​ ​in your​ ​homes.​Tucked​ ​in​ ​your​ ​beds.​ ​Where​ ​there​ ​are​ ​thick​ ​walls​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​between​ ​you​ ​and it​.”

Angel’s​ ​lips​ ​tightened​ ​when​ ​she​ ​heard​ ​this.​ ​“We​ ​ain’t​ ​​kids​,”​ ​she​ ​spat​ ​with​ ​a​ ​hiss.

The​ ​slim​ ​man​ ​clicked​ ​his​ ​gaze​ ​to​ ​Angel.​ ​He​ ​bent​ ​low.​ ​Then​ ​lower​ ​still​ ​until​ ​his​ ​hairy,​ ​grey eyebrows​ ​(which​ ​looked​ ​to​ ​her​ ​like​ ​crazy​ ​bird​ ​nests)​ ​were​ ​floating​ ​right​ ​above​ ​her​ ​face. Angel​ ​could​ ​see​ ​firelight​ ​glistening​ ​in​ ​the​ ​outer​ ​rim​ ​of​ ​his​ ​steel​ ​blue​ ​eyes.​ ​His​ ​stare beamed​ ​with​ ​a​ ​pinch​ ​of​ ​excitement.​ ​He​ ​grinned​ ​sucked​ ​in​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​breath,​ ​filling​ ​both​ ​his lungs​ ​to​ ​the​ ​very​ ​brim.

CA-CHOOM

The​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​thunder​ ​burst​ ​nearby​ ​as​ ​the​ ​wooden​ ​doors​ ​of​ ​a​ ​saloon​ ​were​ ​violently​ ​thrust open.

The four of them​ ​shrieked,​​ ​one after the other.

The​ ​four​ ​kids​ ​breathed​ ​gently,​ ​waiting​ ​to​ ​see​ ​what​ ​would​ ​emerge.​ ​Every​ ​muscle​ ​in Angel’s​ ​body​ ​tensed​ ​as​ ​a​ ​man​ ​dressed​ ​in​ ​strange​ ​clothes​ ​descended​ ​the​ ​steps​ ​and​ ​tapped onto​ ​the​ ​street.

The​ ​man​ ​spun​ ​around​ ​quickly,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​searching​ ​for​ ​something.​ ​Then​ ​did​ ​a​ ​double-take​ ​to the​ ​five​ ​of​ ​them​ ​standing​ ​under​ ​the​ ​light.​ ​He​ ​shuffled​ ​in​ ​their​ ​direction.​ ​The​ ​look​ ​on​ ​his face​ ​was​ ​stern​ ​as​ ​his​ ​body​ ​bounced​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down​ ​with​ ​his​ ​momentum.

The​ ​old​ ​man​ ​switched​ ​his​ ​focus​ ​back​ ​to​ ​Angel​ ​and​ ​her​ ​friends,​ ​speaking​ ​quickly. “It’s​ ​not​ ​from​ ​here.​ ​It’s​ ​not​ ​normal.​ ​Don’t​ ​stray​ ​far​ ​from​ ​the​ ​light!”

“Hey!”​ ​Barked​ ​the​ ​strange​ ​man​ ​hustling​ ​toward​ ​them.​ ​He​ ​looked​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​just​ ​stepped​ ​out a​ ​time​ ​portal:​ ​Dark​ ​blue​ ​vest,​ ​white​ ​long-sleeve​ ​undershirt,​ ​thin​ ​golden​ ​chain​ ​coming from​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​his​ ​vest​ ​disappearing​ ​into​ ​a​ ​small​ ​front​ ​vest​ ​pocket,​ ​pants​ ​the​ ​color​ ​of storm​ ​clouds​ ​and​ ​shiny​ ​jet-black​ ​shoes.

“The​ ​Rougaroux​ ​takes​ ​people​ ​who​ ​don’t​ ​pay​ ​attention,”​ ​the​ ​slim​ ​old​ ​man​ ​spluttered. “People​ ​who​ ​don’t​ ​know​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​light​ ​is​ ​a​ ​very​ ​dangerous​ ​place​ ​to​ ​be.​ ​Move quickly​​ ​between​ ​lamps.”

“HEY!”​ ​The​ ​strangely​ ​dressed​ ​man​ ​shouted​ ​again,​ ​increasing​ ​his​ ​speed.

“Be​ ​weary​ ​of​ ​strange​ ​noises!​ ​Be​ ​weary​ ​of​ ​alleyways!​ ​Keep​ ​your​ ​head​ ​on​ ​a​ ​swivel whenever​ ​you​ ​feel​ ​a​ ​breeze!”

“FRANKLIN!”​ ​the​ ​strangely​ ​dressed​ ​man​ ​yelled,​ ​steps​ ​away​ ​from​ ​the​ ​group.

Up​ ​close,​ ​Angel​ ​could​ ​see​ ​he​ ​was​ ​a​ ​hairy​ ​man,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​thin​ ​maine​ ​stretching​ ​from​ ​the​ ​base of​ ​his​ ​neck​ ​to​ ​just​ ​a​ ​few​ ​inches​ ​below​ ​his​ ​eyes.

“Break’s​ ​over,​ ​Frank!​ ​Our​ ​tables​ ​won’t​ ​clean​ ​themselves!”

The​ ​slender​ ​old​ ​man​ ​looked​ ​over​ ​his​ ​shoulder​ ​to​ ​the​ ​strangely​ ​dressed​ ​younger​ ​man​ ​and nodded​ ​sadly.

“The​ ​night​ ​is​ ​young,”​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man​ ​finally​ ​said​ ​under​ ​his​ ​breath,​ ​gazing​ ​at​ ​the​ ​light. The​ ​old​ ​man​ ​spun​ ​on​ ​his​ ​heel​ ​and​ ​retreated​ ​swiftly​ ​from​ ​their​ ​group,​ ​moving​ ​with​ ​a curious​ ​spritz​ ​of​ ​energy.

