I think it’s the hunger that’ll kill us before any Monster. I’m stuck with splinters underneath my fingernails and dirt caking my hands from pulling up bushes and shrubs, getting cut by thorns, and trying to start a fire. Good thing that I kept the bandage guy’s zippo lighter. I managed to light the kindling and blow on it until it was a healthy lashing orange tongue spitting smoke at the stars. The cold didn’t fully go away, but it was dulled like the edge of an old sword. Sharp but not deadly. Bitter but liveable. We sat around it on the hard soil, the road to our backs and the van not too far, either. Nothing much to say or do except keep watch, claymore behind me and AngelWeight beside me.

  But our stomachs were having a hard time dealing with being empty, grumbling and moaning like a Pixie you’ve caught stealing your sugar. Barely any water left, too. Mouths are dry. Breaths are hot. Runt’s GameBoy just died and, being a kid, has nothing else to do except play hide and seek with a scorpion she’s found. Astrid tells her to stop before it stings her. I cheer her on and give her a round of applause when she finally catches the thing in her hands, grabbing it like it’s some fallen bird. The kid’s a natural. Baseball hat still backward and too large boots on her feet, she comes to sit beside me to show off her new friend, who doesn’t look too happy getting manhandled.

  “Aren’t you afraid it’s gonna hurt you?” I ask her, watching it crawl and skitter over her hands.

  “Not really,” she says. “He’s pretty grumpy because we’re being too loud and we scared off all his friends. He also doesn’t like Astrid—he says her vibes are weird and are making him dizzy, but he’s pretty nice to me.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You can hear him?”

  “She’s a Druid,” Juniper says, Grimoire open in her law, chin on her hand as she reads. “And a really rare one, too. Three percent of Druids can give animals commands they’ll listen to. Only one percent understand them.”

  I ruffle her hair. “Look at you! Freakin’ prodigy over here. How about you come back to New Salem—”

  “Your first thought is to grift a child into making you money?” Astrid asks. She’s managed to find something to sit on, a piece of wood or a rock, meaning she’s just a little higher than the rest of us, and crucially not on the ground, either. It’s the small things, the ones you don’t catch if you aren’t paying attention, but I don’t really like people who paint themselves like her. Just not my cup of tea. “How do you manage to take yourself seriously?”

  “You sound like the kind of chick who’s never had to decide whether to eat or pay for the light bill.”

  Runt looks at me and frowns. “Are you poor?”

  “I’m not poor,” I say. “I just like to save as much money as I can for later.”

  “You should ask Astrid for money, she’s got lots of it in her undies drawer.”

  The others laugh, but the woman of the hour folds her arms and says, “Rebecca, we’re going to have a talk about you going through my things. I told you that it’s bad manners to go snooping through people’s belongings.”

  “Oh, I didn’t.” She points at Morgan. “She was the one who told me.”

  “Little shit,” Morgan mutters, trying not to smile. “That was our secret.”

  Runt sticks out her tongue. “You didn’t buy me candy like you promised.”

  “I was busy!”

  “Yeah, buying naked people magazines again!”

  In the fire’s dim light, you can still see Morgan’s face turn red. “We spoke about that, Runt,” she hisses.

  “Aw, don’t be such a grinch,” May says, putting her hand on Morgan’s shoulder and keeping her from shaking the life out of the little kid. “Besides, I saw Lu throwing ‘em out a few days ago, just before Kacey came.”

  Morgan groans, head in her hands. “Those were limited edition.”

  “What kind?” I ask, purely out of curiosity and nothing but.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she mutters.

  “There’s a child here and I don’t think talking about…that is appropriate,” Miss Astrid says, making the rest of the class quietly mutter under their breaths. “It’s about time we divide the sleep schedule. Based on ability alone, we should always have two people of varying Pledges together. Kacey and I, for example, shouldn’t be together because we’re both Knight Pledges.” I put my hand up, making her pause. She waves me on with a sigh.

  “Haven’t actually taken any official testing yet to see what my magic leans toward,” I say. “So…”

  “But from where we got you, weapons came second nature to you,” May says. “Hell, that AngelWeight on its own can’t hit the broad side of a barn because it’s off center, but you work it like the thing is freaking perfect.”

  “Muscle memory,” I say with a shrug. “Knights just like telling themselves they’re good with weapons compared to other people, but if we’re being honest, anyone can be. Just need to train a little harder for a while.”

  Astrid’s nose wrinkles. “Knights are the centerpiece to any Party and Guild.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure, and I’m The First Mage.”

