“Yo,” Jonathan says. “Who you calling a cute little fox?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Jonathan’s right. I bet he’s one wicked ugly fox.”
“One wicked ugly and scary big, mean, lean, and hungry fox is more like it,” Jonathan says.
“Now you’re talking,” Enrique says. “One big, mean, hungry fox.”
I peek through the window. “There are more of them,” I say. “And Enrique’s right: they’re bigger.”
“So what do we do?” Jonathan says.
“We need to get out of here. But I’d rather practice here than out there. Since Enrique is the only one who seems to be able to just pop in and out of being a jaguar, why don’t we all practice a little? And then we can work out a plan.”
Maybe this is what it means to be a leader. Convincing people to do something that may hurt or kill them — if Blaine is telling me the truth.
“Here?” Enrique says. “In my room?”
“What?” Jonathan says. “You afraid I’m going to pee on your bed to mark my territory?”
“Or that I’ll tear your furniture apart with my teeth?” I ask.
Enrique grins. “To be honest, I’ve already scratched the windowsill with my claws.”
Jonathan examines the sill for scratches, then whistles. “I bet that felt good.”
Enrique nods. “It did.”
“All right,” I say. “Let’s get started.”
“You won’t start howling, will you, Stanley?” Enrique asks. “And what kind of sounds do foxes make?”
I shake my head, look at Jonathan.
“Don’t look at me. I have no idea. But in the dream, I think I could talk.”
“You could talk?” I ask. “A talking fox? What else?”
He makes a flapping motion with his arms.
“You were flying?”
He nods. “But it was a dream, man. Everybody flies in their dreams.”
“Look, Enrique,” I say, “put on some music so no one can hear us howl.”
“That’s going to have to be some loud music.”
“Dude,” Jonathan says. “I know you have some loud music to go with that loud haircut of yours.”
Enrique smiles. “Yeah, but I don’t know if Mom will like it. It’s the Day of the Dead.”
“Enrique,” I say. “You think they’re going to like it if the house gets attacked by shamblers? We need to hurry up here.”
“All right,” he says, and he goes to turn on his radio. It’s playing some loud Mexican music.
“My parents are downstairs, watching television,” he says. “We should be all right.”
He checks to make sure the door is bolted and that the window shades are all closed. Then he starts taking off his shirt.