Author Bo Reid

I’m having another little monster, our baby bat 🦇

And honestly I could greatly use some expendable cash at the moment. So I’m putting signed books up for grabs here. I don’t make a ton off of these but I make enough to make it worth throwing this out there.

New books include La Bruja and La Bruja part 2!

Please consider buying yourself a late Christmas present. 🖤

Sunday the 8th

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the teenage clerk asks me as he rings up my dinner rolls — the generic kind, because I can't afford the Sweet Hawaiian ones.

"Yeah, I did, thanks," I respond. I watch the little computer add up the tax and pray that the total isn't more than the change I have in my wallet.

$6.27

Reaching into my wallet, I pull out four, one-dollar bills and four quarters. I carefully set them on the counter so that the change doesn't roll away. Digging into my change pouch, I manage to find twelve dimes, a nickel, and two pennies. I hand over my money to the cashier, who begrudgingly sets out to count my change.

"Sorry, just, uh, trying to clean out the old change pouch," I lie. It's actually because this is all the money I have. He finishes counting my change, then hands me my rolls and receipt, blankly telling me to have a good night. Turning from the small register, I head into the darkened parking lot to my car. I toss the rolls into the passenger seat as I slide behind the steering wheel. Roughly jamming my key into the ignition, I send up a silent prayer that my car will start.

Old Betsy gives a few huffs of displeasure, but starts up nonetheless.

"Good girl," I tell her, giving the dash a small pat of approval. A moment later, I'm shifting her into gear and pulling out of the parking lot.

It's almost time for Sunday night dinner at my parents' house. Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents and sister, but it's hard to do this every week while pretending my life is fine. I love our weekly dinners — 6 p.m. on the dot — at my childhood home. Every week, Keshia and I bring a side dish or drinks, Mom makes all the fixings, and Dad barbecues. Good things always happen at Sunday night dinners. Keshia came out at one of these dinners, even bringing her girlfriend to meet the family. They didn't work out in the long run, and it was at another one of these dinners that I comforted my big sister. I told her that people will come into her life for a reason, but they're not always meant to stay.

It was at one of these dinners we found out that Dad's lung cancer was in full remission, and he would live to see many more weekly dinners. 

Unfortunately, I don't have anything to share at this weekly dinner. My car is on empty; it's barely running on fumes. My rent is due next Monday, and, since I could hardly buy bread, I don't think I'll have enough pennies to cover it. 

Truthfully, I could tell my parents. I could even ask my sister for money. But I just can't. I won't. I have pride, and all that. I wanted to move out. I wanted to make it on my own. I just wasn't counting on my main job cutting my hours. It's been nearly impossible to find another side gig to replace those lost hours. When I have found another part-time gig, they weren’t willing to work around my other side job’s schedule. I can’t give up one for another, that would still leave me with a loss.

I turn into the quiet neighborhood where Keshia and I used to ride our bikes up and down the street with the other kids. The only rule was that we couldn't leave the block, and we had to be inside by the time the streetlights came on.

My old, run-down Honda Civic limps her way to the curb, then promptly dies before I even turn the ignition off.

"At least we made it this far, right, girl?" I ask her, running my hand over the steering wheel lovingly.

"Rest up, we gotta make it back home," I whisper as I grab the rolls from the passenger seat, take a deep breath, and open my door.

"Dip!" I hear Keshia's voice call from the porch. I slap a smile on my lips before turning around to face her.

"Kes!" I yell as she bounds off the porch and across the front lawn.

I make my way around the back of my car just in time for her to throw her arms around my neck and nearly knock me to the ground. Keshia is the bubbly one; she's always smiling, always positive. It's rare that I'm the one to console her, but I do my best to take care of my sister when she needs me.

"Glad you could make it," she huffs as she pulls back from our embrace.

"Like Dad would let me miss it," I laugh.

"And Mom would hang you up by your toes if you tried," Keshia laughs and puts her arm around my shoulder.

"God, why do you still drive this clunker?" Keshia asks, giving Old Betsy a kick to her back bumper.

"Hey, leave her alone! She's a good car," I say and lovingly pat the back window. If Betsy hears this trash talk, she might decide not to start when I leave, and then I'll be in for it with the family. They’ll instantly jump into “fix it” mode: Mom will hand over the keys to her car and let me take it home and Dad would step in and take over to solve all my problems. They will spend both their time and hard-earned money to make my life easier. They do it lovingly, and with the best of intentions, but I can’t allow them to baby me forever.

They act like it's a crime that I want to make it on my own, judging by the way they push their help on me. I appreciate how wonderful they are; I have a lot more support than most people get. But my parents and sister don't have much extra — time, or money — to be throwing around to help me. They would go without to ensure that I don’t have to. 

Dad would take me to the used car lot and find something suitable for me to drive. Something that would start each time I get behind the wheel without prayers or crossed fingers. For the last two years, they've been saving up for their first solo vacation. I can't let them use that money to help me.

Keshia would offer me her extra room without missing a beat. She’d claim to charge me half the rent, but I bet she wouldn't tell me the real price, and I’d barely pay a quarter of it. If I questioned her, she’d shrug and say that she'd rather have my company than my money.

My family is the best of the best, but I just can't let them give away their hard-earned anything to pay my bills. I want to look back on these struggles and feel the accomplishment of doing it all on my own.

"Come on, Mom's waiting," Keshia says, pulling me along toward the front steps.

"Hey, whatever happened to that date from last week?" I ask as we clomp up the steps. The best way to not have to talk about me is to always ask questions about them. It's a great distraction technique I’ve perfected over the years.

"She was nice, and we had a good time. We went to a mini-golf course, then walked around the pier. There was just no spark, ya know?" she sighs. I nod.

"Yeah, I getcha."

"I really wanted to like her. Honestly, she was so great — perfect in every way, there just wasn't that thing."

"Maybe you just need to give it another shot. Not everything has to immediately click like a romance novel," I tease and bump my shoulder into Keshia's.

"I know that, Goober, I just want something more. We're going to get together for coffee next week, and we'll see. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on the whole dating aspect thing. Maybe coffee will be more relaxing."

"If nothing else, you guys can be friends. There’s nothing wrong with making new friends," I suggest as we walk into the kitchen and I set my rolls down on the counter. I turn to switch on the oven broiler and pull out a cookie sheet to heat up the rolls.

