Before anyone starts breaking any laws, Victoria decides she needs a shower and some downtime alone in her room, which leaves the rest of us together as the sun slowly begins to set. Back home, a setting sun usually means work is just about to get started. The smog burns a deep shade of red and the shadows start to stretch. Here? It almost feels like the city is waking up, shaking itself off from the day’s scalding heat. The sky is a deep shade of purple. Music coming from way down the street fills the air. But inside the house is a different story altogether, because there’s an assortment of weapons on the dinner table (all on top of a linen cloth), and everyone’s picking out what they like.

  I think it’s what they’re doing. I came in late, after I tried getting Victoria to stop being vague, but that woman is like an Orc with how she’s so stubborn with her information. Unless you pay me, you ain’t getting a thing out of my mouth. And that was that. She headed upstairs and locked her door and we haven’t seen her in an hour.

  So by the time I get to the table, the girls are bickering about who gets what and why they should. Lu is near the sink, finishing up with the dishes, making sure when someone starts threatening someone else to glance over her shoulder and quiet them all down with a stare. I lean against the counter beside the sinks, folding my arms and watching them go, because I figure it’s a little hot and cold, me being here with them, and I’m good with any weapon I can get my hands on, just as long as it’s not a club. I hate those stupid things. If I wanted to parade around like some caveman then I’d paint myself gray and turn myself into an Orc. But if push comes to shove, then fine.

  “But Vicky said I can use the baseball bat this time,” Runt argues, trying to grasp for the bat I’d seen before outside, the one with the stickers and scuff-marks, away from Morgan’s shoulder. “Hell, I stole it, so it’s mine!”

  “You’re not going anywhere, pipsqueak,” Morgan says. “You’re sitting this one out.”

  “That’s not fair,” she moans. Out of all of us, she’s the only one on a stool.

  “It’s what I’ve decided,” Astrid says dryly.

  “Yeah, right, Vicky probably said it,” Runt mutters.

  Astrid doesn’t spare her a second. She looks up at me, sours a little, then turns to the girl with the purple hair. “Two daggers and that’s final. Bring your Grimoire if you like, but I’m not letting you go off without them, Ju.”

  She moans as she turns the black-bladed knives in her hands, awkwardly, like a kid who’s just found their mom’s hunting knives soaking in the sink, trying to get the blood off the metal. What? That’s never happened to you before? “But I hate these things. They’re so clumsy, and last time I almost stabbed myself trying to use them.”

  “That’s because you need to practice more,” Astrid says. “Spend time with them like I told you.”

  I snort. “They’re not children. They’re pieces of metal. Stab upward and away. Both hands on the grip if you don’t feel comfortable, at least that way, if it rebounds off a ribcage, you’re not gonna stab yourself, too. That’ll suck hard.” I pull up my vest and tap a scar right underneath my right breast. “Happened to me a few years ago.”

  Runt takes an interest in my scars, mouth opening wide in an ‘o,’ whilst Morgan nods, impressed.

  “Yeah, thanks, but…I kinda don’t want to stab myself anywhere.”

  “And if you actually respect your tools, then you’ll know how to properly handle them,” Astrid says.

  “I mean, sure,” I say, waving my hand. “But you can use a frying pan to kill a Cyclops just as well as using any sword.”

  The corner of her mouth twists, like her spit is now bitter. “That’s a stupid notion.”

  “Ask the guy who’s brains I beat out of his skull with a skillet.”

  “A little graphic, don’t you think?” Lu asks me quietly.

  The way she looks at me, suddenly I feel kinda awkward. I don’t apologize, but I shrug and choose to stay quiet before my tongue gets its own ideas about what exactly graphic really means, because trust me, that’s not it.

  “She’s cool,” Runt murmurs, then looks at Astrid. “You’re cool, too, Astrid, but she’s awesome.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca,” she mutters under her breath.

  “Like, you’re Mage Smash II kind of cool, but she’s like, Mage Smash Deluxe kind of cool.”

  “Thank you, Rebecca,” Astrid says a little louder. “I’m not saying you’ve got to use them instead of your Grimoire, Juniper. All I’m saying is that it’s good to get some experience with them. Morgan, I think it’s better—”

  “That you don’t give me a recommendation, since you’re not in charge,” she says, popping open the fridge and grabbing herself a beer. She glances at me and shakes one. I shrug and she throws one over their heads at me.

