Chapter 1
Dearest Aurelia, I have done this deed in your golden name.
Control is something so few have, and yet we are dazed by a need for it, so much so, our control controls us, leaving us to consider perhaps no one truly has control at all.
On blended roads beneath a misty sky, I lean against the closed window of Kai’s Mustang, watching Amanda and Sammy sleep peacefully through the side mirror. We have been driving for hours, or I suppose Kai has— insistent that no one else touch their car. Tasting the bitter pill of surrendering to my cause, I reluctantly pulled out my journal— beginning to string together the rather loosely needled origins of this case.
The case came to us in the late afternoon. Kai and I sat on the couch, watching some reckless, illogical, thoughtless show about monster hunters. The stiff and unpleasant audio rattled my ears, making it rather hard to focus on my reading— a lent copy of The Awakening from Briar. Sammy and Amanda sulked their way in soon after, crossing their intricate, distraught stories about their boring school days. Sammy wobbled to the couch and sat on my lap, disrupting any further chance I had of reading, whilst Amanda dramatically jumped on the couch, leaning on Kai’s shoulders— and, to my reserved pleasure, disrupting their television viewing.
Closing my book and lightly tapping it on Sammy’s head, I discussed with her the importance of learning about reptiles—and more specifically, because of her being raised in Hell, that snakes are real animals, not just decorative accessories. As she giggled about that absurdity, Kai turned to me, picking up my book I had placed down and using it to smack my arm not-so-gently.
“Quinn,” they pestered, repeating my name until finally I broke from my highly (by six-year-old standards) intelligent conversation about scales, “The bat signal is a glow.”
After I told them I had no idea what that meant and after Amanda scolded me, Kai finally explained they saw a present in danger by supernatural means— a job. You see, Aurelia, as per our agreement, I requested Kai tap into their gift with a more filtered approach, channeling and locating any small disruptions of the natural order.
After a final retort that we needed a better code to inform each other of a case, we surpassed our typical banter, fueled by a lively energy that buzzed in the air. With surprising speed, we all gathered the belongings needed to care for a six-year-old and hunt spirits, and within the hour, headed downtown to the car garage, while Kai explained what they had seen.
A young girl. A real preppy type— pearls and all. Racing through this house that looked straight out of Scooby Doo… Oh, Quinn, tell me you know what Scooby Doo… okay, good. You’re such a Fred type, so I figured… anyway. She’s running through this like Victorian Mansion. Sprinting from all of these spirits and such… whoa, try saying that three times fast. Sprinting from spirits and such, sprinting… okay, okay. She’s still running; they seem to have her surrounded. She’s in her bed now, just staring at them. Whoa, there’s a lot. Oh, and they are in Connecticut. I saw a piece of mail on her counter.
“Anything else?”
“Not without feeling insanely dizzy, and I doubt you want me puking and getting blurry vision while driving, Boy Scout.”
“I could drive,” I offered.
“You could,” Kai laughed that sickly sweet chuckle they make when they feel they’ve outwitted me. I hate that laugh. I hate the rock song playing softly in the front seat right now. I hate how they are humming in my ear and distracting me from my work… my words to you, Aurelia.
Where was I… oh yes, in the same vein, Kai remains my source of complaint, though I do suppose I owe this case to them.
Kai’s messy, poorly delivered, misguided information spout had not been ideal, but it gave us a starting point. I have to appreciate, at the very least, that they kept their word. I know how difficult that must have been for them.
Aurelia, it seems Kai hasn’t used their power in any significant way for a very long time. Not stopping time, not seeing alternate present timelines, not even seeing our very own timeline’s present across multitudes of locations. They’ve let their brothers handle the manifestations of their gift, allowing the present to balance as an aftereffect— and what can’t be balanced by such means, Kai allows their brothers to warn them, giving them exact steps. I wonder when this change occurred in Kai. I am aware that they are skeptical of their gift’s purpose, but once upon a time, they were also always ready for any excuse to use it.
_____
I find my previous words and questions to you, Aurelia, quite fitting. I now reside in a local café, alone and in contemplation. Aurelia, I hope you understand that there is a reason behind the rather flowery language laced in my writing; the tales of our misadventures just strayed from the structural contents of our cases. There is a world where I behave like a proper scribe, telling you only the most crucial details of these cases. But the one in which I live… no… Aurelia. One day, I will explain everything to you face-to-face.
I digress. I apologize. I… I cannot seem to find the words, so perhaps I shall breathe the nimble spirit of a scribe for just a moment.
