visitors from the sanctuary.
The two guest beds had been fit under a stained glass window of an apple in a leafy garden, which cast dappled green and blue light where he had been lying—bright enough that he thought there had to be sunlight, actual sunlight, on the other side. Neither the light nor the sound bothered Summer, who was out cold on a mattress against the other wall. One arm was flung over her face. She was snoring.
They had spent most of the night trading with the people who lived in Northgate—a lengthy affair that involved a lot of good-natured arguing and, inevitably, breaking into the alcohol reserves. Abram didn’t participate, but Summer loved drinking half of the town’s residents under the table with the help of her werewolf metabolism. If he left her alone, she would be out for hours.
“Hey,” he grumbled. “Someone’s here.”
She didn’t even twitch.
The knocking grew more insistent. Abram pushed to his feet and stumbled for the door, snagging a shirt off of the desk as he went. It was too damn early in the morning for something urgent to be happening. If demons were invading Northgate, he was just going to have to roll over and let it happen. Let them eat him. At least he could keep sleeping.
More knocking.
He jerked his shirt over his head.
“I’m coming, I’m coming ,” he said.
As he shuffled toward the door, he realized that knocking wasn’t the only sound he heard. There were voices beyond the walls of the cathedral. People were on the lawn between the office and the trailers where the priests used to live. It couldn’t have been long after sunrise, but it sounded like the entire town was already awake.
The knocking persisted. Abram hiked up his sweats, made sure that all of his parts and pieces were covered, then opened the door.
It was Josaiah, the witch that ran the base of operations at St. Philomene’s Cathedral. “Ready?”
Abram rubbed his bleary eyes. “For what?”
“It’s homecoming day,” Josaiah said.
Crap. Homecoming day . Between trying to keep Summer from giving herself alcohol poisoning and loading everything they had traded into the pickup, Abram had forgotten that they had a second, more important, reason for visiting Northgate. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. They’ll be here within the hour.”
Double crap .
“We’ll be out in a second,” Summer mumbled without sitting up. Her head was hidden under her pillow.
Abram snorted. “Yeah. What she said.”
He shut the door on Josaiah and locked it.
Northgate was no longer populated by the God-fearing families that had been there for generations; they had evacuated after the fissure split the streets and been replaced by former slaves liberated from Dis. Those who remained were the ones that had no surviving families or were too broken to return to them.
The new residents of Northgate were mostly good men. Better still, they were properly respectful of the werewolves, and they’d been able to form a symbiotic relationship. The humans guarded the bridge. The werewolves guarded the humans. They traded, cooperated, and generally recognized Rylie and Abel’s Alpha leadership.
Abram was still extremely cautious when they visited, keeping all doors locked and a constant eye on his sister. Some of the people had come back from Hell…wrong. There had been mental breakdowns. Random acts of violence. Even good people could do bad things after years of being tortured by demons.
That was also why he needed to be there when the liberated slaves came through the fissure. Rylie trusted him to keep everyone in line.
He dressed quickly, tossing clothes at Summer in bed.
“Get up,” he said.
Her hand flopped over the side table. “Glass of water.”
Abram sighed and put a water bottle within reach of her grasping fingers. The fact that she burned her way through alcohol so quickly didn’t mean that she couldn’t get hangovers—just that it was well deserved when she did.
It took him
The two guest beds had been fit under a stained glass window of an apple in a leafy garden, which cast dappled green and blue light where he had been lying—bright enough that he thought there had to be sunlight, actual sunlight, on the other side. Neither the light nor the sound bothered Summer, who was out cold on a mattress against the other wall. One arm was flung over her face. She was snoring.
They had spent most of the night trading with the people who lived in Northgate—a lengthy affair that involved a lot of good-natured arguing and, inevitably, breaking into the alcohol reserves. Abram didn’t participate, but Summer loved drinking half of the town’s residents under the table with the help of her werewolf metabolism. If he left her alone, she would be out for hours.
“Hey,” he grumbled. “Someone’s here.”
She didn’t even twitch.
The knocking grew more insistent. Abram pushed to his feet and stumbled for the door, snagging a shirt off of the desk as he went. It was too damn early in the morning for something urgent to be happening. If demons were invading Northgate, he was just going to have to roll over and let it happen. Let them eat him. At least he could keep sleeping.
More knocking.
He jerked his shirt over his head.
“I’m coming, I’m coming ,” he said.
As he shuffled toward the door, he realized that knocking wasn’t the only sound he heard. There were voices beyond the walls of the cathedral. People were on the lawn between the office and the trailers where the priests used to live. It couldn’t have been long after sunrise, but it sounded like the entire town was already awake.
The knocking persisted. Abram hiked up his sweats, made sure that all of his parts and pieces were covered, then opened the door.
It was Josaiah, the witch that ran the base of operations at St. Philomene’s Cathedral. “Ready?”
Abram rubbed his bleary eyes. “For what?”
“It’s homecoming day,” Josaiah said.
Crap. Homecoming day . Between trying to keep Summer from giving herself alcohol poisoning and loading everything they had traded into the pickup, Abram had forgotten that they had a second, more important, reason for visiting Northgate. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. They’ll be here within the hour.”
Double crap .
“We’ll be out in a second,” Summer mumbled without sitting up. Her head was hidden under her pillow.
Abram snorted. “Yeah. What she said.”
He shut the door on Josaiah and locked it.
Northgate was no longer populated by the God-fearing families that had been there for generations; they had evacuated after the fissure split the streets and been replaced by former slaves liberated from Dis. Those who remained were the ones that had no surviving families or were too broken to return to them.
The new residents of Northgate were mostly good men. Better still, they were properly respectful of the werewolves, and they’d been able to form a symbiotic relationship. The humans guarded the bridge. The werewolves guarded the humans. They traded, cooperated, and generally recognized Rylie and Abel’s Alpha leadership.
Abram was still extremely cautious when they visited, keeping all doors locked and a constant eye on his sister. Some of the people had come back from Hell…wrong. There had been mental breakdowns. Random acts of violence. Even good people could do bad things after years of being tortured by demons.
That was also why he needed to be there when the liberated slaves came through the fissure. Rylie trusted him to keep everyone in line.
He dressed quickly, tossing clothes at Summer in bed.
“Get up,” he said.
Her hand flopped over the side table. “Glass of water.”
Abram sighed and put a water bottle within reach of her grasping fingers. The fact that she burned her way through alcohol so quickly didn’t mean that she couldn’t get hangovers—just that it was well deserved when she did.
It took him
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