Their senses are honed by hundreds of years of sensitivity to evil. It seems I might have been the last to wake, and I’m not surprised, given my newness. Even if I was only seconds behind them.
They don’t have names, so I call themRose,Gilder, andSable, after the colors of their hair—crimson, golden, and black. They’re tolerant of my need to name them, although to each other, they are simplyFury.
To them, I, too, amFury. They don’t call me Peyton, and I’m not sure if they ever will.
Rose’s thoughts sound within my mind as if they were my own.Pain. Terrible pain.
Fear, Gilder adds, her golden hair falling around her face.
“Despair,” I whisper aloud, the scream that woke me creating a sensation within my chest like a stabbing knife. The sensation speaks to the emotion behind the scream: a despair that is soul-destroying.
My lips press in an angry line. “We will end it.”
My sisters immediately rise, levitating silently to the side of the room, each of them retrieving one of the four protective suits that hang from hooks.
Clothing doesn’t mean much to us. More often than not, it gets in the way. But it would have been foolish to reject these suits when Hunter brought them to us during my first month here.
She risked her life approaching this cabin.
My sisters weren’t exactly happy to see her, given that the first time they met Hunter, she had come to steal a dangerous object from them—and succeeded in doing so.
This time, Hunter brought four suits, one for each of us, and held them out like a peace offering.
Sable was the first to accept, and I was the last, warily taking the suit from Hunter. Gifts are to be carefully assessed, since the giver often wants something in return.
Since then, Hunter has visited me once a month. I expect her to ask me questions—to try to glean information from me about our activities, since we often get to a target before the assassins do—but she doesn’t. She just sits with me on the porch.
We sip herbal tea. When we’re done, she gives me a searching glance. Then she leaves again.
I’m not sure what she’s looking for in my eyes.
Maybe a hint of the person I used to be.
I’m no longer sure who that person was. Peyton…I… was broken into so many pieces that I don’t think I could ever pull them back together into the same form.
It’s the only way a Fury can come into being.
We shatter so badly that our past selves no longer exist.
But from that oblivion, we rise. Instruments of pure vengeance.
My sisters don’t speak of their own creation, and I will never ask.
Now, I follow them to the wall and take hold of my suit, quickly shedding my T-shirt and pulling on the protective costume, fitting the suit snugly to my body.
I’m yet to encounter a supernatural or a weapon that can hurt me, but even so, injuries are an inconvenience I don’t need.
Of course, Hunter knew better than to bring us boots.
I will plant my bare feet in the grime of the world and bring retribution to the hateful, the cruel, and the devils who call themselves saviors.
I will fly out into the world, into the filthiest places, the gutters, the broken buildings, or worse… Sometimes into the shiniest rooms because the most heinous acts can occur under bright lights.
It’s my purpose to tip the balance back in the favor of justice.
My impulses meld with my sisters’ thoughts, a perfect hive mind, as we retrieve our whips, hook them to the belts we’ve wound around our waists, and exit the cabin.
Within minutes, we soar up above the surrounding trees and into the cloud cover.
