“It’s starving,” I say. “It wants everyone.” I canfeelits hunger now, even as it gorges.
“No, it’s you! It wants you!You’rethe sacrifice!” Her voice is ragged with fear. “You’re the one who’s supposed todie. Not me!I’msupposed to be living my fucking truth, not trying to train some white-trash pity hire who can’t even—!”
The French doors shatter. The god rolls onto the carpet in a hail of glass and fabric and wood.
Emma and I take advantage of the distraction to run past Arden toward the kitchen. We swing around the island, hands on the counter edge for balance.
Emma goes down hard ahead of me. She hits the tile floor with an awful fleshy slap. My feet tangle in hers and down I go too. Pain so strong that it momentarily steals my breath explodes in my knee.
Jena is huddled on the floor with her back against the island. Her hands are pressed to her mouth to keep any noise from escaping. She’s what Emma tripped on.
“She’s the one!” Arden yells. “She’s the one you want!”
I get to my good knee and look over the island. The god is cast in red light and tall, so tall. Its head is tilted down so it doesn’t hit the complicated chrome light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Arden motions with the knife toward the kitchen.
“She’s over there!”
Jena yanks me down. This close, the smell of alcohol on her breath is overwhelming. It’s hard to tell if it’s the red light, or if her eyes are just that bloodshot.
Emma raises herself to her hands and knees. A red mark stands out on her temple. A blank look has overtaken her eyes.
Glass crunches under the god’s feet with each step. Arden whimpers, then begins to sob. “It’s not me, you stupid animal! I’m a good person!She’sthe sacrifice!”
A cut-off cry and then the blooming, overwhelming smell of blood and viscera fills the kitchen.
I point to the doorway and mime crawling. Emma blinks slowly. Jena shakes her head, tears pouring down her cheeks. I want to snap at her to stop it; that her tears mean nothing; that Arden would have doused Jena in gasoline and lit the match herself if she thought it’d keep her warm.
There’s maybe ten feet between us and the doorway leading toward the front of the house. Emma starts the slow crawl. I bite the inside of my cheek against the pain in my knee. Even the smallest amount of pressure sets off stars behind my eyes.
Incredibly, Jena follows after us. Her face is resolute and her gaze straight ahead. Her lips quiver. No sound comes out, and though her nose is streaming snot she doesn’t sniff or try to wipe it away.
The wet sound of the god eating itches across the back of my neck. A shiver of elation runs a finger down my spine. Every pause in the sound feels like if I look over my shoulderitwill be looking back at me, hungry mouth wide.
Emma makes it into the hallway first. She helps me up when I cross the threshold. My breath catches when I try to put weight on my busted knee. I have to lean back on the wall and grind my teeth to stop the whimper from getting out. Jena’s mostly able to stand on her own, which is fortunatebecause I am no help whatsoever and Emma is listing worryingly to the side.
The living room’s minimalist style doesn’t extend to the hallway. There’s a long table pushed against the wall and a gaudy gold umbrella stand next to it. I take one out and use it as a cane. The muffledtap,tap,tapon the rug running down the hall makes my stomach twist with dread. The hallway opens into a white-and-black marble foyer with stairs leading to the second level tucked against the wall to my right.
Ripley’s probably up there. In the video she was lying on a blanket, next to what looked like a footboard to a bed.
She can’t still be alive, can she? She has to be gone with how ill she looked lying on that blanket.
But what if she’s not?
What if she’s not and she knows what’s happening when the god sinks its teeth into her neck? What if the last thing she feels is fear and the last thing she sees is a room without me in it?
I’m eyeing the stairs trying to figure out if I could realistically make my way up them without Emma following me when there’s a sound at the front door. The knob rotates but doesn’t open.
“Unlock it,” Jena whispers to Emma, who’s the closest.
Emma shakes her head.
“Do it!” Jena repeats.
I turn to glare at her and tell her to shut up.
It’s not Jena that my eyes fall on. It’s the too-tall godstanding behind her—its chest expanding and contracting with sharp, silent breaths.
She sees the look on my face. “Wha—?”
