Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
"Mercy," I whisper, then realize I'm still too loud. Prison voice. She doesn't stir. Sleeps the deep sleep of the exhausted, the kind I haven't had since before Whitefall.
I ease down onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her. The mattress dips under my weight. Springs creak in protest.
Her eyes snap open. Alert instantly. No slow drift to consciousness. One moment asleep, the next fully aware, gun barrel shifting to center on my chest.
"Easy, there," I slur. "Juss me."
Recognition dawns. The gun lowers fractionally.
"You smell like whiskey," she says, voice scratchy with sleep.
"Yeahhhhh." No point denying it. "Party got wild. You okay up here alone?"
She nods, sitting up. The BB gun never leaves her grip. "Diesel brought me food. Said to wait for you."
"You can have the bed," I tell her, starting to stand. "I'll take the—"
"No." Her hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. Surprising strength in those small fingers. "Stay."
I look down at her. Really look. See the fear hiding behind those Kane eyes—the same eyes that stare back at me from the mirror. Fear of being left. Of being alone. Of waking up and finding everyone gone again.
"Ight," I say, kicking off my boots. I’m hardly in the mood to put up a fight. Especially over something I want. "Scoot over."
She slides to the wall, making room. I stretch out beside her, on top of the thin blanket while she stays beneath it. The bed's barely big enough for me, let alone both of us, but we make it work. She curls against my side, small and warm, the BB gun now pointed safely away.
"They burned you," she says, not a question. Her eyes fixed on the bandage visible through my torn shirt.
"Yeahhhhh."
"Does it hurt?"
"Yeahhhhh."
"Good," she says with fierce satisfaction. "Means it's real."
I chuckle with my eyes closed. Smart kid. Too smart. Sees right through me, right through everything. Always has.
"What's it mean?" she asks after a minute. "The mark."
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across water stains. "Means I belong here now. Means they belong to me."
"Like family?"
"Somethin’ like that."
She's quiet for so long I think she's fallen back asleep. Then her small voice drifts up again. "Will they help us find Destiny?"
The question hits. Destiny. My middle sister. Seventeen, and pregnant, and gone.
Another failure. Another person I couldn't protect.
"Yeahhhhh," I promise, though I have no right to. "They will."
"The demons will help?" she asks, and there's something in her voice—not fear, but something close to reverence.
I look down at her. "Whah?"
"At school," she says, matter-of-fact, "they call you Demon Kane. Say you got demons inside you. A whole legion of them."
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep, somewhere I thought had dried up years ago. "That what they say?"
She nods solemnly. "Miss Wilkins tried to make them stop. Said it wasn't nice. But Tommy Harkinson said his dad told him it's true. Said Mark 5:9 proves it."
Mark 5:9.
The verse that gave me my name.
The curse my mother spoke over me the day I was born, high on something that made her see angels and demons battling for her soul.
"My name is Legion," I whisper, "for we are many."
Mercy's eyes widen. "So it is true?"
I should tell her no. Should explain it's just a story, just people being cruel. Should protect her from the weight of our family's reputation.
Instead, I say, "Maybe it is. Maybe I do have demons inside me." I brush hair from her forehead, gentler than I knew I could be. "But they're my demons, Merce. And they'll tear apart anyone who tries to hurt you."
She considers this, head tilted like she's working through a complex math problem. Then she nods, satisfied with my answer. "Good." She settles back against me, eyes drifting closed. "I like having a demon for a brother."
Within minutes, her breathing evens out. Sleep reclaims her, innocent and deep.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the brand pulse on my chest and my sister's small body curled trustingly against mine.
My demons and I, we'll keep watch.
CHAPTER 9
The dream starts the same way it always does—with fire.
I'm standing on a battlefield of bones. The sky is split open like a wound, oozing crimson light and the air tastes like blood.
Across from me stands... me.
But not me.
My face on an angel's body, wings spread wide, flaming sword raised. His eyes burn with righteous fury, but his mouth twists with doubt.
Opposite him stands another me—demon-faced, horned, fanged, scarred. Laughing. Always laughing.
"My name is Legion," the angel-me whispers.
"For we are many," the demon-me finishes.
They circle each other, these twin versions of myself, neither fully winning, neither fully dyin’. I try to scream, try to move, but I'm frozen between them.
For some reason, I’m not participatin’ in this battle. I’m just a witness.
Blood begins risin’ up from the ground. . Droplets formin’, defyin’ gravity, floating up like rain in reverse. It beads on my skin, then pulls away, drawn to the sky.