"True. I think you’d like her too. Maybe we could arrange a dinner or coffee or something, and you guys can meet," Keshia suggests. I try not to cringe.

That is so not happening. I’d love to meet this girl. But I could barely afford discounted dinner rolls, let alone dinner, coffee, or "something."

"Yeah, totally," I lie. I turn my back to my sister and put the rolls under the broiler.

"There you are! Goodness, I was getting so worried!" Mom fusses as she steps into the kitchen.

"Mom, I'm ten minutes early. You don't need to worry," I tell her as she steps around the small center island and wraps me up in a hug.

"You’re so skinny. Are you eating okay?" Mom whispers. I fight not to roll my eyes.

"Yes, Mother," I reply, sarcastically.

"Don't you give me that sass, Serendipity Jinx. I am your mother; I’m entitled to worry about my baby," she huffs.

"There's my little girl!" Dad's booming voice carries in from the open back door as he steps inside with a plate of perfectly cooked T-Bone steaks. My mouth starts watering.

The truth is, I live off of thirty-five cent ramen noodles during the week. The best meals I get are Sunday dinners. If I work the dinner shift at the coffee shop, I can sometimes snag a sandwich to eat on break. And I go on dates for free food — yes, I know I'm a horrible person — a girl’s gotta eat, man. 

"Hey, Dad," I greet him with a grin. He sets the plate of meat down and wraps his large solid arms around me, lifting me up off the floor. He sets me back down with a kiss to my temple and a smile on his face.

"Who's hungry?" he asks.

Keshia and I shoot our hands up as if we were little kids and declare, "Me!"

#

We sit down to eat, passing around the plates of food: rolls, steaks, pasta, and salad. Mom tops off our glasses with white wine, and Dad sets down his trusty crystal tumbler of bourbon.

“Okay, who wants to go first?” Mom asks once we’re all settled with plenty to eat.

“I will,” Keshia says with a smile as she sets her fork down. “This week, I’m thankful for Dip,” she smiles at me. I smirk back. “You’ve always been my built-in best friend. I know I can call you no matter what, and you’ll always have my back. There are a lot of people in my life who have come and gone, but you’ve always been right by my side. So, I’m thankful for you, and for this family.”

“That was really lovely, Keshia.” Mom nods her approval.

“This week, I’m thankful for all my girls,” Dad says. It’s the same thing he says each and every week.

“And this damn good steak.” He punctuates this statement by shoving another bite into his mouth and chewing contentedly. Mom rolls her eyes, but I see the smile pulling at her lips.

I hope to be lucky enough one day to find someone who loves me the way my parents love each other — thirty-five years in and still going strong.

“Seren?” Mom asks, and all eyes turn to me.

“This week, I’m thankful for Old Betsy.” Keshia rolls her eyes, and Dad stifles a laugh.

“She might be old, and a little worn down, but she still gets me where I need to go each day. That’s a lot more than some people have.”

“That’s lovely, Seren. We should all learn to appreciate the little things when we can,” Mom says and gives me a smile.

“This week, I’m thankful that, after two years of hard work to save every penny, we were finally able to book ourselves a vacation,” Mom says, trying and failing to hide the slight squeal of excitement.

“That’s amazing, Mom!” I lean across the table to give her a hug. Keshia and Dad fist bump.

“Thanks, baby, we’re very excited.”

“When do you leave? Where are you going?” Keshia asks.

“We leave in four weeks, we’ll be gone for two, and we’re going to a resort in Bali!” Mom lets out a full-on a squeal, and I can’t help but smile.

I look over at Dad to check his level of enthusiasm. He has a small smile on his lips, and he’s looking at our Mom with pride and love. He isn’t a resort-in-Bali kind of guy; he’s more a hunting-cabin-in-the-woods kind of man. But that’s part of what love is for them: taking the vacation his wife wants because it makes her happy.

Chapter One

“Every story has an ending, don’t fool yourself into thinking they’ll all be happy.”

Twenty-Five Years Ago

“We have to, it’s the only way,” Khalida demands as she looks around the room. Each member of her coven stands before her, they have tried to fight, but this is their last chance.

“You cannot be serious, it will kill us!” they say as their mouths drop open in horror at what the coven leaders are suggesting to them. “Maybe not the two of you, but surely us.”

“We will die as well; we are fully aware of what is at stake here. But she will survive; we will weaken him, and when the time comes, she’ll be able to do what we cannot,” Azrail explains as he reaches his hands out towards his wife and takes the baby into his arms. He sways the small child as she blinks up at him. She whimpers slightly, and he brings her close to his chest, planting a small kiss on her cheek before whispering, “You will save everything, My Dark Daughter. You will do what we cannot, and one day we will meet again, I promise.”

“If we cannot convince them, what makes you so sure she will be able to convince their heirs?” they question, motioning to the child in Azrail’s arms.

“Because there will be no other choice,” he says softly. “She is the only hope this world has.”

“This could all be for nothing,” the others plead their tones barely more than a whisper, asking with their eyes for any other way, but there isn’t one. Death is the last resort, a measure taken only in the darkest of times when there is no other way out. But evil walks in the darkness, and the darkness always brings monsters home.

“If we do nothing, we’re all dead anyways; this is the only hope we have to save… everything,” Khalida whispers.

“Since when are we heroes?” a member remarks.

“Since now. We will make this sacrifice because they will not,” Khalida orders her coven, her tone stern and leaving no room for further arguments.

They solemnly nod their heads in agreement.

“I will prepare the spell,” Khalida says.

Khalida spends the next hour preparing the potion and spell that will strip her coven of their powers and transfer them to her baby. The act will slowly weaken the coven members until they die. Azrail holds his daughter closer to his chest as his wife works, soaking up the last moments with the only family he has ever known.

The members of the coven spend their last moments in vastly different ways. Some can be found about the cabin drinking tea and sharing long lost memories with their friends. While others seem to be void of any emotions, the sudden realization of what they must do, numbing them to their surroundings.

“It’s done,” she whispers.

The coven members gather around, each taking a small vial filled with a glowing purple liquid. Once every one of the coven holds their vial, their eyes flicker from the purple liquid towards the baby and back before they down their potion. A chorus of coughing and gagging sounds can be heard through the room, the foul taste bitter on its way down. Azrail places his daughter in the center of the round table, and each of the twelve coven members place a hand on her gently.

