May: Bloom & Bane (Months & Monsters #2)

1. Root & Droplet

root I am terrified that my touch will hurt it—that the black rot will seep through my skin and turn this tiny heart to ash.

But the rabbit doesn’t wither. It settles into the crook of my calloused palm, its whiskers twitching against my thumb as it cleans its face, as if my hand is the safest place in the world.

Such a tiny, delicate soul.

I stare at the creature, my heart blooming in my chest as its warmth seeps into my palm. Its ears snap forward, freezing mid-groom. Its tiny body tenses in my hand.

An unnatural chill sweeps through the meadow, turning my breath into a white plume of mist. The bunny leaps from my hand, disappearing into the tall grass as if the devil himself were on its heels.

The warmth of the sun feels miles away. The thrumming life in the soil beneath my feet goes quiet. The earth recoils, pulling away from the silver creature standing at the edge of the meadow.

His silhouette shimmers like moonlight and silver smoke. His form flickers at the edges, though he’s solid enough to cast a shadow that freezes the grass into brittle frost.

He doesn’t look at me with awe like the deer. He looks at me with a cold, vulturine stillness that makes my skin crawl. His translucent tail flickers as his eyes track the vines slowly winding around me.

A low, throaty growl vibrates from the ground and into my body. I beg the vines to stop. I don’t want to have to hurt this animal if it lunges at me.

Please, stop.

I take a cautious step back, my heel sinking into the soft earth, and the fox’s lips curl. He stalks forward with a stealthy grace.

The clover turns to frost under his paws, crystals spreading in jagged patterns that hiss in the summer air.

The more I plead, the more the earth seems to ignore me. My panic only makes the vines thicken. Thorns the size of my thumb curl outward to meet the fox’s advance.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I try to tell him. Instead, a seismic rumble sounds from my chest, carrying through the meadow and making the trees at the edge of the forest shiver.

The fox’s ears flatten against his head. He barks a sharp, squalling sound that pales in comparison to my roar. He holds my gaze for one more breath, then turns and melts back into the treeline.

The chill lifts from the air, and the earth beneath me thrums back to life. I sink to my knees.

What is happening to me?

The vines around my legs unwind slowly, retreating back into the soil.

I press my palms to the earth, trying to calm the trembling in my hands. My claws dig into the dirt, and I watch helplessly as tiny white flowers bloom where I touch.

A soft rustling sound makes me hold my breath.

The bunny from earlier sits three feet away, nose twitching, watching me with those same wide eyes.

“You came back,” I whisper.

It hops closer, stopping just out of reach. Its ears flick forward, and a gentle pressure spreads through my mind.

Safe?

The thought isn’t mine.

I stare at the creature. “I… think so?”

It takes another hop closer, and the pressure in my mind becomes louder.

You smell like spring… and winter at the same time. Confusing.

I reach out my hand, careful not to scare it. “I won’t hurt you,” I say, my voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The bunny hops into my outstretched hand.

“You can talk?” I ask.

You can hear. The bunny sniffs my skin. Most can’t. You’re special.

“I’m… I’m hearing a rabbit in my head.”

Yes.

“What are you?”

It pauses, dark eyes meeting mine.

I’m a rabbit. What are you?

“I-I don’t know,” I admit.

The bunny considers my words, its ears twitching thoughtfully.

That’s okay. I didn’t know I was a rabbit at first, either. Mother told me. Maybe she can tell you too.

A laugh escapes me. The sound startles a nearby bird into flight, but the bunny only settles deeper into my palm, tucking its tiny paws beneath its body.

You’re scared, it observes. I can feel it. Like thunder in the ground before it rains.

“I am scared,” I whisper. “I woke up in the dirt, and I don’t remember anything. Things keep dying when I touch them, but you—” I gesture helplessly. “You’re fine.”

Because you want me to be fine, it confesses. When you’re not scared, you smell like fresh grass. I like fresh grass. So I came back.

Its cottontail flicks against my thumb.

The silver fox was very scary. Death-smell. Made everything cold. But you’re not all death. You’re also flowers.

“Flowers?” I repeat.

Mhm. The bunny yawns, revealing tiny teeth. Pretty ones. White and purple. They grew when you held me before. I liked them.

I stare at the creature in my hand. This impossibly small, brave thing that came back… for me.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

Will you?

“I don’t want to.”

Then you won’t. You smell gentle. Even when you’re scary big.

“I’m not gentle. I have claws.” I flex my fingers slightly, careful not to shake him. “And everything I touch either grows or atrophies.”

So don’t be scared, and things will grow, he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Easy.

“It’s not easy.”

Maybe not yet. You’re new. He cleans his ear. But you’ll learn.

A warmth settles in my chest.

“Do you have a name?” I ask.

The bunny’s ears perk up.

My mother told me that one day someone would find me and give me a name. And that’s how I’d know.

“Know what?”

That I was theirs.

“Would you—would you like me to give you a name?”

He leaps in my hand, twisting in the air before landing back in my palm.

I guess that’s a yes.

“Hm…” I think. “How about Droot?”

Droot! he squeaks. Like root and droplet. I love droplets.

A real laugh bubbles out of me this time.

Droot curls into my palm. For the first time since I clawed my way out of the earth, I smile.

“Okay, Droot,” I whisper, my voice steadier now. “If I’m supposed to learn how to be gentle, I’m going to need your help.”

His ears twitch toward the deeper part of the meadow where the fox vanished.

We go? the little voice says in my mind. The one who smells like your spring is that way. She is sleeping. And beautiful.

“My spring?”

I stand up. My legs feel much lighter than they did after first waking.

I don’t care if I’m a monster. If there’s a woman sleeping nearby, and I’m the only one who smells like her spring, then I need to find her.

“Okay, Droot. Lead the way.”