Sophia Jensson

  Sophia had always been small. Not just younger-than-her-age small. She was “easy to overlook” small. She was the kind of small that let adults forget she was in the room and made her brothers talk over her like she was furniture. It bothered her sometimes, but it had one very real advantage. She still fit inside her closet, the only real refuge she had from her family.

  Her closet was at the far back of her tiny bedroom, tucked behind white sliding doors that stuck if you didn’t lift them just right. And it was the only place in the house that felt like it belonged to her. When the world got too loud or too cruel, she could slip inside, pull the doors shut, and disappear. No one ever looked for her there. No one ever bothered her.

  Inside, the walls were plastered with pictures she’d scavenged over the years. Magazine clippings were taped edge to edge to look like homemade wallpaper. There were pictures of snow-capped mountains, winding roads through the deserts, skylines that glittered at night, and forests that were endless and wild. She stared at them sometimes until her chest ached, imagining herself somewhere far away where no one knew her name or expected anything from her. Someday, she promised herself, she would go.

  Most nights, she stayed in her closet long after the house went quiet. She would curl up with her knees tucked to her chest, wrapped in blankets that dulled the beam of a stolen flashlight. She’d taken it almost a year ago, during one of her family’s earliest jobs. She still remembered slipping it into her pocket while no one was looking. Her hands had shaken so badly she was sure that someone would have noticed. But they hadn’t.

  The flashlight barely worked now. The beam flickered and dimmed if she jostled it too much. But it still gave off enough light to read by, and that was all she really needed.

  Her books were her greatest treasure. She didn’t have many, just a handful of paperbacks and a few dog-eared magazines she’d scavenged and hidden over time. She knew better than to let her brothers find them. If they did, they’d tear the pages out or burn them and laugh like it was all a joke. They had bigger rooms and better things. Their rooms were packed with free weights and electronics and posters and whatever else their parents decided they deserved. Sophia got the leftovers.

  Her parents’ bedroom sat at the end of the hall, behind a heavy door and beside a massive window that overlooked the backyard. Beyond it stretched a forest so thick the ground disappeared into shadow, branches twisting together and overlapping and tangled. Sophia was never allowed out there alone. She’d never been able to run around those trees or feel the grass beneath her bare feet. Still, every time she passed that window she stole a glance and imagined herself running into that forest, following one of those overgrown paths until the house vanished behind her and no one knew where she’d gone.

  Her own room held what little she had. A cheap bed took up most of the floor space. A half-broken desk leaned against one wall, a leg propped up with folded cardboard. A child-sized dresser sat nearby, its drawers sticking no matter how hard she pulled. The closet was mostly empty of clothes. Her father didn’t see the point in buying things she’d “outgrow anyway.” Most of what she wore had once belonged to her brothers. Her outfit was hand-me-downs that were several sizes too big for her. Her pants had to be cinched tight with worn pleather belts, and her shirt sleeves were cuffed several times over just so she could use her hands.

  Once in a while, her mother brought home a dress from a thrift store or a consignment shop. It only happened when someone important was coming over and Sophia needed to look presentable. The dresses never fit right, and the mocking looks her father and brothers gave her made sure she avoided wearing them outside her room if she could help it.

  But the closet? That was hers. It was her safe place. Her haven. To Sophia, it felt enormous. Maybe because no one ever bothered her there. She’d lined the walls with her pictures and built a narrow shelf at the back from scavenged wood and a handful of nails stolen from the garage. It was just barely big enough to hold her books.

  Those books were worn and torn, some missing the covers, and all of them were absolutely beautiful. They told stories about clever detectives, distant cities, courageous heroes, and fantastical worlds where problems could be solved if you were smart enough. Mystery novels were her favorite. She loved figuring out who the murderer was before the detective did. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel like she was more than what her family saw.

  Her latest haul of books came from her family’s most recent job. They’d been working in the basement of a single-family home and Sophia had been told - like always - to stand off to the side and stay out of the way. Boxes had littered the floor of the basement. Most of them were filled with old photo albums, blankets, and baby toys that no one wanted anymore. A few had split open, spilling magazines and water-warped paperbacks across the floor.

