William fingered the revolver at his hip, a headache pulsating behind his eyes. "We have exactly seventeen minutes before the next take-off..."

People slugged passed. Bodies moved slowly, shuffling in the tight embrace of the boarding crowd. Large bags and cases scraped the concrete floor of the Zeppelin Airstrip. Rigging tapped and slapped in the wind, and the whirr of the blimp’s propellers buzzed, a hive of overactive bees. The stench of oil and scorched rubber stung the back of William's throat, and the grey, bitter smoke that melded in with the layer of white clouds above brought tears to his eyes.

A child dropped a bag of liquorice, her face burning red, and a cry burst like cannon fire from her quivering lips. On the other side of the yard, a dog bounded down from a boarding bridge. Its sharp, whip-like bark cracked through the noise, frightening a workhorse below that whinnied and kicked, its back legs narrowly avoiding a Zeppelin tether line.

At the crowd's edge, a young boy tugged on a woman's skirt. "Hurry, mummy. We may miss it!" He whined. A pair of brass goggles clung to his forehead, and a costume pilot's uniform, complete with a stitched zeppelin on his purple sleeve, hung two sizes too large over his body.

"We won't miss it, dear, we have..." The woman’s voice disappeared as the two fell further into the fray—out of sight and now out of William's mind.

He stood, watching at the perimeter of it all.

Waiting.

He glanced again at his pocket watch.

The black hands ticked two minutes to four. They had too much time, and yet, time was running out. 'The Twits'—as Shaye had so affectionately called them—were closing in far too quickly, and William couldn't see a way out that didn't involve a little confrontation. He was no seer, after all, much to Shaye's disappointment.

But someone was missing. With the pounding noise and the dizzying stream of people, William hadn't noticed. “Where the hell is Rhea?”

“She was...” Shaye spun around, a light blush kissing her brown cheeks. Her cherry pink hair sprung out in a cloud of coils, and she tugged a curl behind her ear. “Damn! She was right behind me. I’ll go find her.”

“No.” Fifteen minutes. Damn. “It’s better if we sta—”

“You stay here. Keep watch.” She wiggled her gloved fingers in his face. “Observe. I’ll BRB.”

“There’s only fifteen minutes left. If the Zepp arrives and—”

“I’ll find her, Will, quick as a flash. Don't worry yourself. Now... Stay. Here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Shaye covered her curls with her hood, and a bright smile flashed from the shadows. “I just did. So suck it.”

"Be careful," William said, and something pulled taut in his throat, for he knew the words were futile. “And fast.”

Shaye was a Shifter. She could alter her face, body, and clothes to look like another. All she needed was a model, someone to base her appearance on, and a little sprinkle of imagination. If trouble came, Shaye could slip into the shadows as one person and exit as another, quickly vanishing unnoticed into a passing crowd. William envied her sometimes. What he wouldn't give to go unnoticed.

Shaye’s dark form soon melted into the bustling populace, and William was alone. He returned his father's pocket watch into his waistcoat pocket, but a twitch of his hand brought it out again, his thumb working over the lid's clasp.

Fourteen minutes.

It was still plenty of time, he thought, trying to console the tightening in his chest.

But also not enough time.

Why did Rhea have to be so careless? Playing with time when she knew how precious it was. Anything could have happened to her: she got lost, kidnapped, slipped and fell down some stairs. Or the Twits had found her, and they were using her as bait to lure the rest of them out.

He should have followed Shaye, or simply made her stay. What use were his abilities if those he had sworn to protect were out of range of his protection?

He should have gone with her. She should have stayed.

Fidgeting with the handle of his revolver, William scanned the airstrip. The Twits were easy enough to spot. As most of them were from Echary, they tended to stand five or six inches taller, much like Rhea. But unlike Rhea, these men and women sported a red ‘X’ tattoo on their left cheek—a mark that pledged their allegiance.

William glanced down at himself. Surrounded by the colourful clothes of the commoners, he supposed his plain, brown tailcoat and black waistcoat were quite conspicuous in itself. And what better way to distract himself than a costume change.

