The Ominous Eye. Tracey Hecht

fox took a single step forward and squinted into the dust. The reptilian creature drew closer, its features growing clearer. It had greenish-gray skin, and the angular jaw of an iguana. Its long, spiked tail whipped behind it with every step.

      Bismark spun and twirled, trying his best to make an impression. “Well, hello there, newcomer!” He raised his flap in an awkward salute. “Please, por favor—state your name and your purpose.”

      The creature paused just a flap’s length away from the sugar glider, but it did not speak.

      Bismark scanned the foreigner with his round, dark eyes. “Hmm,” he mused, mischievously stroking his chin. “I have a feeling she’s of the female persuasion, amigos. I’ll handle this.”

      He cleared his throat. “Buon giorno, beautiful stranger.” He lowered his high-pitched voice so it sounded as romantic as possible. Looking over his shoulder, making sure Dawn could see, he scrunched his nose and shook his head. This creature was no beauty.

      With her glassy dark eyes and fearsome spikes, her appearance was stony and cruel—like an ancient being from an old, forgotten time. But as frightening as she appeared, it was difficult for Bismark to look away from her. Her features were remarkable: the orange dots around her thick neck, the neon-blue streaks lining her eyes, the eerie sheen of her skin. And most of all, the mysterious flicker of light, like a halo, that gleamed from the top of her head.

      “Do not be so shy, my spiky sugar plum, my ravishing reptile.”

      The stranger still said nothing.

      “Mmm, I see,” murmured the sugar glider. “The strong and silent type. Me gusta!”

      “Bismark,” hissed Dawn. “Stand back.” The fox shifted her weight. She had never seen a creature like this before. Warily, she eyed the row of spikes that ran from the newcomer’s head to the tip of her tail. The longer, sharper prongs in the middle line of her back looked particularly wicked, though the shorter barbed bands on either side appeared menacing as well. The fox’s breath caught in her throat.

      Tobin looked at the creature, standing small and still in the ash. Though he trusted the fox, a twinge of sympathy stung his heart. Yes, the reptile was unfamiliar. But he had once been a stranger himself, timid, scared, and alone.

      Carefully, he ventured toward this outsider and looked kindly into her eyes. They were gold with black slits for irises. “Can…can we help you?” he asked.

      The reptile met Tobin’s gaze and repeatedly blinked, as though studying the presence before her. Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke. “No,” she replied. Her tone was flat and low. “But I can help you.” Slowly, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, revealing the top of her scale-covered skull. Then, without warning, the grayish-green surface burst open, exposing a gleaming, round orb. The creature had a third eye.

       Chapter Five

       THE THIRD EYE

      Tobin froze in surprise. Though the creature also stood still, the moonlight flickered off the top of her head, making it seem as if she were moving. As the clouds above shifted the shadows, the pangolin grew aware of his silence.

      Make her feel welcome, he thought. He was usually quite good at that. But when he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. Unsure of what else to do, the pangolin stepped away from the creature, his jaw still hanging slack.

      But while Tobin moved back toward the fox, Bismark bounded forward, mesmerized. The stranger remained still and calm.

      Interpreting her silence as permission, the sugar glider eagerly stood on his toes, bent over the mysterious eye, and stared into its depths. It shone with a strange glow, as though lit from within. “Mon dieu! It’s like a moonstone,” he said, leaning closer, captivated by his milky reflection.

      “Bismark,” snapped Dawn. With a sharp flick of her head, the fox gestured for him to back up.

      The reptile smirked. “Don’t worry, fox,” she said smoothly. “This reaction is not unusual.”

      The hair on Dawn’s neck pricked on end. With her gaze still fixed on the reptile, she extended a paw toward the sugar glider and pulled him back by his flap.

      “What?” Bismark squealed, innocently shrugging his shoulders. “You heard the…uh, reptile. My reaction was not unusual!”

      “But she is,” hissed Dawn.

      The sugar glider shuddered at his friend’s steely tone and eyed her tight grip on his flap. “Don’t be jealous, amore,” he chuckled. “She has nothing on you! Well, besides that extra eye, I suppose.” The sugar glider paused and tilted his face up toward Dawn’s. “But look at us!” he exclaimed. “I have two eyes, you have two eyes—we were made for each other!”

      The fox released her hold on the sugar glider and took a bold step toward the stranger. “You said you could help us.”

      The reptile grinned, exposing three rows of teeth: two on top, one on bottom.

      “Holy smokes!” Bismark gasped. His eyes ran the length of the creature. “Do you have three of everything?”

      Eyeing the stranger’s fangs, Dawn bared her own, each as sharp as a needle.

      “Let’s start over,” offered the reptile. Though her voice sounded kind and polite, her eyes remained hard and cold. “My name is Polyphema and I am a tuatara.”

      “Tutu-what?” Bismark asked. “Tutu-who?”

      The stranger released a warm laugh, exposing her teeth once again. Although she had many, there were gaps between them where some were missing. And a large number of those that remained appeared to be worn down to nubs. “A tuatara.”

      “I’m sorry,” Tobin said bashfully, “but I’ve never heard of a tuatara.”

      “That’s no surprise,” said the reptile. Her smile quickly turned down at the sides. “There are nearly none of us left.”

      “Oh goodness,” gasped Tobin. “That’s awful.”

      “Yes, it is,” replied Polyphema. “But I prefer not to dwell on all that.” She lifted her chin toward the moon.

      “Why are you here?” demanded the fox. She took another step forward, stirring a small cloud of ash. The wind picked up a little, throwing a stinging wave of tiny rocks over them all.

      Tobin drew in a breath. There was an obvious edge to Dawn’s voice, and it made his heart lurch in his chest. Why was she being so harsh?

      He looked at his new acquaintance: nearly extinct, yet so strong. He smiled, admiring this strange tuatara. But then he saw his leader: determined, intense, and reliable. Suddenly, he was not sure what to think. Was he supposed to be taking sides?

      “I told you, I am here to help,” said Polyphema. “Do you see that?” she asked, pointing at the gigantic hole in the earth. “Do you see what’s at the bottom of it?

      The three Nocturnals turned back to face the crater. Tobin blinked. With the arrival of the strange, three-eyed creature before him, he had nearly forgotten about the large shape pressed into the earth below, the shape that had scared him so badly before.

      “Bien sûr!” replied Bismark. “How could we miss it? Just because we have two eyes and not three does not make us blind.”

      “Well, what do you see?” asked Polyphema.

      The sugar glider scratched at his bald spot. “Isn’t it obvious, Tutu? I see the monstrous mark of a beast!”

      “Yes,” the