Chapter 1

Horus

I didn’t attend graduate school for ten years with student loans up to my eyeballs to woo investors. I ran for the hills to escape the social scene of Ohio State University…but I guess deep in the Appalachian Mountains wasn’t far enough.

Half my audience is bored to death. The other half watch me with hero-worship shining in their expressions. Unfortunately, the people rolling their eyes and playing with the office supplies on their tables are the ones with the money we need.

“Wing-by-wing, I believe we can keep theDanaus plexippusoff the endangered species list. With the help of the Winged Wildlife and Abundant Earth Foundation, the monarch butterfly migration path will withstand the development of West Virginia’s population centers. Thank you for your time and for listening to our proposal. Any questions?” I take my first deep breath since I started my hour-long presentation. My glasses balance on the tip of my nose, so I remove them to polish the lenses with the cuff of my sleeve—an obvious sign that I’m done.

Baked. Over it. One foot out the door.

Ugh, public speaking. There’s a reason I study bugs and not people.

After a slight snafu when I dropped my notes, the ordeal is over…and not a moment too soon. My anxiety kicked off a colitis flare, so the sooner I can excuse myself to the restroom, the better. I hate that I’m the face of this project. My personal connection to the main stockholder of the Winged Wildlife and Abundant Earth Foundation is the only reason I’m here. Any other potential investor and I’d be deep in the forest, pretending my spam folder ate my invitation.

I wanted to pump my fists in the air at my triumphant finish, but I sweated through my dress shirt on the drive to Lakin Wildlife Center. If the investors buy into my plan, this center will double in size with a butterfly conservation habitat built behind it. Maybe a few honeybee hives on the edge of the property too. The other entomologists, ecologists, and conservationists hold their breath while Mr. Eli Carter Jr. swishes his diet cola around his mouth. After the locals voted down our tax levy, his foundation is our last hope of saving the monarch butterfly. We can’t go back to the ballot after such a disastrous defeat the first time.

“This butterfly park,” Eli says with a thick Appalachian accent. “Can any bug use it?”

I’m sorry, what? It’s not like I can post a yellow jacket at the door as a bouncer.

“Yes, sir,” I say, masking my annoyance with a toothy grin, “the native wildflowers should attract any pollinator within a mile radius—maybe further, depending on the species. There won’t be pesticides or herbicides to detract from the colonization efforts.”

“Even the coal fly?”

A what? If I hadn’t grown up in the Ohio Valley, I wouldn’t know about the elusive coal fly. As the only flying insect to live primarily underground, ecologists and conservationists ignore the coal fly. If ninety-nine percent of the world’s plant life burnt to a crisp, the coal fly wouldn’t notice. They lay their eggs on the underside of sunflowers, so they are warmed by the sun but constantly shaded. But otherwise, the pests ignore the surface ecosystem of our planet.

“I have a row of sunflowers planned in zone C of diagram 27 here,” I say, flipping backward through my presentation until I reach diagram 27. “The coal fly eggs—”

“Good, good,” he interrupts. “I knew there was a reason why I liked you.” The room laughs with him. He elbows his daughter Amber until she forces a fake smile that looks more like a wolf baring its fangs. She has the grace to wait for him to turn before rolling her eyes and huffing in annoyance.

No love lost between us, Amber.

I believe I found someone who doesn’t want to be here more than me. At one point, after four Mothman Shooters and a half-dozen beers, I thought she was beautiful in the dim lighting of a dive bar. Her shiny brown hair hangs in pretty waves around her face, but her pointed features are always twisted into boredom and disgust. She must use a million filters on her social media feed because her pictures look nothing like her. For one, in those pictures, she’s smiling. A real smile. Whoever takes those pictures knows a joyful, youthful Amber. My sober experiences with her have ranged from unpleasant to horrific.

“Punch and homemade cookies at the back of the room. Tour the grounds. The Lakin Conservation Center staff is on hand if you wish for a guide,” I snap as my colitis flare sends lava down my spine. Oh no, not here. I point at the refreshmenttable as I storm down the aisle to the door. The best way to delay a flare is to calm my stress levels. I can breathe with my head between my knees in the bathroom, empty my bowels, and return right as rain.

I just need a second alone.

“Come sit next to me, boy, so we can discuss the coal fly,” Eli calls out over the dim of the crowd.

Of course, the one thing I’ll never get in my personal hell is a second alone.

“I’m going to visit the restroom and—”

“Great, I’ll come with you,” he says, slamming his pen onto his blank notebook. His belly rocks the table as he stands. Amber scrambles to catch their half-filled plastic cups before they tip. “I could drain my main vein.”

“Hello Amber,” I say with a wince. My belly greets her with agurgle, too. If she responds, I don’t hear it over the rush of blood to my ears.

I need a toilet.Now.

With a tug of his jeans, Eli leads the way to the two-stall bathroom. My stomach tightens with anxiety and the coffee I chugged this morning. I knew coffee without food would mess with me, but coffee with food messes with me, too. At least I didn’t drink my usual energy drink. It’s why I carry essential oil spray in my backpack…as an emergency air freshener.

Wait, my backpack! I’m not carrying my usual backpack because I opted for a more formal briefcase. I don’t have my antacids, my charcoal tablets, my air freshening spray, or my loperamide. What was I thinking—traveling to a war zone without my arsenal of digestive aids?

The churning intensifies. A cramp under my belly button bends me forward, so I waddle like a duck.

“I’m glad we have a chance to speak privately,” Eli says as the door closes behind us. He checks the stalls as I long for a private moment in one. With a flick of the entrance’s lock, he secures our doom. “How much do you want this bug park?”