Rise of the Poison Moon by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

year that she had flown in as a dragon, switched to human in midair, dropped to the pavement with her swords carefully strapped, and no one blinked. Heck, the only ones who even noticed were the sentries.
    Both thirteen-year-olds were nodding back, Jim Tenny cradling a Hechler & Koch S—uh—an S-something-or-other . . . Jennifer had never known much about guns. Her mother was expert with any bladed weapon, and her father—well. ’Nuff said.
    His twin, Jana, was holding the stock of her .12-gauge in one hand, the shotgun barrel resting on her left shoulder. They looked weirdly alike, which was unsettling as they were fraternal, not identical, twins. In fact, except for the length of their hair, they really were identical. They even bore identical, slight smiles.
    Susan’s right. The Boy Scouts/Sniper Team are creepy. Especially when they drag their sisters into it.
    “Have you seen my dad?”
    In times of crisis, she knew her mother drew inward, while her father extended outward. Together, they were a formidable team. But what she needed now was the one who would talk with her and help her process what she had seen less than twenty minutes ago.
    Jim and Jana shrugged, so Jennifer went inside.
    The next person she ran across was Anna- Lisa, looking harassed as usual, barely flicking a glance her way as she walked by on the way to the supply room, talking to herself. “Oh, what do we need, oh, hi, Jennifer, okay, we need another case of lightbulbs—any kind, we’re going to have to check the storage space at Wal-Mart and Target . . . even Christmas lights would be okay. And also, um, yeah, Jennifer, your dad’s—flashlights! Yeah, we can wind Christmas lights around the poles out there to keep the place lit at night, but we—uh—”
    “My dad?” Jennifer prompted.
    “Right, hang on guys, um, Jennifer, I haven’t seen your dad. I know your mom’s checking on Bonnie’s new baby—premature, poor thing, I don’t think her lungs—lighter fluid!” This made Jennifer jump.
    Jennifer moved through the lobby, recognizing each of the faces there. They had become a sort of extended family, including several members who probably wished for a different heritage. Some of them still dropped their eyes when she passed—nurses her mom had worked with for years, EMTs who had come over to the house for barbecues since Jennifer was four. A couple of PAs. Cooks. Physical therapists. An awful lot of them were carefully avoiding eye contact.
    Is it because of who and what I am . . . or did they catch a live feed?
    The hospital still smelled of antiseptic, blood, and floor wax. It even looked like one, sort of—the place was a mess, yeah, and more lights were burned-out (when they were even turned on) than not.
    Still, there were differences anyone would notice at once: staff were scarce; multiple rooms had been converted into “temporary” living quarters; the emergency fire boxes were all emptied of hoses and axes; nobody was asking anyone a damn thing about insurance information; nobody was “Midwestern plump” anymore; and everyone looked exhausted and scared.
    Winter’s coming again, she thought. We need a plan.
    But first, we’ve got to figure out how Skip will react to what Hank has done today.
    She heard her mother long before she saw her.
    “—dammit, dammit, dammit ! How am I supposed to treat a preemie without bilirubin lights? Huh?”
    “You could try throwing a tantrum,” came her father’s voice, helping her breathe a sigh of relief as she rounded the corner.
    As always (these days, certainly) her mother looked exhausted and . . . well . . . old . Though Jennifer didn’t like to think about her mom as a, you know, real person and all (gross!), she had always known that Elizabeth Georges was seriously cute. She usually looked in her thirties; today ( and yesterday and last week and last month and ) she looked like she was on the far side of sixty.
    “I don’t have time for banter,” she shot back. She