After grabbing my satchel and Kai’s backpack from the car, we walked up the stone path to the large mansion, leaving our companions sleeping in the car. A salty smell of water and a sharp waft of nightfall floated in the air. I paused just before the door, puzzled by the home’s regal allegory— the old vines coating the walls of fine and sturdy brick and beautifully stained windows— but surrounding motifs of wilt and decay that came from the small bushes and plant beds surrounding the front of the house. Looking closer now, I noticed even the vines were poorly kept, like dead snakes displayed for one last strike of fear— or one last hope of power.
Kai tapped my shoulder, motioning for me to knock on the lion-headed door knocker, pinned to the chipped green door. Hesitantly, I reached for it, wondering if perhaps she actively still confined herself to her bedchambers, horrified by the ghosts that followed her. I decided to be a gentleman— knocking once out of my attempts at being the perfect modern, human man. If we heard no noise in promptly three seconds, I would break the door down, the perfectly sized stick of pure iron I held within my coat, barred at the ready.
One.
Nothing.
Two.
My hand reached within my coat.
Three.
A shuffle, the sound of feet on the stairs, and a timid call, “Who is there?”
I dropped my coat back onto my shoulder— the iron lying where it should, right atop my heart. In a hurried whisper, I suggested to Kai that we simply tell her the truth. We saw her being hunted by spirits and wanted to aid her.
You see, Aurelia, Charlie’s case ended up being a simple notice of possession and an evil one at that— demonic. Demons I can handle. I can draw the source and banish it, and Martha helped do the rest. Based on Kai’s description, we did not have such privileges in this case. For all we knew, we’d have to recite the spell in a hundred graveyards, sourcing each spirit to their final resting place— which may not even be all the same journeys. We needed to act fast and with precision, a precision I fear can only be found in truth.
Kai called me a moron, suggesting atop my meek, though logical, plan a rather horrendously loud option of knocking her out and walking inside. As I respectively reminded them that we went with their option last time, they disrespectfully called me names. Despite our conflict, we seemed in sudden agreement that our plan had fallen apart when the door swung open, revealing a frustrated, visibly upset woman.
An elegant woman, as Kai described. Dressed in a soft blue evening gown that matched her grey eyes. She wore a simple lace robe that wrapped perfectly around her sunken hips and crossed legs.
“It’s the middle of the night,” she said, her voice like a rusted blade— grainy with hints of pointedness, “Can I help you?”
Shoving Kai away, I began my prepared speech, informing her we knew of the spirits that lurked in her house and merely wanted to help. In childish retaliation, Kai hit my back, trying to yell over me and my now choking words.
She scoffed in a way that bled our ruckus into a silence, “Spirits?” she laughed, “Try your scam somewhere else.” She began to slam the door shut, and I knew I had to act fast, drawing my iron not to attack but to create space, jamming it in the door.
The woman screamed, “What… what is this? Please,” she pushed on the door to no effect, “Please, this is entirely inappropriate. This is a threat! I will have you escorted off my property, you…” She studied us, her watery hazel eyes hardening into ice, “Freaks.”
“Please, Kai, my companion, say Hello Kai, they saw you being chased upstairs. They said you were being attacked, you were wearing pearls and…”
“And a pink sweater with a matching skirt,” Kai chimed in.
Her eyes widened, frightened by the details we were relaying. For a moment, I thought she finally grasped the severity of the situation— she’d instead grasped the severity of being a young woman living alone.
“Were you spying on me?” she asked, her voice harsh and uneven. She reached into the breast area of her evening gown, pulling out a small cellphone. As I pleaded for her not to call the police, the iron still cornered between us, I felt a hand curl in mine. Sammy. I had thought her to still be in the car with Amanda. To my surprise, Amanda now stood beside me, then stepped between us, motioning for me to put the iron away, before offering her hand for the woman to shake.
“I apologize for my rather stupid friends, ma’am,” she said, glaring at us, “My name is Amanda, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We only need a moment of your time.”
The woman reluctantly took her hand, her phone still gripped tightly in the other hand, her finger hovering over the call button. “I appreciate that, but I must insist…”
I watched as Amanda arched her hand gently, though with enough precision to slide her large bracelet decorated with small emeralds onto the woman’s hand. The woman’s mouth hung open as if hesitant to speak what her furrowed brows and her other hand’s clenched fist seemed determined to say. Then her whole face calmed, as if melted, just like her icy eyes— which decayed to reveal a bright emerald green. A smile pinched the woman’s face as she dropped her phone to the ground.