Not​ ​dragging​ ​his​ ​feet​ ​or​ ​lifting​ ​them​ ​inches​ ​above​ ​the​ ​ground, or​ ​taking​ little, bite-sized ​steps​​ ​as​ ​Angel​ ​would’ve​ ​expected.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​nearly ​gliding.​ ​His​ ​oversized​ ​clothes fluttered​ ​behind​ ​him​ ​like​ ​sails​ ​on​ ​a​ ​ship.

Before​ ​Angel​ ​could​ ​blink​ ​three​ ​times,​ ​both​ ​men​ ​had​ ​disappeared.

She​ ​looked​ ​down​ ​at​ ​the​ ​golden​ ​ring​ ​of​ ​light​ ​shining​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​concrete.​ ​​ ​In​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man’s absence,​ ​it​ ​now​ ​felt​ ​like​ ​an​ ​island.​ ​Angel​ ​lifted​ ​her​ ​focus​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dimly​ ​lit​ ​space​ ​beyond​ ​the light’s​ ​edge.

“Man,​ ​you​ ​can’t​ ​be​ ​listenin’​ ​to​ ​old​ ​people,”​ ​Abe​ ​said,​ ​splitting​ ​the​ ​silence.​ ​Abe​ ​ruffled​ ​the flaps​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pinstripe​ ​jersey​ ​and​ ​twisted​ ​his​ ​baseball​ ​cap​ ​around​ ​from​ ​back​ ​to​ ​front.​ ​“Old people​ ​be​ ​lyin’.”

Abe​ ​gazed​ ​across​ ​the​ ​circle​ ​at​ ​Angel​ ​and​ ​bulged​ ​his​ ​eyes.​ ​His​ ​way​ ​of​ ​begging​ ​her​ ​to​ ​say something.

Angel​ ​opened​ ​her​ ​mouth​ ​to​ ​speak​ ​before​ ​two​ ​adults,​ ​staggering​ ​arm​ ​in​ ​arm,​ ​stumbled loudly​ ​past​ ​them.​ ​The​ ​couple​ ​moved​ ​as​ ​if​ ​they​ ​were​ ​fighting​ ​for​ ​control​ ​of​ ​the​ ​wheel​ ​in the​ ​same​ ​car.​ ​The​ ​man​ ​then​ ​gave​ ​his​ ​partner’s​ ​arm​ ​a​ ​jerk​ ​and​ ​they​ ​vanished​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the light.

“I​ ​don’t​ ​know,”​ ​Angel​ ​mumbled.​ ​“I​ ​wouldn’t​ ​risk​ ​it.”

The​ ​same​ ​couple,​ ​now​ ​laughing​ ​loudly,​ ​swerved​ ​back​ ​into​ ​the​ ​light​ ​of​ ​a​ ​different​ ​lamp post​ ​further​ ​down​ ​the​ ​street.

“I’m​ ​with​ ​Abe,”​ ​Drew​ ​cut,​ ​smirking​ ​down​ ​at​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​them.​ ​“That​ ​old​ ​dude​ ​said​ ​​nobody ever​ ​got​ ​close​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​see​ ​the​ ​werewolf​ ​and​ ​escape.​ ​So,​ ​how​ ​he​ ​know​ ​all​ ​that​ ​stuff? Something​ ​ain’t​ ​right​ ​with​ ​him,”​ ​Drew​ ​continued.​ ​“He​ ​didn’t​ ​even​ ​ask​ ​us​ ​where​ ​our parents​ ​were.​ ​And​ ​that’s​ ​like​ ​the​ ​​first​​ ​thing​ ​old​ ​people​ ​do.”

“What​ ​parents?”​ ​Charlie​ ​asked,​ ​softly.

“​What​ ​parents?​​ ​Man​,​ ​​I​ ​got​ ​a​ ​daddy,”​ ​Abe​ ​said,​ ​standing​ ​up​ ​straighter.

“You​ ​ain’t​ ​got​ ​no​ ​daddy,”​ ​Charlie​ ​muttered.

“Ya​ ​momma​ ​don’t​ ​have​ ​no​ ​daddy,”​ ​Abe​ ​snapped​ ​back.

“Chill​ ​out!”​ ​Drew​ ​said​ ​holding​ ​his​ ​arms​ ​out​ ​like​ ​a​ ​referee​ ​between​ ​two​ ​boxers.​ ​“None​ ​of us​ ​would​ ​be​ ​at​ ​St.​ ​Vinny’s​ ​Home​ ​if​ ​we​ ​had​ ​somewhere​ ​better​ ​to​ ​be.”

Angel​ ​barely​ ​noticed​ ​the​ ​boys​ ​in​ ​their​ ​natural​ ​state.​ ​Instead,​ ​she​ ​carefully​ ​tracked​ ​the couple​ ​down​ ​the​ ​street​ ​as​ ​they​ ​moved​ ​in​ ​and​ ​out​ ​under​ ​pale​ ​light​ ​posts.​ ​It​ ​looked​ ​almost like​ ​they​ ​were​ ​teleporting​ ​the​ ​way​ ​they​ ​vanished​ ​in​ ​the​ ​dark​ ​places​ ​then​ ​reappeared​ ​in the​ ​light​ ​further​ ​away.

