Chapter 1
Footfalls thudded above, jostling the wire-strung bulb hanging from the ceiling. Swaying back and forth, the corona cast a yellow glow over the cobwebbed shelves and stacks of cardboard boxes scattered across the basement. Shadows lengthened and fell.
In the corner, where the light did not reach, eyes like burning candles watched Sasha in the dark.
She bared her teeth at the hidden thing, watching its gaze drift to the butter knife clenched in her fist. Good. It saw she had a weapon, albeit a poor one.
Bouncing around foster homes had taught Sasha to throw punches when blending with the wallpaper failed. Winning wasn’t the point. Planting a bruise, drawing blood—that was the point. She made herself an undesirable target.
Muffled arguments thundered overhead. Shoes scraped across the floor, picking up the pace.
“They are looking for you,” said the hidden thing, its voice a low grind of cello strings.
Knees burning, she crouched further behind a stack of boxes, squinting at the shadows. “Show yourself.”
Burning eyes flickered. “What will they do when they find you?”
The stairway leading to the ground floor remained empty for now. She counted fourteen steps. Fourteen steps between the basement and her foster parents, a middle-aged couple who locked the fridge between meals and demanded that she pray out loud before bed. They enforced a litany of rules, many of them unspoken. She often didn’t realize that she had broken one until after they beat her for it.
Sometimes, her foster father wore a different face around Sasha. Not kindness or curiosity, but something else. He stroked her hair and murmured unintelligible praises, ignoring the way she stiffened at his touch. If her foster mother noticed, she didn’t care.
The night after Sasha saw his shadow linger under her bedroom door, she broke a rule on purpose: she scissored off chunks of her hair until only a wispy inch remained, discarding the excised strands across her bed.
“I’m not afraid,” whispered Sasha, a promise to herself.
“No?”
“No,” she said. Her grip tightened around the knife. “Show yourself. I’ll kill you, if you don’t.”
Oily chuffs of laughter rolled from its throat. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
The hidden thing stepped into the light, revealing a man. No, not a man. A man-shaped blur. A kaleidoscope of flesh warping at breakneck speed. Sasha blinked. Her head throbbed, grasping for traction. This was not a man, it was television static making and unmaking itself. A thing pretending to be a man.
The butter knife slipped from her shaking hands and clattered to the floor.
When she blinked again, the warping ceased. The now man-shaped thing studied her, haloed under the bulb’s dirty glow.
“How would you like to be strong?” he asked, bending a knee. He looked older, a father’s age. Crow’s feet and smile lines etched the contours of his face. Was that his real face? He looked like every man she had ever seen. He looked like no man she had ever seen.
Sasha shrunk back. “Strong?”
“Yes, strong,” he repeated. “Actually, let me put it this way.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “How would you like it if those insects could never hurt you again?”
The sounds of footsteps drew closer, angrier. Dust and sediment cascaded down the basement walls.
“What are you?” she rasped.
“A powerful friend.” He extended his palm, angled sideways. “Listen, I’ll cut you a deal. Help me with my work, and I’ll make you stronger than you ever thought possible. Stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, or ever will meet. How about it?”
Sasha’s gaze pinballed between the man-shaped thing and the stairs, calculating how fast she could sprint up the steps and escape through the threshold. Escape was the wrong word. She would be running into the arms of her foster parents, a prison of another name. She had run away from foster homes before, but surviving on the street presented its own set of risks. The cruel bite of winter. Thieves. Wandering eyes that sought someone vulnerable to hurt.
Dead-end after dead-end after dead-end.
What did she have to lose?
Trembling, Sasha clasped his outstretched hand. His skin radiated sharp heat, like a blade pulled fresh from a hearth. “Make me strong.”
The man-shaped thing split into a grin. “Welcome aboard, Sasha.”
As the basement door swung open, fire swallowed her whole. Oblivion unmade her.
And then it made her into something else.