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“You brought your tablet, right?”
“Of course.”
“Cool. I’m sending you a file. Would you read it aloud? I need to hear it like a reader will.”
“Okay.” I pulled my tablet from the bag at my feet and opened it to find the shared file. “Grisly?” I turned again. “You’re already working on it?”
He nodded. “I don’t know if I have the cadence and voices right. Been a while since I wrote anything other than sci-fi reverse harem, and it’s hard not to hear Juno’s voice in my head automatically.”
“Sure. Gimme a minute to scan it for characters.”
I read through the scene and felt a little buzz of excitement. “This is very different, but I love it already.”
He offered an adorable lopsided smile. “Thanks. It’s first draft rough, but I’m getting back into the swing of fantasy.”
“How old is Aurelia in the prologue?”
“Nine, I think. Mother Moraine is seventy-ish.”
“And in the first chapter?”
“Nineteen. Mischa is fourteen.”
“Okay. I’m gonna butcher a few of these names.”
“No worries. I’m not set on their pronunciations.”
I took a couple swigs of water from the bottle sitting in the center console cup holder then began reading aloud.
Grisly: Book One of The Predator Garden
by Drew Katterman
“Why do they hate me, Mother?” I hid beneath the green-and-red bear paw bushes at the edge of the garden, drawing circles in the dirt with a stick.
“Because, Aurelia, you ask the questions that make them nervous.” Mother Moraine nudged my hip with her toe. Red and black stained the gnarled brown leather of her old shoes, splatters of pigment from the scribes’ room. “Move your tush.”
I peered up at her brown, wrinkled face. She was older than the garden’s oldest trees and tougher than them, too. That’s what Mummin said. “I only asked why the gods want to eat us.”
“Which is a good question.” She sat like a sack of swords — straight and rattling. Pulling a worn leather snuff pouch from her skirt’s pocket, she added, “I’ll answer with a question of my own.” She snorted a pinch of green powder up each nostril, made a puckered face, and sneezed. Her sneezes were loud and always made me jump, even when I knew they were coming. I giggled and she smiled down at me. “Are you ready?”
“Is that your question?”
Mother Moraine laughed. She had a loud laugh, too. “Goodness, no, child. But it’s a good one. And timely, I think, yes?”
I nodded. Tomorrow was the Day of Prayers in the Orsholya Temple, when we offered gifts to the gods dwelling in the Predator Garden at the heart of the temple. Only Mother Moraine could come and go from the garden with the gifts. She was Ishtanek Hon-gya, the Gods’ Voice. Only she could speak with them and survive.
“No, Aurelia, my question is this: Are you sure they want to eat you?”
I paused. “Do you want me to continue?”
Eyes closed, arms folded, Drew nodded. “Please.”
“Alright.”
TEN YEARS LATER
Light winked off something Misha pulled from his threadbare coat’s deep inside pocket.