  While her family argued over glyph placements, Sophia had crouched down and quietly slipped a few of the books into her bag. She hid them beneath towels and first aid kids, her heart pounding as she prayed the job would stay simple and bloodless. She knew that if anyone went digging in her bag for supplies, they’d find what she’d taken.

  Thankfully, the job had been easy and clean. The creature was captured without much trouble. After the tattoos were finished and the body was bagged to be sold off to butchers and craftsmen who would turn it into something useful, Sophia was safely ignored again. She hugged her bag to her chest and made herself small in the backseat of the car on the ride home.

  She hadn’t looked at the covers of the books when she dumped them in her closet. That was part of her ritual. First, she had to survive the rest of the day without drawing any attention to herself. Be a good child. Be quiet. Stay out of the way. Avoid everyone.

  Only at night, cocooned in blankets and with a flashlight trembling in her hands, did she finally pull a book free and open it. She smiled as the pages caught the light. It was a new story. It was a new world. It was proof that life was bigger than the one she’d been given so far.

  ***

  Ew’ah

  Ew’ah was small. Much smaller than her brothers and sisters. She could imagine them now, sprawled over one another in warm, snarling heaps. Their bodies were thick and well fed. Their ribs stayed hidden. Hers didn’t. You could count them if you looked long enough. Her fur was thin in places where sickness had licked it away, and her legs trembled if she stood too long.

  She wasn’t stupid. Her mother knew that. She knew she was clever. That was why she didn’t need watching the same way the others did. That was why her mother left her alone.

  When her Mother went out to hunt, she always came back with meat. She’d drop it in front of Ew’ah’s siblings and watch them closely, correct them when they tore at the meat wrong. She taught them how to be strong. But she never brought anything back for Ew’ah.

  If Ew’ah crept closer to the meal, her belly clawing at itself in hunger, her Mother would turn her head and fix her with that look. Disgust. It was enough to send Ew’ah backing away every time.

  Ew’ah told herself that Mother was teaching her. That she wanted Ew’ah strong and capable and able to take care of herself, not soft and helpless like her siblings. She told herself that this was a unique lesson, meant only for her. Because she was clever.

  Sometimes, though, another thought crept in. Maybe Mother forgot about her. Ew’ah was easy to forget. She barely took up any space. But forgetting her wasn’t the same as not caring about her. Mothers didn’t stop caring. They just chose different lessons for different children. That had to be true.

  Ew’ah knew the sound of hunger. It was a roar in her head that drowned everything else out. Sometimes the roar got so loud that her thoughts would bend and fold in on themselves. That was when her talents leaked out. The world would feel soft and slippery, as if she could push it if she tried. Whenever that happened, Mother would look at her with disappointment. It was a look that told Ew’ah that her talents were wrong. That they were twisted inward instead of outward. She was dangerous if she lost control of her magic. So whenever she felt that slipping feeling, Ew’ah went out to hunt. Just like Mother.

  She liked hunting. It made her feel responsible. And responsibility made her feel valuable. Her brothers and sisters didn’t understand that. They simply laid on their backs and waited to be fed. They were fat and loud and useless. Ew’ah didn’t hate them for it. They just didn’t know any better. Mother had never made them learn.

  She slipped away from the family and headed towards the place where the two-legged lived. She remembered Mother warning her siblings about them. Dangerous, she’d said. Fire and noise and traps. Stay away. But she never warned Ew’ah. She hadn’t needed to. Mother knew Ew’ah was smart. She knew Ew’ah wouldn’t get caught. That trust warmed Ew’ah more than food ever could.

  The two-legged place smelled wrong. It smelled like rot and metal. Her head hurt there, like too many thoughts were being pressed together. She followed the scent of food until she reached a tall metal box that yawned open at the top. She stopped and stared at it, thinking about what to do next.

