Cracked

By Eliza Crewe

Meet Meda. She eats people.

Well, technically, she eats their soul. But she totally promises to only go for people who deserve it. She’s special. It’s not her fault she enjoys it. She can’t help being a bad guy. Besides, what else can she do? Her mother was killed and it’s not like there are any other “soul-eaters” around to show her how to be different. That is, until the three men in suits show up.

They can do what she can do. They’re like her. Meda might finally have a chance to figure out what she is. The problem? They kind of want to kill her. Before they get the chance Meda is rescued by Crusaders, members of an elite group dedicated to wiping out Meda’s kind. This is her chance! Play along with the “good guys” and she’ll finally figure out what, exactly, her “kind” is.

Be careful what you wish for. Playing capture the flag with her mortal enemies, babysitting a teenage boy with a hero complex, and trying to keep one step ahead of a too-clever girl are bad enough. But the Hunger is gaining on her.
The more she learns, the worse it gets. And when Meda uncovers a shocking secret about her mother, her past, and her destiny... she may finally give into it.

Praise for Cracked
"I ADORED Eliza Crewe’s Cracked. It’s smart, it’s funny, it’s full of action and bare-handed decapitations. Meda’s voice is hilarious and snarky and brash and inhuman and original."
— Leila Roy, Kirkus

"The first volume of the Soul Eaters series takes readers on a wild and rather bloody ride through classic good-versus-evil territory with a razor-sharp narrative and surprisingly likable protagonist. Multiple plot twists heighten the tension of this tightly written novel, while spot-on sardonic dialogue brings necessary comic relief. Meda’s developing friendships with the Crusaders, especially the caustic Jo, allow ample room for exploration of what it really means to be human."
— Summer Hayes, Booklist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eliza Crewe
• Release date: Sep 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310644634

Eliza Crewe

Eliza Crewe always thought she’d be a lawyer, and even went so far as to complete law school. But as they say, you are what you eat, and considering the number of books Eliza has devoured since childhood, it was inevitable she’d end up in the literary world. She abandoned the lawyer-plan to instead become a librarian and now a writer.While she’s been filling notebooks with random scenes for years, Eliza didn’t seriously commit to writing an entire novel until the spring of 2011, when she and her husband bought a house. With that house came a half-hour commute, during which Eliza decided she needed something to think about other than her road-rage. Is it any surprise she wrote a book about a blood-thirsty, people-eating monster?Eliza has lived in Illinois, Edinburgh, and Las Vegas, and now lives in North Carolina with her husband, daughter, hens, an angry, talking, stuffed dwarf giraffe, and a sweet, mute, pantomiming bear. She likes to partially-complete craft projects, free-range her hens, and take long walks. Cracked is her first novel.She is represented by Victoria Marini of Gelfman Schneider Literary Agents, Inc.

Book preview

Cracked

ELIZA CREWE

The Soul-Eater Series Book 1

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Eliza Crewe 2013

Cover art by Dominic Harman

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events of localities is entirely coincidental.

For Adam and Madeleine

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Crushed Sneak Preview

ONE

There are some people you know you shouldn’t anger because it isn’t right. Like your mom—if she’s the nice sort.

There are other people you know you shouldn’t anger because they have the authority to punish you. Police officers, politicians, insane asylum wardens, your mom—if she’s the bad sort.

But there are some people you shouldn’t anger that you don’t know about, because no one ever survived to warn you.

I’m the third kind.

I eat souls. The packaging can be tricky, but fortunately I am blessed with special skills to pry my meals from their pesky shells. My teeth rip skin; my jaws snap bones. I am fast, lightning-fast, snuff—oh-was-that-your-life?—fast. I try to stick to bad souls, in the memory of my own mom (the nice sort). There were other reasons, reasons I used to understand, but they are reasons for a good person. I am not that.

That might be why I feel so at home here.

Small rooms, thick walls. Hushed whispers and ear-grating wails. A symphony of misery set to the beat of beatings.

The Mulligan Residential Mental Health Facility—an insane asylum, but with better promotional materials—prison of the cracked and grey.

Cracked windows, cracked walls, cracked minds. Don’t make them angry or there will be cracked skulls.

Grey-painted walls, grey-tiled floors. Once-white nightgowns, now grey. The skin of the inmates. Grey. The metal-framed bed. The bedding. Grey, grey, grey. The bars on the window...