Amanda leaned forward, whispering something in the woman’s ear, who giggled lightly at the thought.
“How silly of me!” she laughed, shaking our hands, “Any friends of Amanda are friends of mine. My name is Monica. Please come inside.”
Amanda, leading us ahead, turned around to give us a gloating look, “Asset,” she said, pointing to herself and saluting harshly. I had no idea why Amanda thought she wasn’t an asset, but I was thankful for her sudden need to prove herself. She’d created a rather fair compromise between Kai and I’s plan. A neat way to make this case a lot simpler. However, Kai did not seem to agree.
After Amanda told Monica to go play with Sammy upstairs, Amanda sauntered off down the hall to the kitchen, preparing coffee and making herself comfortable— cutting a slice of pie from a small dish left on the marble counter. I surveyed the downstairs of the home— confused how Kai had said just a few hours earlier that it was crowded with spirits. It looked like a perfectly normal place— perhaps a bit pretentious with its art collection and the staircase that was unnecessarily wide and marbled with accents of gold— but not any visible markings of a haunted house.
Before I could question Kai’s certainty on this address, I found a new question to ask— watching them sit down slowly on the stairs, patting the cold stone for me to sit down beside them. Cocking my head, I slid down onto the step, watching as they craned their neck to peer in the kitchen and ensure Amanda was busy. Then stared back down at the ground— the phone still lying on the floor, now gone dark.
“Quinn,” Kai said, breaking their contact from the device and looking up at me, only to look right back down. They now found sudden intrigue in playing with one of the buttons on their shirt, “Amanda shouldn’t be using her trinkets,” they said as if the words hurt escaping their throat.
I couldn’t help my confusion, “Isn’t that why she collects them?”
“I know,” they said, turning to face me, “But seeing her use them. I mean, I know they are her armor. I know sometimes they activate all on their own. I know, Quinn. But deliberately using them… and to manipulate someone…”
“You’re worried about the prophecy?” I pushed.
Kai’s head dropped down, staring at our two bags we had left at the bottom of the steps. A backpack covered with pins from a variety of music groups. Inside, a pack of cigarettes, a flask of whiskey, a lighter, and a few iron daggers I picked up for them. Beside it, a brown leather satchel, my own. Inside a journal with vows to you, Aurelia, some borrowed books on spirits, my secret journal full of codes only I can understand. Snacks, extra clothes, a first-aid kit, and her favorite plush for Sammy.
Amanda insisted she did not need to pack anything besides what she could fit in the small pack that sat around her waist and the jewelry she wore on her body.
“She attaches herself to what she needs. That’s how she’s always been… but I’ve got to admit, what we are doing here, it unnerves me.”
“You’re worried about a ghost, time-boy? Weren’t you one when you visited Scrooge?”
Amanda had popped up in front of us, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands. It seemed strange, such a bitter smell wafting from such a beautiful porcelain cup, but Kai took it, nonetheless, touching it to their lips before smiling, “A ghost of Christmas present joke. Haven’t heard that one before.”
She wrinkled her nose, smiling proudly. “So, actually, what’s got you spooked?” she asked.
“You, making coffee,” Kai jeered playfully, as they used their other hand to allow Amanda to drag them upright, “Asset Amanda, I need more cream in this cup.”
Amanda saluted dramatically, “Sir, yes, sir, cream will deploy pronto!”
Kai followed her into the kitchen, as I picked my bag off the ground, securing it around my waist. In my brief hesitation, I watched her settle back onto one of the black stools in the kitchen, pouring Kai a splash of milk in his cup. I noticed now how perfectly her jewelry caught the light from the chandelier that hovered above the counter— each bracelet, necklace, barrette, and piercing like a small taunt. What is Amanda capable of?
Leaving Amanda and Kai to discuss coffee and hopefully more, I ventured upstairs, not feeling certain about Sammy alone, especially since we still knew nothing of this alleged haunting. On top of that, I remained rather confused by this Monica character— how ghosts could haunt her only hours ago, and now remain so calm. Pulling my solid iron from the inside of my jacket, I dragged it along the walls of the upstairs, staring at all the paintings gathered on the walls. They were all portraits, though each seemed to tell a different story, and rather lacked the noble theme that the downstairs was so intent upon. Each face displayed a look far colder— some angry, some somber, some horrified, some splattered with blood.