  She couldn’t jump. Not like her siblings. Her legs screamed when she tried. But the sound of hunger was so much louder and it got her to climb. Her claws scraped against the metal. Her body shook. Halfway up the tall metal box, her vision went white around the edges and she almost let go. Then she thought of Mother’s eyes on her, measuring her, and she pulled herself over the edge.

  Inside the box was heaven. Food was everywhere. Wrapped, unwrapped, half-eaten, forgotten. It wasn’t the rich meat that her siblings got. It was cold and sour and sharp with strange spices. But it filled her mouth and quieted the roaring hunger. She ate until her sides ached. She ate until she could think again. She didn’t cry, but something wet slipped out of her eyes anyway.

  She was still eating when the lid of the box moved. A shadow fell over her. Ew’ah looked up and saw a two-legged standing there, holding another bag of food. Its eyes met hers and for heartbeat, they just stared at each other.

  Ew’ah reached out without thinking. Her magic brushed its mind, quick and tentative, like touching a hot stone. Fear exploded inside the two-legged. It was a bright and blinding fear. It screamed and the sound of it cut into Ew’ah.

  She scrambled, somehow hauling herself up and over the edge of the box. Then she ran, racing away. Her legs burned and her chest was on fire and, eventually, her body gave out. She crouched in the darkness and listened, shaking.

  Her belly was full for the first time in days. But she’d been seen by one of the two-legged. Should she tell Mother? She imagined her Mother listening to the story and nodding with pride.

  See? You survived. You learned. I’m proud of you. You’re not like your useless siblings.

  Then the image shifted. Her mother’s face tightened. That look returned.

  Why were you there? Why were you seen? Why are you always wrong?

  No. Mother already had enough trouble. Her siblings needed her. They were loud about their need. Ew’ah wasn’t. So she decided to keep the story to herself.

  When she returned to where her family was, she curled up away from the others. She kept herself warm with the thought of the stolen food.

  I am responsible. I am clever. I am strong enough to survive alone. Mother loves me. She just shows it differently. That is what I believe. It has to be true.

  ***

  Sophia Jensson

  “Sophia. Up. Now. Get your ass moving.”

  Her mother’s voice cut through her sleep. Sophia groaned and rolled over. For one stupid, hopeful second, she thought that maybe it was a joke. Then the knock came again, louder, rattling the door to her bedroom.

  “Get your ass up, girl. We leave in five.”

  That was her father, and his shout got her moving. The familiar sense of dread settled in her stomach. The family got another job and she was needed.

  Sophia swung her legs out of bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, moving on muscle memory alone. There wasn’t any point in dragging her feet. If she wasn’t ready on time she knew her parents would kick the door open, haul her out half-awake, and toss her in the car.

  She pulled on jeans, yesterday’s hoodie, and her boots. She didn’t bother trying to find matching socks. She grabbed her bag and shoved it over her shoulder while her brain drifted the way it always did early in the morning.

  She thought about what she’d been reading the night before. She wondered what today’s job would be. And, as always, she wondered what her parents had been before all this. Before monsters. Before magic. Before the Fracture.

  That’s what her books called it. The Fracture. Capital F, like the world had split cleanly in half instead of shattering in a thousand messy ways. According to everything she’d read, there was a Before and there was an After, and everything important started in the After.

  Monsters appeared. Magic became real. People started dying in ways that didn’t make any sense. Civilization was only now started to get a grip on things.

  In the Before, Sophia figured that her parents had probably been normal. They probably had office jobs and did business things. They had coffee breaks and attended meetings. She tried to picture her father in a tie or her mother staring at spreadsheets, and neither image quite fit.

  The After was what shaped them. They liked to say that they’d felt “the call to adventure.” That was the phrase her parents used, smiling over beers with friends. It made it sound romantic and noble. It made it sound like they’d been chosen. But Sophia knew better.

