Page 5 of Casting Butterflies

“Why not admit you like it?”

“I will not because I am not a cat.”

“You are for the moment.” I paused and added, “What’s the first thing you’ll do once you’re back to being a dryad?” I didn’t use if.

“That depends. If I just end up back in my proper shape, then eat a proper meal, perhaps seek out some companionship. But I’m really hoping there’s a way for me to re-bond with a tree.”

“Is being a tree relaxing?”

Cedric didn’t immediately answer, and when he did, it emerged slowly. “It’s more than calming. It reenergizes the spirit. Reconnects me to the world. Grounds me. Of course, that is assuming I can locate an acorn that can be coaxed into taking root. If there’s nothing left but slivers, I’ll never experience that feeling again.”

“Then let us pray for a seed,” I stated, spotting our exit on the highway.

“A seed will take so long to grow,” Cedric sighed.

“What’s a few more years when you’ve waited centuries?”

“Annoying,” he snapped in response to my attempt at kindness.

“So grouchy. See if I feed you any of the fish I bought to make tacos tonight.”

“You will feed me because you’re too kind to let me starve.”

“We both know you’re perfectly capable of hunting yourself up a meal.”

“But it is vastly more entertaining when you serve me.”

We might have kept arguing about the role of cats versus humans, only, according to the GPS, we’d arrived at our destination, and upon seeing the house, I blurted out, “No fucking way am I going inside.”

Because only a fool would enter a house that looked like the clone of the one in the Amityville horror movies—and, even worse, featured the nemesis of my nightmares.

2

From the outside, the house looked haunted. The windows on the second floor seemed to stare at me but, even creepier, the butterfly décor all over. Tacked to the siding. Staked as lawn ornaments. A spinning vane in the light breeze.

“Now who’s being a pussy?” Cedric taunted when I wouldn’t open the car door.

“Look at the place. It’s got horror movie written all over it.”

“I sense nothing that will harm us.”

“We just got here. You can’t know that for sure.”

“Let me out for a proper sniff then.”

I cracked open my door, and he clucked in annoyance, as he had to walk across my lap to get outside.

Cedric strode onto the front lawn and did a few slinking-cat walks back and forth before returning. “It’s safe.”

I exited the car and immediately got a chill. “Are you sure you don’t sense some evil spirit lurking?”

“Since when are you so cowardly?”

Since I had to face my worst nightmare. “You know I hate bugs, and you’ve got to admit, there’s something not right about that house.”

“You’re being irrational. It’s just a house, albeit an ugly one. I’m surprised, though, that you’ve taken such an instant dislike. I thought you liked the color pink.”

The wooden siding had indeed been painted a pastel shade, adorned with butterflies—metallic ones embedded with glass that glittered in the sun, wooden ones with peeling colors. I’d bet the wind chime tinkling had butterflies too. They infested the property.