Black.

Imagery ruined.

Correction—prison of the cracked, grey and black.

The sound of a slamming door vibrates down the darkened hall and I draw up to my elbows. As the loud bang fades, dead silence takes its place. It’s the middle of the night, maybe even early morning, and nothing else stirs. My ears ache as I listen, waiting. When they start, the heavy tap of boots on linoleum is loud, like drumbeats.

Someone’s coming. My hands tighten on the faded coverlet. I hope it’s him.

Two nurses work the night shift, so there’s a fifty–fifty chance it’s only Gideon, the other one. Samson’s the one I’m after, the reason I’m here. The ghost-girl, Callie, pointed him out to me. I wasn’t in the mood to help her at first, but she insisted. Then she insisted again and again, until I wanted to kill her. They’re like that, ghosts, once they realize I can hear them. Demanding—and impossible to kill.

I turn, finding Callie’s translucent form in the shadows. She stands rigid, her semi-transparent head bent away from me, staring through the wall at something I can’t see. Something that wears large, linoleum-tapping boots. She twists the strap of her pack in her hands, and, as the boots tap closer, she takes a step backwards, then another. The cell is tiny so it’s only a few steps until she bumps against the wall. Well, bumps through the wall, actually.

One look at her pulls me upright, electric excitement shooting along my veins. The nurse coming down the hall is Samson. Her murderer.

I could have snatched the naughty nurse from his house, lurked in the parking lot by his car, called him claiming to want his Craigs-listed couch. I didn’t need to have myself committed to the asylum like I did. But there’s something poetic about recreating the scene the nurse played out with his own victim, only this time, with a very different ending.

Callie doesn’t approve. She wanted me to take care of him weeks ago. She’s spent most of our time here drifting around the room, running her silvery fingers along the dingy grey walls and giving me impatient glares. But if she doesn’t like my plan, she can find another ghost-seeing, soul-eating monster—I haven’t come across one in seventeen years, but she’s welcome to try. As Mom always said, there’s an easy way to do something, and the right way.

Then again, she also said I shouldn’t play with my food.

I wouldn’t say Callie and I are friends. More to the point, she wouldn’t say we’re friends—even if she could speak, instead of just bombarding me with memories. She was committed to the asylum because she couldn’t deal with the horribleness of the world. I am the horribleness of the world.

It doesn’t give us a whole lot in common.

But right now, I’m all she has and as her murderer tromps down the hall she looks to me for comfort.

I give it a shot. Relax, I whisper. You’re already dead.

Her eyes fill with tears and I roll mine. Ghosts.

My hall-mates are silent, barely breathing, and I imagine I can hear their broken minds screaming, Not me, not me. The boots pause somewhere down the hallway. I imagine the short, bullish Samson peering through a mesh-enforced window and terrifying the room’s occupant. There’s a soft, deliberate knocking—he wants to make sure he has the inhabitant’s attention. At the sound, Callie cringes and then, forcing courage, sticks up her chin, her eyes as fierce as a scared little dead girl can manage. But then the steps start again and she shrinks into the wall. Her eyes dart back to me.

I can take a hint. I hop off the bed and prance into position, in perfect line of sight from the door, then, with a little spin, drop down so I’m curled against the wall with my head on my knees—a delicious little dish of déjà vu. When he came for her, Callie was curled up just like this, crying into her knees. Broken-hearted, until he was done. Then she was just broken.

The linoleum is icy through the thin material of my institute-issued nightgown, but the heat swelling under my skin more than makes up for it. The Hunger has been very patient, waiting quietly for weeks while I laid my trap, but now it yawns and stretches, tingling out to my fingers and gnawing on my soul.

Samson’s tapping feet come closer, but again he pauses and knocks on a door. I don’t mind. The pauses make it better. They make me wonder whether he’s going to come to me, like the anticipation before a kiss. Will he or won’t he?

But this is not a love story.

The boots begin to tap again, coming closer, and a little thrill runs down my spine. The ghost girl sinks further into the wall and slides as far away as possible, into the corner.

Shadows block the crack under my door and a river of fire washes over me, staining the world red. I have a guest.

Delightful.

I don’t dare look up. Not yet. I feel his eyes creep across my skin. I know what he sees. Small, thin, pointy, frail. Curled on the floor. My dark hair is shorn into raggedy tufts on one side, left long on the other. I did that to myself. As with all the best places, they don’t just let anyone in. This is an exclusive little hellhole. He sees a human teenager—which is half right. I am a teenager but, as for the other, no. Whatever I am, it is not that.