She​ ​saw​ ​them...then,​ ​she​ ​couldn’t.​ ​They’re​ ​there.​ ​Now,​ ​gone.​ ​They​ ​disappeared​ ​for​ ​a longer​ ​time​ ​than​ ​usual.​ ​They​ ​should’ve​ ​reached​ ​the​ ​next​ ​lamp,​ ​she​ ​thought.​ ​Did​ ​they duck​ ​into​ ​a​ ​building?​ ​Did​ ​they​ ​stop.​ ​Or​ ​did...the​ ​two​ ​couple​ ​appeared​ ​under​ ​a​ ​lamp further​ ​down​ ​the​ ​dim​ ​street.​ ​Angel​ ​let​ ​out​ ​a​ ​big​ ​gust​ ​of​ ​wind.​ ​She​ ​hadn’t​ ​realized​ ​she’d been​ ​holding​ ​her​ ​breath.

“Umm,​ ​I​ ​think​ ​we​ ​should​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​here,”​ ​Angel​ ​said.

“Angel​ ​may​ ​be​ ​right,​ ​Drew,”​ ​Charlie​ ​said,​ ​still​ ​gripping​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​of​ ​his​ ​enormous

backpack.​ ​“We​ ​can​ ​take​ ​tonight​ ​off.​ ​Come​ ​back​ ​tomorrow​ ​and​ ​shoot​ ​for​ ​double.”

“You​ ​know​ ​the​ ​deal,”​ ​Drew​ ​said,​ ​clapping​ ​a​ ​fist​ ​into​ ​his​ ​palm.​ ​“If​ ​we​ ​want​ ​more​ ​stale bread​ ​and​ ​hot​ ​water​ ​that​ ​tastes​ ​like​ ​grease,​ ​we​ ​can​ ​leave.​ ​BUT,​ ​if​ ​we​ ​want​ ​to​ ​sink​ ​our teeth​ ​into​ ​a​ ​warm,​ ​delicious​ ​cinnamon​ ​roll​ ​from​ ​Johnny’s​ ​Bakery​ ​--​ ​rolls​ ​so​ ​big​ ​you​ ​have to​ ​hold​ ​them​ ​like​ ​a​ ​burger,”​ ​Andrew​ ​paused,​ ​pretending​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​one​ ​in​ ​his​ ​hand. “Smothered​ ​with​ ​a​ ​thick​ ​layer​ ​of​ ​sweet,​ ​white​ ​icing...then​ ​we​ ​need​ ​75​ ​cents​ ​each.​ ​$3​ ​total. Easy​ ​money.​ ​Between​ ​the​ ​four​ ​of​ ​us​ ​it​ ​never​ ​takes​ ​long.​ ​We’re​ ​pros​ ​at​ ​this!”

Angel​ ​looked​ ​over​ ​at​ ​Charlie,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​staring​ ​blankly​ ​ahead,​ ​not​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​anything​ ​or anyone.​ ​His​ ​silence​ ​meant​ ​he​ ​was​ ​thinking​ ​or​ ​maybe​ ​convinced.​ ​Abe​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​Angel raising​ ​his​ ​eyebrows​ ​and​ ​squinting​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time.​ ​Angel​ ​chewed​ ​the​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​her cheeks.​ ​She​ ​looked​ ​around​ ​the​ ​French​ ​Quarter​ ​and​ ​exhaled.

She​ ​nodded.​ ​Then,​ ​Abe​ ​happily,​ ​but​ ​Charlie​ ​kept​ ​a​ ​still,​ ​emotionless​ ​face​ ​looking​ ​forward. “Great!​ ​We’re​ ​in.​ ​30​ ​minutes.​ ​3​ ​dollars.​ ​Back​ ​to​ ​Vinny’s.”

“No​ ​matter​ ​what,”​ ​Angel​ ​added​ ​sharply.​ ​“Three​ ​bucks​ ​or​ ​not​ ​in​ ​30​ ​minutes​ ​we’re​ ​going back!”

“Promise,”​ ​Andrew​ ​said,​ ​as​ ​he​ ​flashed​ ​a​ ​wide​ ​mischievous​ ​smile.

“You​ ​know​ ​the​ ​rules,”​ ​Drew​ ​said,​ ​rubbing​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​together​ ​with​ ​excitement.​ ​“Say whatever​ ​it​ ​takes.​ ​We​ ​meet​ ​back​ ​here​ ​when​ ​the​ ​big​ ​clock​ ​at​ ​Saint​ ​Louis’​ ​Cathedral​ ​strikes 9​ ​and​ ​the​ ​bell​ ​rings​ ​9​ ​times.​ ​That’s​ ​30​ ​minutes,”​ ​Drew​ ​said​ ​slowly,​ ​teasing​ ​Angel.​ ​“Abe, sir,​ ​will​ ​you​ ​do​ ​the​ ​honors?”

They​ ​inched​ ​into​ ​a​ ​tighter​ ​circle​ ​and​ ​threw​ ​their​ ​sweaty​ ​palms​ ​into​ ​the​ ​middle. “One​ ​for​ ​the​ ​icing.​ ​And​ ​two​ ​for​ ​the​ ​roll.​ ​Three​ ​lil’​ ​dollars​ ​and​ ​we​ ​can​ ​go​ ​home!” They​ ​broke​ ​the​ ​circle​ ​and​ ​spread​ ​like​ ​fireworks​ ​deep​ ​into​ ​the​ ​French​ ​Quarter.

Looking​ ​over​ ​her​ ​shoulder,​ ​Angel​ ​saw​ ​everyone​ ​hustling​ ​from​ ​lamp​ ​to​ ​lamp.​ ​Maybe​ ​it was​ ​just​ ​in​ ​her​ ​mind.

