Oblivion: Demons of Oblivion, #5

By Skyla Dawn Cameron

Earthquakes. Plagues. Rivers of blood. The ever-so-popular rain of toads. When end of the world fare is on the rise, it's well past business as usual in a city where the veil between dimensions is thin.

Quarter-demon Persephone Takata isn't so keen on killing herself anymore. This time when death approaches, she's ready to take a stand and fight to protect the woman she loves, along with everyone around them as the apocalypse swings into full force.

Meanwhile, trapped in her home dimension where her antichrist father's rule is weakening, Mishka Thiering's hopes for revenge on the living are put on hold when she stumbles across the truth the Court has kept hidden for centuries. Her death was the last piece of the puzzle, leading to a change in the dimensional landscape, affecting humans and demons alike.

Despite its fractured numbers, the shadowy organization who has kept tabs on Peri and Mishka for years is still very much in the game, ready to set into motion their final plan. For there is something much, much worse waiting in the wings—something old, something powerful, and something far more terrifying than Oblivion or any of the creatures it's spawned.

Alliances, betrayals, casualties.

This is war. And only one sister can win.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skyla Dawn Cameron
• Release date: Aug 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781927966143

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Oblivion

A Demons of Oblivion Novel

Skyla Dawn Cameron

Books by Skyla Dawn Cameron

DEMONS OF OBLIVION

Main Novels

Bloodlines

Hunter

Lineage

Exhumed

Oblivion

Shorts, Novellas, & Collections

9 Crimes

Damaged: A Zara Lain Novella

Whiskey Sour (& Other Stories)

Tales from Alchemy Red: Hungry Like the Wendigo

Tales from Alchemy Red: Dial V for Vampire

Tales from Alchemy Red: Prey (Patreon Exclusive)

Amends: A Zara Lain Serial (Patreon Exclusive)

Counterpoint: Always Kill a Boy on the First Date

ELIS O’CONNOR

Blood Ties

Witch Hunt (coming soon)

RIVER WOLFE

River

Rebellion: A River Wolfe Story

How the Werewolf Stole Christmas

Wolfe (coming soon)

LIVI TALBOT

Solomon’s Seal

Odin’s Spear

Emperor’s Tomb

Shiva’s Bow

Yampellec’s Idol (coming soon)

STANDALONE

Soulless

Oblivion

Copyright © 2016 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cover Art © 2016 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

¹st Edition: August 2016

eBook ISBN: 978-1-927966-14-3

Print ISBN: 978-1-927966-15-0

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. Authors are paid on a per-purchase basis. Any use of this file beyond the rights stated above constitutes theft of the author’s earnings. File sharing is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 per reported instance.  Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

If you obtained this book legally, you have my deepest gratitude for the support of my livelihood.

If you did not obtain this book legally, you are responsible when there are no future books. Please do not copy or distribute my work without my consent.

Oblivion

*

Earthquakes. Plagues. Rivers of blood. When end of the world fare is on the rise, it’s well past business as usual in a city where the veil between dimensions is thin.

Quarter-demon Persephone Takata isn’t so keen on killing herself anymore. This time when death approaches, she’s ready to take a stand and fight to protect the woman she loves, along with everyone around them as the apocalypse swings into full force.

Meanwhile, trapped in her home dimension where her antichrist father’s rule is weakening, Mishka Thiering’s hopes for revenge on the living are put on hold when she stumbles across the truth the Court has kept hidden for centuries. Her death was the last piece of the puzzle, leading to a change in the dimensional landscape, affecting humans and demons alike.

Despite its fractured numbers, the shadowy organization who has kept tabs on Peri and Mishka for years is still very much in the game, ready to set into motion their final plan. For there is something much, much worse waiting in the wings—something old, something powerful, and something far more terrifying than Oblivion or any of the creatures it’s spawned.

Alliances, betrayals, casualties. This is war.

And only one sister can win.

Dedication

For Aunt Judy.

I wish you were here to read this.

Series Reading Note

This is the final book in the Demons of Oblivion series.

These books are not standalone and assume you have at least read Bloodlines, Hunter, Lineage, and Exhumed, and preferably most of the short stories and novellas.

In terms of the timeline, the Nate novella 9 Crimes and short story Aftermath take place during Exhumed, the Zara Lain novella Damaged takes place a few weeks later, and the short story Prey is a week before Oblivion. Events from 9 Crimes, Damaged, and Prey are referenced, and a character first introduced in Aftermath is seen.