  “Morgan,” Lucia says. Head still in the fridge, she mutters under her breath, kicks the fridge shut, and says her sorry half-way through taking a sip. Lu takes it from my hand before I even get a chance. “Not until you come back. You, too, missy. I want that beer down. Neither of you are even old enough to be drinking this stuff anyway.”

  “But we’re old enough to walk into a weaponry and buy a fifty cal and an Enchanted sword without questions,” Morgan mutters.

  “Cheers to the system,” I say to her. She nods, takes one long swallow, then hands the beer to Lu.

  “What was that about me not being in charge?” Astrid asks her, hands on the table, not even looking at her but instead at the weapons spread out on the cloth. There’s an edge in her voice, but barely any anger—not the kind to show her emotions, that’s what I’m getting from her, but you can read her like a book: she’s plain pissed off now.

  “It means exactly that,” Morgan says, grabbing her baseball bat off the chair it leaned against. She’s about to head into the living room, but Astrid stops her simply by standing in her way. She’s taller than Morgan by a head, and that means she can look down her nose at her. The conversation Runt and Work Belt were having dies off. Lu left a moment ago, checking on Victoria upstairs. Only us now in the kitchen, with the windows open and music playing, heat in the air and the smell of detergent lingering from the sink. “Mind telling me what’s wrong, Sid?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I’m gonna make something clear,” Astrid says. “You need to grow up, and fast, because waving around a baseball bat against someone who’s got hundreds of pounds on you, or better yet, a gun or even a sword, means you’re going to end up very dead, very quickly, and that’s not something I want on my head. So for the love of God, grab something more useful, or better yet, the hammer May made for you, and start taking something seriously.”

  “Astrid…” Juniper says, touching her shoulder. The taller girl shrugs her off.

  The two of them keep staring at one another. Morgan’s black eyebrows lower, narrowing her eyes. You can hear when her hand grips the bat tighter, or when her feet shift and plant on the wooden floor. This is interesting.

  “No,” Morgan says, shouldering past her. “Bat’s mine, and that’s that, unless Vick’s got other ideas.”

  Astrid grabs her wrist, stopping her dead. “Don’t you walk away from me.”

  “Or else what?” she asks sourly. “Gonna call the cops on me, too?”

  “I didn’t fucking call the cops on her, and you know that.”

  “Do I?” she asks, getting closer to Astrid. “‘Cause from what I remember, it fucking looked like that!”

  May—Work Belt—slams two pots together several times, more than enough for us to have her attention. She drops the back in the drying rack and puts her fists on her hips. “Both of y’all need to get your shit together for once. We’ve got a newcomer tonight and what’s this looking like for her, huh? She’s meant to trust us to have her back when we’re out there, and we’re bickerin’ like a bunch of fuckin’ hornbills!” Where the hell does she get an accent like that? Texas got wiped clean off the map, last I checked. Then again, I never really went to school. It’s a miracle I can read, tell you what. I wouldn’t know what I’d be doing if it wasn’t for mom telling me to fetch her the various cans of gasoline she had labeled in the house when we were burning bodies. “Now kiss and make up ‘fore I force your faces together, then none of us is gonna be happy, because now you’d both be wasting my damn time.”

  Neither Astrid or Morgan move. They stand there, staring daggers at one another.

  “Fine,” May says. “Looks like everyone’s gonna start doing their own maintenance.”

  Morgan’s jaw tenses, then she quietly says, “Just don’t think you’re the boss of me, and we won’t have a problem, Sid. Vicky might’ve made you First Sword, but I don’t give a damn. You’ll always be second to me.” With that, she goes and sits on the couch, unlaced boots on the table as she picks up a hotrod mag she flicks through.

  Astrid sighs, back turned to the rest of us, then turns around. “Second Sword,” she says. I look at her, waiting for the verbal surprises she’s got in store for me this time. “What’re you most experienced with using?”

  “I’m good with everything here,” I say with a shrug. “I’d probably prefer a sword, though.”