As​ ​she​ ​stepped​ ​off​ ​the​ ​sidewalk​ ​into​ ​the​ ​street,​ ​two​ ​horses​ ​dragging​ ​a​ ​tall​ ​white​ ​carriage rattled​ ​across​ ​her​ ​path.​ ​She​ ​stopped​ ​with​ ​her​ ​toes​ ​inches​ ​away​ ​from​ ​the​ ​squeaking​ ​red wheels​ ​as​ ​they​ ​rolled​ ​by.​ ​She​ ​exhaled.

She​ ​looked​ ​both​ ​ways,​ ​then​ ​continued​ ​across​ ​the​ ​uneven​ ​cobblestone​ ​street.​ ​She​ ​walked past​ ​Jackson​ ​Square,​ ​then​ ​St.​ ​Louis​ ​Cathedral,​ ​which​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​a​ ​castle​ ​in​ ​an​ ​old​ ​Disney movie.

She​ ​hooked​ ​a​ ​right​ ​on​ ​Royal​ ​Street.​ ​This​ ​was​ ​always​ ​a​ ​great​ ​street​ ​for​ ​business.​ ​She​ ​could catch​ ​people​ ​stumbling​ ​to​ ​and​ ​from​ ​Bourbon​ ​Street​ ​a​ ​block​ ​away.​ ​Here,​ ​she​ ​could​ ​hit people​ ​up​ ​for​ ​money​ ​without​ ​all​ ​the​ ​crazy​ ​crowds,​ ​blaring​ ​music,​ ​and​ ​people​ ​in​ ​strange costumes.

Angel​ ​spotted​ ​her​ ​first​ ​victim!

Fitted​ ​dark​ ​blue​ ​jeans,​ ​trendy,​ ​yet​ ​comfortable​ ​dress​ ​shoes,​ ​a​ ​tucked​ ​in​ ​button​ ​up​ ​shirt, no​ ​tie​ ​and​ ​rolled​ ​up​ ​sleeves.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​moving​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​Soniat​ ​House,​ ​a​ ​hotel​ ​for​ ​the really​ ​rich​ ​people​ ​who​ ​can​ ​afford​ ​to​ ​live​ ​in​ ​middle​ ​of​ ​the​ ​action.

Angel​ ​tried​ ​once​ ​to​ ​stand​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​this​ ​hotel​ ​and​ ​beg.​ ​But​ ​a​ ​man​ ​in​ ​a​ ​funny​ ​little​ ​red coat,​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​funny​ ​little​ ​red​ ​hat​ ​​leapt​​ ​from​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​entrance​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he’d​ ​been bitten​ ​on​ ​the​ ​butt.​ ​He​ ​shooed​ ​her​ ​away,​ ​yelling​ ​something​ ​about​ ​panhandling.​ ​Angel thought​ ​he​ ​was​ ​crazy.​ ​They​ ​didn’t​ ​want​ ​​pans​.​ ​They​ ​wanted​ ​money.

Angel​ ​closed​ ​in​ ​on​ ​her​ ​target.

“Excuse​ ​me,​ ​sir;​ ​can​ ​I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​dollar?”​ ​Angel​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​innocently,​ ​stuck​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​deep

in​ ​her​ ​jean​ ​pockets,​ ​and​ ​twisted​ ​gently​ ​left​ ​to​ ​right.

The​ ​man’s​ ​eyes​ ​flashed​ ​to​ ​Angel​ ​as​ ​if​ ​she​ ​rose​ ​from​ ​the​ ​ground.​ ​She​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​in​ ​her stained​ ​blue​ ​jean​ ​shorts,​ ​unevenly​ ​cut​ ​below​ ​the​ ​knee,​ ​and​ ​her​ ​favorite​ ​pink​ ​shirt.​ ​The word​ ​“Princess”​ ​at​ ​one​ ​point​ ​was​ ​spelled​ ​in​ ​big​ ​letters​ ​across​ ​the​ ​shirt​ ​in​ ​pink​ ​jewels.​ ​But, she​ ​wore​ ​the​ ​shirt​ ​so​ ​often​ ​the​ ​“r”​ ​was​ ​missing​ ​and​ ​now​ ​the​ ​shirt​ ​read​ ​‘​P​ ​incess’​.

The​ ​trendy​ ​man​ ​smiled​ ​without​ ​showing​ ​his​ ​teeth.​ ​Then,​ ​his​ ​smile​ ​transformed​ ​into​ ​a what​ ​can​ ​only​ ​be​ ​described​ ​as​ ​a​ ​​smile-ish​ ​frown.​​ ​That’s​ ​the​ ​look!​ ​The​ ​money​ ​face!

The​ ​man​ ​fished​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​deep​ ​inside​ ​the​ ​left​ ​pocket​ ​of​ ​his​ ​navy​ ​blue​ ​skinny​ ​jeans​ ​and extracted​ ​a​ ​messy​ ​clump​ ​of​ ​nearly​ ​all​ ​one-dollar​ ​bills.

Angel​ ​frowned,​ ​before​ ​quickly​ ​returning​ ​to​ ​a​ ​smile.​ N​​ o​ ​wallet?​​ ​Usually​ ​people​ ​headed​ ​for the​ ​Soniat​ ​House​ ​have​ ​wallets​ ​so​ ​big​ ​they​ ​practically​ ​fold​ ​open​ ​like​ ​a​ ​tent.

The​ ​man​ ​focused​ ​with​ ​great​ ​intensity​ ​as​ ​he​ ​attempted​ ​to​ ​tease​ ​a​ ​one​ ​dollar​ ​bill​ ​from​ ​his messy​ ​clump​ ​of​ ​money.​ ​The​ ​green​ ​ball​ ​in​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​a​ ​big​ ​knot,​ ​where​ ​if​ ​he tugged​ ​on​ ​a​ ​certain​ ​bill​ ​with​ ​the​ ​right​ ​amount​ ​of​ ​force​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​thing​ ​would​ ​come undone​ ​in​ ​a​ ​big​ ​mess.​ ​Angel​ ​watched​ ​tilting​ ​her​ ​head​ ​like​ ​a​ ​puppy.​ ​Then,​ ​something miraculous​ ​happened!