It’s probably a good idea to have read the additional novellas and short stories—most of which are available on my website and Payhip—before reading this book, since I write with the assumption readers have been following along, but hopefully you won’t be lost if you’ve just read the novels.

You’ll find a list of all works available at www.skyladawncameron.com

Peri

And the sisters will rise, jaws will open, and hell will come to Earth.

– Court of the Black Vale’s Prophecy

Chapter One

A Warning

I pointed the barrel of my rifle at the nun’s forehead and squeezed the trigger.

Blue paint burst against the trunk of a large maple as she darted to the side just in time.

Peri! Ryann shouted. No headshots!

I scanned the area, trying to determine which tree she hid behind, still crouched low by a thick old stump. Pussy.

Never go paintballing with a nun, even if her demon-hunting training can give your ass a run for your money—they get all pissy about silly things like trying to shoot them in the head.

I eased my rifle down to rest the stock on the forest floor, pressed one knee on the earth to balance me, and held still. Listening.

She was a crafty opponent in her own way. Whereas I, and the mercs I always trained with, went at things head on, she moved sideways. She’d never take a headshot, always look to incapacitate over kill—incidentally, this was why she wanted to train with me, in the hopes of stepping up her game. Unfortunately, it actually made her moves harder to predict so I looked like a shit teacher.

I didn’t shut my eyes but I let my vision go blurry, cleared my head—not a difficult task considering I’d probably had more head injuries in my life than a prize fighter and my brainpower before that was average at best—and listened. The woods went out of focus, trees fuzzy in the orange glow of an early August evening. Tiny feet scampered up tree trunks, birds chirped, crickets hummed. A mosquito buzzed around me and I twitched, resisting the urge to massacre it.

Leaves rustled under a weight too heavy to be an animal out there. Human, had to be. Twenty feet, two o’clock. Roughly. There were too many trees, so roughly was all I was getting without a visual.

I rose, rifle raised, the stock tight against my shoulder as I moved. My steps were light, quick, and I wove around two trees, then paused. My gaze was locked on the paintball rifle’s sights and I peered around. She should be right over—

Sudden pain struck my back, like an abrupt pinch.

I swung around, my rifle’s barrel settling on Ryann, similarly posed. My finger tightened on the trigger but I didn’t squeeze it. It was pointless—she’d hit me and I was dead.

How the fuck did you get around me that quick? I eased down the gun and rolled my right shoulder. The bruise forming on my back stung, and I tried not to wince. Granted, she wouldn’t think anything of it, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I winced over a fucking paintball of all things.

I didn’t—I was back there the whole time.

Dread pricked my spine. I glanced over again, scanning the woods. Fading orange light filtered through the trees, showing no sign of anything stirring.

I turned back to Ryann, rolled my shoulder again, and frowned. You went a little too far right. Missed the heart.

She grinned. I still got the drop on you. The sun turned her light brown hair almost gold and the springy curls bounced as she shifted, slipping the gun’s strap over her shoulder. Her T-shirt was stained in paint from the previous two rounds, clustered around the chest mostly, but streaked blue over brown skin on her right upper arm where I’d winged her first thing.

’Nother round?

Ellie and I are babysitting tonight.

Running around the woods shooting at one another versus taking care of a five-year-old? I knew what I’d choose, but my maternalness had long since shriveled up and died when my babies got blown to bits.

Ryann turned to head from the woods. I think I might’ve missed my bus—

I raised my rifle and shot her in the back.

Bright blue paint splattered, perfectly center between her shoulder blades, and she half-stifled a yelp. The weather was warm and humid and both of us were in dark T-shirts—now she’d make an impression on that bus.

Ryann halted, swung around, lips parted. That’s not—

Fair? I strolled right past her, refusing to be intimidated by the fact that she was like six feet tall and better muscled than I was. That’s for not taking the headshot with me when you had the chance. You don’t want to be a bench warmer anymore? Stop thinking about ‘fair’.

Leaves shuffled under her steps behind me and a moment later a paintball slammed into the back of my head painfully.

I blinked, openly winced this time, and swung around with my rifle raised but Ryann whipped past me in a full-blown run.

How’s that! she threw over her shoulder.