  Astrid pushes a claymore my way. Red leather grip, stainless steel blade. Awesome stuff, really, if I was in the business of accidentally gutting Party members open when I used it. She looks at me. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s a little chunky,” I say. “I mean, it’s sounding like we’re probably gonna be indoors tonight, right?”

  “Thought you said you could use anything?” she asks, then folds her arms. “Or was that all a lie?”

  My mouth bitters. “I can grab a teaspoon and be fine with that, too.”

  “Then take the sword,” she says icily. “And a backup, too.”

  Bitch. I know what she just did, but I also know myself.

  Can’t really back down from indirect challenges. Aster hated me for it a lot of the time, and Gods forbid she ever left me in charge of all of our weapons and most of our cash. I’d find some way to gamble almost all of it.

  Because you, too, are also one roll away from being a winner, and life is all about luck.

  And I know I’m due for my lucky break some time soon. Dying and coming back to life is just what I’m owed, I personally feel—what’s coming next has got to be something good, and trust me when I say this: Kacey Summers is gonna hit the green one day, and this is just one of those times. Who knows, maybe tonight is gonna be the night when I figure out how to use a sword better for trying to kill all your friends at once than for personal use.

  For my second weapon, I choose a handgun—an AngelWeight II, something small and light. Easy to shoot. Not a lot of stopping power, but with how May’s eyes light up when I put it in my waistband, I think it’ll be fine.

  Gotta love an enchanted gun, right? The thing is oozing with magic. So much so it almost looks like it’s dripping right off the barrel, like it’s been dipped in scarlet. May’s even gone the extra mile to carve her name in it.

  Better not blow up in my hand, though.

  Astrid almost turns her nose up as she watches me check the gun out. She’s already got a sword of her own on her hip, the boring and placid way of carrying any sword in the first place. It shimmers with magic, too. The white kind; or the uninitiated, that’s a step below the most potent kind of magic, which is usually a deep violet.

  Just like any Magline, and just like the magic that had been lingering outside my apartment.

  “What about you?” I ask May. “You’re not carrying anything?”

  She pats a small fanny pack she’s got on her hip, grinning. “This is plenty.”

  “That should be it, then,” Astrid mutters. “I want all weapons back here for inspection afterward, and if you lose it, you’re buying it—it’ll get cut from your share. Use them as much as you want, break them if you’ve got to, but one, don’t let some thug get their hands on them, and two, for the love of God, don’t just throw it away, either.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” I say. Her eyes momentarily flare when Morgan snorts. “Hey, Becca.” She perks up, since nobody’s spoken to the kid in nearly fifteen minutes, she’s sat there on her stool, bummed about not being able to go out tonight and probably kill a few people. “You into video games? I used to play back at my place, then my console got trashed ‘n’ stolen.” I jerk my thumb at the tv. “Since Vic is still getting ready, wanna play with me?”

  “Really?” she asks. Then she looks at Astrid, who’s shaking her head. Her energy falters. “I’m not allowed to play this late at night, sorry. Maybe we can play it in the morning, or…after I finish my homework later, too.”

  I blow a raspberry and say, “C’mon, what are rules if not things meant to be broken?”

  Becca glances at Astrid, then me, makes her choice, and says, “I get first pick.”

  “No, Rebecca,” Astrid says. “You’re meant to get ready for bed and start your homework with Lu.”

  “Oh, can it, Sid,” I say, and Gods, you should see the look on her face when I say that. “Let the kid live.”

  “I’m trying to make sure she’s trained and prepared to one day—”

  “Hearing a lot of words I really don’t care about,” I say, grabbing Runt’s hand. “Best of three?”

  “Deal!” she says. “I’m choosing Alexandria.”

  Of course I’m gonna lose now, but hell, if it makes Astrid pissed, then I’ll lose all night long.

  Besides, I was the little sister nobody ever played with, so suck on that, mom.

  And I also just died a few days ago, and I’ll be taking life however it comes now. If Victoria is telling the truth about me having a Blessing, then life might just get a little more fun, if the rumors are true. Might as well take all the chances I’ve got before people learn about it and start trying to peel me apart to drink all of my new magic.

  Until then, Becca is going to be the first person to try to kill me, which she probably will.

  And I don’t think I mind that one bit.