  She read her books. She paid attention. She knew that right after the Fracture, nobody had known how to kill the things that started appearing in the world. Werewolves didn’t die to silver bullets. Pixies didn’t care about iron. All the fairytales from the Before were useless in the After. Monsters rampaged, killed, and ate their way through civilization while people were helpless to stop it.

  It was only a few years later that poisons were developed to kill the monsters. Sophia had seen them once. They came in tiny bottles that were carefully sealed and outrageously expensive. $4,000 for a werewolf poison. Six for a chort. They were so expensive that most hunters ended up working for big organizations or got folded into city law enforcement as only those groups could afford the poisons.

  City hunters were licensed, insured, and given all the gear they ever needed. They worked for the city and had city-employee hours and city-employee support and logistics. Plague rats infesting the subway? Call the city. Vampire hunting in the park around your kids? Call the city.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But city hunters cost money, and rural towns didn’t have that kind of budget. They didn’t want to spend tens of thousands of dollars defending against something that might show up only once a year. So they waited and hoped that the monsters would skip their towns. And when that hope failed and they were faced with a supernatural creature devouring their people, they called up the independent hunters. They called the Jenssons.

  Sophia’s family worked across a web of small towns, all with sheriffs who had her father on speed dial. When a call came in about a dangerous creature, the family packed up the station wagon, drove out, killed whatever needed killing, and came back home with a few thousand dollars in cash.

  The Jenssons were fast, effective, professional, and most importantly, they were cheap. A traveling hunter might charge twelve thousand to take down a werewolf. Sophia’s father did it for four. A barghest could fetch a couple thousand elsewhere; the Jenssons charged one.

  They made enough to live comfortably and build up a small nest egg. And they were cheap enough that every sheriff and mayor who was operating under a strained budget would make the Jenssons their first call.

  Nobody outside the family knew how the Jenssons managed it. They couldn’t figure out how they were able to undercut everyone’s prices and dispose of supernatural creatures so cheaply. Sophia did. But she was too hidden from the world to tell anyone.

  She stepped outside into the cold morning air, the sky still dark as the sun was barely beginning to rise. Her mother shot her an annoyed look, like Sophia’s presence was an inconvenience. Her father cuffed her on the back of the head for taking too long.

  “Move your ass,” he snapped, pointing at her seat.

  Sophia ducked her head and climbed into the station wagon, trying to make herself look small and ignorable. Her brothers came out a few minutes later and buckled themselves in. Then her father backed out of the driveway and they were gone.

  They drove for hours. The road shrank from highway to state route to something that barely counted as pavement. Towns slipped past the windows and gave way to open fields. Her brothers slept and her parents barely spoke.

  Sophia liked the drive. When her brothers were asleep, they weren’t bothering her. She could pretend she was escaping, just shut everything out and imagine she was all alone in the car going anywhere else.

  The town was barely a town at all. It was just a handful of buildings and a single gas station. The sheriff stood waiting for them, his hands hooked into his belt. His face lit up when the station wagon pulled up.

  “Oh man, am I glad to see you,” he said. “‘Preciate you comin’ so quick.”

  Her father stepped out and rolled his shoulders like he was gearing up for a fight. “That’s what you pay us for. What’ve you got?”

  The sheriff hesitated. “Got ourselves a strange one. Real strange. Pretty sure it’s a krisling, or close enough that I ain’t eager to argue.”

  Sophia frowned. She’d never heard of a krisling before.

  “Restaurant worker found it goin’ through the dumpster behind Sal’s,” the sheriff continued. “Middle of the night. The thing looked small and sick, but it made her feel wrong. She said her head felt like it was full of bees. She screamed so loud she woke half the town.”

  Her father whistled. “Dumpster-divin’ krisling. That’s a new one.”

  “Yea,” the sheriff said with a tired snort. “Well…world’s full of surprises now, ain’t it.”

  They walked a few steps away from the station wagon and the haggling began.

  “Four thousand,” her father said. “Mental effects, unknown behavior, public exposure. It’s worth at least four.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “It’s small and isolated. And there haven’t been any confirmed kills. Two.”