  Juniper crosses herself in that odd, four-fingered way Sorcerers tend to do. “That’s blasphemy!”

  “I’m kidding,” I say. Jeez, Church of the First Angel weirdos are everywhere. “Everyone’s important. A car doesn’t work if it doesn’t have wheels, but it also won’t get anywhere fast without an engine, like old Betsy here.”

  “You can’t compare a Guild to a car, that’s a fallacy in itself,” Astrid says. “Every major guild in the world prioritizes the recruitment of Knight Pledges over other classes due to the crucial role that they play in supporting others with their magic.” I’m starting to find playing with Runt’s scorpion more interesting than this history class. “When your Party’s magic wanes, it’s your magic they rely on to keep fighting, but I suppose you’re right. You’re not a Knight, you just don’t have the will nor the ability to maintain a higher level of sustained magic, do you?”

  I lean forward, now pretty irritated. “You’ve got no clue what my Magic Grade is.”

  “I doubt you know it either, seeing that you like ‘saving your money.’”

  “I’m gonna put that rock under your ass right through your skull, Astrid.”

  “Both of you need to quit it,” May says, then she jerks her chin at Runt. We look at her, and almost right away, my throat tightens. Her face is blank and so are her eyes as she lets the scorpion scamper around the dirt in between her feet. She looks deflated, almost like she’s only sitting here because Hark is swearing up a tiresome storm in the van, and there’s really nowhere else to go in the Barrens right now. May looks at the both of us and shakes her head, chewing on stale gum and muttering under her breath. Astrid looks at me, but I don’t look at her.

  “Runt?” Juniper says, shutting her book. The little girl looks up at her. “How about you sleep first?”

  “Not tired,” she mutters.

  “I’ll take your turn watching with you if you like.”

  She folds her arms, pulling her knees closer to her chest. She says nothing.

  What’s gotten into her all of a sudden?

  Morgan stands up and says, “Hey, Salem, grab a smoke with me?”

  “Sure,” I mutter, standing up. Runt glances at me, but keeps her lips sealed. I sigh through my nose and brush past Astrid, following Morgan a little further away from the rest of the group and toward the empty phone booth. Old war posters were still stuck on the thing, with a very young-looking Alexandria with her sword raised and eyes set facing away from the words, WE WANT YOU! behind her. The bulb inside the thing flickers, bringing all kinds of tiny insects into the small space. Morgan folds her arms and leans against the booth, somehow not shivering in her shorts and black vest. “I’m sensing that we’re not gonna smoke or make out, so what did I do?”

  “I’ll take you up on those when you’re not ruining what we’ve got for ourselves.”

  “What?” I say. “Astrid was the one who started the argument in the first place.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Stop running your mouth and listen,” she says. “Shit’s not been great around here for the past month. I almost thought we’d have to take a break from each other before one of us eventually murdered another, but we were on call, and we picked up when Vicky dialed, because she told us that you were gonna help us out, but she needed to get her hands on you first. A lot of hassle. A lot of planning. But we got you, we patched you up, and now you’re Second Sword. Congrats.” She straightens, looking me dead in the eyes. “But we lost someone trying to get you. Someone who I cared a lot more than I do about you. Raise as much hell as you want because we both know how short life can be and how suddenly shit hits the fan, but if you ever fuck that kid’s night up again, I’ll hurt you, and I’ll hurt you pretty fucking badly.” She got closer, so close I can smell the old blood still freckling her cheeks. “I’ve run drugs, I’ve been in a racket, been a gangster’s muscle, but I’ve never killed a Mage. Don’t be the first.”

  I tense my jaw. My heart is beating slowly, shoving blood past my ears in droning waves. I chew my tongue and don’t break eye contact, because that’s just now how I work. “I’m fine with taking orders,” I say to her. “I’m fine with doing what I’m told, but that shit?” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “It doesn’t float in Salem.”

  “Are we in Salem right now?” she asks me.

  “So what makes it any easier to stomach anywhere?”

  “It doesn’t,” she says. “Astrid’s a pain in the ass, but I’ve known her for years, and I’ve known you for all of a few hours. I don’t trust you, and I doubt you trust anyone here not to stab you when you’re asleep, but we went through hell trying to get you from Platinum, so you better start acting like you’re worth the life that was given to drag you out of his crew.” She shoves her finger into my chest, pushing me back a step. “So don’t buck the boat.”

  She’s about to leave when I say, “I’ve met types like you, by the way.”

  Morgan pauses behind me but doesn’t turn around.