My eyes I don’t let him see. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul and I wouldn’t want to give myself away. There’s a sharp knock on the glass—he wants my attention. He has it, but I don’t let him see. He knocks again, more insistent. It’s not very often he doesn’t get what he wants, but if he wants my attention, he must come and take it. The shadows of his boots stay paused at the door and the crouching darkness in my soul shifts and flutters, unable to hold still under the agony of aching anticipation.

I hold my breath but it escapes when I hear the jangling of keys. The Hunger howls and I bite back a giggle. The lock opens with a metallic thunk and he steps into the room. He pauses. His bully-bright rational side tells him I am nothing to fear, but his animalistic side knows better.

Danger! his instincts scream.

Nonsense, his rationality remarks.

I am big! his bully side brags.

In the silence, I hear him swallow; then the door clicks closed behind him. I quiver and he sees a tremble. Finally he takes a step, then two more, until he is at my side.

He waits and I wait, both excited but for very different reasons. The moment draws thin and long and sweet, like pulled sugar, savored by us both. The Hunger pulses in the silence and, though he’s just a garden-variety monster, not special like me, I know he feels it too.

Then the sugar snaps and he grips me by the hair, jerking my face up. His florid face is just as it was in Callie’s memories: middle-aged, with large pores and sagging jowls. Only now his eyes don’t have the delighted gleam they had then. Instead the bushy brows are lifted in surprise.

I suspect I’m the first victim to ever smile at him.

I’m positive I’m the first to ever leap up and slam him into the wall by his throat. He tries to scream but I squeeze his neck until the noise dies with a wheezy gurgle. Confusion and shock riot in his eyes. He doesn’t understand how my small, weak arms are strong enough. He doesn’t understand a lot of things.

I can’t wait to enlighten him.

I shove, sliding him up the wall until his feet leave the ground. His eyes are wide and panicked, and I pause to enjoy that perfect moment when the hunter realizes he’s become the hunted, when he tries to reconcile what he knows to be true with what just happened.

When he makes the horrified face reserved for the bitter taste of just desserts.

I turn and see that Callie’s enjoying it too. Her hands are clasped before her and her little face is lit up at the justice of the moment.

Samson’s ineffectual clawing at my hand draws my attention back. He’s taller than I am, and he manages to touch his foot to the ground, just his toe, but it’s enough to take some pressure off his throat. I allow it.

Whaa—? he gasps out.

You like to hurt people, Samson. I say it calmly but I’m on fire. The Hunger has burst into a conflagration.

Nnnn—

I squeeze. He pulls at my wrist and his feet swing and kick.

Shhhhh, it’s okay, I say softly, sweetly, as if I care. Then I drop down to a whisper. I like to hurt people, too. I squeeze harder and he shoves off with that toe, trying to get away, to get air. My own foot snaps out and smashes it.

I let go and he falls screaming to the floor. He scrambles away, gasping and coughing. I shift to cut off the path to the door and he scurries backwards into the corner.

Wha—? he wheezes, then grabs his mangled throat. I step forward and he back-pedals madly, uselessly shoving with his heels, trying to wedge his bulk further into the corner. I can hear his heart race. It’s pounding wildly and yet no blood reaches his face. It’s deathly pale.

A preview.

Wha–what are you? he finally gasps through his damaged throat.

I just shake my head. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell him. That’s not what I’m here for. I take a few slithery steps forward.

Please, no! he screams and holds out a hand, as if to keep me away. I consider ripping it off. I’ve never hurt you! I’ve never hurt anyone!

Don’t lie to me.

He draws back. Please . . . his jaw works, his jowls trembling as he searches desperately for something to say. Then the words come bubbling out, tripping over themselves in his haste. There must be a mistake.

I shake my head slowly and with purpose.

Please . . . I don’t even know you!

I squat down so we’re eye to eye and he shrinks away. I cock my head and my words slide out silkily. No. But you know Callie. I glance in her direction. She no longer looks excited. Instead, her eyes are wide and her hand covers her mouth. "Or rather, knew Callie."

Genuine confusion flashes across his face. His mouth moves as he tries to place the name.

Callie Bellemore, I snarl.

Realization dawns on his face.

It was an accident.