My finger itched over the trigger but my head ached like a motherfucker and I didn’t trust myself to make the shot. She was already out of the woods and heading through the field, and I knew that girl—had been training with her for over a month now. She could outrun me easily.

Cunt! But even my swearing wasn’t getting to her now. Fucking hell.

I reached back and ran my hand through the damp paint clumping my short black hair together. My head was bruised—like I really needed another injury to my poor skull. And I couldn’t be glad she’d taken that shot, either, because she was relaxed and had time to think about it. It was in the field, when training kicked in, that she needed to be comfortable with the kill. Only throwing her in a real fight would actually tell us if she was ready yet or not.

And honestly, I was getting to like the quiet, so hoped that wouldn’t be happening soon.

I trekked around the trees and toward the field ahead. Well in the distance waited the mostly-empty parking lot and a small, blocky building with showers and washrooms. There was a pool not far from it and a soccer field, though most of the public had cleared out for the evening. Thankfully I’d get the shower area to myself—take a mercenary out of her organization for less than a year and suddenly things like privacy for showers are no longer luxuries but requirements.

Ryann was already jogging for the bus stop. I had my car and would drive her, but I’d take my sweet time doing it so she hadn’t even asked. Plus maybe she thought I’d shoot her in the face.

I probably would’ve.

Tall, dry grasses brushed my legs as I started down the hill, scratching against my camo pants and crunching under my stealth boots. A gentle wind dried the remaining sweat on my brow and plucked at my hair.

Again dread danced on my spine. I tightened my grip on the rifle; never mind that it didn’t have real bullets, it was better than nothing.

A calm breath in, my gaze drifting, steps not wavering... Ichi, ni, san.

I spun, gun raised and pointed steadily at the figure ten feet behind me.

He was tall, slender, in a long black overcoat that shifted restlessly in the wind. Thinning grey hair, a long, angular face. His hands hung at his sides, both in black leather gloves.

My finger twitched over the trigger, not quite squeezing it, and my heart thumped hard. Sickly.

Because this man was Adrian Lachlan, who I’d seen shot point blank in the head five odd weeks ago. He’d bled out from the gaping, singed hole in his skull, slumped on the floor not moving.

He stood there staring at me. Shit, maybe the nun had hit me harder than I thought and I was seeing things. Brain was scrambled up good.

I swallowed dryly. You’re dead.

Yes, try as I did, I couldn’t prevent that.

He sounded real. But I wasn’t sure what hallucinations were supposed to sound like.

I hadn’t put down the paintball gun. Are you a ghost?

No.

Zombie?

His lips twitched. No.

What the fuck are you?

Your sister asked me that once. He began a steady stroll forward, his hands moving to knot behind his back. "I explained it wasn’t what, it was who that she should be asking."

I shifted from foot to foot. Why the hell didn’t I have a real gun on me? Because you got relaxed, and don’t have a carry permit here anyway. You suck, Peri. "You’re supposed to be one dead motherfucker, as far as I know."

Let’s sit a moment. He lifted his chin, gesturing, and glanced over my shoulder. I only wish to talk.

My stomach did a sick flop. I glanced back; the field and hill from the sweltering early August evening was gone, replaced by the even ground of a bright green meadow. Midday sun shone in a thick blue sky, and several feet behind me was a park bench of polished wood.

He’d done this trick before. I didn’t like it any better then, either. Do I get another twenty bucks to talk to you this time?

How about I make it fifty?

Shit, it was almost a joke. This was not good.

I blew a noisy breath past my lips and stepped backward rather than turned; despite his assurances, I didn’t exactly trust the should-be-dead cocksucker. He made no threatening move as he followed. I took the far end of the bench, he the other.

And I waited.

Adrian Lachlan stared ahead, his expression far more melancholy than I recalled from before. I understand we spoke previously, as far as you’re concerned. This event hasn’t yet occurred for me, however.

I absently rubbed at the lump on the back of my skull where my hair was still tangled with paint. Maybe there was lead in those paintballs and I’d passed out or something.

Every time I wake, it’s a different day in time for me, Ms. Spencer.

I stiffened. That’s not my name.

Perhaps not now. He eyed me briefly before looking straight ahead again. But it was the name your mother gave you when she married, and the one you went by for twenty years. It was the name you had when I saw you yesterday. You were fifteen. Arguing with your mother about wanting to leave school and head to London by yourself.