Khalida begins the ceremony. “Nostra potestate donatus est tibi filia tenebras, filia matris inmortalium inventioni, filia angelus mortis. Donum onto vestri sumus omnia quae habemus, omnia, quae sunt omnia, ut sit semper futurum. Ut detur vobis in tenebris, ut influunt per venas ejus, et statim vocant tempus vobis est in domum suam.” (Our power is gifted to you, daughter of darkness, daughter of the deathless mother, daughter of the angel of death. We gift onto you all that we have, all that we are, all that we would ever be. We bestow upon you the darkness, may it flow through your veins, and call you home once the time is right.)

There is a faint glow of power that emanates from the coven members, through their hands and onto the child in front of them. Her dark black hair glows with a purple hue, and as the magic flows into her, the purple sinks into her hair, latching on — a reminder of where she comes from.

“Donum autem in nobis es potestates tenebrarum pervadit, ut in vincula testamentum tuam in ecclesia sanctorum de obumbratio, ut sis in caritate perpetua sicut vos ametis, ut se mortem et malum,” (We gift upon you the powers of evil, may the bonds be forged in the darkest of shadows, may the love that binds you, be everlasting just as death and evil itself.) Azrail chants.

Azrail nods to the coven members, and one by one, they take turns bestowing stolen powers onto the child. There is a reason they are the most powerful dark coven across all realms, and no one understands they went where no other coven has gone, they have done things that no witch would think to do.

They stole powers from the oldest known beings to walk the land. Now they’re giving them to the last of their blood.

“Et draco de caelo quae habet in montibus.” (The lightning from the dragon that rules the mountains.)

“Ut praeesset nocti conspectu eorum.” (The sight from those that rule the night.)

“Lunam rectores orbis creaturae quae est auditus.” (The hearing of creatures that rule the moon.)

“Vox potestate ab his quae cantare carmina mortem.” (The voice of control from those that sing the death songs.)

“Vana specie fraud is a dæmonio liberarem.” (The illusion of appearance from the demon of trickery.)

“Et ex pura angeli sanitatem.” (The healing from pure angels.)

“Donum daemoniorum shimmer huc atque illuc.” (The gift of demons that shimmer here and there.)

The powers flow into the baby, her laughter echoing throughout the cabin as she flails around, attempting to grab the magic as it flows into her blood. Her parents look down upon her lovingly, tears filling her mother’s eyes. Azrail wraps his arm around his wife, using his other hand to scoop up his daughter.

“It is done,” he whispers to the room.

The coven members nod their heads, turning to walk away, turning to die in peace.

Azrail holds his daughter in his arms, and just before they can turn in to spend their last night with their daughter, a figure appears bathed in blue and white flames. When the flames die down, a dark hooded figure stands before them.

“I believe one more gift is in order,” the deep, demonic voice calls. A black, clawed hand reaches out, gently touching the baby’s hand. “Et ignis in se diaboli et inferos.” (The fire of the Devil and Hell itself.)

Khalida gasps, covering her mouth with her hand as the flames flow onto their child, soaking into her skin as she giggles. She reaches out, grabbing the dark hand and pulling it up towards her face.

“Why?” Azrail asks the hooded figure.

“Consider it a gift, from her favorite grandfather,” he says before the blue flames engulf him once more, and he disappears as suddenly as he arrived.

Azrail hurries away with his daughter and wife to their bedroom. Khalida sits on their bed and watches as Azrail sways their laughing daughter in his arms.

“We’re going to miss everything,” Khalida whispers softly.

“But she will live,” Azrail replies.

“We have to hide her.”

“I have it all worked out; we leave in the morning.”

“Which powers do you think she’ll get first?” Khalida muses.

“Any normal witch would receive their lesser powers first, grow into them and gain more as they learn to control what they have,” Azrail contemplates.

“But, she’s not normal…”

Azrail smiles. “No, she’s so much more. She was always destined to be something great, greater than all other beings. Now… Now she’s going to be everything the world fears.”

“And everything the world needs,” Khalida adds.

She reaches her hand out, and Azrail places his in hers, giving her a gentle, reassuring squeeze.“She’s going to do it, you know that, right?” Azrail says with confidence.

“I know,” Khalida whispers. “And we’re going to miss it all. The first dark witch to save all the realms, and we won’t even bear witness to it.”

A tiny blue and white flame licks across the baby’s skin, she giggles as her eyes grow wide and the flame jumps between her fingers.

“Well, that answers that,” Azrail chuckles.

“Flames of the Devil and Hell itself,” Khalida gasps, moving her hand to cover her mouth.

“We’re going to have to hide that,” Azrail says.

“They’ll never take her if they see that, we’ll have to hide all her dark powers.”

“Until she’s eighteen,” Azrail agrees. “They’ll protect her until then.”

“Only eighteen? She can’t possibly be ready by then,” Khalida argues.

“She won’t be, but after that, she will be sent to—”

“Don’t say it,” Khalida interrupts, her tone a harsh whisper as she glances around the room.

“Khalida,” Azrail says, his tone soft and calming as he reaches for his wife's hand. “I would never put her at risk. They will only take her until she is eighteen because any power binding spell we place on her can only last that long. Judging by what she just displayed, I’m honestly not sure if it will last until then. Either way, she will be taken care of and looked after.”

Khalida nods her head in agreement and sets to work, compressing her daughter’s already-growing magic. Covering her evil powers, capping her magic to prevent her from growing too powerful, too soon.

“You know, by doing this… she’s going to get them all at once, it’s—”

“Going to hurt when they come in.” Khalida nods. “There is no other way; they won’t take her in if she starts to display these powers. There is no other way to keep her safe. And if she displays them too soon, they’ll force her out.” Azrail looks down at his daughter. “She can handle it; she’ll embrace it. She’ll use the pain; she’ll channel it and use it to help her learn to control her powers. I believe in her.”

“So do I.”

#

The next morning, before the sun has risen over the mountains, Azrail and Khalida set out on their journey. When they show up with their daughter in their arms, they hand her over to a man who should be their sworn enemy. A man who should be afraid of them, but he knows all they have tried to do in an attempt to save… everything. 

Even him and his people, for what they have gone through, he owes them a debt of gratitude.

“Goodbye, Tanda,” they whisper, kissing their daughter on her forehead before turning to walk away.

