Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
EVIE
I barely slept that night.
Every time I managed to drift off, another voice outside my window dragged me back awake, and unfortunately, most of them belonged to animals who had absolutely no concept of reasonable sleeping hours.
Before yesterday, the nighttime sounds of the rainforest had been something I enjoyed.
Frogs calling from somewhere near the water, insects buzzing beyond the screen, birds occasionally shifting through branches, and the soft rustle of something moving through leaves had always blended into pleasant background noise.
I had slept through sounds like those in more places than I could remember.
Now I understood far too much of it.
Two frogs somewhere outside had spent what felt like an hour arguing over whether the rain would return before sunrise.
Something small beneath the building complained repeatedly because another animal had apparently stolen its preferred sleeping place.
A bird in one of the nearby trees kept calling for its mate, growing increasingly annoyed every time the other bird refused to answer quickly enough.
And somewhere around three in the morning, a gecko had discovered another gecko near my window. Their resulting territorial dispute had lasted much longer than seemed necessary for animals that weighed less than one of my camera lenses.
By sunrise, I had accepted that the nature spirit hadn't simply given me the ability to hear animals when it was convenient.
I heard them all the time.
That realization became considerably less magical after a sleepless night.
I lay beneath the mosquito netting for another few minutes, staring at the wooden ceiling while warm morning air already drifted through the open window.
My body felt heavy with exhaustion, but there was no point trying to sleep now.
The research station had begun waking around me, and beneath the calls of wildlife, I could hear human footsteps moving along the wooden walkways and someone opening one of the equipment sheds.
Eventually, the smell of coffee reached my room.
That was enough motivation to move.
I pushed aside the mosquito netting and sat up, wincing when my braid caught beneath one shoulder.
Most of it had loosened overnight, leaving strands tangled around my face and neck.
I didn't bother fixing it beyond gathering everything into a messy knot at the back of my head before pulling on shorts and a clean shirt.
My reflection in the small mirror above the dresser was less than encouraging. There were faint shadows beneath my eyes, and one side of my face still had a crease from the pillow.
“Beautiful,” I muttered to my reflection, rubbing my fingers beneath one eye before giving up and heading toward the kitchen.
The communal building was already busy enough that I hesitated in the doorway.
Two researchers I had only met briefly yesterday were eating breakfast at the far end of one table.
Someone had left a plate of toast beside the stove, and the ceiling fan turned slowly overhead without doing much to move the humid air.
More importantly, a full pot of coffee sat on the counter.
I went straight for it.
“Morning,” Mara greeted me from the table behind me, and when I turned, I found her lowering a stack of papers to get a better look at my face. Her eyebrows rose almost immediately. “You look like you got about twenty minutes of sleep.”
“That's generous,” I told Mara, my voice still rough as I reached for one of the mismatched ceramic mugs and filled it nearly to the top. “I think I spent most of the night becoming intimately familiar with every sound this forest can make.”
Mara gave a sympathetic laugh and leaned back in her chair, one hand remaining around her own coffee mug.
“The first few nights can be rough,” Mara assured me, her expression softening as she watched me add powdered creamer. “It takes a while before your brain stops reacting to every noise like something is trying to crawl into bed with you.”
A small gecko clung to the wooden wall a few feet behind her.
Loud woman is awake, the gecko observed, its head turning toward me as its toes spread against the rough boards.
My hand froze around the spoon.
I stared at it.
The gecko stared back.
Hair looks worse today, the gecko added, edging another inch higher along the wall with what I could only interpret as smug satisfaction.
I slowly lowered my spoon.
Apparently, even reptiles had opinions about my appearance.
“Evie?” Mara asked, and when I dragged my attention back toward her, she was watching me with a slight crease between her eyebrows. “You all right?”
“Fine,” I answered Mara, forcing my face into something resembling normal while I lifted my mug. “Just tired enough that I'm apparently staring at walls now.”
Mara glanced behind herself.
The gecko remained perfectly still.
She lies badly, the gecko commented, its tiny throat moving as it continued watching me.