A​ ​five-dollar​ ​bill​ ​slipped​ ​from​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of​ ​this​ ​cluster​ ​of​ ​money​ ​and​ ​drifted​ ​to​ ​the ground.​ ​Angel’s​ ​mouth​ ​dropped​ ​open.​ ​She​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​the​ ​man.​ ​He​ ​glanced​ ​over​ ​his​ ​wad​ ​of money​ ​at​ ​her.​ ​She​ ​snapped​ ​her​ ​mouth​ ​shut.​ H​​e​ ​hadn’t​ ​noticed!​​ ​​

Wow!​ ​A whole​ ​$5!

He​ ​handed​ ​her​ ​the​ ​wrinkled​ ​$1​ ​bill​ ​he​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​free​ ​from​ ​the​ ​group.

“Thank​ ​you,”​ ​Angel​ ​said,​ ​nearly​ ​snatching​ ​it​ ​from​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​on​ ​accident.​ ​The​ ​man bowed​ ​a​ ​little,​ ​then​ ​desperately​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​stuff​ ​the​ ​sloppy​ ​ball​ ​of​ ​money​ ​back​ ​where​ ​it belonged.​ ​As​ ​he​ ​moved​ ​down​ ​the​ ​street,​ ​walking​ ​a​ ​little​ ​taller,​ ​Angel​ ​watched​ ​until​ ​she thought​ ​it​ ​was​ ​clear​ ​then​ ​switched​ ​her​ ​attention​ ​to​ ​the​ ​fallen​ ​treasure.

The​ ​crinkled​ ​five-dollar​ ​bill​ ​had​ ​been​ ​carried​ ​by​ ​a​ ​breeze​ ​to​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​light.​ ​She gazed​ ​at​ ​it​ ​as​ ​the​ ​wind​ ​brushed​ ​softly​ ​against​ ​its​ ​edges.

She​ ​took​ ​a​ ​step.​ ​Then​ ​another.​ ​And​ ​another.​ ​Then​ ​suddenly​ ​froze.​ ​She​ ​lifted​ ​her​ ​attention from​ ​the​ ​green​ ​strip​ ​of​ ​money​ ​on​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​to​ ​the​ ​dark​ ​alley​ ​just​ ​beyond​ ​it.

Angel​ ​chewed​ ​her​ ​cheeks​ ​looking​ ​down​ ​at​ ​the​ ​money​ ​as​ ​if​ ​it​ ​were​ ​balanced​ ​on​ ​the​ ​edge of​ ​a​ ​cliff.​ ​The​ ​bill​ ​wiggled​ ​in​ ​the​ ​wind​ ​a​ ​few​ ​steps​ ​away.​ ​Threatening​ ​to​ ​be​ ​blown​ ​away like​ ​an​ ​autumn​ ​leaf​ ​at​ ​any​ ​moment.

If​ ​she​ ​got​ ​it,​ ​they​ ​could​ ​go​ ​home​ ​tonight​ ​​and​​ ​probably​ ​take​ ​the​ ​next​ ​two​ ​nights​ ​off​ ​if​ ​the rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​group​ ​got​ ​​anything​.

Angel​ ​inched​ ​closer.​ ​It​ ​felt​ ​like​ ​her​ ​feet​ ​were​ ​covered​ ​in​ ​wet​ ​cement.​ ​She​ ​slid​ ​to​ ​where she​ ​felt​ ​she​ ​could​ ​simply​ ​lean​ ​forward​ ​and​ ​reach​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bill.

The​ ​sidewalk​ ​glistened​ ​under​ ​the​ ​golden​ ​light​ ​of​ ​the​ ​lamp​ ​hanging​ ​above​ ​her.​ ​A​ ​rhythmic tapping​ ​sound​ ​came​ ​from​ ​a​ ​dripping​ ​water​ ​spout​ ​nearby.

“You​ ​can​ ​do​ ​this,”​ ​Angel​ ​muttered.​ ​“An​ ​hour​ ​ago​ ​you​ ​didn’t​ ​even​ ​know​ ​what​ ​a​ ​stupid Rougaroux-thing​ ​was.​ ​You​ ​don’t​ ​believe​ ​in​ ​this​ ​stuff.​ ​You​ ​don’t​ ​believe​ ​in​ ​this​ ​stuff.”

Angel​ ​leaned​ ​forward​ ​over​ ​her​ ​right​ ​knee.

“C’mon,”​ ​​she​ ​whispered,​ ​stretching​ ​her​ ​right​ ​arm​ ​as​ ​far​ ​as​ ​it​ ​could​ ​go.​ ​The​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bill tickled​ ​her​ ​fingertips.​ ​She​ ​wiggled​ ​her​ ​index​ ​and​ ​middle​ ​fingers​ ​attempting​ ​to​ ​trap​ ​the bill​ ​between​ ​them.

Out​ ​of​ ​her​ ​peripheral​ ​vision​ ​she​ ​saw​ ​something​ ​moving​ ​quickly​ ​toward​ ​her. “Yahhh!”​ ​She​ ​yelled.

Angel​ ​lost​ ​her​ ​balance​ ​and​ ​fell​ ​on​ ​both​ ​hands​ ​with​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​slap.​ ​She​ ​looked​ ​to​ ​her​ ​left​ ​to see​ ​Charlie​ ​standing​ ​there​ ​calmly.