What did I say about lying? My hand snaps out and slashes his face, drawing four red lines across his cheek. The sharp scent of blood fills the room. I dance a little, in my squat, and my lips curve into a smile.

He becomes very still at that smile. The false innocence is replaced by calculation. You’re enjoying this.

My smile spreads wider. I know somewhere my mother hides her face in shame.

You love killing as much as I do. He straightens as if he thinks he’s talking to an equal. Not, not just the killing, the . . . He gropes for a word to describe it.

Power, I supply.

His face lights up at my participation. I don’t know what you are, but I know we’re alike. He puts his hands up and hurries, as if he’s afraid he insulted me. I’m not . . . special like you, but the kill . . . His eyes drift off and a creepy smile turns up the edges of his mouth.

A smile not unlike my own. I swallow the shame and let it be eaten by the Hunger.

He continues dreamily. I couldn’t help it, she just . . . He shivers, then his attention switches back to me. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. His hands open and close, turning from claw to fist and back again. It’s too strong. He looks to me for understanding.

And I do understand. I understand better than he could ever possibly imagine. Because, for me, it’s more than power. I eat souls. Without them, I die.

Of course, that doesn’t explain why I so love to collect them. I run a finger down Samson’s cheek and he squeaks. Mom never understood the monstrous darkness that craves the kill. She wanted my need to eat souls to be like my need to eat vegetables. Necessary, but not desirable.

Samson, this foul piece of slime, understands me better than she ever did. But unlike him, at least I’m ashamed of my wickedness—when I’m not reveling in it. Like a dog wallowing in a mud pool, I love the glop and splash of ick. It’s not until after, when the stink dries stiff and itchy that I regret it. Other wicked things, like Samson, don’t feel the guilt. They don’t have a memory-mom tsking and shaking her head.

Instead, they have me.

I suspect they never really feel guilt, but I make sure they drown in regret. Red, sticky regret.

So Samson’s right, I am like him. But unfortunately for him, hypocrisy is the least of my many sins. He thinks our shared trait will make me like him, but it only makes me hate myself.

I lean in until mere inches separate us and close my eyes. I feel him tremble and inhale the intoxicating cocktail of fear and blood and I’m flooded with a hot joy. He moves and my eyes snap open, freezing him in place. You’re right. I am like you. I breathe, then shake my head very slowly, holding his eyes. But that doesn’t help you any.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes wordlessly. I let him have one more moment of life, spent in panicked realization.

Then the Hunger howls through my veins, sweeping everything up in its frenzied tide. I jerk him from the corner, popping him free like a hermit crab from its shell, and he comes apart in my hands. So easily. Imagine a child at their first birthday.

He is the cake.

I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire.

His soul erupts from his carcass, a roiling grey gas, like a thundercloud. The Hunger roars and I dive for the soul. It pours through me, sparkling and beautiful, filling me, stretching me, until it feels like my skin can’t contain it. I arch my back, my arms wide. I am a canyon surrounding a river of beauty.

The water recedes and I am left a bubbling mess of contentment, burbling with victory.

As I stand among the wreckage, frothing with delight, drunk on a sweet soul, I catch a flicker out of the corner of my eye—the horrified face of the ghost girl as she slips away through the wall.

Her eyes, once again, filled with tears.

I leave behind a mess, the walls painted in a style reminiscent of Jackson Pollock. Red, grey, black, brown.

Mostly red.

I prefer a more neo-Impressionistic style myself—Seurat, Signac!—but my medium has its limitations. Usually I try to be a little tidier—mustn’t see my face on the news (especially with this haircut). But this is not a place that wants an investigation and I like the message only a rearranged corpse can deliver (Picasso!). Well, a corpse and a message written in blood—just in case I was too subtle:

I am watching.

Underneath it, I prop a little love note to the administration letting them know I know where the bodies are buried—in at least one case, literally. They won’t be calling anyone.

I’m soul-drunk. The world’s too bright; I feel too strong. A soul doesn’t sit heavy in the gut, but bubbles through the veins like champagne, tingling the nerve endings. For at least an hour it cocoons my brain in cotton, protecting it from the talons of shame and worry. Later they’ll dive back down and dig in their beaks, but for now they can only circle uselessly above. I laugh and sneer, able to forget for now that they’ll have their revenge.