I brought the coffee to my mouth before I accidentally answered it. The first hot swallow helped. Not enough, but it was a start.
“Take this morning easy,” Mara advised, gathering her papers into a neater stack while she studied me over the rim of her mug. “You've got six weeks here. You don't need to photograph the entire rainforest before Friday.”
“I know,” I told Mara, reaching toward the plate of toast because I could already tell she was going to watch until I ate something. “I was planning on staying around the shorter trails today anyway.”
Mara narrowed her eyes.
“You said something similar yesterday before wandering off,” Mara reminded me, tapping one finger against the side of her mug.
“I came back,” I pointed out to Mara, biting into the toast as casually as I could manage.
“You also came back later than you were supposed to,” Mara corrected, although the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “Try being boring today. Just once.”
“I'll see what I can do,” I promised Mara, smiling around another bite of toast when she shook her head.
After breakfast, I returned to my room long enough to organize the equipment I wanted to carry.
I should have been thinking about work. Instead, every few minutes my attention drifted back toward the forest. The events of yesterday hadn't become any easier to believe after sleeping on them.
I still remembered the tayra trapped in the snare, the impossible clearing, the nature spirit standing where an injured animal had been only moments before, and the warm pressure of two fingers against my forehead.
Then the macaw.
Especially the macaw.
I had considered telling Mara what happened.
That idea lasted approximately five seconds.
There was no version of that conversation that ended well.
Hey, Mara, just so you know, I followed an injured tayra off the trail yesterday, discovered magic is real, met some sort of ancient forest spirit, and now the wildlife talks to me.
At best, she would think I'd gotten heatstroke. At worst, I would be on a boat headed back toward civilization before lunch. So until I figured out exactly what had happened to me, I was keeping it to myself.
That became much harder the moment I stepped outside.
Morning wildlife surrounded the station.
A pair of small birds argued above one of the roofs.
Several insects communicated in brief impressions I could understand without anything resembling actual words.
Something hidden beneath thick leaves complained about hunger, while another animal somewhere farther away announced repeatedly that a particular patch of fruit belonged to it.
I stood near the bottom of the porch steps, listening.
It was overwhelming, but not in the painful way it had been when the spirit first touched me.
If anything, it reminded me of standing inside a crowded restaurant and suddenly realizing I could understand every conversation happening around me.
I didn't have to focus on all of them, but training myself not to listen was proving difficult.
A small brown bird landed on the railing beside me and tilted its head.
Hair-nest woman, the bird chirped, examining the messy knot at the back of my head with far too much interest.
I touched my hair self-consciously.
“Okay, that's the second comment I've gotten about my hair this morning,” I muttered to the bird, keeping my voice low as I glanced toward the station to make sure no one was nearby. “I'm beginning to feel judged.”
The bird gave a quick flutter of its wings before disappearing toward the trees.
I sighed and adjusted the strap of my camera. This was definitely going to take some getting used to. I started toward one of the shorter survey trails when a burst of frantic voices broke through the ordinary chatter.
The change was immediate enough that I stopped.
Several birds flew out of the canopy ahead of me.
Blood.
The sharp warning came from somewhere high in the trees.
Hurt hunter.
Another voice joined the first, this one from farther toward the north trail.
Spotted one hurt.
My fingers tightened around the strap across my chest. A capuchin moved quickly through the branches beyond the equipment building, leaves shaking as it passed.
Big cat by water, the monkey called, pausing long enough to look toward another animal farther ahead. Cannot hunt.
Another capuchin answered from deeper inside the forest.
Blood on ground. Bad leg.
For a moment, I remained where I was.
A spotted hunter.
A big cat.
There weren't many possibilities.
I turned toward the north trail before common sense caught up with me. Yesterday I had followed one injured animal into the rainforest and ended up being magically altered by a nature spirit.
Going running into the trees because monkeys told me something else was hurt seemed like exactly the sort of decision Mara had just warned me not to make.
Hurts, a bird called from the canopy, the urgency in the little animal's voice making my stomach tighten. Big hunter hurts.