He shed his coat and slipped behind a waiting family of four, grabbing a bright yellow worker's cap and plum woollen jacket from the top of the man's suitcase. The hat sat comfortably over his black hair, and the jacket hugged his arms, the white fluff about the collar brushing his neck. He found a battered wallet inside the pocket and, removing the very sparse number of capital notes, William left the empty wallet on top of a barrel of rice. Hopefully, someone would find it and return it to the gentleman.

With his new disguise, William returned to the waiting spot.

Ten minutes.

Shaye had been gone too long.

From where he stood, William could see all four watchtowers positioned at each corner of the airstrip. They stretched high into the clouds, searching the skies, and called incoming Zeppelin's to port and sent outgoing ones out. A perfect spot to watch and wait. Up there, it’d be easier to find what you were looking for.

Or who.

William squinted against the sun’s glare. Two guards stood at the top of the north tower, as well as the west. Only one guard patrolled the south, but the east... William could make out two people, but neither wore guard purple. They were too far away for any distinct feature to show, but they had to be Twits.

“Damn,” William swore.

If there were two on the tower, there had to be more on the ground, out in the open—where Shaye and Rhea were.

“Damn.” One of the Twits’ arms jutted out towards the ground. “Damn. Damn, damn!”

Ducking behind a stack of empty crates, William removed his revolver from the holster at his hip.

He had to think.

The bulbous red balloon of the Zeppelin Legendary was docked to the east of the airstrip. A conductor stood just outside the steadily closing door, the airship's engine whirring, readying for take-off.

William crouched further behind the crate, aiming the barrel of his revolver through a crack in the wood. He closed his eyes and pictured the two Twits on the watchtower.

He waited for the wail of the door, then...

Fired once. Twice.

Smoke billowed from the two cylinders, but the bang of the discharged bullets was lost in the echo of the closed Zeppelin door.

William poked his head out. Both Twits were gone. Hit or hiding, he couldn't be sure. But he hoped it would give Shaye and Rhea a little more time.

Swallowing the dryness in his throat, he checked his pocket watch.

Seven minutes.

"Any trouble?" William jumped as a child’s voice squeaked in his ear.

Caught in the grip of the young girl's hand, Rhea’s shoulders slumped, and her bag fell to the ground's wooden slats. The young girl flashed a bright smile, the coils of her auburn pigtails brushing the frills on the shoulders of her pink dress.

“William," Rhea whined, shoving the girl away. "Tell Shaye to shift. She wouldn't stop crying. An officer on the barge thought I’d snatched a child and a random woman WHACKED me with her bag." She rubbed her arm, and her black-painted bottom lip jutted out. "I think it had rocks in it. Or my nan's cakes.”

William's chest hitched. “Where were you?” he demanded. He found it hard to breathe. “What if Shaye hadn't found you, and-and the Twits caught you? What then? We've risked everything to be here, Rhea. We could have lost you.”

Rhea's face fell, and a hint of pink blossomed on her pale cheeks. “I was grabbing some supplies,” she mumbled.

“That’s not the point!” He felt like he was talking to a child, and it wasn't even Rhea who looked like one.

“She was flirting with the server at the bagel stand,” Shaye interrupted. “Or do you just give Marigolds to everyone?”

Rhea lashed out, shoving Shaye back again. In her small body, she stumbled, looking like a toddler learning to walk. Recovering quickly, Shaye stepped forward but stopped as a shower of green leaves burst from Rhea's palm, striking Shaye in the face.

“We don't have TIME for this!” William growled.

“Ivy, Rhea,” Shaye spluttered, “really?”

Rhea blew Shaye a kiss. “Only the best for you.”

A loud claxon ruptured from the speakers positioned around the airstrip, and after a second of high-pitched whine in his ears, William heard the crackle of a voice speaking through.

"First call for The Zion! First, call for The Zion!"

“That’s us.” William looped his arms through Rhea’s and grabbed Shaye’s tiny hand, both girls on either side. He held them tight. He wouldn't lose either of them again. “Time to go.”

Shaye’s short arm stretched to William's hat. “You look like a canary,” she said.

A shot rang out, and dust splintered off the wall of crates behind them. William ducked, yanking Rhea and Shaye to the ground. Someone screamed, and a sudden wall of voices cried out. Desperate feet pounded the airstrip, the crowd pushing and shoving, scurrying like a hoard of frenzied ants.

"Was that you?" Rhea gasped, her breath warm against his neck. And when he didn't respond, she added, "Was it them, then?"