“How​ ​many​ ​times​ ​I​ ​gotta​ ​tell​ ​you​ ​to​ ​stop​ ​creepin’​ ​up​ ​on​ ​people!”​ ​Angel​ ​said,​ ​as​ ​she​ ​dusted the​ ​small​ ​rocks​ ​from​ ​her​ ​palms​ ​using​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​jeans.

“What’re​ ​you​ ​doing?”​ ​Charlie​ ​said.​ ​He​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​her​ ​with​ ​the​ ​blank​ ​expression​ ​of​ ​a bulldog.

“I’m​ ​getting​ ​that​ ​$5.​ ​I​ ​already​ ​got​ ​$1.​ ​That’ll​ ​make​ ​six.​ ​Then,​ ​Imma​ ​go​ ​wait​ ​at​ ​the​ ​clock until​ ​everyone​ ​is​ ​finished.”

Charlie​ ​stared​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bill,​ ​and​ ​gripped​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​of​ ​his​ ​backpack.​ ​He​ ​took​ ​a​ ​step​ ​and​ ​the crinkled​ ​$5​ ​bill​ ​skidded​ ​into​ ​the​ ​alley.

Charlie​ ​frowned​ ​angrily.​ ​He​ ​clutched​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​of​ ​his​ ​backpack​ ​tighter,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​was choking​ ​them.​ ​He​ ​searched​ ​the​ ​blackness,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​figure​ ​where​ ​the​ ​$5​ ​flew​ ​off​ ​then​ ​took another​ ​step​ ​forward.​ ​He​ ​then​ ​took​ ​one​ ​more​ ​before​ ​Angel​ ​grabbed​ ​a​ ​fistful​ ​of​ ​his backpack​ ​and​ ​yanked​ ​him​ ​back.

“Charlie​ ​what​ ​are​ ​you​ ​doing!”​ ​Angel​ ​yelled. Charlie​ ​struggled​ ​against​ ​her.

“It’s​ ​right​ ​there.​ ​We​ ​have-to...get-it...before-it-blows-further-away,”​ ​Charlie​ ​gritted through​ ​his​ ​teeth.

Angel​ ​leaned​ ​back,​ ​pulling​ ​with​ ​all​ ​her​ ​might.​ ​Even​ ​though​ ​Angel​ ​was​ ​bigger​ ​than Charlie,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​​ridiculously​​ ​strong​ ​for​ ​his​ ​size.​ ​Like​ ​an​ ​angry​ ​little​ ​ant,​ ​or​ ​spider,​ ​or freakin’​ ​Tasmanian​ ​Devil.

“Charlie,​ ​no!​ ​No,​ ​Charlie!​ ​Quit​ ​it!​ ​Stoppit,​ ​Charlie!”​ ​Angel​ ​screamed.​ ​Her​ ​palms​ ​were beginning​ ​to​ ​sweat.​ ​Her​ ​grip​ ​was​ ​slipping​ ​on​ ​the​ ​clump​ ​of​ ​backpack​ ​in​ ​her​ ​fists.​ ​She wished​ ​an​ ​adult​ ​would​ ​come​ ​help​ ​them​ ​even​ ​if​ ​it​ ​meant​ ​them​ ​getting​ ​in​ ​trouble.

As​ ​she​ ​was​ ​losing​ ​the​ ​last​ ​of​ ​her​ ​grip,​ ​Drew​ ​and​ ​Abe​ ​skidded​ ​to​ ​a​ ​stop​ ​at​ ​her​ ​side​ ​and helped​ ​to​ ​pull​ ​Charlie​ ​back.

Drew​ ​was​ ​huffing​ ​like​ ​he​ ​ran​ ​a​ ​mile.​ ​“What​ ​happened?​ ​We​ ​heard​ ​you​ ​screaming!​ ​We thought...”

“A​ ​man​ ​dropped​ ​a​ ​$5​ ​bill.​ ​It​ ​blew​ ​into​ ​the​ ​alley​ ​and​ ​ole​ ​crazy​ ​Charlie​ ​tryin’​ ​to​ ​go​ ​in​ ​and get​ ​it,”​ ​Angel​ ​said​ ​sharply.

Drew​ ​and​ ​Abe’s​ ​eyes​ ​bulged.

“A​ ​whole​ ​$5?​ ​You​ ​sure?”​ ​Drew​ ​questioned.

Angel​ ​scowled.​ ​“Positive,”​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​now​ ​moving​ ​herself​ ​between​ ​Charlie​ ​and​ ​the​ ​dark alley.​ ​She​ ​bent​ ​her​ ​knees​ ​and​ ​floated​ ​her​ ​arms​ ​out​ ​at​ ​her​ ​side​ ​like​ ​a​ ​soccer​ ​goalie.

“Charlie!”​ ​Abe​ ​yelled.​ ​“That​ ​old​ ​man​ ​just​ ​told​ ​us​ ​about​ ​that​ ​werewolf​ ​thing​ ​in​ ​dark​ ​alleys at​ ​night.​ ​What’s​ ​the​ ​matter​ ​with​ ​you?”

“I​ ​decided​ ​I​ ​didn’t​ ​believe​ ​him,”​ ​Charlie​ ​offered,​ ​plainly.​ ​“Plus,​ ​we​ ​need​ ​the​ ​money.” “We​ ​​do​​ ​need​ ​the​ ​money,”​ ​Drew​ ​said​ ​with​ ​emphasis.

“Doesn’t​ ​mean​ ​you​ ​go​ ​stepping​ ​into​ ​dark​ ​alleys,​ ​werewolf​ ​or​ ​not!”​ ​Abe​ ​fired​ ​back.

