The Casquette Girls (Book 1)

3. Home, Sweet, Home

A wall of warm air hit us when we walked into the foyer. My chest tightened thinking about mold. The dampness lingered, wrapping around my skin as if we had entered a gym locker room. Total darkness. Total silence. But after sixteen years of hearing the pendulum swings of the old grandfather clock, an impression of the sound was burned in my mind. The phantom ticks became louder in my head as we crept into the living room. I flicked the light switch just to be certain. Nothing. We both reached for our phones. That feeling of peculiarity versus familiarity crept over me once again.

My father walked ahead of me with his makeshift flashlight thrust forward and his right arm extended over me in a protective stance. There'd been countless reports of people breaking into homes and squatting in the less flooded neighborhoods.

By the glow of our phones, nothing appeared to be out of place—not that either of us could remember exactly how we had left it.

No signs of water or mold. My father exhaled loudly.

"I'm going to get the hurricane box," I said.

"Adele, wait—"

But I was already halfway through the dormant dining room, the thick, old walls muffling his protest.

Despite the long journey, I felt incredibly alert. My eyes darted back and forth like an animal's as I surveyed each room. Alone in the dark silence, I suddenly became very aware of the beating of my own heart.

Thump, thump.

Thump, thump.

The deeper I moved into the house, the harder it thumped.

Everything seemed okay . . . but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

I stood still in the kitchen. Listening. My hair lifted from my shoulders, sending a wave of shivers down my back. A delicate touch brushed my bare neck, causing me to twist around.

"Who's there?"

A slow creak answered.

I spun toward the noise, dropping my phone. I grabbed it from the floor, and when I rose, my head collided with something soft but solid.

"What the—?" My hair yanked backward.

"Don't touch me!" I yelled, jerking my head.

A sharp hook pierced the skin at the base of my neck. I screamed as the claw ripped all the way up my cheekbone.

Wings flapped frantically in my face, and high-pitched squawks assaulted my ears. Blood smeared from my neck to my face as I tried to keep my ears covered while thrashing wildly in the dark. "Get away!"

"Adele!"

"Dad! Kitchen!" My head jerked backward again as my hair became entangled with the bird's talons, ripping from my scalp, and my arms got scratched up shielding my face.

"Dad!"

Each touch of feathers to my skin sent a wave of shudders down my spine. I fell to my knees, ripping the last of my tangled hair free from the bird's claws.

Tears poured down as I caught my breath.

"Adele! Where are you?"

Glassware fell from the counter, smashing onto the tile floor around me.

"Down here!" I called, crouching into a ball next to a cabinet.

"What the hell?" my father yelled over the ruckus, sliding onto the floor. "Are you okay?" He pulled me close.