Page 5 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Faith might have the emotional warmth of a snowbank, but she showed up when it mattered. And she came armed.

I stripped off the robe and yanked on jeans, my fingers clumsy with adrenaline. I shoved my feet into boots without bothering to lace them properly. A black, long-sleeved shirt went over my head, the fabric catching on the spikes of my hair.

I grabbed my hoodie, then hesitated.

No. Hoodie was too casual for the council chambers. They’d tear me apart with their eyes and call it procedure.

I grabbed my leather jacket instead. It smelled of smoke and herbs, which was basically my entire personality.

I moved to the small cabinet where I kept my supplies.

And, tucked behind them, a blade.

I didn’t prefer knives. I didn’t like anything that implied I might have to use it. But I liked being eaten even less.

I slid it into my boot, checked the fit, then grabbed my phone charger out of habit. If the world was ending, at least my battery could be full.

At the last second, my gaze landed on the small tattoo of a sleeping cat on my wrist.

Mica.

My chest tightened. I pushed the thought away before it could turn into something ugly.

I was halfway out the door when another scream sounded down the street, cut short too quickly.

I froze.

Then I forced myself to move.

Outside, the air had shifted. Like the town itself was holding its breath. The street was quieter now, but not in a good way. Quiet meant the running had stopped. Quiet meant whatever people were afraid of had caught up.

A car engine roared around the corner and skidded to a stop in front of my yard.

Faith’s black SUV. The one with the license plate that made me want to scrub my eyes with bleach. LIK2FUK.

She leaned across the passenger seat and shoved the door open from inside.

“Get in,” she barked.

I didn’t argue. I vaulted into the seat and slammed the door.

Faith’s sea-green eyes flicked over me, taking in the messy hair, the half-laced boots, the fact that I still looked like I’d been ripped out of sleep.

“You see one?” she asked, already peeling away from the curb.

“Yeah,” I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “In the street. I used my power, but it didn’t go down.”

Faith’s jaw clenched. She drove as if the town owed her money, tires spitting gravel as she took the next corner.

“We’re not driving through the main streets,” she said. “Too many bodies, too many idiots. Portal’s faster.”

“Magnetic Boutique?” I asked.

“Unless you know a better doorway to hell,” she shot back.

I almost laughed, but it came out as a breath.

We barreled through side roads, cutting past sleepy houses and dark storefronts. Every so often I saw movement at the edge of the street. A figure swaying. A person running. A flash of something pale under a streetlight.