  “Two?” her father scoffed. “Your budget’s tight, but it ain’t that tight.”

  “Town’s still standin’,” the sheriff replied. “Means it ain’t that dangerous.”

  They went back and forth like that for a while. The sheriff rubbed his jaw and her father was grinning like it was all a game. At one point, her father clapped the sheriff on the shoulder.

  “C’mon, Jim. You know I take care of you.”

  The sheriff laughed. “You say that to all the sheriffs, or am I special?”

  “Only the ones who pay me on time.”

  They settled on a price somewhere in the middle and sealed it with a handshake and another joke. Sophia felt off-balance. She’d never heard her father joke around and be friendly before. With her, it was only orders and curses.

  The sheriff pointed them to an abandoned storefront a few blocks away. The windows were papered over with newspaper and a FOR LEASE sign hung in the corner.

  They parked and started unloading the gear. Her father nodded at her two brothers. “Both of you need to get the nets and the suppressors and go out hunting.”

  Her brothers grinned, eager for the hunt. Sophia slipped into the building without being told. She knew her place. In the corner, out of the way.

  The place smelled like decay. She parked herself next to a wall in the corner while her parents worked. Her father drew two large glyphs on the floor with chalk, studying a slip of paper covered in a bunch of weird symbols. It had been given to him by his grandmother; something she’d dug up about a year ago.

  Her mother laid out her tools. It was a tattoo with needles and ink. While she got to work, Sophia drifted towards the window at the front of the store. She reached out and, quietly as she could, peeled away a newspaper from the glass. She glanced back to make sure no one noticed, then folded it into her pocket and returned to her spot by the wall.

  ***

  Ew’ah

  Mother’s voice carried through the brush, but it sounded wrong. She’d heard her mother sound sharp when she was correcting Ew’ah. She’d heard her sound cold with disgust that Ew’ah wasn’t learning fast enough. But this was different. She’d never heard Mother sound like this before. Ew’ah froze and listened.

  “...hunters,” Mother said.

  The word made Ew’ah’s stomach twist and tighten in a way that had nothing to do with food.

  Hunters. She’d heard the word before. Two-legs who killed. They used fires and traps and loud, exploding things. Mother warned the others about them all the time. Ew’ah’s thoughts jumped immediately to the tall metal box and the scream and the way fear had burst so brightly in the two-leg’s mind last night.

  Are they here because of me? Are they here because I got caught?

  Ew’ah crept closer to her family, staying low and careful not to make a sound. Mother paced back and forth, her claws carving shallow lines in the dirt.

  “They’re in the nearby town. That means we stay quiet, and we stay hidden.”

  Her gaze flicked to Ew’ah. “You. Out of the way. Be quiet.”

  That was all Mothers said. Ew’ah dipped her head obediently. Of course. Mother didn’t need her underfoot. She had Ew’ah’s siblings to manage. They were lazy and loud and always needed to be watched. Ew’ah understood. She was clever. She didn’t need the same care.

  Mother would focus on moving them and hiding properly. Ew’ah was small. She could be stealthy. The hunters wouldn’t even notice her. And she could help.

  That was what Mother needed most right now. She needed someone to watch the town and warn her if the Hunters came too close. She slipped away and moved carefully through the forest, sticking to the shadows and circling wide until she could see the edge of the two-legged place. She climbed a small hill and peered down at the town, keeping herself hidden.

  Then she waited. It took some time before she saw them. Two hunters came walking out of the town. Both of them were male and they were carrying things that made Ew’ah’s instincts scream out. They moved with a purpose and headed straight out of town and into the forest. Towards her family.

  Panic surged in her. They were headed to Mother. She ran. Branches tore at her thin fur as she bolted back the way she’d come. Her lungs burned and her legs ached but she didn’t slow down. Mother needed to know about the Hunters. She needed time to move the others and to keep them safe.

  Ew’ah burst into the clearing where her family had been…and then she stopped. It was empty. No Mother. No heap of siblings. The only thing around was trampled leaves and a fading scent.