I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloody fingers smear the walls. I reach the door to the stairwell and spin, heading back the way I’d come. I’m in no hurry, because Gideon won’t be. He’s a good wingman and wouldn’t want to interrupt Samson’s fun.

Which is exactly what I want to discuss.

I reach a locked doorknob and I snap it off, then the next. Most of the inhabitants won’t run far—they were sent to an insane asylum for a reason, after all. But they have the opportunity and, if they get far enough away, they might end up at a different facility, one with a different philosophy.

Some I leave in their cages. Even an animal rights activist wouldn’t let loose a tiger.

I’m swollen with the sweetness of Samson’s dark soul, filled with it. Strong with it. It has been too long since I fed the Hunger. Like anyone on a diet, I’ve found that complete abstention never works—it just leads to poor decision-making later. Of course, my binges don’t result in weight gain, but rather indiscriminate homicide. I’d say the stakes are higher, but then a Twinkie would no doubt disagree.

Hinges creak behind me; then I hear the pitter-pat of bare feet as someone flees, away from me—their savior.

Come back, we can be friends!

A door slams. Guess not. Ah, well, Spider-Man didn’t have any friends either.

Creak-creak, pitter-pat. Another escape.

Come now, Gideon, investigate!

I prance, I dance on the gritty floor. Vengeance is sweet, sweet music. I spin, arms outstretched. The walls pass by in a blur of grey-white-grey-white-grey.

Then, suddenly, a spot of black enters my spinning vision—a figure at the door. The nurse has arrived! I stop and hiss.

Not Gideon—times three. Three strangers stand at the end of the hall.

And they are hissing back.

TWO

Humans don’t hiss. Well, except trashy girls fighting over equally trashy men. But grown men, respectable in black suits, do not hiss at their enemies. I blink and shake my head, trying to clear the fuzzy soul-drunk and, when I open my eyes the strangers are still there, though there’s no hissing. Maybe it was a disapproving hiss, a what-are-you-doing-out-of-your-cage? hiss. Maybe I imagined it, the soul-drunk playing with my mind to turn this into a fight. It’s a violent thing, the soul-drunk.

The three men stand at the end of the long hallway, in front of the stairs leading down to the ground floor. Respectable-looking men in neat suits with tidily trimmed hair—modern, urban men, incongruous in this dark and dirty dwelling for the insane. The one on the left is short with puffy, soft-dough cheeks, while the one on the right is tall and hawkish. The one in the center has the pitted face of an acne survivor, but is otherwise middle-aged unmemorable. The grey expanse of the narrow hallway separates their skin from my claws and my feet from the exit.

What are you doing here? asks the man in the middle. He straightens and tugs his suit smooth.

Yes—I, the girl with the ridiculous haircut and blood-splashed nightgown—am the one who doesn’t belong in the insane asylum.

Have you been reassigned? he continues. Why wasn’t I made aware of this?

Um. I straighten out of my own crouch.

Did zi-Ben send you? Hawkish asks.

Who?

Is this some kind of joke? demands Puffy.

That zi-Ben—he’s such a kidder.

And what on earth have you been doing? demands the one in the middle.

Better not answer that, though they’ll probably notice soon enough. No way to hide it. I eye the three of them, considering. They’ll need a lesson in discretion before I go. Not a lethal lesson. Mom wouldn’t like that.

But, if there’s a fight . . . accidents happen. The Hunger hums.

The leader’s still ranting. I don’t know where you’ve come from, but we’re near the Templars here. You tripped every alarm we set—if they have any of their own . . .

Right, the Templars . . . who? Not that it matters.

I told zi-Ben we could handle it, he continues, shaking his head. Even while helping in The Search. . . . I mean we have Skype—this isn’t the dark ages any more. The asylum practically runs itself, anyway. We don’t need some junior associate in here screwing things up! He waves at me.

Do I look corporate? Maybe they belong here more than I thought.

Puffy swipes a finger through a blood smear I left on the wall and licks it.

Holy crap. Maybe they do belong here.

At the taste of the blood, a shocked look comes over his face—mirroring the shock on mine no doubt. But I’m trying to hide my confusion, so maybe he doesn’t notice. He’s been largely quiet, but now he explodes.

This is . . . this is—did you eat Samson? Puffy ends in a bellow. I’ve been working on him for months. I almost had his soul, I was this friggin’ close! Pinched fingers, red face. All these easy vics around and you eat Samson! Unbelievable! Not to mention, who am I going to get to work the damn midnight shift?