  “No family and no life outside what your hands can get,” I continue. “Had a couple friends like that, you know, and each and every single one of them would’ve been ten times worth the lives of anyone here, so don’t start to think I give a fuck about who died trying to save me. I wear my guilt, and I’m not gonna wear someone else’s.” I turn around, jaw tense and eyes sharp as she looks over her shoulder at me, her silver hair dull under the moonlight. “So I’ll talk how I want and be who I am, because being alive is the only way I get to pay back the people I left behind. I’ll be out of your hair when I get paid, and good fucking riddance, ‘cause this whole Party is a joke.”

  The spiraling light blue runes on her arms flare. I duck when she swings, grab her throat and sweep her legs out from underneath her, slamming her onto the tarmac. I straddle her and put the AngelWeight to her forehead. We pant, making wisps of white air spill from our noses and mouths. She grits her teeth when I push the gun harder against her temple, so hard that a vein surges in her forehead and sweat trickles down her cheeks. My finger rests on the trigger. My gut rests in my throat. Knee pressing her stomach, forcing the air out of her lungs, making her light headed. She’s still a threat. Still a Berserker Pledge. You give these people a chance and it’ll be your brain that they’re pulling out right through your stomach. They’re still glowing a faint blue, still coloring the shadows.

  “Go on,” she snarls. “Try your fucking luck.”

  “Don’t need luck to ice you.”

  “You think I’ll let you?”

  I smile wolfishly and get closer to her face so she can see that I’m not kidding. She won’t be my first and I doubt she’s gonna be the last, and the only real shame of her dying is that there’s nobody around here for miles who would want to buy her skin for the same prices as in New Salem. Oh, well, gotta make due, right? “Try me, bitch.”

  Morgan bucks her hips, throwing me to the side. My shoulder hits the warm tarmac, nearly jerking the gun out of my hand. I hold it in both and take two shots at her that shatter the night. They ricochet off her arms, and that’s not good in the slightest for me, because I scramble away and she lunges, missing me by inches and slamming her fists into the tarmac, pounding craters into the blacktop—then she pounces again, grabbing my overalls and nearly pulling me back into her embrace. I swing around and smack the butt of the gun against her temple. She lets go. I swing my leg through the air and smash my heel into her nose, sending blood spitting down her face. Fuck. I step back. She glowers and spits a tooth, knuckles away the red and runs right toward me. I expect another lunge.

  But instead she stops, skidding, ducks low and slams her fist into my gut. I buckle and collapse, gasping for air like I’ve just been hit by a bus. Then I vomit saliva and cough and splutter. I hear footsteps and swearing, then the others are there surrounding us as Morgan stands above me, fists still clenched and chest heaving. I spit and clutch my stomach, because that should’ve killed me by now. Her fist should’ve gone right through my stomach and out through my back, her spine in my hands. I look at my hand. No blood. But it aches. Hurts. Agony erupts through my body when I breathe, but the gun is still in my hand, and I take it, aim it, and put one through her foot. She drops like a sack beside me, swearing a storm. Then I aim the gun at her face, resting on my haunches.

  My hair is loose over my face, caught in the wind. I stare at her, and so does the gun barrel.

  A hum of white magic quietly sings through the air, and Astrid is soon standing over me, her sword, still in its white leather sheath, hangs over my arm. I don’t look at her. I’m staring at Morgan, still breathing hard, still with pain in my bones and aching all over. I lick my lips and spit, then smile, blood on my teeth, at Atrid. “What?”

  “Drop the gun, or I’ll take your arm with it,” she says quietly, eyes narrowing. “Now, Kacey.”

  I raise one knee, but her sword gets lower. The magic coming from the thing is disgusting. Vile. So much of it that it feels like an icy tide trying to shove me back onto the tarmac underneath my feet. I buckle when I get up, but eventually, I’m standing, arm still raised, gun still steady, and Astrid’s eyes are narrow, her brow furrowed and jaw tense. The muscles in her forearm are stringy and twitching as she adjusts her grip, and the rest of them are looking at me with a mix of curdling emotions. Anger. Hate. Betrayal and wonder, like facing up to Astrid is some unspoken rule you’re not meant to do. Then I squeeze the trigger. They all flinch. Runt dives on Morgan. Click.

  I shake the gun. “Empty, morons.”

  Nobody speaks.

  Runt looks at me, rage and simmering tears burning in her eyes from just underneath her licks of red hair. She’s got Morgan in a death grip, arms tight around her chest, body still covering her. Juniper clutches her book, and May is staring at me, shaking her head, crouched beside Morgan with a hand on her shoulder, disgusted.