"Those bloody Twits," Shaye spat.

Another shot exploded, grazing the wood at William's feet. Rhea extended her arms, and a string of long vines whipped from her palms. They began to twist, interlocking tightly to form a crudely weaved shield.

Regaining his hold, William pulled the two girls up. They ran half-blind, squeezing through each break in the throng of people. The quicker they could make it to The Zion, the saver everyone else on the airstrip would be.

William’s body ached to turn around, to locate the Twits. It longed to reach for his revolver, but with so many panicked people, William didn't want to risk injuring one of them—even with his power.

With the terror below, the guards at the dock hastily waved them through. Rhea retracted her vine shield, and they hurried past the gate, their boots thumping up the metal ramp. The Zion was much the same as the Zeppelin Legendary, the deep maroon balloon greeting William, a long desired hug. The three of them stopped at the door.

Searching the airstrip, William saw no sign of them. The Twits had gone, again.

"That was fun,” Shaye said, her tone slick with jovial sarcasm. “Ready to leave this stink of a country behind?"

William stooped forward, clutching the stitch in his side. Sweat dribbled down his back, and he quickly swallowed the urge to vomit. "With the utmost certainty.” His shaking hand slipped into his waistcoat pocket, the watch metal cold against his skin.

Two minutes. He almost laughed.

"I will miss the bagels," Rhea moped, her face beetroot red.

"There will be more bagels in Nestium."

Rhea slung her bag over her shoulder, and from her outstretched palm grew a Marigold. She offered it to Shaye, who without hesitation slipped it behind her ear. "Suppose.

Looping her arms around William's shoulders, Shaye nudged Rhea forward, and together they headed through the door, determined never to look back.

“The dish is empty,” Belvedere said with a tail flick. “I know. What can we do?” Mittens asked by nosing the bowl. Belvedere smacked the dish. He smacked Mittens. He flicked his tail rapidly. “There’s no need to yell,” Mittens said raising her paw in defense. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” Belvedere lumbered over to the screen door. The young one who rarely feed them had left the screen door ajar again. “I’m living off the fat of the land.” Mittens followed, her yellow eyes wide with fear and excitement. Belvedere pushed at the door squeezing his ample sides outside. Sleek and slender Mittens slipped behind him. It was green, hot, and full of smells. But mostly it was hot and nothing smelt of turkey with cheddar and extra gravy. The world was the front step and they stood side by side. From a very high branch, a squirrel cursed them. Belvedere was scandalized. Mittens prayed for a bowl of treats. The squirrel threw an acorn at them. Suddenly the sounds of heavy footfalls. They waited. The delightful rustle of the food bag, the ecstatic snap of a cat food tin. The old one who feeds was awake. Huzzah! Huzzah! In a flurry of furry paws Mittens pulled open the screen door with her claws and the pair hustled inside. The old one exits back upstairs. Mittens hurriedly began to eat. Belvedere sniffed. “That’s it. I’m leaving!” Belvedere shouted by pretending to cover the dish with kitty litter. Chest plumped with indignation, he turned. Sighing Mittens followed. They headed out the door determined never to look back.

I slung the backpack over my shoulder and placed the suitcase next to my leg. I pick Zaine up and push her face into the crook of my neck, positioned my hands under her bum and turned to face the door.

“Don’t look for us or I swear to god you’ll regret it” I say with a commanding tone.

“Wait! Let’s talk about it. You can’t just take her from me!” Reb- Zaine’s mother cried hysterically.

“You know just as well as I do that it’s too late for that. And we both know Zaine deserves better than this.” I sighed.

The silence behind me was more than enough to know that she knew I was right.

“Say goodbye Zaine” I whisper softly a complete contrast to the tone I used with her mother

“Bye bye mummy” She mumbled lifting her head slightly to look at her mother before pushing head back into my neck.

I repositioned Zaine as I move to open the door and then grab our bags. The warm wind brushed past my face as if encouraging and coaxing me out of the house and further into its warm embrace. It was such a lovely day compared to tense and dreary atmosphere of the house.

We headed out the door, Zaine’s head still snuggled into the crook of my neck as I felt the rhythmic rise and fall of her body against mine and her curly hair tickling my cheek, determined to never look back. To start anew and give Zaine the stability I knew she needed…we both needed. I knew it would be hard but I would try, if not for myself then, as the father of my daughter.