I’ve never been caught eating people before, but somehow I imagined a different reaction. For

Reviews for Cracked

[ekanderson_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I love a novel narrated by the bad guy. And that's what Meda is -- she's the bad guy. She's not really sure what kind of bad guy she is, but she knows that if it wasn't for her love for her mother, she'd be way badder. She eats souls. And she's doing her best to keep her menu limited to souls that deserve it. But everything changes on the night she mets Chi and his Templar friends.The Templar are an order of men and women dedicated to one thing -- taking out demons. And it seems like they might have answers to all of Meda's questions -- what she is, where she comes from, who her father might have been. And if she can convince her new pals that she needs their protection, maybe those answers can be hers. Of course, plans don't really pan out, and it's not long before Meda, Chi, and crew are in way over their heads.CRACKED is a fast and furious action novel, narrated by a snarky delinquent that readers are sure to get a kick out of. With a little bit of Catholic mythology and a dash of conspiracy theory, Eliza Crewe has whipped up a debut that, even without vampires, is sure to make fans of authors like Richelle Mead and Lili St. Crow salivate for the next book in this exciting series.

[jennybeast · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Well, I wasn't really in the mood for an anti-hero, and then I realized that I'd picked up yet another Strange Chemistry publication (in my experience, a world of mediocrity), and that we were in a demon universe and this Did Not Bode Well. It was a bit of a drag at first, but Meda did win me over somewhat by the end. She's mean snark rather than really clever snark, but she did have some good one-liners and the world was fairly interesting. Also, Templars, fancy meeting you in a trailer park run by a motorcycle gang (ok, that was both funny and clever in concept). Like I said, it won me over. The writing's a bit rough around the edges, but there's all kinds of potential here.

[ray_-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book was good, I liked the fact that it was told from the point of view of the demon girl, and for once I was excited to read the villain's thoughts and all
But I was very disappointed when she chose the good side at the end, I really wanted to read a book about a villain that doesn't become good
On a side note though, I freaking LOVE Armand!!

[les121 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Cracked is a quick, fun read. The plot is predictable (none of the twists are all that twisty), and it’s difficult to decide which is more painfully cheesy - the Agent Smith-esque demons or the petty high school drama. But, despite these complaints, I enjoyed the characters and the snappy dialogue. Meda is a gloriously sarcastic heroine, and her narration is the highlight of the novel. I look forward to picking up the sequel at some point in the future.