“Abe,​ ​you’re​ ​the​ ​one​ ​who​ ​said​ ​we​ ​shouldn’t​ ​be​ ​listening​ ​to​ ​old​ ​people!”​ ​Drew​ ​responded. “So...that​ ​don’t​ ​mean​ ​we​ ​go​ ​run​ ​into​ ​alleys​ ​and​ ​stuff,”​ ​Abe​ ​responded​ ​with​ ​less​ ​heat. “Haaaa!​ ​That​ ​boy​ ​scared,”​ ​Drew​ ​snickered.

“Okay​ ​Drew,”​ ​Angel​ ​snipped.​ ​“You​ ​go​ ​in​ ​and​ ​get​ ​it!”

Drew’s​ ​face​ ​squinched​ ​like​ ​he​ ​bit​ ​a​ ​lemon.​ ​“I​ ​ain’t​ ​finna​ ​get​ ​eaten​ ​by​ ​no​ ​Kangaroo!”

“Rougaroux.​ ​And​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​you​ ​said​ ​it​ ​didn’t​ ​exist,”​ ​Angel​ ​teased.

“I​ ​didn’t​ ​say​ ​that,”​ ​Drew​ ​postured.​ ​“I​ ​said​ ​there​ ​were​ ​inconsistencies​ ​in​ ​the​ ​old​ ​man’s story.​ ​Plus,​ ​​you​​ ​let​ ​the​ ​money​ ​get​ ​away.”

“I​ ​was​ ​saving​ ​Charlie!”​ ​Angel​ ​added.

“And​ ​who’s​ ​gonna​ ​save​ ​​me​?”​ ​Drew​ ​replied.

“How​ ​about​ ​this,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​don’t​ ​come​ ​back​ ​in​ ​5​ ​seconds​ ​we’ll​ ​come​ ​get​ ​you,”​ ​Angel proposed.

Abe​ ​sucked​ ​his​ ​teeth.​ ​“Man,​ ​I​ ​ain’t​ ​goin’​ ​in​ ​there​ ​to​ ​get​ ​that​ ​dude.” “We’ll​ ​actually​ ​find​ ​it​ ​quicker​ ​if​ ​we​ ​go​ ​in​ ​together,”​ ​Charlie​ ​muttered. A​ ​silence​ ​suddenly​ ​fell​ ​upon​ ​the​ ​group.

Charlie​ ​returned​ ​to​ ​clutching​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​of​ ​his​ ​backpack.​ ​“Last​ ​night,​ ​any​ ​one​ ​of​ ​us would’ve​ ​​ran​​ ​in​ ​there​ ​for​ ​that​ ​$5.​ ​Now,​ ​one​ ​old​ ​man​ ​tells​ ​us​ ​a​ ​story​ ​and​ ​we’re​ ​gonna​ ​miss two​ ​days​ ​of​ ​good​ ​food?”

Angel​ ​knew​ ​it​ ​was​ ​true.​ ​They’ve​ ​done​ ​all​ ​sorts​ ​of​ ​things​ ​they​ ​probably​ ​shouldn’t​ ​have. Shoved​ ​arms​ ​into​ ​gutters,​ ​dove​ ​into​ ​trash​ ​cans,​ ​searched​ ​junkyards​ ​you​ ​name​ ​it.​ ​Even being​ ​here​ ​now​ ​was​ ​a​ ​risk.​ ​But​ ​this​ ​felt​ ​different.

“Cool”​ ​Drew​ ​swallowed,​ ​standing​ ​up​ ​taller.​ ​“We​ ​get​ ​it​ ​together.” Charlie​ ​looked​ ​motioned​ ​to​ ​the​ ​alleyway​ ​with​ ​his​ ​head.

The​ ​four​ ​of​ ​them​ ​lined​ ​up​ ​side​ ​by​ ​side,​ ​facing​ ​the​ ​alley.​ ​Then,​ ​​inched​​ ​forward​ ​slowly​ ​as​ ​if stepping​ ​out​ ​onto​ ​frozen​ ​ice​ ​which​ ​could​ ​split​ ​any​ ​minute.

“We​ ​don’t​ ​believe​ ​in​ ​this,”​ ​Angel​ ​whispered. They​ ​inched​ ​closer.

“We​ ​don’t​ ​believe​ ​in​ ​this.​ ​We​ ​don’t​ ​believe,”​ ​she​ ​trembled.​ ​“It’s​ ​not​ ​real.​ ​It’s​ ​not.​ ​It’s​ ​not rea—”

Angel​ ​went​ ​silent​ ​as​ ​the​ ​four​ ​of​ ​them​ ​slipped​ ​past​ ​the​ ​invisible​ ​dark​ ​curtain​ ​into​ ​the realm​ ​of​ ​no​ ​light.

Inside​ ​the​ ​alley,​ ​Angel​ ​heard​ ​heavy​ ​breathing​ ​nearby.​ ​She​ ​couldn’t​ ​actually​ ​see​ ​them​ ​but imagined​ ​the​ ​breathing​ ​to​ ​be​ ​Drew​ ​and​ ​Abe,​ ​while​ ​Charlie​ ​as​ ​the​ ​quiet​ ​one.​ ​Angel​ ​opened her​ ​eyes​ ​wide​ ​as​ ​she​ ​could,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​see​ ​better​ ​in​ ​the​ ​darkness.

A​ ​sour​ ​stench​ ​in​ ​the​ ​alleyway​ ​rose​ ​and​ ​stung​ ​her​ ​nose.​ ​She​ ​pinched​ ​her​ ​nostrils​ ​with​ ​one hand​ ​and​ ​ran​ ​her​ ​other​ ​across​ ​the​ ​wet​ ​concrete.

Searching​ ​the​ ​floor,​ ​she​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​pitter-patter​ ​of​ ​feet​ ​as​ ​they​ ​spread​ ​out.​ ​Someone​ ​went deeper​ ​into​ ​the​ ​alley​ ​and​ ​their​ ​footsteps​ ​clicked​ ​further​ ​away.