Leaving the most powerful dark witch with a white witch coven. To be raised as a light witch, to be taught spells of healing, life, and ceremonies that do not match her heritage. 

She is a ticking time bomb... ready to explode.

The countdown is on.

#

Eighteen Years Later

Tanda

“Tanda, are you listening to what I’m telling you?” I snap my gaze back to the coven elder and slowly nod my head. Taking a deep breath and steadying my nerves as I feel the twitch of electricity running under my skin. Sparks jump between my fingers tips, but I manage to push them away, to hide them once more like I have done for so long.

“Tanda, we never wanted things to come to this. The burden is too much for any one person to bear, they never should have done this to you,” he whispers. “They took on too much responsibility, and when they couldn’t fix things, they forced that responsibility onto you. It isn’t right.”

“Well, there’s no changing things, is there?” I ask, trying not to sound hopeful, but after everything that was just laid out, hope is all I have left.

Hope and magic.

No family. No friends. No coven.

“Tanda…” his voice trails off, full of despair.

“It’s fine, I understand. It was always meant to come to this, right?” I ask, taking a deep breath and centering myself.

“You can’t stay,” he whispers, “It isn’t safe, for you or us. Not anymore, not since…” he trails off, motioning to the sparks still jumping between my fingertips. My new powers seem to grow stronger each day, becoming harder and harder to hide.

“I always knew I was different, now I know why,” I sigh, pushing myself up from my chair. “Thanks for looking after me.”

I turn, picking up my bag and heading for the large oak office door.

“Be safe Tanda, but remember—”

“I have a job to do, yeah I got it,” I call over my shoulder.

“Ace dark magic alone. Find a bunch of evil fuckers and convince them to work with me and save the entire existence of good and evil as we know it. Yeah, shouldn’t be too hard at all,” I grumble to myself as I walk down the long hallway towards the front door of the coven's main hall. Leaving behind the only family I have ever known. A family that was never mine to begin with. I push open the large oak doors and step out into the blinding sunlight; no wonder I never cared for how fucking bright it is here. I never liked the white robes, the white candles, the cheerful personalities. Everything was just so much, so bright, so happy — and that’s never been me.

Not that I’m not a happy person, I mean I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t need to have a constant smile on my face. At least I have a pretty good excuse for my fucking attitude now — I’m evil; it’s literally in my blood.

“Tanda!” I hear my name being called, and when I turn, I see Michael jogging towards me. I internally groan; I can already tell I’m going to be lousy at goodbyes. I was really hoping to just sneak off into the shadows, looks like that’s no longer an option.

“Hey,” I greet him with a small wave, instantly pulling my hand down when lightning flicks between my fingers.

“Did they figure that out?” he nods towards my hand.

“Yeah, actually, they did. Got a whole history lesson in there,” I joke and throw my thumb over my shoulder towards the building I just came out of.

“Great! So they can fix it,” he says, rocking on his heels, the hopeful tone in his voice can’t be missed, and it nearly breaks my heart to have to tell him the truth.

I bite my lip. “No, Michael, there’s… no fixing it.”

“But I don’t understand. White witches can’t have a dark power,” he responds in a conspiratorial tone as he leans in closer as if sharing a big secret — trust me, I don’t think any secret can top the one I was just told.

“I know, I was in Hereditary 101 too.”

“So that means…” he trails off and takes an involuntary step back.

“Yup, dark witch here,” I joke again and raise my hand, this time allowing the sparks to actively jump between my fingers and lick across my palm.

“How?” he asks.

I shrug. “Long story.”

He glances down, finally noting the duffle bag in my other hand. “You’re leaving.”

“Have to.”

“Were you going to say goodbye?” he asks, hurt evident in his tone as he slowly shakes his head in disbelief.

“No,” I state, my voice lacking any emotions. If I can convince Michael that I’m unaffected by having to leave the coven, then maybe, just maybe, I can also convince myself.

“You were just going to leave me?” he asks as his face begins to pale, and his tone rises.

“What do you want me to say here, Michael? What was I supposed to do, find you, spill my life out to you, and then say okay, I’ll catch ya later, but probably not because I gotta go be a dark witch now, and you’re still very much a pure white witch.”

“You don’t have to be dark, Tanda, you can use your powers for good things. I know you can, you just have to make a choice.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Michael. And if it did, I wouldn’t want to try and change. This isn’t my life, this was never meant to be my home, and I don’t belong in this coven. Never did. You and me? We don’t belong together, and we never did. Find someone else, someone better suited for you. Trust me, Michael, I was never going to be any good for you.”

I don’t wait for his answer. Instead, I turn around and continue walking down the steps of the main hall. I make my way towards the bus stop when a classic black Chevy Impala pulls up next to me on the curb — very Supernatural.

“Get in,” a deep voice calls from inside the cab. I bend at the waist and look inside.

In the driver’s seat sits a man in his early forties. A thick dark beard covering his face, hair slicked back like John Travolta in Grease, and aviator-style sunglasses covering his eyes.

“As sweet as this ride is, I don’t talk to strangers, and I certainly don’t take orders… from anyone.”

“Tanda Morass, Deimos Clay. My coven was the brother coven to yours; your mother and father entrusted me to teach you the dark arts when the time came. That time is now. Get. In.”

“Look, Deimos, I really don't give a fuck who you are, I don’t take orders. Not anymore, got it? I’ll get in, but only because this ride is better than the fucking bus.” I reach for the door handle and open it up, tossing my bag in the back and sliding into the front seat.

“Just like your mother, a pain in the fucking ass, and too stubborn for your own good,” he grumbles.

Delilah

“Ugh, this stain will never come out,” I huff, dabbing a rag soaked in hydrogen peroxide on the bloodstain covering my white dress.

Why do I wear white?

“Ughhhh…” I glance over at the man attempting to crawl away with two broken kneecaps.

“Oh baby, you’re not going to get very far like that,” I muse, tsking my finger in his direction even though his back is turned to me. My eyes flickering back to the stain in annoyance.

I stride across the room, my heels clicking as I move over the bloodstained concrete floors. When I reach him, I step my heel onto the back of his already broken knee — the baseball bat was a great choice for that. I've always wanted to do that. It’s basically on this weird bucket list I have, to commit murders and torture that are so beyond mafia cliche, but for some reason, it’s just really fucking fun.

“Ahhh!” he screams, pounding his fist into the concrete floor and trying to claw away from me.

