Thump.
Thump.
A mewling noise nearly knocks me out of my skin. I whip around, my boots slipping on the sawdust-covered concrete. A yellow tomcat slinks around the corner and then sits on his hindquarters, staring at me with suspicion. His ribs stick out beneath his mangy fur, and it’s obvious he hasn’t had a meal in a while either.
Bastards. The Millers probably have him just to keep the rats away. If he doesn’t hunt, he doesn’t eat.
“Do they not feed you, buddy?” I whisper, trying to ignore the tug on my heart.
Remember, you’re a badass thief. Now act like one.
The cat pauses, his lime-green eyes wide. Then he cocks his head and meows and oh my God he’s so friggin cute I want to take him home right now.
My heart puddles into a pile of goo. Animals for me are like Louboutins for most girls.
Dogs are better, of course. No debate there.
As if the cat can hear my thoughts, he suddenly hisses.
I didn’t mean it! I mentally think. You’re better than a dumb dog, probably smarter too.
The cat stops growling and licks its white paw, watching me intently. There’s judgement in his eyes.
“Technically this isn’t stealing,” I whisper to the cat.
Honest to God, the cat rolls its eyes.
What am I doing? I should be elbows-deep in fruit loops and spaghettiOs right now, not chatting it up with a friggin cat.
Summer, you are officially the worst thief ever.
“Okay,” I admit. “I’m about to steal from your dickwad master. But I have four hungry kids to feed. Man, kids eat a lot. And you look like you would sympathize with that . . . anyway. This food was supposed to go to them in the first place, so I’m just reclaiming it.”
The animal goes completely still, as if he understands me. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking they actually can.
“You might be wondering how I ended up responsible for four children,” I continue like the lunatic I am. Man, I should probably get out more.
The cat’s ears point in my direction, and it makes a tiny chirping noise I pretend is a response.
“Long story short, I was homeless on the streets of Dallas. You would not like it there. . . anyway, two wonderful women rescued me, and I’ve been doing the same ever since. Rescuing kids orphaned by the Fae. Only once they’re here, I have to find a way to feed them. That’s where this food comes in.”
The animal and I lock eyes and I swear something passes between us. An understanding.
Then the tomcat pads over to me and rubs against my leg. After stroking his back for a sec, I get to work.
Everything on my mental list gets hefted or lugged to a pile near the back door.
When I’m done, I’m breathing hard and sweat drenches the top of my tank top. I tick off the list to make sure I have the important things, because after this break-in—or break out, if we’re being technical—this place will turn into Fort Knox.
Powdered milk. Check.
Ramen noodles. Check.
Three crates of eggs. Check.
Giant bag of pinto beans (yuck). Check.
Cheetos (for Jane). Check.
Tampons (for me). Check.
Charms lollipops with gum in the center. (Because they make life better.) Check.
A few items, like toilet paper and razors, are impulse grabs.
My loot ends up being twenty items total. The pallets are sent by the government outside the tainted borderlands, so everything is family size.
I glance over my wimpy arm muscles. This could take a while.
A quick check outside the window above the door shows the coast is clear. The light is fading, the world outside a silvery-gray.
I laugh at the new deadbolt as I unlock the door and prop it open with a rock. Deadbolt, Cal? Really? That’s all you got?
I would give almost anything to see Cal’s face when he realizes I was inside this whole time.
It takes five trips to haul everything to my wheelbarrow, and when I’m done, I’m sucking humid Texas air like it’s the sugar inside pixie straws.
Right before I leave, a mental image of the cat, his ribs sticking out, flashes across my mind.
No. I will not go back for the cat. I will not . . .
I go back for the damned cat. The poor guy practically throws himself into my arms, yowling so loud my aunts can probably hear it back at the farmhouse. His legs clasp around my neck, his claws digging into my flesh.
“Shh,” I whisper-scold. “Chatty Cat, if you’re coming with me, you have to be quiet.”
Thank God he stops making his crazy noises, and I grab a twenty-pack of canned tuna before we head outside.
Chatty Cat is practically glommed onto my face. With a little effort, and a lot of cursing, I peel him off. The cat and the tuna go in the wheelbarrow. He settles on top of the packages of ramen, curls up, and immediately begins to purr.
I pick my compound bow up and toss it onto the pile. Pretty sure Cal’s arsenal of guns trumps my one bow, but the weapon’s not for humans.
This close to the Shimmer—the magical veil that separates our world from the Fae’s—everyone needs to be armed. The things that seep from the other side are inhuman, and it’s not just the Fae.
When their magical war made everything go kablooey, the same magic transformed the nearest people into monsters we call darklings.
The Shimmer isn’t just for keeping us out of their lands; it’s for keeping the darklings out.
But sometimes they find their way into the borderlands anyway. And lately, the killings have increased. My heart spikes as I recall how, for the last week, tracks from something inhuman have appeared outside my house. The paw prints definitely canine but too large to be normal wolves.
Pushing the thought from my mind, I snatch a lollipop from the wheelbarrow and pocket five more, savoring the sour-apple flavor that explodes on my tongue. After nearly a day of nothing to eat, my body jerks as the sugar enters my bloodstream.
An owl hoots from the roof, reminding me I need to hurry. The creature perches right above us, his amber eyes seeming to glow, his orchid-white feathers bright against the dark sky. For reasons I can’t really explain, the owl shows up nearly everywhere.
And his presence has gotten even more persistent in the last week too.
“Wouldn’t be a party without you,” I mutter before refocusing on the task.
I glance over my bow, the string close to snapping. A gun would be better, but ammo’s expensive. Especially iron-coated bullets, which are the only type that can put a Fae or darkling down.
In the Tainted Zone, iron is worth more than gold.
Chatty Cat suddenly begins to growl. At the same time, the white owl takes to the sky, his shadow flickering over the lawn and drawing my attention to movement behind me.
My heart slams into my throat as I whip around to see a light coming from my right, the bright orb bouncing over the lawn.
Flashlight.
Which means someone is attached to that flashlight.
2
Hell fire. I grab the splintery ends of the wheelbarrow handles and shove it across the lumpy grass, my boots digging into the soil for traction.
Heavy. It’s too heavy!
I aim for the woods twenty yards away. Every bump nearly topples the wheelbarrow as it careens all over the damn place.
A male voice yells behind me. “Stop!”
Yeah right. Does any criminal actually stop when they’re told?