[isisunit · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I would like to thank both NetGalley and Strange Chemistry for granting me the chance to read this eARC in exchange for an honest review. Though I received the e-book for free that in no way influences this review.Ever since my mom was murdered, I’ve been completely alone. I live in the shadows, because there’s no one like me. I have no choice because I have to fight the Hunger, the Hunger that drives me to hunt people and eat their souls. And I have to fight it if I want to stay out of the darkness.Who am I?I’m Meda Melange.What am I?I don’t know—but I’m not human.And now, I finally have the chance to find out.In this first book of the gripping Soul Eater trilogy, find out who Meda is and which side she will come down on in a thrilling tale of the war between good and evil.This is a very entertaining and enjoyable book that leads you on a roller coaster ride full of surprises and excitement, as well as flawlessly setting up a sequel. There are several entertaining characters, but the main characters are Meda, Chi, Jo, and Uri.Meda is a typical teenage ball of confusion, desperately searching for herself. Add those hormones to that her burning need to know what she is and you have a recipe for, most likely, an epic disaster. In fact, probably far more than one disaster before she is even close to done searching for herself. Very early in the story Meda encounters her first Templar students - Chi and Jo, in that order. The 'introductions' happen when Chi comes to the asylum to destroy some demons. The very same asylum where Meda is a patient, and Chi end up inadvertently saving Meda in the process of his demon hunting. Jo appears on the scene shortly thereafter, but unlike Chi she automatically distrusts Meda, and clearly isn't happy about how open Chi is being, spilling Templar secrets to this stranger. And the more Meda learns about Chi and the Templars the less inclined she is to share the truth about herself, limited though it may be. I like Meda because even though she is in many ways like a lost little girl, regardless of the monster within, she is still stronger than she believes herself to be capable of being. After meeting the Templar kids, getting to know some of them and comparing them to those she believes define her other half makes it much easier for her to see her two distinct halves and choose which side of her nature she wants to be dominant, which half she wants to be defined by. Having made that choice she constantly battles not only her own nature but also those who would use her for their own purposes. Sometimes she slips back a step or two, but she never lets that keep her from trying to stay on the path she's chosen. Meda's a fighter, and that trait becomes even stronger when those she cares about are in trouble. Chi, a senior at the local Templar school, is the golden boy that everyone looks up to and follows around. Chi knows he is looked up to, yet for all his apparent vanity, he gives glimpses into the real Chi - the one who does get scared, and doesn't always have the right answer. The glimpses are too frequent, but the simple fact that they are there make him even more likable as we get to see what makes Chi tick. As the acknowledged golden boy Chi could be stuck up, but instead he is generous and sweet, possibly too trusting for his own good, but then he is still in training (even if he already thinks he knows all there is to know - the normal teenage belief). Always ready to lend a hand, Chi is basically every mother's dream - once he matures a bit more of course!Chi and Jo have an odd relationship, one that Meda finds extremely confusing. Oddly enough Meda actually is more respectful of Jo's initial response to her, but that sure doesn't make it easier to be around her. Not that Meda has much of a choice given the 'disguise' she was given to get into the Templar compound. That very disguise means she's kinda stucK with Jo, which actually turns out to be a good thing as the two girls get to know each other better, especially as each of their secrets are exposed throughout the story. And one of Jo's is why she has such an intense love/hate relationship with Chi. A relationship made worse by the very fact that Chi can't figure out why Jo is so hot and cold with him. Yet there is more to Jo than her complicated feelings for a boy. Once she makes friends with so done she is loyal to the bone, and makes a stalwart companion. She is willing to risk everything for those she claims as family and friends, easily making her someone you want on your side. As Jo's story is revealed it becomes more and more difficult not to like her as well.Finally there is the ever faithful Uri, who is easily Chi's most devote fan, and as often as he can get away with it, Chi's secret shadow. Even though he is several years younger and lacks the training to be safe off school grounds, his hero worship of Chi makes it impossible for him not to sneak out behind Chi whenever possible. He trails behind Chi in hopes of somehow being helpful to him, and for those times when Chi talks to him. Luckily Chi is aware of Uri's admiration and is very kind to him rather than teasing or taking advantage of his gentle nature. Whenever he can't get away to follow after Chi he contents himself with hearing the stories of Chi's daring exploits. Of the three Templar students Uri is the sweetest. He is like a giant puppy, feet still too big for his body, coordination out of control, but an open and trusting heart. Uri is a mix of purity and innocence, combined with an almost fanatical belief in the work of the Templars. His faith in their mission, in doing God's work of saving humanity from demons, is unshakable and inspiring.Meda is determined to stay with the Templars as long as she can if it means she can learn about who, and what, she is. She has finally figured out what she is through conversation with Chi and Uri. It would appear that Meda is a halfling. Now she wants to know everything that means, even if finding out means she has to risk staying in the headquarters of the very ones that train to hunt and kill her kind. Meda wants to be good, and though she feels her only conscience is the ghost of her mother, she still tries to only take the evil ones when the Hunger is upon her. She always knows which ones are evil because she gets a direct line on what they've done. Thankfully she only needs to take one every six weeks or so, and she'd taken one the night she was "rescued" by Chi & Jo, so she has some time to learn all that she can in order to survive the very people she's learning from.The characters are well crafted, and the arc of the story is balanced neatly between character development, world building, and solid action. Things are rarely boring for the Templars or Templars in training, just as they don't seem to slow down for our halfling either. A solid beginning for what looks to be an exciting and entertaining series. I give this book 3.5 to 3.7 stars.

[pabkins · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

3.5 actually - Cracked fooled me a bit I have to say. It starts off with one hell of an opener – literally just freaking cool. A girl that is a demon essentially, raised by a parent that wanted her to fight her nature. She does, or at least she tries to fight it, of course you know it wouldn’t be any fun if she succeeded. So instead she finds ways to indulge and still feel like she’s sticking to what her mother wanted, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t enjoy what she does, or what she can do. These creative ways to indulge her instincts? – you’ll love this: feeding off of those evil rotten people you wished didn’t exist. Rapists, killers, child molesters – the dregs of human society. You go girl, bon appetite I say. Thus this is where we enter – she literally devours and tears limb from limb a child molesting, abusing nasty mental hospital steward by posing as a patient.