“Where are you trying to go, baby?” I hum. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

“Crazy bitch,” he manages to stutter out, and I lift my foot slightly.

“Now, sweetheart, if we’re going to be name-calling here, I prefer Cunt.”

“What the hell do you want!” he demands, and I can feel my lips curving into a deadly smile.

I take my foot off of his broken knee, stepping around to face him. I crouch down on my haunches in front of him, reaching my hand out to roughly grip his chin and force him to look at me. I dig my nails into his cheek, feeling the heat of his blood on my fingertips as my nails slip into the wounds.

“I want the location of the girl,” I tell him, my voice low, emotionless, a drastic contrast to the evil smile on my face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he manages to grit through clenched teeth.

Very few things get my apathy to warm into any kind of emotion, but when bastards bring innocent children into their games, it strikes a chord deep in my gut. A chord that twists until I’m tied into knots. When I feel any sense of emotion at all, I want to set everything around me on fire, burn it to a crisp, everything and everyone. Nothing is safe, not even myself.

“Look, I’ve been friendly, but you’re really trying my patience, and you already ruined my dress. You’re not earning yourself any points here,” I tell him, dropping my grip on his face and watching as he barely manages to hold himself up.

“Fine, we’ll just do this the hard way then,” I huff out, covering my emotions under a veil that I have spent years masterfully crafting.

I had plans tonight, and he is ruining what is supposed to be my night off.

I kick off my heels and walk barefoot across the cold concrete warehouse floor. Making my way to the corner, I turn the stereo on. There’s no need for the neighbors to call in the screams. Swaying as the soothing melody of Death in My Pocket by Machine Gun Kelly starts to blast through the speakers.

I look back, and Marco is still trying to crawl away; it's almost cute the effort he is putting in. If I had the time tonight, I would have set him out for a hunt, but I just don’t have time to play cat and mouse.

Turning, I walk to the center of the room, grabbing a chain and pulling it hard to gain enough slack. Then I walk back over to Marco, pulling his ankle until he screams, but I barely even hear him over the music. I wrap the chain around his ankles, making sure it’s tight enough that he can’t get out anytime soon.

We might be here for a while.

I smile as I drop my hold on his ankles. Walking back over to the center of the room, I grab the remote control and turn on the pulley system. It starts to retract the chain, pulling Marco across the warehouse floor. He screams, thrashing himself at the unforgiving floor, and does everything he can think to do to make the pain stop. I stop the pulley as Marco appears in front of me.

Looking down, I smile at him.

“Hey there, ready to talk?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Or shall we keep going?”

“Who. Are. You?” he manages to grit out, his chest heaving, the pain probably close to unbearable at this point. Even the most brutal criminals, the ones that have been through Hell and back, have never been a match for my level of sadistic torment.

I bend down once more, tilting my head to the side and flipping my blond hair over my shoulder, revealing the small witch hat tattooed just behind my left ear. When I look down, Marco seems as if he just saw a ghost.

My name is Delilah Beau, but they call me La Bruja — The Witch.

When I was sixteen, I took my first life, and from that day forward, I knew what Mama always said was true; I had the hands of Angels guiding me — of something a little more sinister. Maybe it was the demons of the Devil himself that set me on this path of murder — the ability to slip in and out of situations without anyone even realizing I’m there — and the inability to feel anything. Then again, maybe God and his Angels really are guiding me, looking out for me every step of the way.

Apathy is a gift I was given, and that shit was wrapped up neatly with a fucking bow on top.

A handful of people know who I truly am, that know the face associated with the name and the job. Most people that meet The Witch don’t live long enough to tell anyone about it.

I think it takes a special kind of psycho to be able to convince everyone they’re not a killer. My family thinks I’m an assistant at a big law firm downtown. In that regard, I’m a bit of a psychopath. You know, like Bundy? Because no one truly suspects me, but I am capable of caring for people; I love my brother and my best friend. So I may be a psychopath, but perhaps I’m just a girl who lacks the ability to feel like normal people do.

I slightly shake my head, forcing the thoughts away, this is no time to debate how I got this gift or why.

“Are you ready to talk now?” I ask Marco one last time, my finger hovering over the pulley button.

“She’s… They’re keeping her at a safe house in Savage,” he grits out.

“Address,” I demand.

“I don’t know,” he grits out in pain. “It’s a blue single-story house at the end of Deadman Road.”

“Creative,” I deadpan.

“How many guards?” I ask.

“They rotate, two at a time,” he pants, his pain beginning to get the better of him. Such a shame, this could have been fun.

“I was going to keep you here until I found her, but you have been super helpful. How about I just let you go?” I ask with a sweet smile on my face and my voice laced with honey.

His eyes snap open and meet mine, panic racing across his features. “They’ll kill me, I-I only talked ’cause I’m already a fucking deadman. If you don’t kill me, they will,” he pleads.

I bend over, gripping his face and turning him to look at me. “I know,” I whisper just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I mean, didn’t you read the handbook, Marcus? Snitches get stitches.”

“Just fucking kill me, you witch!” he screams, and I grin.

“Don’t worry too much. You won’t make it very far,” I shrug my shoulder as I lightly kick one of his busted knees. I stand and press the button to lower the pulley and it provides just enough slack to undo the chain around his ankles.

“You’re free to go,” I tell him, waving him off as I turn around and walk back to the stereo, turning off the music.

I turn around, and Marco is attempting to crawl across the floor once more. It’s actually quite comical at this point. Turning towards the large gray cabinet, I punch in my code and open the metal door, tapping my finger against my chin while I muse over the various items inside until finding the perfect one. I smile, reaching in and pulling out my brand new compact bow.

Perfect for hunting, my second favorite pastime.

I  reach back into the cabinet for an arrow, feeling the feathers before loading it into the bow, pulling back the string. I catch sight of Marco’s retreating form and release. The arrow leaves the bow in a whirl, flying across the room and landing right on the target. I smile, turning around and replacing the bow in its spot, then I spin back around and happily skip my bare feet across the cold floor. When I reach Marco, there is a small pool of blood forming underneath his still body. I bend over and wrench the arrow from his back; it managed to go through his ribs and right to his heart.

Exactly where I wanted it.