"Like stubborn horseradish from the earth came the gossip from his mouth." -Delores, "Turn or Burn, Volume 1 of the Turnip the Volume Series"

It had been five days of inspiration-less silence in that borrowed beach house. Somewhere between the living and dining rooms a cacophonous wheezing could be heard, followed shortly by noisy gulps of water. It was 48 hours till Perrin Pits's call. It was 48 hours till Delores abandoned vegetarianism. Again.

"I'm sorry," said MJ.

"No, I'm sorry," said Delores. "This is just a horrible position I've put you in."

"Well, I'm super, super sorry," said MJ. "Real life sounds like a real pain."

"Yeah. And I'm sorry you have to hear about it."

"And I'm sorry you have to live it. Really. I'm sorry." MJ paused, mouth still open. "I'm..." he said, "I'm the sorriest."

Delores slumped in her chair.

MJ considered letting the moment pass. His social awareness itched. It itched some more. He slammed his lips closed, determined to tame his chronic worry. He thought about the joys of world building. He thought about the relaxing nature of creating a table of contents. His mind wandered over to character creation. Tall people, short people, people with twigs for hair... their hobbies, their habits, their pets... Pets. Pets? Oh! Pets! MJ shivered. He'd forgotten to feed his tenants upstairs.

"I... I'm so sorry I made that whole sorry thing a competition just now!" he stammered. "That's not how I meant it, really!" His words popped out like a jack-in-the-box.

Delores recoiled, eyes wide. Clasping her chest and slouching once more she said, "Ah, it's ok, Making Jargon, I'm s-."

Bump.

b-b-BANG!

"Did you hear that?" Delores leapt to her feet and scrutinized the ceiling. "It sounds like it came from up there."

MJ did hear it. "Uhhhh. No. Nope. I didn't hear it," he said. "What uh, what exactly did you hear?"

   CRASH!

"That! I heard that! Except there was more banging before!" Delores snatched a fork off a used plate and wielded it like a sword.

"A fork?" asked MJ.

Delores nodded. "Good thinking, Making Jargon!" She collected three more forks from three more used plates. MJ shook his head.

Delores tiptoed across the room. She resembled a second-rate fairytale monster, rounded back, fists high and full of forks. The space where eyes would've been on MJ, bugged. The tips of his mustache twitched. Dandruff, like sweat, flaked from his chin.

THUD!

Delores took a step back, left heel twisting in the unseen, greasy white mountain. The author and her accessories disagreed on which way to land, her body going one way and her spectacles going the other.

"Oh gosh, are you okay?" asked MJ, floating down beside her. "I'm sorry. I've got the nervous sweats." He reached out to his supervisor with one side of his mustache.

"No, no, I'm sorry," said Delores. She rolled onto her knees as she spoke. Accepting MJ's outstretched hair, she pulled herself up and examined the undersides of her feet. "I'm pretty sure it's my fault. I've got slippery foot syndrome, remember?"

"Yeah, but I-"

OOOOOOO!!

Delores put a hand over MJ's mouth. "You heard THAT, right? I mean...is there something...is there someONE here with us?"

MJ went rigid.

"Making Jargon?" asked Delores, waving a hand in front of his face. "You ok?" She plucked the beard from where he floated and tucked him in the crook of her arm. "I get scared too sometimes," she whispered. "These forks will hopefully scare the scariness away."

MJ doubted it.

Delores crept up the stairs.

Though she did not turn the handle, the door inched open upon her arrival. A monkey, the size of a dresser stood on the other side.

Delores gasped. She set her imaginary friend down and rubbed her eyes.

Spotting MJ, the monkey stepped aside and allowed the pair entry.

Delores's hand hovered between her mouth and her chest as she walked into the room.

A monkey a little smaller than a soccer ball darted across her feet. Delores gasped again.

She pointed to each monkey as she counted, "One...two... and where's...?" Movement across a dusty white sheet caught her eye. "Three!" Delores reached out to the final monkey, who stood no taller than a thimble. The monkey leapt into her hands, curled up and promptly fell asleep.

Shock filled Delores's eyes. "What are they doing here, Making Jargon?" she whispered. "I thought I'd never see them again."