Fantastic – I was pulled right in. But then things cooled off for me considerably and for some reason I just disconnected from Meda. I think it was the introduction of the new characters and the change from what I initially liked in the beginning and it went in another direction than I started to anticipate. That and well – I’m pretty tired of the gosh damn Knights Templar. I feel like they are in so many books. At that point I ended up setting the book aside. Meda was so kick ass and conniving though that I didn’t stop thinking about her. She just had one of those personalities that stays with you.

Plus, I had a few friends who really really enjoyed Cracked and I thought – you know why not pick it up and finish it. After I let my disgruntlement settle I went back in with no expectations getting in my way and I really enjoyed it.

The author leads you in and instead of giving you exactly what you think you will get she has a way of turning the story in another direction. So rather than your typical teenage angst, romance laden young adult novel you get something just a touch enough different but still fitting with the genre. So yeah, there is still angst…they are teenagers what do you expect? But its more like personality angst rather than ‘they are growing up and dealing with hormones’ angst.

There were a few areas I felt could have used more polish. The direction of the plot needed a bit of focus for me. Oh and I just think the Knights Templar thing bugged me. I’m not a big fan of of commonly used organizations like that popping up in fiction. There also could have been a bit more of a presence from the villains. I think this slowed things down for me and might have been part of why I set the book aside originally but who knows it could have been my mood.

On a positive note, the teens in this book have great personality and balance each other out while clashing in a fun way. Did my statement even make sense? Oh well moving on. I like Meda, she’s conniving, sneaky, kick butt and honest with herself. I have the feeling that any second installment would be even better than the first.

[krau0098 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I got a copy of this book to review through NetGalley(dot)com. I really enjoyed this book. It’s a paranormal young adult book that is very dark in tone and has a bit of an urban fantasy flare to it.Meda Melange has been on her own ever since her mother was murdered. Oh, and she is also half demon with an urge to feed off of human souls. She tries to stay off people’s radar and she tries to stick to eating souls of bad people, but she just enjoys tearing people apart so much...that it’s hard, you know? Then her life becomes incredibly complicated (yes, more complicated), when she is rescued by a group of Templars who think she is a Beacon. A Beacon is someone destined to make life a better place for humanity. When the demons come hunting Meda, she ends up running for her life with some Templars to back her up. The Templars think the mission is to find out Meda’s cause as a Beacon, but Meda just wants to know what the heck is going on.I really enjoyed this book. It's paranormal young adult with more of an urban fantasy taste to it. The main character is half-demon and has trouble controlling her urges to eat people's souls; she is a very dark character. The whole story is told from Meda’s point of view. Meda is funny and very snarky and sarcastic. She has a lot to say about everything and at times the sarcasm gets a bit over the top; but most of the time it’s well done and funny.Meda is definitely an anti-hero of sorts. She loves ripping people to pieces and eating both their flesh and soul, she really really enjoys it. But she tries to keep it under control. The fact that the Templars think she is a Beacon is very ironic. As Meda spends time with the Templars she begins to actually enjoy having friendsMeda finds herself traveling with the Templars Jo, Chi, and Uri. They are a bit stereotypical but do have a lot of depth and are fun to read about. Jo is your typical girl who’s been wounded in the past and struggling to try and redefine her life in a way that includes her new disability. Chi is your all around golden boy. Chi and Jo had a thing going on in the past, but right now their relationship is on the rocks. Uri is the high energy youngster who is new to a lot of things.There isn’t a ton of romance in this book. What romance there is focuses on Chi and Jo and their problems. This is a very dark and violent book and definitely not mainstream young adult. The story is mainly propelled by Meda tracking down the truth about her mother and father and solving the mystery as to why the demons are after her. Meda swears...a lot. There is a lot of well done action scenes and they are very violent. Characters are tortured and face very harsh emotional and physical turmoil. So just be aware of that going in.The story is wrapped up nicely and I am curious to see what future books in this series hold. There were times where the pacing was a bit off and portions where I got a bit bored. In general though this was a well written book.Overall I enjoyed the story. This is one of the more unique young adult paranormal books I have read in some time. Meda’s voice is truly unique and absolutely entertaining. The world is an interesting one and the side characters are all well done. I will definitely read future books in this series. Recommended to those who enjoy edgy urban fantasy adult or young adult reads.