Chills whispered down my neck as I followed the gleeful sound of Sammy’s laughter and Monica’s— forced and empty. Monica and Sammy sat on the floor of what appeared to be the master bedroom, playing with what looked like very expensive jewelry. I knew Monica would not be so joyous about this when all was said and done, and so I asked Sammy to walk with me instead. Monica insisted she was not supposed to leave the child. When I took a merciful step forward, extending my hand for Sammy to grab, Monica grabbed Sammy harder, gripping her arm and blocking her with the lacy wing of her robe.
“No,” she insisted, “Sammy and I are playing.”
Before I could react, Monica held up her hand, pushing it forward with a force I could not contain, as I felt a sharp wind push me out of the room and knock me to the ground. Without a breath of my own accord, the door slammed shut, followed by the chilling click of the door locking.
Monica is a witch. I’ve met many witches in my time in Hell. Witches who have told me stories that have filled many of my logs. They possess wicked power— silent but unwise to ignore. Jumping up, I began slamming my knuckles on the white door etched with pink roses, calling for Sammy to be released. I suppose the ruckus attracted Amanda and Kai, who raced up the marble stairs, as I breathlessly filled them in— still knocking feverishly on the door. Of all the stories I knew of witches, I knew one thing certain— never leave one alone with a child.
Amidst my knocking, I reached into my satchel, pulling out my index. 2022WIM. Shoving the book back in my bag, I continued my knocking and screaming, allowing the memory to play in my head.
Today, a powerful witch was brought to Hell. I met her at the entrance, warned that witches are slippery creatures. Our meeting was surprisingly cordial, as she told me she had been ready to greet death— a feat many witches spend centuries to avoid. This witch held the power of the Earth; she used it to create flowers that drove those near her property mad with a childlike glee. The witch, Anita, told me it was one of the things that made her happiest, knowing someone was coming to haunt her. It brought her a new friend, a new child to play with, a substitute for her own, which she had long outlived, a substitute for her whim she appeared to have with her eternal youth but had lost long ago.
Overwhelmed by both the memory of Anita and the worry for my Sammy, it took me a moment to realize the pounding in my head came not from my heart alone but also from Amanda and Kai, who were trying to tell me something. Something I assume to be pleas for me to step away from the door, as finally Kai reached their arms between the pits of my own, dragging me away, kicking and screaming. Shoving their hand on my mouth (which smelled obnoxiously of leather, smoke, and cheap cologne), Amanda began to speak gently through the small sliver of space between the door and its frame.
“Monica,” she said as if her voice was a song, “I think there’s been some confusion, could you let Sammy out please?”
Silence, a cool, dreadful silence.
The door slowly creaked open. Amanda began to greet Monica, but was instead met with a swift blow to her chest, knocking her to the floor, as I had just been moments before. I noticed now the bracelet was removed from Monica’s hand, gripped tightly in Sammy’s, though thankfully not on her wrist.
Sammy’s eyes began to water. “I did something bad. I just wanted to wear it, she said I could, but then she got angry.”
“It’s alright, Sammy,” I said, taking a gentle step forward with my bear arms raised, “Can you drop the bracelet for me?”
The bracelet clattered to the ground as Kai scrambled to help Amanda up. “That’s antique,” she hissed, and I heard the swift sound of Kai silencing her.
Releasing her hold on Sammy, Monica let out a furious yell as the hall began to shake. Sammy wailed loudly now, but with the floor bursting beneath me, I could not get the proper footing to walk forward, let alone reach her. Monica, however, walked effortlessly, jerking her hand to shove Kai against the wall and corner Amanda, who had fallen back to the ground.
“I will show you control, you spoiled girl,” Monica sneered, twisting her arm tightly on Amanda’s shoulder. With a single touch, both Amanda and Monica disappeared, though Amanda’s scream of terror still lingered in the air. The floor evened out beneath us— the hall restructured with an eerie stillness. Sammy ran into my arms, as I slowly stood, allowing her to wrap her hands around my neck and sit on my shoulder.
With not a moment to regroup, I felt an uncanny sensation that we were being watched. I noticed now the paintings, once portraits, now blank landscapes— emptied of their inhabitants, and released men and women… slowly creeping down the walls like spiders as they crawled at my feet.
“New painting,” they chanted in unison, a parade of men and women from fashions as modern as grunge to as old as Rococo, “New frame to be filled.”
