Page 8 of Before We Burn

Bunny shrugs, her body relaxing while her eyes dart between tables in the library. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” She knows her gift is something special—something to protect.

I smile at her. In all the books and all our history, there have only been four vampires with the gift of sight. The one thing we learned from them is that they will never give us information—not about them or the future. It was knowledge they were born with.

I watch Bunny cautiously, excusing myself and picking up my phone to call Constantine—the only person I know who is old enough to know what the fuck to do.

4

LOCKED AND LOADED

EVERETT

One…Two…Three…

The bullets slide into my magazine, scraping against the cool metal. You would think by now they would’ve created lighter weapons, but here we are. I hate being a foot soldier; regardless of my rank, it sucks. But I was sold on the fake glamour and honor of it all. Benny tried to warn me, and I should’ve listened to him when he told me it wasn’t what they made it seem. He was right.

I gather a few more things I need for our patrol. Sometimes we need weapons for vampires, and sometimes we need weapons for witches. Today feels like a witch day, so I load my vest with binding salt and spelled cuffs meant to bind a witch's magic—it’s not like there’s much left in the world, anyway.

The witches have grown weaker, their covens all destroyed or diminished. I like to think the world is safer for it, but I’ve begun to question whether or not any of this made the world better.

At some point in my service, I started to form an opinion about everything.

Why were the witches a bigger threat than the vampires? Why were we capturing the witches instead of killing them? Wouldn’t that be safer? All questions I’ve been quietly asking myself.

Vampires are the real threat. They tear through any town or city they find, leaving orphans and death in their wake. The amount of bodies I’ve seen drained of life—drained of blood—is probably more than I’ve seen alive. I’ve never let a vampire go, and I’ve captured more witches than anyone else.

My commanding officers expect more of me, wanting me to be an example of perfection. Something they’ve been preaching to me since I could remember. I hate it truthfully. I hate waking up every morning and not knowing if the patrol I was sending my team on would be their last. I hate walking past the witches chained and discarded in the cells until they’re needed for something new. I don’t understand why they have to be kept here. Why can’t they be moved to a prison or someplace else where they can serve for their crimes.

This war has taken a lot from people in the name of safety. But has it all been in vain?

I can’t tell anyone else about my concerns, though. These thoughts aren’t part of The Collective’s ideals, and they would do with me what they did to the witches. Or worse, they would use me as bait to capture vampires.

My unit is the closest thing we have to a family—well, most of us. There are a couple military brats in my unit, but they keep to themselves. Their parents ruined them with the idea they are superior. That once the humans win this war with the witches, our species will be the apex predator. That they will be not only a ruler, but a god. But it’s beginning to feel more like a cleansing of witches than an elimination of a threat. If eliminating a threat was the goal, the vampires should be first.

Even though I know this, I still choose to go through with it. All in the hopes I get to kill a couple vampires.

I didn’t grow up with a loving family because of them—I didn’t have a family—and I was left here on this earth for something.

“Get out of your head dude!” Benny slaps my shoulders. “We got to get going. You know who is going to be up our asses if we don’t.” I roll my eyes. I don’t care what Hendrix says.

I need to focus on the patrol today. No one has caught any witches in a while, and all of the higher ranking officers have been getting stern with our numbers—almost as if we are supposed to be making a quota. I had tried to tell him that witches don’t work how they used to when he was hunting.

Most witches operate like a pack of wolves. There is one witch—typically the oldest in the coven—who serves as a beacon of power. All other witches get their strength from her, unless they’re born an anchor, too, which makes the coven stronger—more dangerous. Most of the covens are gone now, with only a few surviving the hunts or allowing themselves to become enslaved in order to protect younger witches, making anchors slim to none.

“There probably aren’t any witches left. Do you really think that’s what we’re doing when we’re patrolling?” I ask.

Benny rolls his eyes, ignoring the question. I make sure to be quiet, because if anyone hears me and it gets back to the wrong person, I could be tortured. Beaten to a pulp until they get me to say what they want me to say.

“Let’s get going, Everett. I’m not going to entertain any more of your bullshit this week. Yesterday was enough for me.” He storms out of the room, his heavy footsteps making the floor creek beneath his weight.

I try to think of what I did yesterday, but I don’t remember anything that struck me as bullshit.

I don’t blame him for his pessimistic mood. He hates this more than I do—especially with his family history. Benny’s grandmother was taken from him under the suspicion of witchcraft. Then his mother disappeared one night—no one knows what happened to her—and he swears she wouldn’t just get up and leave.

I hate seeing his face every time we go into a raid. I can see the pain and the way he battles with himself, despite my reassurances. He knows his grandmother wasn’t a witch. He passed the blood test, so the people who took his family were wrong.

I remember the rumors that spread about him when we went through training. Most people treated him as if he never passed his blood test while others treated him as if he was invisible. He hated it, but I would’ve given anything to be no one at that time.

They broke us in the first week of basic training, forcing us to eat out of dog bowls, shooting us with different darts filled with potions and poisons. For a country that hates to see witches living their lives, they sure love to use the weapons they create. We were test dummies that first week, only to endure another week of torture.