Angel’s​ ​fingers​ ​rolled​ ​over​ ​what​ ​felt​ ​like​ ​a​ ​wet​ ​roll​ ​of​ ​paper.​ ​Beads​ ​of​ ​sweat​ ​raced​ ​down her​ ​forehead.​ ​She​ ​freed​ ​her​ ​nose​ ​so​ ​she​ ​could​ ​use​ ​both​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​breathe through​ ​her​ ​mouth.

Ting!​​ ​A​ ​high-pitched​ ​echo​ ​shot​ ​through​ ​the​ ​alley. “Kicked​ ​a​ ​bottle.​ ​Sorry.”​ ​The​ ​voice​ ​sounded​ ​like​ ​Drew’s.

“This​ ​is​ ​nasty,”​ ​Angel​ ​said,​ ​standing​ ​up​ ​and​ ​wiping​ ​two​ ​slimy​ ​fingers​ ​on​ ​her​ ​jeans. “Anybody​ ​find​ ​anything?”

“No,”​ ​said​ ​a​ ​calm​ ​voice.​ ​​Charlie.​

“Nope.”​ ​Definitely​ ​​Drew​.

“Abe,​ ​you?”​ ​Drew​ ​asked.​ ​“Abe?​ ​Abe?”

Bonnnnng!​ ​...​ ​​ ​Bonnng!​ ​...​ ​​ ​Bonnng!​ ​​

The​ ​clock​ ​tower​ ​struck​ ​9​ ​o’clock.​ ​The​ ​chimes​ ​echoed loudly​ ​through​ ​the​ ​alleyway.

Pit-Pat!

Bonnnnng​!​ ​​Bonnnnng!

Pit-Pat-Pit!

“What’s​ ​that?”​ ​Angel​ ​whispered,​ ​quickly.

Bonnnng!

“I​ ​don’t​ ​know,”​ ​Drew​ ​whispered​ ​back.

Bonnnnng!

Angel​ ​swore​ ​she​ ​could​ ​make​ ​out​ ​faint​ ​noises​ ​in​ ​between​ ​the​ ​deafening​ ​chimes​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bell.

Chnunnn!​

What​ ​was​ ​that?​ ​A​ ​voice?​ ​​Angel​ ​thought.​ ​​

Pit-Pat-Pit-Pat-Pit!

Bonnnng!

Between​ ​the​ ​loud​ ​chimes,​ ​she​ ​finally​ ​understood​ ​the​ ​pitter-patter​ ​sound​ ​to​ ​be​ ​footsteps. And​ ​they​ ​were​ ​moving​ ​quickly.

“RUN!”​ ​the​ ​voice​ ​shouted.

It​ ​was​ ​Abe​ ​running​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​on​ ​fire.​ ​He​ ​bolted​ ​through​ ​the​ ​group.

Bonnnng!

Something​ ​rose​ ​in​ ​a​ ​jerky,​ ​rickety​ ​motion.​ ​It​ ​continued​ ​to​ ​rise​ ​until​ ​two​ ​eyes,​ ​red​ ​as volcanoes,​ ​hung​ ​high​ ​as​ ​a​ ​second-story​ ​window​ ​in​ ​the​ ​blackness.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!!”​ ​They​ ​screamed.

They​ ​each​ ​turned​ ​and​ ​tripped​ ​over​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​Got​ ​back​ ​up​ ​and​ ​ran.​ ​Abe​ ​was​ ​up​ ​ahead. The​ ​dim​ ​golden​ ​light​ ​at​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​the​ ​alley​ ​seemed​ ​a​ ​mile​ ​away.​ ​Angel​ ​pumped​ ​her​ ​legs fast​ ​as​ ​she​ ​could.​ ​The​ ​ground​ ​was​ ​uneven,​ ​making​ ​her​ ​jerk​ ​and​ ​dip​ ​as​ ​she​ ​ran.​ ​She begged​ ​not​ ​to​ ​trip.​ ​She​ ​pleaded​ ​not​ ​to​ ​stumble.​ ​She​ ​prayed​ ​she​ ​didn’t​ ​get​ ​eaten.

Bursting​ ​into​ ​the​ ​golden​ ​light​ ​was​ ​like​ ​breaking​ ​the​ ​ocean’s​ ​surface.

The​ ​four​ ​of them ​sprinted​ ​until​ ​their​ ​adrenaline​ ​died ​out​ ​several​ ​blocks​ ​away.

Angel’s​ ​lungs​ ​burned​ ​with​ ​fire​ ​as​ ​she​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​catch​ ​her​ ​breath.

“It’s​ ​real,”​ ​Andrew​ ​spluttered​ ​in​ ​shock.​ ​“It’s​ ​real!”

“It​ ​was​ ​holding​ ​me!”​ ​Abe​ ​shouted,​ ​bent​ ​over,​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​gripping​ ​his​ ​knees.

Angel​ ​noticed​ ​Charlie​ ​wasn’t​ ​wearing​ ​his​ ​backpack.​ ​This​ ​made​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​the​ ​loud​ ​thud​ ​she heard​ ​a​ ​ways​ ​back.

Angel​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​her​ ​head,​ ​struggling​ ​to​ ​catch​ ​her​ ​breath.

Despite​ ​the​ ​reeking​ ​smell​ ​in​ ​the​ ​alleyway​ ​and​ ​fear​ ​pulsing​ ​through​ ​her​ ​veins,​ ​Angel swore​ ​she​ ​sniffed​ ​another​ ​scent.​ ​Something​ ​very​ ​distinct.​ ​Familiar.​ ​Something​ ​sour.

Like...old​ ​people.