I smile as I bring the arrow up to study the blood dripping off of it. Looking down at Marco’s body, I huff, realizing I’m going to have to drag him to the incinerator. What a pain in the ass. However, that new addition to the warehouse has already made body disposal a hundred times easier than it used to be. I got the tip from an old friend, and needless to say, she knows her stuff when it comes to body clean-up.

I glance around the room until I spot a rope. Walking over, I grab it and then amble back over to Marco’s dead body. I tie the rope around his ankles, then use it to pull him across the floor — deadweight is not easy to move; it’s a hell of a workout.

We reach the corner where the incinerator is, and I grab the pulley chain above it. I learned quickly that no matter how much I work out, I cannot lift men over two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight into the incinerator on my own. So I managed to install another pulley over here that allows me not to have to worry about doing all the heavy lifting.

I press the button, lifting the body, and I shove him into the opening, making sure to slowly lower the pulley chain as I push him further inside.

When he is safely tucked in, I close the door, locking it, and start to turn on the burners, clicking the button until the flames appear.

I turn the timer on and walk out of the warehouse. By the time I get back here, there won't be anything left of Marco but ash.

* * *

Alex: Where are you?

Alex: Thought we were doing movies.

Delilah: Something came up, I can still come by. But I’ll be late.

Alex: Do I want to know?

Delilah: Do you ever?

Alex: Fair point.

Alex: I’m pretty worn out, let’s just meet up tomorrow or something.

Delilah: Sure, we can hit up Crazy Eights.

Alex: You know I hate that place, it’s such a dive.

Delilah: Someone new bought it, looks like it’s been cleaned up a bit. I might swing by tonight and check it out. I’ll report back.

Alex: Deal.

Alex: Text me when you’re home.

I stash my phone in the glove box of my car and check my jacket pockets for my weapons. Pushing open the door to my blacked-out Camaro — a car I only own because I have too much money for my own good — I step out onto the darkened street. I adjust my hair in the reflection of my window, then turn and saunter over to the last, blue, single-story house on Deadman Road.

Seriously, this town either lacks originality when naming places, or they were really shooting for a theme here. If you live in Savage, California, you probably live on a street named something like Deadman Road. You party down at Switchblade Cove. And you raft down Arterial Creek in the summer.

See? Theme.

I make my way up the driveway, unzipping my leather jacket to reveal high-waisted black leather pants and a red crop top. I knock on the door and put on my best sexy smirk, the kind that screams, I’m a paid escort.

The door opens slowly revealing one fairly large man. “What do you want?” he asks in a gruff tone.

I reach my hand up and twirl a finger through my long blond hair. “Hey sexy,” I coo. “Can I come in?” I purr as he looks me up and down.

“Depends. Why are you here?” he asks, opening the door a little wider to show another man leaning against a wall across the room. It’s a move that says they’re trying to figure out why I’m here, but also they don’t want me to leave even if I’m at the wrong house.

“I’m bought and paid for, for you and your friend,” I nod my head to the man across the room.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Yup. Bossman said you guys earned a bonus. I’m the bonus,” I say as I pull my jacket open and twirl around on my stilettos.

“Seems like a good bonus to me. What do you think, Chad?” the man in front of me calls over his shoulder to his friend. Turning back to look me over once more, biting his lip and eye-fucking me before I even make it through the door.

“I agree,” Chad says as he makes his way across the room.

“Shall we go to a room?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at them dramatically.

“Who first?” Chad asks.

“First? Oh, I was just planning on a doubleheader,” I say and wink at them, watching their eyes grow wide with excitement. They reach their fists out for a bump, and then Chad grabs my hand and leads me down the hallway with the other one trailing behind us.

“What’s your name, handsome?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Mike.”

We make it into a back bedroom, minimally decorated, just the basics; a bed, empty closet, a single nightstand, and an attached bath. Chad pulls me over to the bed, sitting down on the end, and I move to straddle his thighs. He begins to run his hands over me, moving to roughly grip my ass as I feel Mike push in behind me. I press my chest close to Chad and quickly manage to grab two switchblades before Mike pushes my jacket off my shoulders.

I run my hand over Chad’s back, and as he moves to pepper kisses along my neck, I run a blade across his. Feeling the blood from his wound start to pour down my chest, I manage to lay him down on the mattress. Mike, too distracted at the prospect of my ass to care that his friend is dying in front of him.

I reach my hand back, gripping Mike’s wrist and urging him onto the bed by his friend that’s bleeding out. Quickly I move over to his lap, and he doesn’t even notice the blood as he grips my ass.

I stab my sharp blade up into his throat, twisting it before pulling it back out, and more blood coats my chest, effectively ruining my entire outfit but turning it a pretty shade of red. I slide off Mike’s lap, closing my blades and picking up my jacket from the ground. I shrug it over my shoulders and zip it up to cover the blood. Moving into the bathroom, I wash my hands, throat, and my blades. Then I turn the lights off as I walk out of the room and check the other bedrooms until I find her.

“Hey, are you Bethany?” I ask the scared girl, who’s huddled up in the corner. She doesn't move or answer me. I reach into my back pocket and pull out a picture her mother gave me. It’s a sweet photo, she told me she keeps it in her purse at all times, and it shows Bethany sitting on her mom's lap at her last birthday party.

“Here, your mommy gave this to me. She misses you, so I’m here to bring you home,” I inform her, slowly moving across the room.

“No!” she screams. “Stay away, I don’t know you!” she yells, and I try hard not to laugh. At least she’s a fighter; I love that for her.

“Church,” I tell her softly.

“What?” she asks, perking up slightly.

“Church, your mommy told me to tell you I’m going to take you to church.”

“You do know my Mom!” she yells and nearly launches herself off the bed and into my arms. She nuzzles her head into my shoulder, hugging me tightly.

“Yeah, sweetie, let's get you home,” I whisper.

Hugging her close to me, we make our way out of the dark room, down the hallway, and out the front door. I move quickly down the street, and when I get to my car, I don’t even bother to set her down. I slide in with her still clinging to me like a spider monkey until I have to put her in the passenger seat and buckle her in.

“What about the bad men?” she whispers as I start my car.

[ Image: Depositphotos_8101209_ds.jpf ]

Kenna

“I don’t understand why we’re forced to stay here, it fucking sucks here!” I hear my baby sister Kal screeching in the palace's hallway.

“Watch your tone with me young lady!” our Grandfather scolds and I roll my eyes because I know my sister and that isn’t as much of a threat as Grandfather would like it to be. I mean for anyone else the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes would send them into a frenzy of fear and tears.