MJ coughed. He knew this moment would come someday and yet he'd neglected to prepare an answer. "I - I know it's wrong to house someone else's imaginary friends but...I couldn't just let them die...like their...creator did..."

"I thought I'd never see them again."

MJ winced. He hated that she'd found out this way. Two years of successfully keeping the capuchin triplets a secret went completely down the drain.

"I, I wanted to tell you..." MJ's words were as dusty as the air he now breathed. "I just didn't know how. I'm so-"

"Save it."

Delores placed the tiny monkey in the arms of his middle-sized brother and pat them both on the head.

She swallowed hard. "Did you bring them here just to mess with me, Making Jargon?" she said, eyes welling with tears.

MJ opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't tell me," said Delores. "You're good at keeping secrets anyway."

With one hand on the back of her neck, she headed out the door, determined to never look back.

(From the Tilda universe)

Ally and Joe grew up in the same group home together. Unfortunately, they never were adopted after their parents died. All they had were each other: Brother and sister in arms, inseparable and devoted to each other. When the twins graduated from high school, they were finally able to get out on their own. Ally became a waitress and Joe went into construction. They shared a two bedroom apartment. They were able to save for a house in the next couple of years. The apartment had outlived its usefulness. They headed out the door, determined to never look back.

The air was suffocating; a mixture of heat, smoke, and scattered specks of the past. Fire crackled through the rotting floors and began to creep behind them. She walked steadily towards the entrance, not seeming to mind the firestorm. She stepped on the threshold, pausing for a moment and turning her head to search for him.

He had stopped a few paces from where she stood, hesitant. He stared at her with eyes wide, and perhaps a little afraid. His back felt like it was melting with the heat.

She extended her hand, slowly, as if wary of him startling. Her hand was steady. One shaky step, and then another. One foot in front of the other until his arm was separated from her outstretched fingers by only a whisper. Her hand moved down and folded around his own, and drew him onto the threshold where she stood. Her eyes were brown and flickering orange with the flames. They were fixed on him, asking a question.

A question he could finally answer.

He dipped his head in a trembling nod. The corner of her lips drew upwards in a small smile.

They headed out the door, determined to never look back.

[S.C, Bloodlines. CH 6]

Amelya turned in her sleep. Waking when her arms felt a body within them. Cleo was wrapped in her covers and if she’d not known was sleeping peacefully.

“I thought you didn’t sleep?” Amelya yawned, pulling Cleo tightly into her body’s warmth. “I like to pretend sometimes…. Makes me feel human again…” Cleo said honestly without turning. “We’ll your human enough for me” She kissed Cleo on the cheek and just enjoyed the moments.

Hours later they found themselves still wrapped in each other’s embrace. Cleo was nearly at the edge of the bed due to Amelya’s constant movements while sleeping.

“Wake up sleeping beauty “ Cleo coed, nipping at her ear. “It’s nearly noon, sleepy head” “Just five more minutes mommy” Amelya yawned without opening her eyes. “No, your done. Your done.” Cleo laughed, pushing her pair toward the center of the bed.

It was a queen bed for sure. Sadly most of it was covered with clothing and extra pillows.

“Can’t we just lay here for the rest of eternity?” Amelya asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “We could. But I think three days in bed is more then enough” Cleo whispered.

A shuffle in the hallway caught their attention but it couldn’t break their mood. This was heaven, and they wouldn’t let anything ruin it.

“Good afternoon “ Amelya’s mom opened the door, quickly shielding her eyes when she seen how close the girls where. “Uhmmm. Amelya “ Her mom wasn’t sure in the least bit what to say. “Mom we are both dressed.” Was all Amelya could think to say. “It’s nothing like that” Cleo gave her a quick shove. “Well sorry. I just ….. it looked. Well you two have a good day” She shut the door and rushed toward the kitchen. “That went well. What happened to compulsion?” Amelya questioned as Cleo hopped up out of the bed.

Grabbing the pair of sweatpants she’d worn in, and pulling them up over her boy shorts.

“Didn’t think it was needed” Cleo was clearly annoyed, and wanted out. “Guess I was wrong” “Wait. Are you mad at me?” Amelya grabbed for Cleo’s arm but fell short, falling to the floor in a lump of teenage girl and covers.