With Sammy crying into my shoulder, I hefted her tighter in my arms as the mass of people pushed past us, as if we were mere dust to be kicked beneath floorboards. Kai had a panicked look on their face, their eyes wavering as if they were trying to read something that kept jumping away from them. Finally, their eyes settled, and as I turned, I saw they landed on the golden bracelet left right where Sammy left it.
“Kai,” I asked as a man in a kilt brushed past me, “Are these the spirits you saw?”
Kai nodded their head heavily, their eyes not daring to leave the bangle as they began walking toward it.
“Then let’s follow them,” I urged, speaking louder in an attempt to get through to their distracted daze, “Kai, we should follow them, come on. I don’t think they are spirits at all.”
“No,” Kai agreed, lifting their spiked heeled boots and stomping on the golden bracelet until it bent into an unwearable mass of dents and shattered emerald, “Just more control.”
We followed the last portrait in the mass, a young modern woman wearing a large t-shirt and ripped lacy tights. Large headphones sat around her neck, and chunky boots on her feet, causing her steps to seemingly be weighed down as she dragged herself down the long steps.
After quiet bickering, Sammy finally agreed to walk a little while longer. I gripped her hand tightly in mine as we ventured down the stairs, then through the kitchen where Amanda’s coffee sat spilled along the otherwise pristine counter, and approached a small door with a golden knob. It was left open, as each painting went down another set of steps.
As I placed Sammy on the counter, I opened my satchel to pull out her stuffed animal and the crackers I had packed for her. Placing one of the kitchen knives next to her for emergencies, I turned around, preparing to tell Kai we had to go downstairs, when I noticed they had already begun their descent, stomping down the stairs as they pushed and growled at any of the paintings daring to be in their way.
“Kai,” I urged through gritted teeth. Places formatted below sensical ground never sat right with me. Perhaps it’s all that time living in Hell. But with a clear path drawn for them alone, all I could do was peer over the railing of the basement, stuck beside a woman in seventies hippie fashion, her voice long and drawn as she repeated, “New painting, new frame to be filled.”
Amanda lay on an easel. Yes, Aurelia, the ones to keep canvases propped up. It was like a throne, which Monica examined, kneeling before it in a stance of reverence. In her folded hands, an empty jar and a small paintbrush— I could not see too well from my position, but I have since been informed that the brush had ‘carvings of the vine variety and other emblems that seemed culty’ on it. I wish I could have been the one to get closer, investigate this brush further, but you will soon see why this wish could not be granted.
Monica laughed lightly, “Soon, Amanda, you’ll do my bidding. You’ll be another fine piece of art in my collection. You’ll play my games and chase me every evening.”
This was a game to her. She was not haunted by these paintings, Aurelia; she was lusting for the certain death of these paintings. There is nothing a powerful witch loves more than to be reminded of their cruelty— there is nothing more a centuries-old witch in the body of a young woman loves than to feel young and naïve.
With the tip of the brush, Monica began to make symbols in the air surrounding Amanda. I watched Amanda’s hand struggle, practically vibrating the way her fingers reached out. For a moment, I was confused. What item from her toolkit could she possibly utilize now? But it was then that I realized her lips were also moving.
“Kai,” her lips read.
She reached for Kai
My eyes darted to them, fitting perfectly in the crowd of ’80s rockers and ’90s grunge that had gathered toward the front. Kai took a hefty breath, running their fingers through their messy hair. I wondered what they’d do. If they’d plead for Amanda back, offer their place instead. I wondered if there was any way to get through to a witch.
But as I saw a golden frame begin to outline Amanda’s body, I knew we were running low on time for words. Why hadn’t I processed the memory further? How did Anita say to kill a witch? I know I remembered, somewhere… somewhere in this infinite brain… but where? The memories surged in my brain like slashes as I fell to my knees, watching Kai’s shaking body scream out to Amanda through the banister. I realized now Kai was too frozen, not huddling with the leather-wrapped men, but rather chained by them. I had to appreciate the irony, Kai contained by all the eras that defined them, all those times they felt truly alive that carried them for decades to come.
Upon such irony, I was overcome with the memory of Anita. Realizing she posed no threat, I offered to take her on a walk to the only part of Hell I admired; the beaches where my hut stood. I sat with her on the sand as she curled her long, dark hair around her ears, battling it against the heavy, uncomfortable winds by the shore. It splashed the burning sand and waters against us, but somehow neither of us minded.
It feels good to feel so terrible, so mortal, she said. Isn’t it ironic that that’s the only known way to kill a witch? Remind her how much she has lived, and she will feel her age.