  Her heart pounded as she turned in a slow circle. They must have moved. Mother was smart. She wouldn’t stay in one place with hunters nearby.

  Ew’ah swallowed and forced herself to breathe. Be patient. Mother would come back. She’d call for Ew’ah when it was safe. She wouldn’t leave her alone. This had to be another lesson. Resilience. Awareness. Responsibility.

  Even Mother would know that Ew’ah wasn’t ready to try and escape two-legs who were determined to catch her. Unless…unless that was the test.

  A sharp thwip cut through the air and pain exploded in Ew’ah’s shoulder. She cried out as her legs buckled and something cold burned through her veins. The world went wobbly and squiggly and everything smeared.

  “Got it.”

  The hunters were there. They were almost on top of her. Ew’ah tried to run. She had to warn Mother. She had to protect her family. A book slammed into her side. She was kicked twice, and each kick knocked the air from her lungs.

  She wanted to call out to Mother. Mother would stop this. Mother would-

  Another kick sent her sprawling. Hands grabbed at her and she tried lashing out with her mind but everything felt thick and slow and sluggish, almost like she was trying to push through mud. A loop snapped tight around her neck. It was attached to a long pole that kept her just out of reach of the hunters.

  She was dragged through the forest back to town. Ew’ah’s vision blurred with tears. Her body wasn’t listening to her as she tried to escape. Her legs were too weak and her breathing was becoming more shallow.

  The hunters shoved her into a building that smelled of old dust and rot. Inside, there were more two legs. Three of them. Two were big and solid and watched her carefully. Off to the side was a small two leg. It was a girl and she looked different. She was very still and very quiet, like she was trying not to be seen at all.

  Ew’ah strained against the leash as fear clawed its way through her body. She needed to get free. Mother would come. She had to. Mother wouldn’t leave her all alone.

  ***

  Sophia Jensson

  Sophia stayed pressed against the wall as she watched her brothers drag the krisling into the building. Up close it didn’t look like much. It was small and sickly and fragile. Its fur was patchy and its limbs were shaking. Still, it fought the entire way. Its claws scraped uselessly against the concrete floor, leaving pale lines behind. The pole on the leash jerked and clanged as it twisted and thrashed, desperate to get free.

  Her brothers were grinning as the monster fought. This was their favorite part of the hunt. It was the part where things got rough.

  The two glyph circles were laid out on the floor, the chalk lines thick and humming faintly. Beside one of them, her mother had laid out the tattoo kit. The needles were gleaming and the bottles of ink were uncapped. Everything was neat and orderly and placed on a small surgical tray.

  “Sophia,” her father called out sharply. “Place.”

  She flinched before pushing herself off the wall. It didn’t do any good to argue or hesitate. That never helped. Instead, she reached up and tugged her hoodie over her head and then let it fall to the floor. The tattoos that covered her arms were impossible to ignore.

  They ran from her wrists all the way up to her shoulders in dense, uneven patterns. Sigils were layered over sigils and lines crossed lines. There wasn’t any symmetry to the tattoos. Her mother didn’t care about any of that. Each of the tattoos meant something. Each of them was a tally and a record of a hunt that had gone right.

  The tattoos were the reason why the Jenssons could charge so little. Her grandmother had figured it out about a year ago, back when magic was still new and no one had figured out the rules yet. She’d researched it obsessively, digging through old folklore and half-forgotten stories. Eventually, she’d found what she was looking for in an old, dusty book. It was a ritual that allowed for a living vessel to hold another soul. Permanently.

  The Jenssons didn’t poison monsters with expensive chemicals. They didn’t burn them or shoot them full of alchemical cocktails. Instead, they tore the souls out of them and forced them into a willing container. Sophia.

  Every tattoo carved into her skin was a binding mark, designed to keep the magic from killing her outright. The glyphs on the floor gathered the mana, shaped it, and linked her to the creature they were hunting. That connection was what made all the expensive poisons unnecessary.

