Frosted Croakies by Sam Cheever

Author:Sam Cheever
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Electric Prose Publications

8

Everybody’s Mixed up and It’s all so Confusing

When I’m wrong, I like to do it up big. Like world-ending level wrong.

A shrill screaming rent the air, its terrified tones bringing the hairs up on the back of my neck. Scratch that. It would have brought the hairs up if I wasn’t trapped in a frog suit.

I cast my bulgy black gaze toward the source of the sound and found a Gargoyle flailing around, mouth open wide and dark eyes filled with terror.

“What’s happening? What’s happening? Why am I built like a retaining wall?”

Oh, oh. The Banshee’s scream spell was breaking.

“Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit!”

More shrieking sounded from behind the bookshelves.

“I’ve got this.” Grym Peabody took off toward the sound of shrieking, diving into the bookshelves and disappearing. I started hopping in that direction but discovered the muscle memory in the frog suit wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I must have pushed harder with one back leg than the other because I veered wildly off course, doing a full belly splat against the side of a shelf and sliding down to the rug with a muffled croak.

I lay on the carpet for a beat, imaginary horseflies circling my head, and then uncrossed my eyes and pushed back to my webbed feet.

Let’s try this again, I thought. What I actually said was, “Ribbit.”

I did a small, tentative hop and hit hard, falling over. I mentally adjusted my technique and tried again, gaining a bit more distance and staying on my feet.

I smiled inwardly. I could do this frog thing. But I had a new respect for Rustin.

It wasn’t easy being green.

I hopped again, testing my limits and then tried stringing two hops together. I was gearing up for a massive finish when something goosed me and I was suddenly clamped inside a pair of giant hands, hurtling skyward.

Whoa! “Ribbit!”

“Sorry,” Sebille Rhonda bellowed into my sensitive froggy ear canals. Then she grimaced and my green face turned pink.

“You peed on me!” Sebille exclaimed.

I tried to fold into a tiny, green and pink-cheeked ball in the center of her hand. But there was no place to hide.

Ahead of us, in the central seating area, Grym stood with a hand on a sobbing Hobs.

Worry filled my chest. If Hobs had been affected by the spell, what had I seen skimming stealthily across the shelves in the artifact library?

By process of elimination, I figured out that the creature who looked like Hobs was probably Claudette Baxter.

The woman eyed me with a level of disgust before lifting her oversized blue Hobs eyes to Grym. “Has someone been turned into a frog?” She lifted her small hands, flexing the spidery fingers as a fresh spate of tears slid from her eyes. “I never believed in witches until today.” She turned to Grym, whom she no doubt thought was Mr. Peabody. Wrapping the extra-long fingers around Grym’s wrist, she leaned close, speaking in an urgent, fear-filled voice. “Who is it? Who’s the witch?”

Grym Peabody covered her hand with his own.

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