There was one more thing I packed in my satchel. Something no one knew I owned. I picked it up the night I had stolen those papers from Seward’s occupation. Unlike Amanda’s, which matched the glittery shape and style of the two barrettes she clips in her hair, mine was simple and grey, unsuspecting, and more importantly, by my values, only to be loaded with one bullet at a time. Raising the gun in the air, I shot it at the ceiling, watching as the portraits cleared a path for me. Even Kai took a step to the side as I confidently walked down the carpeted steps. I was just in time, as now Amanda’s face had begun to take on the look of brush strokes, as if someone had very messily done her makeup.
Monica, broken from the spell, turned around, her eyes back to their icy blue. “You think a gun can kill me?” she sneered, standing up and waving her hand. The gun came into her hand as she pointed it at me stiffly.
“No,” I admitted. “But it sure can get your attention. I’m sure you’ve heard many gunshots in your time. Did you hear it on the streets of New York during the eighties?” I pointed to the rockers, “Or maybe,” I continued, “During the Second World War?” I pointed to a young woman in a knee-length skirt and a matching flowery hat. “Or was it during your time making paintings during the Revolutionary War?” I pointed at the soldier beside me, wearing the muddy uniform of a patriot. “Or,” I continued, pointing to the woman dressed in Rococo fashion, “Was it even earlier than that?”
I watched Monica’s eyes waver. For a moment, bags drew under them, her forehead beginning to wrinkle. Desperately, she covered her face with her hands, dropping the gun to the ground, “What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice turning more raspy, more worn.
“Perhaps it is even earlier? Perhaps you are reminded of the earliest gun, or when weapons were not guns at all? Merely sharpened blades made from the earth.”
“Be quiet!” The woman hissed, her body sagging and her gown appearing like a large wave atop her. She looked so simple now, so frayed.
“Why?” I asked, “These are your creations, one from every era, every century, a millennium you lived. You keep them around to make you feel young, but really, they are a blatant reminder of how old you are.”
I took another step forward, kicking the gun toward Kai and wrestling Monica’s hands from her face.
“Look at them,” I cried, “Look at your collection, your generational wealth, your heirlooms, with only one person to claim them.”
Monica took in each portrait, her body beginning to tremble as her fingernails curled and her hair grayed. She fell to the floor, wailing in a way that almost made me take pity. As she knelt at my feet begging me to stop, I joined her on the floor, whispering in her ear, “Tell Anita I said thank you.”
Then I said a prayer to you, my Aurelia, and watched as the woman crumbled to dust, including the paintbrush that sat beside her— as if an extension of her.
One by one, the portraits did the same, some turning to complete ash, others crumbling into fragments that looked like burnt canvas and charred, runny paint. Racing toward Amanda and Kai, we helped Amanda stand. She appeared back to normal now, her face smooth and well-blended.
After helping Amanda back up the stairs, I asked Kai for my gun back, to which they shook their head obnoxiously.
“Absolutely not. You’re so lucky you only had one bullet in there. We are officially a no-gun household. You’ll never know what became of this,” they whipped their head toward Amanda as they headed toward the stairs, “Or that stupid bracelet.”
I smiled at Kai lightly, and they smiled back. They are right, of course, Amanda and I had more sensible ways of protection. Whilst Kai roamed the house to make sure no other of our trinkets were left behind, I helped Amanda gather her strength with another slice of pie and some hugs from Sammy.
“I like that,” Amanda finally spoke, her teeth reddened from the pie, “I like the only keeping one bullet thing.”
“Too bad I’ll never use a gun again.”
“Who said anything about a gun?”
From around her neck, she pulled out a necklace. Looking at Sammy, I flinched just slightly, wondering what this one did. Then relief slid down my dry throat— a simple rope necklace, with a single bullet tied on the end, “The last gift my father ever gave me,” she said with an empty laugh, “Or perhaps the first thing I ever stole, depending on who you ask.”
She handed it to me, and I took it with hesitation, “I didn’t like wielding a gun,” I said carefully, my eyes glaring at her barrettes, then dropping back down to the bullet. “Kai’s right, I’m afraid. It’s a cheap, human tactic. I’m not even sure why I bought one.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “They are good for nothing but fear. I don’t think I want that hanging around my neck anymore. I think we have things to learn from each other, Quinn. You know, you and Kai are also centuries old, but I didn’t see you crumbling.”
“Different circumstances,” I mumbled.
“Different circumstances,” she agreed, taking the bullet back from my hand and placing it around my neck.