  Sophia stepped into her circle and went still, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her brothers dragged the krisling into the second circle beside her. It thrashed harder now, eyes wide and wild as it fought. The leash pole clattered to the floor when one of her brothers accidentally dropped it. Her father sighed, clearly annoyed at everything, and the sound made Sophia’s stomach drop.

  “Hold it still,” he snapped.

  “It won’t-” one of her brothers started.

  “Then make it.”

  Her father turned and walked over to his tool bag before coming back with a nail gun. Her brothers forced the krisling down, pinning it awkwardly to the floor of the abandoned building. It screamed and something twisted uncomfortably in Sophia’s head. Then the nail gun fired. Once. Twice.

  The creature’s paws were nailed to the floor. Blood splattered against the chalk lines. It screamed in a broken and choking sound.

  Her mother knelt calmly next to the creature and caught some of its blood in a shallow metal dish. She stirred it into the tattoo ink, murmuring under her breath as she checked the consistency of the ink. Then she turned her attention to Sophia. Her fingers brushed over old tattoos as she searched for a clean patch of skin.

  “Hold still,” she ordered.

  Sophia nodded and stared straight ahead as the needle buzzed to life. The ink sank into her skin and the blood mixed with magic and the magic mixed with something deeper. She felt the familiar pull begin. The glyphs flared to life. The air grew heavy. Somewhere beside her the krisling screamed as its soul started to come loose.

  ***

  Where’s Mother? The thought hit her in a rush. Find her. Stay close. Don’t be alone. Panic followed right on the heels of the thought.

  Mother is right there. Mother was calm and focused, her hands pressing the needle into skin. Ink bloomed beneath the surface and it was mixed with blood that wasn’t hers. The sight of it all didn’t line up properly though. It was all tangled and refused to make sense.

  Why is Mother hurting her? Mothers don’t hurt. Mother’s teach.

  She tried moving but found that she couldn’t. Something was holding her in place. Strong hands. Too many of them. She was in the center of a strange circle and Mother was tattooing her and none of it felt right.

  The minds around her were loud and bright and ugly with joy. Glee. Hunger. Anticipation. Brothers. No. Not her Brothers. Her brothers. They smelled wrong. They thought wrong. They wanted this.

  Fear crawled up her spine but there was something else layered over it. It was a strange, practiced calm. She’d done this before. She’d survived this before. So many times.

  She looked for her Mother. Mother will stop it. Mother will fix it. But Mother was still focused on the tattoo, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

  Off to the side was the older male two leg. He felt distant and disconnected. Bored. Annoyed. His thoughts are just at the surface. Taking too long, hurry it up. Will she be punished if she keeps making him wait? That hurt her more than the needle.

  Don’t be in the way. Don’t make him angry. That rule felt old and familiar.

  She lifted her eyes and met another pair. They belonged to a thin girl. She was sickly and starved, and not just for food. There was something hollow there. She wants out. Out of the circle. Out of the building. Out of the family pressing in on her. Out of the pain they’re both sharing.

  The hunger pulsed again, deep and constant. It was a roar she knew by heart.

  I’m hungry, thought Sophia.

  I’m scared, thought Ew’ah.

  The thoughts blurred together and bled into one another until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. A memory resurfaced. It was of last night, with the tall metal box that stank of rot and food and relief all tangled together. A scream tore the air open. It was a woman’s face, her eyes wide as fear detonated bright and blinding in her mind.

  A restaurant. A dumpster.

  Did I do that?

  Did you do that?

  The needle dug deeper and something tore loose. For a heartbeat the world stretched thin and the hunger stopped and the fear burned itself out, leaving only an emptiness there. Then everything snapped back into place and a body went still.

  ***

  Sophia Jensson

  Sophia sucked in a breath. Memories and emotions crashed into her all at once. They weren’t her own. Her arms were aching with the tattoo. It had been over for a while now but she hadn’t noticed. She dragged her hoodie back on quickly, hiding the fresh ink and the other marks that she didn’t want anyone else to see.

