Many more died needlessly.
The Rave was not a pretty sight.
People spoke in tongues. And then tore out tongues.
The Hellfire squad was able to take them down with their targeted missiles, and save us.
Too bad they didn't care if they were killing unaffected humans along with the Ravers.
My dad threw me and my mom in a truck that didn't belong to us and drove us toward a little cabin in the woods that my parents had kept from their previous life. We turned it into a little farmhouse.
And now, here we were. From three to two. And now one.
I heard it again. A scratching sound that took me out of my dreams. I lay still.
The moonlight bathed my front windows. Normally I appreciated the glow, but now I felt exposed. I didn't sit up in bed. If I could hear them, would they hear me?
I melted my body, trying to envision myself as nothing but goo. Boneless, noiseless as I flowed out of my bed. There, on the floor, I felt protected, the bed between me and the windows.
My hand went past the scriptures at my bedside and rested right on the handgun. That felt more reassuring at the moment. What I lacked in my dad's magic, I made up for in sheer will and target practice.
I hugged the gun to me and with a steadying breath, I flipped open the book to the verses that talked about sharpening iron. I traced my fingers over the words like Dad had shown me, believing them. When I felt that tingle, the rush of the words coming alive, I drew my thumb and forefinger together the way my dad did, and pinched the words out of the scriptures.
They dangled and wriggled between my fingers in what looked like gossamer silken threads. I whipped the words-turned-spells onto the gun with a flourish, and smeared any residue from my fingertips along the barrel for good measure.
The weapon shone with a holy gleam, and I could smell the blessings being loaded into the chambers.
I crawled out of my bedroom, slinking in shadows, and descended the stairs. My feet knew exactly which step would creak and which wouldn’t so that I moved silently from room to room.
Before long, the only rooms I needed to clear were the living room and the front entryway. I should have started there first.
Two figures, possibly four, had crisscrossed the porch, gliding just as soundlessly as I did from one end to the other. They must have learned very quickly about the creaky floorboards, too. I looked down at the gun at my hand, the realness of it there in my grip. The heft.
I was a crackshot, but I didn't want four to rush me.
Survive, Soli. That's all you need to do. Survive.
I crept up to the entrance. I heard their whispers. In the morning I needed to strengthen the wards, no more excuses.
"Well, she took the apples, so at least that's a good thing. She's not gonna starve."
There was a low growl. "Of course she wouldn't have starved. She knows how to take care of herself and she was able to outrun you in that pass."
Whoever it was snuffled. "Good thing, too, that thing nearly got her. She took too long changing."
"You didn't complain when she got out of the clothes."
I froze, tuning in now. Had there been something else after me the other day in the woods? Something I couldn’t see?
I remembered that mournful wolf song, then, the one that I felt pressed to my skin, telling me to run.
"Besides," a deeper voice intoned. "She was able to outrun the Judas because she was in her dry clothes. She slowed down, yes, but only to speed up again."
That voice, wrapped in its cool logic, shut them up. It seemed that whenever that voice spoke, silence followed in its wake.
Based on the conversation, I hadn't been alone out there. There had been something unseen that one referred to as a Judas that had meant me harm. And then there were these people on my porch. Whoever they were didn’t try the door or even jiggle the doorknob to see if it was locked. It was like they knew it was warded, and they were okay with it.
I was drawn to hear more.
"We'll take shifts just to make sure we ran the last of those...things...away."
"Her wards are good. Where was the breach?"
"I think the damn chickens did something. I can't be sure though. It could have been made to look like an accident, perhaps by someone in the area who might have followed her here."
"I'll check it, boss."
Whoever Boss was, all he answered was a grumbly hmm.
I rose up on tiptoes to peer into the lookout, bracing myself so I wouldn't make too much noise. I pressed my eye against it.
A man filled my viewfinder. This one was the one the other referred to as Boss. He had that feel to him.
The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They shone like a newly minted penny, back when that kind of currency meant something in this world. As he tilted his head, his eyes changed, revealing a silver-mirrored shine.
Then the next thing I noticed was smooth caramel skin that made me lick my lips at a long-forgotten sweetness. His face was sculpted from the heavens and angels themselves. It could make the demons, hell, Ravers weep with joy at its beauty.
And those cheekbones! They were so perfect, my palm itched to slap them just to see if they were real. Then again, I'd be afraid I'd cut my hand on them, they were so sharp.
When he turned, there was a brand on his neck. I couldn't quite read it, but it looked almost like the kind that the government had stamped on shifters Before.
Before we’d realized that there were more Reapers
