picture, trying to decide if Fiore looked immortal. She’d agonized over that trigger Dad had spoken of. How to avoid something if she didn’t know what it was?
In two weeks, she was supposed to fly to Madrid for a last training camp with the finalized team before the Games commenced. If she couldn’t figure out what was happening to her, she feared she’d have to give up her spot.
She felt like she’d go insane if she didn’t get to talk to Dad. She played offense—not defense—and she was on something of a clock here. So she’d searched his office for clues, surprised by how many cabinets were locked.
Finding nothing, Chloe had taken to driving the streets of her neighborhood, passing by his frequent haunts. She’d cruise through drizzle, hypnotized by the windshield wipers, feeling more lonely than she ever had before.
At first she’d attributed that pang in her chest to her transition, just another of her symptoms. But really, her loneliness arose from circumstance. She was used to being around a team of women, playing in front of fans, talking to her dad at least every other day. This solitude was gut-wrenching—
There. Finally a sound. It was coming from Dad’s study.
Her eyes widened. He’d returned!
Dashing out of bed, she hastened to her chest-o-drawers. She dragged on a pair of sweatpants over boy-short panties and a baggy jersey over a cami bra. At her doorway, she paused. Just in case it wasn’t Dad, she snagged her aluminum softball bat. Silently, she slipped down the stairs.
At the door to his study, she took a deep breath, feeling silly about the bat. But she didn’t put it down as she entered.
A creature stood at the desk, rifling through Dad’s belongings. It had to be eight feet tall, wearing a cloak. Horns jutted up past the material of the hood.
Horns?
Though she hadn’t made a sound, it glanced up, its face shaded. All she could see were two eyes—they were black as night, yet they seemed to glow.
A creature from the book. The book was real. Or this was some kind of prank. Yes! A prank. Even faced with this sight, her mind resisted believing in the supernatural. It’d take anyone time to say, Hey, scratch what I know, the world really was flat all along.
The thing moved around the desk with lumbering steps, the claws of its bare feet scrabbling across the hardwood floor.
Chloe’s stomach clenched. The world is flat. Shit! She raised the bat. “D-don’t come closer, asshole.”
“Mortal?” it grated, still stalking toward her. It sounded like an animal imitating human speech.
She sensed she shouldn’t run, feared it would just provoke this creature. “I s-said no closer.”
When it kept coming, she took her at-bat, swinging for the goddamned stars.
She connected with its shoulder. As if she’d hit a tree, the bat reverberated in her hands, sending pain up her arms.
With a hiss, the thing seized the bat, crushing it like a soda can with its meaty hands.
She screamed, sprinting all-out for the front door. Get outside, into the neighborhood. Evacuate the house, evacuate. . . .
Almost to the door, to the outside, to safety.
She reached the front door and fumbled with the dead bolt. That thing was coming; she heard those claws. She gave a cry, cursing her clumsiness.
Finally, open! Consider this house motherfucking evacuated. She took one step. The welcome mat was gone, the stoop was gone.
She plummeted into an abyss.
SIX
Will had taken one look at Munro’s pitying expression and lunged for his brother, raining blows.
Rage seethed. Fucking hate pity!
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Munro bellowed as he blocked hits.
“You could no’ leave it alone! Had to dig and dig.” All his shame laid bare. “If I’d wanted you to know, I’d have told you!” His beast was rising to punish, and Will was about to let it out of its cage.
“Calm yourself—I doona want to fight you!”
“But you will!” Whipping his brother’s arse was all that
In two weeks, she was supposed to fly to Madrid for a last training camp with the finalized team before the Games commenced. If she couldn’t figure out what was happening to her, she feared she’d have to give up her spot.
She felt like she’d go insane if she didn’t get to talk to Dad. She played offense—not defense—and she was on something of a clock here. So she’d searched his office for clues, surprised by how many cabinets were locked.
Finding nothing, Chloe had taken to driving the streets of her neighborhood, passing by his frequent haunts. She’d cruise through drizzle, hypnotized by the windshield wipers, feeling more lonely than she ever had before.
At first she’d attributed that pang in her chest to her transition, just another of her symptoms. But really, her loneliness arose from circumstance. She was used to being around a team of women, playing in front of fans, talking to her dad at least every other day. This solitude was gut-wrenching—
There. Finally a sound. It was coming from Dad’s study.
Her eyes widened. He’d returned!
Dashing out of bed, she hastened to her chest-o-drawers. She dragged on a pair of sweatpants over boy-short panties and a baggy jersey over a cami bra. At her doorway, she paused. Just in case it wasn’t Dad, she snagged her aluminum softball bat. Silently, she slipped down the stairs.
At the door to his study, she took a deep breath, feeling silly about the bat. But she didn’t put it down as she entered.
A creature stood at the desk, rifling through Dad’s belongings. It had to be eight feet tall, wearing a cloak. Horns jutted up past the material of the hood.
Horns?
Though she hadn’t made a sound, it glanced up, its face shaded. All she could see were two eyes—they were black as night, yet they seemed to glow.
A creature from the book. The book was real. Or this was some kind of prank. Yes! A prank. Even faced with this sight, her mind resisted believing in the supernatural. It’d take anyone time to say, Hey, scratch what I know, the world really was flat all along.
The thing moved around the desk with lumbering steps, the claws of its bare feet scrabbling across the hardwood floor.
Chloe’s stomach clenched. The world is flat. Shit! She raised the bat. “D-don’t come closer, asshole.”
“Mortal?” it grated, still stalking toward her. It sounded like an animal imitating human speech.
She sensed she shouldn’t run, feared it would just provoke this creature. “I s-said no closer.”
When it kept coming, she took her at-bat, swinging for the goddamned stars.
She connected with its shoulder. As if she’d hit a tree, the bat reverberated in her hands, sending pain up her arms.
With a hiss, the thing seized the bat, crushing it like a soda can with its meaty hands.
She screamed, sprinting all-out for the front door. Get outside, into the neighborhood. Evacuate the house, evacuate. . . .
Almost to the door, to the outside, to safety.
She reached the front door and fumbled with the dead bolt. That thing was coming; she heard those claws. She gave a cry, cursing her clumsiness.
Finally, open! Consider this house motherfucking evacuated. She took one step. The welcome mat was gone, the stoop was gone.
She plummeted into an abyss.
SIX
Will had taken one look at Munro’s pitying expression and lunged for his brother, raining blows.
Rage seethed. Fucking hate pity!
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Munro bellowed as he blocked hits.
“You could no’ leave it alone! Had to dig and dig.” All his shame laid bare. “If I’d wanted you to know, I’d have told you!” His beast was rising to punish, and Will was about to let it out of its cage.
“Calm yourself—I doona want to fight you!”
“But you will!” Whipping his brother’s arse was all that
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