  Her brothers were already moving. They lifted the body of the krisling. Her body. They wrapped it in plastic and, as they worked, they talked about all the money they’d just earned and what they might buy with it. None of the family was looking at Sophia. Mother didn’t look away from cleaning and storing the tattoo kit, and a sense of sadness passed through Sophia in that moment.

  Mother never came.

  She stumbled back to the car and folded herself into her seat, curling inwards as she stared out the window. She didn’t watch as her brothers scrubbed the chalk lines away. She didn’t watch as the building was wiped clean. And she didn’t watch as her father headed off to speak with the sheriff and collect the cash.

  Somewhere very deep inside her, something small curled up tighter and waited.

  Mother will come back.

  The car door shut and the engine started and they drove back home.

  When they finally got back home Sophia waited away the hours in her bedroom, hoping that her father and brothers wouldn’t come to yell at her. She knew her brothers would be in their own rooms, excited about the hunt and running through everything that had happened in it. Her father and mother would be downstairs, thinking about what they would purchase with their new windfall.

  The hours slipped past. She heard her brothers arguing and her parents moving through the kitchen. The day was wrapping itself up like it never involved blood or screaming or chalk on the floor.

  When she was finally sure that nobody was coming down the hall and heading into her room, she slipped off her bed and quietly opened up her closet.

  She crawled inside, dragging her blanket with her, and pulled the door almost shut. It was just enough to leave a thin crack of light. Then she clicked her flashlight on and tucked it under her chin. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out the newspaper she’d taken from the abandoned building. It was crumpled and a little torn from where she ripped it off the window, but she was able to smooth it out.

  A picture took up most of the page. It was a restaurant. A new opening. There were big windows and warm lights that spilled out onto the sidewalk. In the center of the photo was a man in a chef’s coat. He was holding a ladle across his chest and his jacket was spotless and clean. His name was stitched over the right breast in red thread.

  He looked happy. It wasn’t the forced kind of happy that her parents put on when they talked about “adventure.” No. This was real happiness. It was the happiness that came from building something and being proud of it.

  Sophia traced the edge of the photo with her thumb and imagined herself there. She wasn’t inside the restaurant. Not at first. No. She was sitting outside at one of those little tables on the sidewalk. She’d pretend that she was just resting and watching people go by. The city would hum around her, filled with voices and laughter. She’d hear the clink of dishes from the kitchen. No one would be yelling her name.

  Eventually a waiter would come out, but they wouldn’t rush her. They wouldn’t glare at her like she was taking up space. They’d just set a plate of bread down in front of her like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was food that she didn’t have to earn by standing in a circle and bleeding.

  “Enjoy,” they’d say, smiling bright and easy.

  Sophia swallowed at the thought. Something slipped into her mind, soft and tentative and not quite her.

  ::What does it taste like?::

  The question startled her so badly she almost dropped the flashlight. Her heart kicked hard against her chest and she sucked in a breath and pressed herself back against the wall of the closet. Her tattoos itched and her eyes went wide.

  “That’s not…” she whispered before stopping.

  The thought hadn’t felt intrusive. It hadn’t felt wrong. It had felt…curious. Wondering.

  Sophia closed her eyes for a second and clutched the newspaper clipping tighter. “I don’t know,” she murmured, not sure who she was answering. “Probably…warm.”

  The silence that followed felt like it was listening. Something shifted in her, like a lock turning somewhere. Light flooded her vision and words burned themselves into the dark.

  [Class Unlocked: Soul Warden]

  Sophia stared at the words, her breath caught in her throat.

  She’d heard about classes. She’d read about them in her books, but they were always vague mentions. There weren’t any details about them, just the idea that sometimes, after magic had crept into the world, something out there noticed you.

  Sophia hugged the blanket closer around herself and looked back down at the picture of the restaurant, wondering what was happening to her.

  ::I’ve never tasted bread before. I think I would like it.::