Maybe…
I swing the scythe toward the dead woman.
A soft whistle fills the house as the etherium blade glows. The ghost evaporates just before a buzz fills me. It’s not at all the same morbidly insatiable sensation I once got from killing—instead, this buzz is gentle. Soft. Almost…peaceful.
Ugh.
Curiously, I hold up a hand and try again to recite a common fire spell, since this house is no less cold than it is outside. When nothing happens, I try again in fae. Again, nothing except a bit of warmth tickling across my palm.
Interesting.
As cautiously as possible, I scout the rest of the house. I find what I assume was the woman’s husband lying dead in the kitchen, covered in axe wounds and vampire bites. His ghost is nearby, staring out a window. He tries to say something when he sees me, but I can’t read his lips through his thick beard.
He hovers closer. I raise my scythe again, but pause.
“I need to borrow your car.”
He gestures at keys left on the kitchen table beside messy stacks of newspapers, extensive notes, and books filled with bookmarks.
“Do you have a map?” I check.
The ghost points at the table again, so I assume one will be buried under that chaos.
“Great. Have a nice afterlife.”
Or wherever I’m sending them to. Who fucking knows?
I swing my scythe again, admiring the sinister tune of my new weapon as another quiet buzz washes over me.
Once I’m sure the house is ghost-free, I get to work raiding it for what I’ll need. Upstairs, I dig around for a first aid kit and some of the women’s clothes that mostly fit me—an oversized light grey sweater, a dark blue coat, pants that are more figure-hugging than I like, a thick scarf, and much better winter boots that are only a bit big for my feet.
Limping back into the kitchen, I tuck the keys in my pocket and rummage through everything on the table, searching for a map. As I’m moving newspapers out of the way, I pause when a headline catches my attention…because it’s about me.
Breaking News: Maven Oakley, Assassin of Immortal Quintet, Dead at Battle of the Nether
Underneath it is a familiar grainy picture of me standing in front of Del Mar’s lightly censored dead body, Pierce at the ready in my hands.
I check the date. It’s from January, but that doesn’t tell me enough. How long have I been gone? Rummaging through the newspapers, I skim date after date in my search until my eyes snag on a homemade calendar on lined notebook paper sitting nearby. Picking it up from the table, I stare at the last exed-out square.
The year is the same, but despite the arctic chill outside, this crumpled, frequently-used piece of paper shows that it’s the beginning of July.
July.
Oh, my fucking gods.Six months?
My throat grows tight with apprehension. Quickly, I flip through several more newspapers, trying to piece together what else I’ve missed.
Millions Evacuate to Strongholds in Mass Panic Amid Severe Cold Front
Maven Oakley: Scourge or Savior? Freed Nether Dwellers Mourn Deceased Enigma
Great White North Bathed in Blue Hellfire
Legacy Council Abandons Ship as Human Cities Overrun by Never-Before-Seen Fiends
Limbo Zones Emerge Internationally: How to Identify and Avoid Them
Fiends Arrive in Europe, Ice Age Begins, and Death Tolls on the Rise