That could’ve been any number of days from my life around that age—I never stopped hating the country. Back then. Now, I couldn’t imagine the sheer speed a city moved at.

She worried what you’d do, you know. Your mother. Worried that in a city, your power would overtake you and you’d kill many. This was why she moved you to Marlow. Fewer potential casualties. And given what happened in Osaka, I’d say she was right.

He could’ve been pulling all of it from his ass; I had no proof that he knew my mother in any capacity. This has what to do with your time jumping?

"Just explaining. You wake in the morning and it’s tomorrow. I wake, and it could be any time. I don’t control my when, nor, apparently, whatever fate is already set. Ana Fidatov has—will—successfully kill me, and worse."

I glanced once more at the altogether unsettling meadow. Birds were singing merrily in the distance, their cheer making my palms sweat and throat dry. But you control the where.

He tipped his head in a nod. There is that.

Why are you doing this show and tell thing? Zara killed your ass. Can’t fix that now.

I know what’s coming and I bring you a warning.

Fear was a rush of cold along my skin. I had both hands wrapped around the barrel of the paintball gun and I tightened them involuntarily, my slick grip slipping. Which is?

Things are about to get very, very bad.

Bad for who?

The world, Persephone. Bad for everyone and especially you.

Chapter Two

Tremors

Not half an hour later, I sat in my parked car in the garage, in the dark, for at least five minutes before I opened the door.

It was habit now, moving through the house and ensuring no sunlight could break through—winter would be nice, when it would get dark earlier, but late summer still meant plenty of hours of daylight. Even though I could turn on lights, I didn’t always do so; I’d memorized the layout, could quite literally move about with my eyes closed, if need be. Now, however, I didn’t think it occurred to me at all to turn on the lights—I moved in a daze, my head as slow to process as ever. I fumbled with the lock, the doorknob, and eventually dragged myself inside.

After speaking to Lachlan, I’d skipped the showers and sped straight home; the paint had dried on my clothes and cracked as I moved, and pain flared up in my muscles where I’d been hit. But I didn’t give the shower upstairs even a fleeting glance, instead trekking around the corner toward the living room where the TV buzzed and glowed. Faint voices weren’t ones I recognized but from whatever Nic was watching.

And Zara. Before I glimpsed the top of her head, over the back of the L-shaped couch, I heard the low, rumbling growl of her constant companion. My fucking house and that goddamn saber-toothed cat had the nerve to get snarly every time he saw me.

I paused several feet from the back of the sofa, frowning at the widescreen screen mounted on the wall where some sappy movie played. Both chicks were sniffling. Christ.

For a wonderful moment, I completely forgot the conversation I’d had with that man half an hour ago and instead stared ahead. What the hell is this shit?

Shhh! Nic hissed.

A plane abruptly stopped in the movie and Whitney Houston came bursting out, a song starting up.

This hurt my head even more than the paintball had. "You’re watching The Bodyguard? Really?"

I received another Shhh! and this time I didn’t even know which one it came from.

Though I bit my lip, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, and rolling my eyes wasn’t relieving any of my irritation. "This doesn’t make any sense—there is no reason why they can’t stay together at the end. None."

It’s right there in the song, Nic started.

It’s the stupidest fucking thing—

Zara shot me a glare, her icy blue eyes red-rimmed. Shut up before I shoot your face off!

Tears. The two of them were crying.

I needed a beer.

She totally ruined it, Zara said as I stomped away.

Hold on, came Nicolette’s ever-patient, problem-solving voice. The TV went silent and presumably she was—

Yep, there was the plane noise again. She’d rewound it so they could watch the schmaltz uninterrupted.

I’m not the kind of person who can watch most movies anyway; I like action flicks but loudly rant every time an actor blinks while firing a gun or shows poor trigger discipline. I mix even worse with anything remotely romantic.

Clumps of dirt remained tracked on the floor as I hadn’t taken off my boots. If Nic had a problem with it, she was welcome to yell at me after her lame-ass chick flick. I made a significant amount of noise at the fridge, popping the cap off my bottle, then moving on heavy feet again for the living room.

I took a sip of my beer, still trying to keep my mouth shut. The film dragged on until the credits finally rolled. Nic dropped the volume, then wiped at her eyes.

Was there some reason old movies always had gross lip-mashing kissing? I asked.