Getting a soft chuckle from Cleo.

“You alright?” Cleo pulled the covers away from her face, that was smushed to the carpet. “Only if your not mad at me” “Why is this such a secret?” Cleo took a deep breath, seemingly trying to keep her cool. “What’s this?” Amelya asked, pulling herself into sitting position. Rubbing her knee and cheek. “Us, stop playing dumb” Cleo raised her voice a bit. “What are we?” Amelya questioned, slowly creeping across the carpet. “I don’t know…. I just know whatever it is your hiding it” Cleo whispered, taking another few breaths. “When I join you…. I won’t have anyone anymore….” Amelya climbed up the chair Cleo sat in, stopping when she was face to face with her. “I don’t want her last memory of her daughter to be questioning everything about her” “….. I didn’t think about that….” “It’s fine. I’m not mad” Amelya kissed her pair on the lips for a second, before Cleo pulled her in deeper.

A chuckle and Amelya pulled back as their tongues started to intertwine. She then used her index finger to boop Cleo on her nose.

“Someone’s a little thirsty “ Amelya stuck her tongue out at Cleo before hoping off her lap and crossing the room to the closet. “What to wear?”

Her closet was a small walk-in space with a light, a few shelves, and many discarded hangers. Tossing her top out into the room she giggled to herself.

“Is that bad?” Cleo questioned still trying to recover from the lightheadedness of their small make out session. “Not sure I understand how that works” Amelya tossed out her bra and shorts. “I could easily show you” Cleo laughed a bit. Sitting back in the chair, gripping the armrest trying not to think about Amelya in the closet.

Which only caused her to laugh harder. “See I knew you were in the closet?” Cleo laughed.

“Funny” Amelya stuck her head around the corner as she pulled a hoodie over the light blue cami. “That I am” She tossed a pillow that had fallen off the bed in Amelya’s direction.

It hit the wall just short of the closet. Causing Amelya to hop out, trying to pull her leggings up over her rounded posterior.

“Yummy” Cleo whispered before Amelya could get a word out. “Your done” She giggled, tossing it back. “You think you should spend some time with her today?” Cleo asked, looking back at the doorway. “Not sure how good an idea that is. Especially when her whole worlds gonna crumble later…..” Amelya’s face dropped a bit, thinking about the fire coming later. “What if we both just spent the day with her? And then we wiped her memory….” “As a couple or friends?” Cleo questioned. “Is that what we are now?” Amelya slumped down into Cleo’s lap. “If that’s what you want?” “Do you want it also?” “Ughhh, why you gotta keep going with questions?” “Says you” Cleo bopped her on the nose back. “I wanna get to know you” “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything and everything “ Cleo snuggled into Amelya’s neck warmth. “Better not bite me” Amelya giggled. “Your so funny” Cleo tossed Amelya onto her bed in one quick swish. “So you ready to spend time with my mother in law?” “Ohhh so we getting married next?” Amelya laughed, sitting up on the bed. “Not likely, I already know you don’t put out” Cleo laughed and ran for the door in normal speed. Which Amelya wasn’t even sure was possible.

“Mom! What are your plans for today?” Amelya shouted, chasing after a fleeing Cleo.

Who had stopped dead in her tracks just before the living room. Amelya nearly barreled over her but stopped just behind her.

“Amelya and her friend. Meet Warren. He works with me and we are planning to go out to eat tonight “ Her mom said way more bubbly then ever before.

The man was tall, fair weight, not body builder but definitely not a skinny guy. His hair was black like coal but skin lighter then almond milk. Definitely a bit older then her mother, maybe more then a bit.

“Nice to meet you Warren” Amelya went to step around Cleo but was stopped by her outstretched arm. “No” Cleo hissed under her breath, just loud enough that Amelya could hear. Yet the man also smiled ear to ear. “Is everything alright?” Amelya’s mom asked, wondering why the girl stopped her daughter. “Yeah mom it’s fine.” Amelya lied looking into Cleo’s terrified eyes. “What’s wrong?” Amelya had her arms around Cleo’s neck; holding her face on either side, begging for an explanation. “It’s to late, Amelya “ Cleo quickly grabbed Amelya, locking her body to her.