Even the most vicious demons and souls that are trapped down here don’t stand a chance against our Grandfather, which I guess is why he’s the one in charge.

But us? Yeah, not so much. I mean I guess we should be worried when he gets a temper but it’s hard to be worried when the same man — well devil — used to read you bedtime stories. Not the kind mortal children are read, not fun tales of princesses and the princes that save them, no we got read stories about torture and dismemberment. I guess that’s probably where our flexible morality comes from, that and our bloodline.

“I’m not scared of you,” she sneers.

“You should be. I’ll sentence you to purgatory until you’re twelve hundred!” Grandfather yells back, his temper getting the better of him.

“You will send your own granddaughter to purgatory?” Kal huffs. “Okay. Sure.”

I swear I can hear the eye roll in her tone alone.

“Can’t we just go up for All-Hallows-Eve? Come on, it’s a holiday made for witches and demons and we just so happen to be both,” Keres, my middle sister and forever the fixer jumps in. “Plus we can just come back, the upper level demons go back and forth all the time.”

“It’s dangerous in the mortal world,” our Grandfather sighs. “You’re here so I can protect you. I can’t do that if you leave.”

“We literally live in Hell!” I yell through my bedroom door. “What the fuck could we need protecting from in the mortal world that can’t harm us in Hell?”

“Stop eavesdropping!” Kal yells back.

“Stop yelling in my fucking hallway then!”

“Guys!” Keres huffs, and I can just picture her rubbing her temples to try and stave off the impending headache.

I motion my hand and my bedroom door opens to see the three of them in the hallway just outside. My grandfather, the resident underworld devil. My middle sister Keres, and my baby sister Kalypso, or Kal. And they’re all staring at me with varying expressions of confusion on their faces.

“What?” I question from my bed.

“Where did you learn that?” my Grandfather fumes, and I swear if he isn’t careful he’s going to turn bright red just like the little devil cartoons from the mortal world.

I shrug my shoulder. “Just a little trick I picked up.”

“Where?” he demands.

“Just because you’re pissed off that we’re half witch doesn’t mean that changes what we are,” I tell him before casually getting up from my bed. “And I think we’ve been subjected to life in the Underworld long enough. We’ve learned about our demonic half now it’s time we figure out the magical parts.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Grandfather growls and I watch as his eyes light up with a demonic fire before turning pure black.

“We’ll just see about that now won’t we,” I tell him with a smirk on my face.

We have been forced to remain in the underworld for far too long and frankly I’m sick and tired of having to stay here. As I can see my sisters are as well, so what better time to leave than All-Hallows-Eve which is in just a few days. I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out the best way to get out of here and never come back. The only reason I have stayed this long is because I didn’t think my sister were willing to leave and I would never have left them here alone.

“Kenna, I swear to Hell if you even think about going up to the mortal world it will be the last thing you do,” Grandfather threatens.

I bring my hand up and tap my chin as if in thought. “Just like if I managed to collect demonic powers it would be the last thing I did?” I ask as I blink my eyes and suddenly appear right behind him, tapping my finger on his shoulder.

“Kenna,” he growls as he turns around. “I warned you.”

“You do that a lot,” Kal muses. “But she never listens.”

“Just like your mother I swear,” Grandfather murmurs under his breath before turning and stalking down the hall away from us.

“Why does he hate our mom so much?” Keres asks as she watches his form disappear behind the false walls of the palace.

“Because mom is a witch, and he hates witches. Which if I had to guess is why he’s so hard on us, we’re half witch and he hates that,” Kal offers.

“I think he’s so hard on us because we take after mom and don’t like to listen to him, ever.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s part of it,” Keres agrees.

“So do we really get to go to the mortal world for All-Hallows-Eve?” Kal asks as she turns to me.

“If we go, you know we probably can’t come back, right?” I question them.

Kal and Keres glance between themselves before turning back to me with devious smiles on their faces. The type of sinister look you can only give when plotting something evil, or completely against the rules. My favorite type of plan.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Kal confirms with a nod of her head.

Since we’re all half demon — specifically the devils daughters — and half badass dark witch I think we’ll be just fine taking on the mortal world.

Haven

After eight months of talking, we’re finally meeting tonight, and I can’t believe we made it this far. I never thought I would be this girl, but desperation makes people do things they never thought they would have to do.

It mainly started out for the money, however, the developing relationship is what really made me stick around. We have built up a trust, and a relationship that goes beyond nudes and videos for cash. It’s like we are in two relationships; one where he is a buyer and one where he is a friend. We compartmentalize the two, and he is never both at the same time. There is something about him that no one else has.

He’s… real. 

I doubt anyone else would get it, and if it hadn’t happened to me personally, I wouldn’t be able to understand it, either. Falling for a client? That Pretty Woman bullshit romance story? Get out of here, it’s not like that, but I guess in some ways, maybe it is.

Keeton has made me feel wanted from twenty-six-hundred miles away. He’s made me feel loved. We’ve talked every day for the past twelve months, never missing a beat. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to fall for a client. This has never happened to me before, yet I can’t help but feel something with him.

He makes me feel good about myself in a way that no man has ever been able to make me feel. He makes me want to love myself.

I’ve never met up with a client before, but at this point, Keeton is more than just a client, he’s a friend; he’s… something more, but I don’t know what that is. Maybe after tonight, I will finally be able to figure out what.

I smooth down my burgundy dress, feeling my heart about to beat out of my chest, but it’s a good kind of feeling the nerves of a first date type of feeling. Not the I might get kidnaped and sold into the sex trade type of feeling.

Leaning forward, I look at myself in the mirror and reach my hand up to adjust my already perfect hair — simply killing time before having to head downstairs.

I wanted to make sure I had enough time to get ready, so I started at noon, and before I knew it, I was done and pacing the hotel suite. My nerves have been on overdrive ever since. 

I glance down at my phone and see it’s finally time to head downstairs. I take a deep breath before I grab my clutch and stick my phone inside, taking one last glance in the mirror as I head for the hotel room door.

The suite Keeton booked for me is larger than my whole apartment back home. He said he wanted me to be comfortable, and I am, yet a  part of me wishes I was staying with him instead. The other part of me is glad that I have my own hotel room to come back to in case things don’t work out tonight.