Zara glared. Again. But Nic sighed. "It was pretty unsexy. I still miss Whitney. So what’s next?"

She started flipping through potential movies and I knew I had to put a stop to this. Not just because I didn’t think I could handle a full chick flick, but because there were things to discuss. I...I was not great at bringing in others on stuff. Even as Lachlan spoke and I began to understand the enormity of this situation, I wanted to avoid telling anyone. I wanted to avoid telling her. But I’d kept secrets before and that was the one thing she wouldn’t abide from me. Funny how I could have more flaws than even the average demon, let alone human, but it was omitting the odd truth that she’d get pissed over.

Something where someone dies at the end, Zara said, the pair of them still oblivious to my thoughts.

"Oh, Beaches! Nic paused on the film listing. I haven’t seen that since way before I was turned." She glanced my way, saw my boots and the mud I’d tracked in. Gave me a brief little look.

I stifled a sigh, grudgingly shucked off my boots. One look, that was all it took to make me feel like shit and completely mess up my priorities here.

They settled in for the next movie, Bette Midler singing. Yeah, I had to put a stop to this before I killed everyone. So there’s kind of a problem.

I’ll buy you new shoes, okay? Zara said without looking at me. I already told Nic I would.

No, I mean—wait, what shoes? My gaze darted between them. "My shoes? What happened to my shoes?"

The saber-toothed cat, stretched out on the couch with his mammoth-sized head on Zara’s lap, glared up at me and snorted.

I am going to kill that motherfucking cat... Okay, um, it’s about Adrian Lachlan.

Tension squeezed at the air, the room’s other occupants silent and still before both turning to look at me, Nic pausing the movie.

Uh... I really hated when everyone looked at me. He kinda came to see me today.

Zara didn’t blink. I killed him.

I remember. And I tried to point that out to him.

She slumped in her seat and groaned. The cat flopped next to her stirred and she absently scratched around his ears until a loud purr rumbled the air.

"Apparently he’s in a different time zone. Literally. Like he could wake up tomorrow and it could be a century ago, or it could be in the future, blah blah. So he dies in his future, which is our past, and this is fucking confusing. I rounded the couch and dropped to sit on the chair to the side. It’s hurting my brain. Anyway. He came with a warning that bad stuff is about to go down and we’re all going to die."

As opposed to all those other times something bad was going down and we were all probably going to die? Zara said with a yawn.

I nodded. Point. And I couldn’t entirely explain it, I didn’t think. I couldn’t tell them that I felt something while talking to him. That I absolutely believed his warning to be true.

This time, though, Nic said before I could continue, "you did start the apocalypse, Zar."

Zara frowned but didn’t argue. Neither did I, for that matter.

It wasn’t her fault, really. We’d all seen the prophetic paintings. We all assumed the same thing: that the dark-haired woman shooting a fireball at the blonde, who was clearly my half-sister Mishka, was me. Pretty fucking reasonable assumption given all the cryptic, vague prophecies about sisters rising and hell opening up.

Turns out Zara shooting a huge-ass gun with a muzzle flash that spat fire, right in a hub of mystical, interdimensional energy, was actually what the painting was about. And not me. For once, I wasn’t the villain in the situation—not even the accidental one.

Still, we all knew that event had jumpstarted something, and now it seemed we’d be getting our first glimpse of precisely what, if Lachlan was correct. Of course, I lived in the suburbs now, so maybe it would hit the city and avoid me.

Zara yelped as her big cat twisted abruptly and I clenched my fingers around my beer bottle. If it scratched my damn couch again—

The saber-tooth cat’s short tail twitched restlessly and a low growl vibrated through the air, those long teeth gleaming dangerously in the artificial light. I froze and watched, a shiver running the length of my spine as the cat looked this way and that. What the fuck?

A sudden jolt rocked me and it took a moment to realize everything else was moving as well. The beer bottle dropped from my hand, splashed across the carpet and rolled away. Shelves and pictures on the walls rattled.

And then it stopped.

We remained still and I was scarcely breathing, tense and ready to reach for a weapon as I glanced around. Zara and Nic were just as confused, and the cat was crouched low by Zara’s side, still growling with amber eyes flashing.

