Chapter Twenty-FiveFluffster screams.
Not chirps or screeches as per normal chinchilla vocalizations, but screams a wail I didn’t know his little throat could produce.
He then begins to shake as though having an epileptic seizure—or perhaps more apt, like he’s being put to death by an electric chair.
“Stop! You’re going to kill him!” I scan the room for something heavy to bang Baba Yaga over the head with.
“He’ll be fine,” the witch grits out. “He’s just an old and strong specimen of his kind, that’s all.”
The energy keeps spewing from her fingers, and Fluffster’s fur stands up in every direction, as though he’s turned into a porcupine.
In the next instant, his thrashing stops, and he collapses onto his side.
Baba Yaga’s energy pierces his lifeless-looking body for a moment, then ce