Every step of this meeting, he has done everything to ensure I would be one-hundred percent comfortable, from booking me a hotel suite to making sure it wouldn’t cost me a thing. He even gave me some spending money in case I wanted to buy something to remember the trip or buy gifts to take back home.

Keeton is a man like no other I have ever met. I am just hoping he is actually as good as I have built him up to be, or else this trip will have been a huge mistake.

I make my way down the hotel hallway towards the elevator, my heels muffled against the thickness of the carpet. The sound of my pulse is pounding in my eardrums, and it’s all I can do to focus on each step I take.

I step into the elevator and head down to the lobby.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous for anything in my entire life. Not my first job interview, buying my first car, or even the first time I got naked on camera. I think I have been building up this meeting, or possibly even just building up this man in my mind where now I am worried the actual person will fall flat, and the last twelve months will ultimately feel like a waste.

But, no matter what, I guess the last twelve months weren’t exactly a waste since Keeton and I shared a lot in the time we spent together.

If things don’t go further than tonight, then I have to be okay with that and in the end I will have to learn to live with that as well. 

It’s not like I’m expecting us to fall in love tonight and then grow old together. 

After all, I still have a life on the other side of the country, and he still has a life here. Perhaps no matter how tonight goes, I will need to be okay with simply having only tonight.

I take a deep breath before placing a small smile on my face and stepping off the elevator into the lobby, my heels clicking on the marble floors as I cross towards the restaurant.

This is it.

Prologue

How do you know if you have a soul? I’m fairly certain I don’t, but I’m not sure if I was born without one, or if I was slowly stripped of it. I do know I’m a monster, I take after my father like that. I wonder if my mother saw too much of me in him. Is that why she left and didn’t take me with her? Did she already know I was a lost cause? That I wasn’t worth saving?

I was born during one of the harshest winters our town has ever seen, with record breaking snowfall levels and temperature drops. I always knew my name represented winter and it always seemed fitting for it to be my favorite season; I love the harsh bite from the cold wind.

I love watching everything die as the frost moves in, I come alive in winter. Fitting that death comes alive when everything else goes to ground. What I never realized is that I would become the full embodiment of my name.

Death.

A Reaper – no, The Reaper. The Original.

Reaping souls and settling debts.

There is one debt that has yet to be collected on, but I intend to do just that, then I’ll gladly leave the shadows and take my place in Hell.

There was never a time that I can remember when I liked the heat; the cold was always where I belonged. I never feared the dark, but too much light hurt my eyes. Hades belonged in the light, he shined so bright, and I was content in the shadows of his glory.

* * *

When we were barely eight, I remember Hades falling off his bike and skinning his knees, the blood running down his leg as he cried out in pain. The blood was all I could focus on, his cries and screams like the most beautiful melody. Later that night I sat in my room and dug a sharpened knife into my leg. I watched as the blood ran down, creating a pool of red at my feet.

I didn’t cry. The tears and screams of agony never came, the blood was just too pretty. But not nearly as pretty as someone else’s. Unaccompanied by screams of agony it just wasn’t the same.

I didn’t realize then but that was the moment everything changed.

It didn’t take long for Hades to realize I was different, that something was wrong with me. I knew as much, but he refused to consider that anything was wrong. I was just different - not wrong.

No matter what he did, what he said, I knew normal people didn’t enjoy the pain of others. We kept my secret and anytime the urges became too strong he always managed to talk me down, to keep me sane, before anyone got hurt.

He was the key that kept my monster in her cage. Until the day they took away my key, broke the lock, and unleashed a beast greater than even they knew existed.

Within the small girl with the angel face resided a devil of evil thoughts, their worst nightmare. There would be no escaping the Reaper, no salvation for the damned.

Even the Devil was once an Angel, and that’s how you know I’m so much worse than he is. 'Cause baby, I’ve always been a Reaper.

* * *

Twenty-One Years Old

I stand in the shadows of the rundown shack, seated deep in the forest, and watch my brothers beat a man for crossing us. Unlike my brothers I don’t care much for the lengths of violence they go through to make a point. I’m all for moving quickly and efficiently, but they’re all about dueling out punishments with their fists. It’s not that I mind the blood, or the pain; I revel in it. It’s just that this takes so long, and I have better things to do with my time than watch this knowing the outcome. But we do this together, as a family.

A fucked-up family, but a family nonetheless.

At first glance my brothers seem to be the ones you would need to be wary of, they’re massive. They loom over their prey like the redwoods that loom over the forest floor outside this shack. While they have violent tendencies, and an encounter with them might leave you bloody and sore for weeks, they’re not the true villains here. I am. We’ve buried more bodies whose last breaths were taken by my hand then any of theirs combined. I’m efficient, and lethal.

The people who know us, know the likelihood of walking away from an encounter with my brothers is high; you’ll be broken, but breathing. On the other hand, walking away from me? Not likely, if you see me it’s already too late, your fate has been sealed.

I get up from my place in the shadows about to make my first appearance of the night, my heels clicking on the old wooden floor as the cabin quiets. Leaving only the heavy breathing of the bloodied man in the center of the room. My brothers part and the second he registers me, he visibly quivers. He knows us, he knows me.

He made a mistake tonight. He assumed that because he couldn’t see me I wasn’t here; he thought if he could just hold out through the beating that he would leave here broken but alive. Now that he’s seen me, it’s different. I can see the fear, the way sweat beads along his brow, the way his hands shake as he tries to hold himself off the floor.

I slowly step around his back. He follows my movements with his eyes as much as he can while still facing forward. Once I stop walking the cabin falls into an ominous silence. Just the labored breaths of a dead man, the snap of a tree branch and the rustling of fall leaves as the winds whisper his death sentence. I draw the knife strapped to my thigh. My brothers take a step back, attempting to avoid the coming blood bath. In one swift move I grab hold of his hair wrenching his head back and exposing his neck, bringing the blade across his throat.

When I release him, he drops forward onto the cabin floor making gargling sounds as he drowns in his own blood. I grab the rag offered to me and wipe the blood from my blade, stowing it safely back on my person once its clean.

I take a moment to stare at the body at my feet, then at my brothers. Ranger, Nash, and Hunter. They say that blood is thicker than water. Blood is what makes us a family - the blood just isn’t ours. We’re the people your mama warned you about, except worse. We’re Destruction. Chaos. Anarchy. Death.