Phasing for the large bay windows. Warren was quicker and tripped the girl as she wizzed past. Sending them both tumbling across the carpet. Amelya’s mom just screamed. Warren made eye contact and she was on the ground, out cold.

“Why did they send you?” Cleo had come to rest in the corner to the left of the windows, while Amelya laid in a heap directly in front of them. A bit of blood on the window where her he’d hit the glass. She was out cold too.

“Her blood smells good. Wonder if her mothers the same” “I’ll kill you if you even glance at her again” Cleo was looking from him, to the mother, and back to Amelya. “I’ve got at least two centuries on you girl. Don’t make me laugh” He sat back down. “I hope she’s worth dying over.” He lit a cigarette out of his pocket and proceeded to blow smoke in her direction. “Who hired you?” “If I told you, you wouldn’t be able to leave this room alive. So please choose your questions wisely. After this cigarette I’m going to finish my job and go” “Are you after her?” Cleo asked, watching blood starting to flow into the carpet. “If I was you couldn’t stop me.” He laughed taking another drag. “I’m going to save her…. Kill me if you have to” In a second she was at Amelya’s side.

Lifting her head to survey the damage, her back turned to the most wanted hit man in the vampire world. Before now she’d only ever seen posters of him. But Amelya’s head was cut, not super deep but she’d need a doctor.

“I’m gonna take her” Cleo turned to see a still burning cigarette sitting on the arm of the couch, both the hit man and Amelya’s mother gone.

There wasn’t time, Amelya needed attention. She lifted her up. Resting her head in the crook of her neck and took off. Determined never to look back.

Bree and Mack Gibbs sat silently in the living room of their tiny cottage, located in the only village in town, and watched as the fireworks went off on the television screen. It was the first New Year’s celebration without their mother, and her presence was sorely missed.

‘It’s not the same, is it?’ Bree said aloud, though not to anyone in particular.

Mack sat straight-backed on the couch and nodded slowly, to show his sister he agreed, or at least had heard.

Over in the next room, which was once a kitchen but had slowly morphed into a den of despair following Mrs Gibbs’ death, Mr Gibbs sat in near darkness as he flipped through photo album after photo album. He had looked over photos of him and his wife so many times he longer needed light to see them.

‘I can’t stand this, Mack,’ Bree whispered to her younger brother, ‘not for another year.’ She shuffled up from the floor so that she was sitting next to him and out of earshot of their father. ‘We have to do something. We have to leave.’

Mack continued to stare at the crimson red and speckled gold fireworks bursting in an airspace he had never breathed in, a world so far away it was as unattainable as his mother. This time he didn’t nod his head.

‘C’mon, Mack,’ Bree said, pulling at her brother’s arm so hard that he had to turn and slap her away.

Bree pulled and pushed and shoved, trying every trick in her book of older sister trickery, but nothing elicited anything but a stern grimace on the face of her younger brother, who, day by day, was becoming more and more like their father.

Staring into the chestnut eyes of her little brother, she could no longer recognise the same little boy who would go trick or treating with her each year or would help her play elaborate pranks on their parents. He was gone. Her little brother was gone. Her whole family was gone.
Now it was time for Bree to leave. She realised she couldn’t survive in this tiny cottage, located in the only village in town, away from the love and laughter that, until now, she hadn’t realised was the source of her mother.

Bree Gibbs jumped up from the couch and grabbed her woollen coat from the coat rack. She headed out the door, determined to never look back.

It was a dark and stormy night, but two little girls named Stella and Bella were on a walk with there mom’s. But they went the wrong way They couldn’t find their moms so they turned around and saw them on the other side of the street.But the street lights are not changing colours to red. So they went their separate ways but Stella and Bella ended up getting into the basement and saw a skeleton. They headed to the door,determined to never look back.

"Leave a handprint," The first man directed. "Why on earth would we do that?" "You know - a calling card type thing." The woman, tall and slick in her protective suit, brought her gloved hand to the wall above the body. Once she withdrew her hand, a dark red print was left. It dripped with the blood of the man lying below. "Awesome," Someone muttered in a voice that suggested this was all a sick video game. But it was real life, and that was exactly why they needed to get out. Now. They stripped off their dirty gear and chucked it into a nearby trash bin. And then, slipping down their sunglasses like a badass movie, they headed out the door, determined to never look back.