  “What?” I say, laughing dryly. “Haven’t any of you ever tried to kill one another before?”

  It's all just a little bit of fun, right?

  “What’s wrong with you?” Runt asks shrilly, voice cracking. “You hurt her!”

  “And she nearly killed me!” I say, waving the empty gun at the holes she’d put in the tarmac. “That would have been my skull if I hadn’t been quick enough, and now you’re all sad ‘cause she’s got a bullet in her foot?”

  Boo-hoo, grow up. It’s not like it's in her head or whatever.

  “We don’t work like that,” May says quietly. “We argue and we slam doors, but we don’t hurt each other.”

  “Bunch of fuckin’ pussies,” I mutter, waving them off. “Never been in any real fights, tell you what.”

  “Your soul,” Juniper whispers, making me look at her. “It’s bleeding.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You’re hurt,” she says, getting closer. Astrid puts out her arm, stopping her. “And now you’re taking it out on those around you because they’re not like the person you lost. That’s why you’re the way you are, isn’t it?”

  “How about you psychoanalyze that book of yours when I break your jaw with it?”

  “Not a man,” she says quietly, her eyes almost cloudy. “A girl. She died recently.”

  I step closer. Astrid points the end of her sheathed sword at me. I stare at it, then at Juniper, heat in my voice and my gut a rumbling mess of anger. “I’m gonna put my fist through your mouth if you keep running it.”

  “She broke your heart,” Juniper says. They all stare at me, silent, watching. “She broke a promise.”

  I chew my tongue so hard trying not to snap that I make it bleed. I swallow and breath, my chest full and ears ringing loud. My skin feels like it’s on fire, just like my gut and the agony that’s burning around my ribs. I reach into my overalls and pull out my final magazine, letting the empty one clatter onto the ground. When I slam it inside the AngelWeight, the air gets cooler and Astrid’s free hand wraps around the sheath, flaring her magic.

  “Aster,” Juniper says. I freeze and stare at her, not blinking. “The devil on your shoulder.”

  I nearly turn to look, but instead raise the gun and point it at her. She doesn’t quiver or flinch or turn away, and she even pushes Astrid’s sword down and walks closer, even if the others keep telling her not to. Eventually, her head is square in the sights, her sweaty button nose and large glasses reflecting my eyes and the silver pistol.

  “She says you should stop searching for her.” I tense and put the gun to her forehead. Juniper’s eyes don’t stop staring at me with that glazed look and that dreamy stare, as if she’s not here, not seeing me, but instead looking at something else—some other place entirely. “All she wants is for you to not become your mother.”

  I squeeze the trigger.

  The gun jams.

  The sound makes Juniper blink. She shakes her head, stares at the gun, then backpedals, dropping her Grimoire the same time her ass hits the tarmac. I stand over her and watch as she shakes herself to bits, worry on her face and tears welling in her eyes as she stares down the gun, because seemingly May was right, this gun really is a piece of shit, but I know it won’t jam a second time, and I know for sure Astrid isn’t fast enough to stop a bullet.

  But…

  I sigh and lower the gun, then turn on the safety. Juniper’s shoulders drop and May can finally help Morgan off the ground, slinging an arm around her shoulders. We’re all about a meter apart. Arm’s length, maybe just about Astrid’s sword length. I let my heartbeat settle into a rhythmic slowness until I can roll my shoulders, my neck, swallow the bile sitting in my throat and look off into the desert. Silence and cold wind lingers, and I can feel the grit and exhaustion collecting underneath my eyes. I rub them with my thumb and forefinger, sighing quietly. Get your head together. My thoughts are a jumbled mess and so are my emotions. Aster would have… Nevermind.

  Nevermind.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” I mutter.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Astrid says. “Juniper, Rebecca, I need you to help make sure Morgan’s foot doesn’t get infected. Clean it as best as you can with what we’ve got. There should be a med-kit under the seats.”

  “You can draw Elf blood and distill it,” I say quietly, not looking at them. “Put it on her foot and it should heal her by morning. Not much. Just a drop. I suggest you cut his foot so it doesn’t look like we tortured him when we eventually need to start negotiation. Or on the shin or knee. Kind of thing happens when you’re being dragged around and dumped.” I nod slowly. They all remain silent. Astrid nods her head, and May carries Morgan away, taking Runt with them, who can’t stop glaring at me, cheeks now wet and eyes turning a deep shade of scarlet.

  “Where’d you learn about that?” Astrid asks me.

  “From being a dope who can’t save her friends,” I mutter, walking toward the fire.