That's what I thought, at least.
Things don't always play out the way you expect them to.
2
Two weeks later
The light of my life was gone.
"Thief?" I called, getting on my belly to look under the sofa in my flat. I'd lived here for six months, alone for five, and with the best company for the last four weeks. But Thief, my only friend,1had decided to desert me. "C'mon, Thiefy. I've gotta work."
If I was late, Mr. Woodrow would shoot me evils all night even though I had an almost perfect record. It didn’t have kids or a husband to make me late; I had no one. No one except Thief, who'd done a daylight flit.
Like mother, like son.
I pushed back to my feet, brushing dust off the knees of my black leggings. Ugh, I really had to throw a hoover around this place soon. I'd been too busy with work at night and obsessively checking for warning signs of keepers nearing during the day. And playing with my best guy, obviously.2
"I'm not joking around now," I warned Thief, transferring my narrowed glare from the sofa to the second-hand flatscreen TV, to the shaggy rug, thin curtains pulled across the small window, and the stolen family portraits hanging on the wall beside my bedroom door. I liked to pretend one of them was my family, even if there was zero chance that was true.
I'd been born in the hutch, the baby of a weapon who'd died in childbirth, and even though I didn't know who my dad was, I highly doubted he was in one of these picture-perfect photographs. Still, it was nice to dream.
It was nice to think someone, somewhere, cared about me.
"Thief! Get outnow, or I'm dissolving all the dried apricot snacks." I marched over to the kitchenette to make good on my threat, getting out the little baggy of snacks and hovering my hand over it. "One. Two." I peered at the room to see if he'd emerged, and gave the bag an experimental rustle to lure him out. "Two and a half.Three!Alright, that's it, Thief."
I braced myself for the echo of pain, and sank into my memories of cattle prods, electric shocks, sharp injections, and blinding, endless hurt. My magic rushed to the surface, lighting my palm in a lilac glow, and I gave Thief one last chance to show his furry, whiskered face before I grabbed the bag of apricot treats.
They dissolved instantly, dripping onto the counter in a tiny puddle considerably smaller than the shadowkind I'd killed two weeks ago.
I had to shake off the physical memory of that tentacle around my waist. What would have happened if my magic hadn't come when I called it? If I hadn't been strong enough? Sometimes the memories overwhelmed me, and made me weak at the worst possible moment. Would the shadowkind have torn me apart with his velvety tentacles? It had been so strong, as powerful as a human arm if not more so. I'd never seen a monster like him before; I didn't know what he was capable of.
"Fine, you’re grounded," I huffed at my hamster, wherever he was hiding, and grabbed my baby pink leather jacket off the back of a chair. My furniture had seen better days, it was certainly pre-loved, as were most of my clothes, but it wasmine. So I loved every single piece.
Still in a mood, I touched the pendant around my neck for strength, getting comfort from the heart-shaped locket. There was a tiny amethyst set in the centre of it, and a picture of a woman I'd never met and never would held inside. She was the dead mother of my only friend in the world. I hoped he was with her now, laughing over nachos like he told me they ate in the past.
It sounded nice.
"Ugh, stop it," I groaned, zipping up my boots3and grabbing the duffle bag beside the door. "No more depressing thoughts. Only happy thoughts from now on, Hala."
I closed the door behind myself, and opened it again because I left my keys inside as always. Moron.
When I locked it and stashed the keys in my zip-up pocket, I jogged down the stairs and up the street to the community centre where I gave late-night pilates lessons.
It wasn't my first choice of job, but at least it was something I was good at. You had to be limber and fit to hunt shadowkind—that was a fact. A fact I concealed from my classes, though. I might have gottenslightlyfired if they’d known the truth—both that monsters were real and came from another world called the void, and that I'd killed a bunch of them.
Hundreds, probably. I'd lost count of how many the keepers made me kill.
I kept an eye out for shadowkind as I walked; sometimes they tended to hide in the shadows between the coffee house and betting shop. The back of my neck prickled like I was being watched, but I scanned the small, tree-lined street and found it empty. I even ducked behind a tree to see if anyone would sneak out and try to find me, but there was movement.
"You're being paranoid, Hala," I huffed at myself, zipping up my jacket when I shuddered. "And no wonder, with who's after you. But it’s okay now; everything’s okay."
Paranoia was healthy when you were on the run from people who experimented on kids and trained them in bloody, violent arts. If Ihadn'tbeen paranoid, thatwould have made me crazy.
I was relieved to push open the doors to the community centre, inhaling its smell of wax, floor cleaner, and fresh sweat. Not a pleasant smell by any means, but comforting all the same.
"You're late," a waspish voice barked, and I repressed a groan when a short, balding man stormed down the hallway into the foyer. As usual, his grey suit was creased and the white shirt underneath was stained from his lunch.4
"Mr. Woodrow," I said as politely as I could manage when his overwhelming miasma of aftershave hit my nose. "I’m so sorry I’m late; I got here as soon as I could. I had a family emergency. It won’t happen again. I promise."