Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I sit up, confused. “Pell?”
Then I remember what happened and look down at my chest. There is an arrow sticking out of me.
Kind of.
It didn’t penetrate. Which is also confusing, because I remember the pain when it slammed into my heart. It was like everything around me went bright white and then there was a shock. Like… like someone just hit me with one of those defibrillator things they use in hospitals.
I bump the arrow with my hand and it falls into my lap unceremoniously. The whole thing is pretty anticlimactic.
I pick the arrow up and look at it. It has a long shaft made out of some kind of lightweight metal. Graphite comes to mind, even though I don’t really know what that is. The word feels right. Anyway, it’s not made of wood. I think that’s the important part.
And the arrow isn’t some crude piece of chipped rock. It’s fuckin’ serious. Like… steel. And it’s not just a flat point, either. It’s more like an elongated star with barbs all over it. Like, if this thing found its way inside you, you would be better off leaving it where it was because pulling it out would take a chunk out of your body.
So why didn’t it kill me?
And who shot it?
I stand up and look around for the hunter. Pretty sure I know who it is since an eros devil has been stalking Pell and me all day and doesn’t that fuckin’ cupid come with arrows?
I’m pretty sure he does.
But when I look around, there is no one here.
A sudden tingling in my palms momentarily distracts me. And when I look down at my hands I am simultaneously revolted and frightened because my skin is pulsating and undulating like something is on the inside, trying to get out.
I take steps, and steps, and steps backwards trying to get away from the things stuck inside me.
But of course, they’re inside me, so there is no getting away.
Suddenly, the skin breaks and slowly—like slow-motion fucking slowly—the tiny legs of insects appear from the brand-new openings on each of my palms.
The gasp escapes my mouth, even though I already understand what’s happening. Understanding isn’t the problem here. I get it. There are moths and fireflies inside of me and this is part of my magic.
But understanding and acceptance are two very different things.
They come out feet first, tentacle-like legs probing and feeling for the flat skin on the other side of the hole. Then, an instant later, a head, and a body, and then the wings are unfolding and before I know it, the first two moths are out and flying away.
Almost instantaneously, there are more. And more. Just nothing but more. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of moths begins unfurling themselves from the openings in my palms. They fly forward into the forest, making a trail through the trees.
I just stand there for a moment, palms up and arms outstretched to keep the creepy fuckers as far away from my body as I possibly can, watching them swirl like a sideways tornado, carving a path through the woods.
It goes on and on like that. Never-ending. Like there is an infinite number of magic moths living inside me. I don’t know what to do. I try closing my hands, but then they push against my palms, trying to squeeze out. And oh, my God, it is the grossest feeling, so I open my palms again, giving them the freedom to spill.
I just stand there watching them, feeling revolted and fascinated at the same time.
“House of Moths.” These words come out of my mouth unbidden and they bring the magic with them. Because for a moment I am standing in the truth-or-dare room and I’m looking down at a drawing on the floor. A circle divided up into pieces like a pie. And there are spaces for three people to sit.
House of Bucks—Pell.
House of Dragons—Tomas.
House of Moths—me.
But just as quick as it came, the vision—or hallucination, if we’re being totally honest here—disappears and I’m just a wood nymph chimera standing in the woods, looking out at a sideways tornado of moths spilling out of my hands and disappearing into the trees like they are boring a hole into the side of a mountain.
I take a step forward and suddenly, the stream of moths stops.
My lips make a little ‘o’ shape and I pause, unwilling to even breathe, as I wait to see what happens next.
Is it over?
But nope. They’re back. Just spilling out of my hands.
I take another step. There is a downed tree right in front of me, so I climb over it.
The moths stop.
“Huh.” I plant my hands on my hips, just staring at the tail end of the tornado as it winds its way through boughs and leaves. But then the moths start up again and quickly fill in the gap.