“Max?” Kerri calls from the house.
I’ve been trained to flee first and ask questions later, but the apparition is strangely appealing and calming. The murky air lulls me into a daze. Swirls of mist dance along the skin of my arms, the gray cloud swallowing me whole.
I’m blind.
“Max, get inside!” Kerri shouts.
I jolt awake from whatever spell I’d been put under and dig the balls of my feet into the leaves, the dry crunch echoing in my ears. The sharp light of Kerri’s cell phone pierces the veil of fog, moving rapidly up and down as she runs up to me, and I stagger toward it.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
I open my mouth to speak as the mist thins just long enough for me to glimpse a tall, elongated apparition stalking toward her.
By the Darkness and all its whispers…
The thing wears no clothes, nothing to hide the emaciated silhouette of something that might have been a man, once upon a time. An eyeless mess stands in lieu of its face, showcasingsharp and uneven angles, as if its bones were beaten into submission until nothing human remained. A clear yellow jewel shines where its heart should be, eight curved metal insets clawing out of its thorax and holding it in place.
“Kerri!” I squeak, my pulse swirling.
The Fae narrows her eyes at the monster. “Get inside! Now!”
I spin around to find another faceless man waiting behind me, cutting off my escape path. Two other silhouettes detach from the fog. We’re surrounded by four—maybe five—of them, with who knows how many more still hidden in the mist.
The creatures don’t snarl, growl, or speak. Their mouths are sewn shut, leaving them eerily silent, their wide-flared nostrils sniffing the air, grime filling every crevice of their thick, leathery skin.
Kerri starts to shift. I haven’t seen her change forms in years, and the snaps and pops of her bones bring acid to my mouth. Soon after, a black wolf stands in her place. She extricates herself from her torn pantsuit and crouches in a defensive stance, baring her lupine teeth.
The faceless men emit a series of excited, horribleclicksin response to her sudden transformation. They’re not as fast as Kerri, but surprisingly in sync. They move as one and reach for her, textured bumps running along the joints of their fingers, the ends tipped with long, claw-like nails.
Kerri slams the one standing between us and the house to the ground, her powerful wolf jaw making quick work of its neck, but the thing doesn’t bleed. Doesn’t scream. It just goes limp, and the others prowl forward.
A newcomer cuts us off from the house, shoving me aside on his way to Kerri. I hit the ground hard, the air punched from my lungs, but none of them even glance my way. They circle her, suffering her bites with slow, careful patience, as though waiting for the right moment to seize her.
I dig my nails into the earth and crawl to my feet, grab the shovel leaning against the side of the shed, and ram it into the back of the closest monster. A lowsquelchechoes in my ears as the weapon pierces flesh, the skin of the monster crumbling like cardboard.
The thing collapses inward with a wet crunch and falls to its knees. I hold my breath—one heartbeat, two—but he drags himself upright again, the yellow jewel set in his chest flaring brighter. One by one, his companions turn their eyeless faces toward me.
Fuck. I’ve got their attention now.
I strike again and again, my blows landing wild and useless, until one bad swing gives the monster the opening it needs to rip the shovel from my grip.
It considers the gardening tool with a tilt of its head before snapping the shaft in two and letting the pieces fall at its feet.
Now that the shovel is out of my hands, they all return their attention to Kerri, who managed to tear a couple down, only for three more to stalk out of the mist. The way they move—surgical, perfectly trained, unfazed by the strikes—makes me think they feel no pain, no emotion, nothing beyond the cold drive to complete their task.
A desperate roar builds in my chest. “Leave her alone, you freaks! What do you even want from us?” I yell.
The wind rises, thinning the mist. A silhouette looms just beyond the iron gates, a dark shape highlighted by the golden glow of the street lamps.
A terrible bite of power—the likes of which I didn’t know existed—slithers under my skin. It feels similar to Mabel’s magic in its all-encompassing strength, but it’s much, much colder. And darker. The icy flare sinks deep into my chest and sparks a numbing ache. The phantom’s clothes are torn, but a smooth,white geodesic mask covers his face and mouth, with no holes whatsoever.
“Bring the girl to me.”
The words are loud without being spoken aloud, and the glacial voice is hoarse, as though it hasn’t been used in a long, long time.
Mist presses in from all sides, seeping into my hair, my lungs, my nose—marking me as a target. It’s clear now our attackers are only acting on their leader’s orders, his proximity increasing their strength and speed.
Beyond the gates, the phantom paces the street with the impatience of someone who can’t wait to tear us apart. For whatever reason, he can’t come to us himself, so he’s playing fetch with his minions instead.