I opened my mouth, barely got out, What the fuck—

Another quake struck, this time knocking the flat screen TV off the wall. Wires sparked and spat in its wake. Nic yelped and I launched myself forward, moving unsteadily and repeatedly dumped on my ass before I reached her. Hand clasped on her wrist, I tugged her off the couch toward the living room doorway. We stumbled and I barked my knee when I went down once, but still I got her in place and the pair of us huddled low. Sure, she was stronger and heartier than me being a vampire, but my protective streak when it came to this woman ran deep.

The shaking didn’t stop, rattling the house like a giant had my little suburban home in his meaty fists. Glass shattered and wood cracked. Brightness shone against my closed eyes, and right next to my ear, Nicolette screamed.

I blinked my eyes open, fighting to hold her while she flailed, and tried to make sense while the room shook. The dull throbbing in my head after a day of paintball and Lachlan’s cryptic act intensified, digging in with claws behind my eyes.

The fucking windows, Peri! Zara shouted and then, then I clued in as to what the light was and why Nic was shrilling so painfully against my ear.

Sunlight streamed through jagged broken windows, blinding as the back of the house faced west where the sun hung high. I scrambled onto my feet, pitched forward onto my face, then made my way up again. Grasped the couch for support, flung myself forward and caught one of the fallen curtains. We had them for decoration, mostly, because the windows stayed covered all the time by special blinds fixed in place, but now I dragged one with me as I staggered on shaking ground back toward my girlfriend.

The beige canvas curtain was still attached to the rod but I tossed it over her anyway and ducked down once more in the doorway, my spine against the jamb and hands on Nic. My eyes closed, squeezed shut against the rocking motion, and my stomach twisted up and tried desperately to heave.

Abruptly, the shaking stopped.

I was panting, sweating, carefully opening my eyes and bracing in case it started again.

My house was in shambles. A tree outside had cleaved through a corner of the building, torn out by the roots which jutted up like shivering snakes against the orange sun. Shattered glass, plaster, splinters of wood all covered the floor, nearly everything in the room broken and unrecognizable.

Zara was huddled against the back of the couch, her big cat shielding her from the worst of it. She glanced at me from behind long ropes of black hair hanging over her face, neck bowed and shoulders up, but she was blessedly silent.

My attention zoomed to Nic, sobbing softly under the curtain. The doorjamb above us had held, but a glance to the right revealed the loft stairs hadn’t been so lucky. No idea what shape our bedroom was in but I’d wait to check.

I climbed stiffly to a stand. Trudged barefoot across the floor, sharp pain lancing my feet, toward the garage door. Crossed my proverbial fingers and threw the door open.

It was fine.

I breathed out in relief. Reinforced concrete walls and foundation, cracked in the corner but not enough to send us sliding into the earth. Nothing had crashed on our cars but mine farthest from the door had sunk backwards into the crack, leaving us with Zara’s Impala.

Which I would have to drive, given the daylight. Christ, she’d never stop bitching.

An aftershock hit, rumbling the ground, and my hand flew out to grasp the doorjamb before I pitched into concrete. The wood groaned but held, and I scrambled back into the house when the earth righted itself once more.

Sirens wailed in the distance—hopefully they wouldn’t come here and see the vampires. Or the giant fucking prehistoric cat. I’d have to make quick work of moving the others anyway, so I went back for Nic first.

Her quick hitching whimpers tore at my heart and I dreaded seeing the extent of the damage once I moved the curtain. I crouched beside her. The garage is good—I’m gonna need to move you there so we can get out of here. Can you walk?

Yes, she said in a whisper and I waited until she started to move before I grasped her curtain-wrapped arm and held her steady. She hissed and I suspected I hit burned tissue but I was moving blind and couldn’t help it—thankfully she didn’t complain. I guided her with care, the broken glass across the floor the least of either of our worries, got her to the shadows of the hall by the garage door.

Belatedly I realized I didn’t have Zara’s keys. I left Nic by the trunk and jogged back into the house.

Don’t forget about me, Zara shouted and I rolled my eyes.

I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But she was Nic’s friend and she had that damn cat who would probably eat me. I can’t—we’re taking your car and you have the fucking keys.

In the living room, I found the other curtain. Glass tinkled gently as I shook the fabric out, then I tossed it over the back of the couch where Zara crouched.

She got the curtain held over her head, lifted so she could see me. I smell blood. I think it’s you.

I looked down and behind me, saw the blood tracking the floor. That must’ve been why my feet hurt. Huh. "C’mon. Get