Page 170 of Veil of Blood and Bone

But to Audra this isn’t drivel.

It’s the first sweet spoonful of hope instead of sugar. Damn, she used to watch that movie hundreds of times when she was little. I think she liked the idea of someone coming into our lives to make everything better.

I did, too.

Except none of it is real.

“I’m trying to keep us alive this time. I don’t particularly feel like having ancient Norse assholes shish-kebob us. Okay?”

Rather than the rough plastic edges of the package of hand warmers I know I have stashed, my fingers graze leather strings.

“This time is different,” Audra insists. "You'll see."

“Now you’re regurgitating what Nicholas said.”

“He’s not wrong!”

I twine my index finger through the straps and pull. “You can’t make a snap judgment call about it,” I reply.

I wish arguing was a physical exercise, something to get our blood pumping.

Then I drag the bag of sigils out of my purse. It dangles between us like a grenade with my finger through the pin.

The sense of horror, of something coming, stretches until she feels it too. Osmosis or sisterly bond or magic. I’m not sure.

“I didn’t realize you’d brought those with you,” she says at last.

“I didn’t.” I distinctly remember leaving them in the living room, discarded, forgotten.

We need a weapon, or hand warmers. Instead we have runes and the stir of wind.

It blows the snow from the windshield, and through the haze of white, a form separates. Thick and solid and real. Gone in an instant.

Audra reaches for the bag and jolts back at the peal of thunder like the strike of metal on metal. “What’s happening?” Her whimper lashes barbed wire around my heart.

“It’s fine.” My eyes burn from staring for so many minutes without blinking. But the image of the figure, too tall, too thin, remains no matter how long I wait for the illusion to shatter.

“It’s not supposed to thunder when it snows.”

“It’s not supposed to snow this hard before Halloween,” I argue.

Then the entity moves. It takes one powerful step forward, and the earth rattles beneath it.

“Oh my god,” Audra sobs. “Oh my god.”

I blink tears free. “Don’t pray to them.”

We fall into silence, and I know there are some regrets I'll never be able to reconcile if this is how we go out.

My legs bob.

Wren would make a joke if he were here, something designed to get my attention off the creature, the worry, and solidify my focus. Nicholas? He’d ignore the fact that I’m scared as fuck because his faith in me seems more complete than my own.

And Forest, jeez, he’d say nothing. He’d simply charge.

And the worst thing is, I didn’t think I’ve ever wanted anything beyond safety with any man. No one has lingered because of the unconventional life I’ve built around my pain like scar tissue.

Why does the thought of not getting to see where things go with the four of us get my heart skipping beats?