Home is Not a Place

Chapter One

Vincent smelled smoke before he saw her. At a considerable distance, the stench was already strong. The night breeze brought remnants of sulfur and g*n powder from her hair and extra bits of charcoal. From the scent of things, it was easy to determine an accident from incineration. But from the looks of things, it wasn't so simple. The girl was an accident. Vincent had a knack for reading people for what they are. And it was common sense to know that she had nothing to do with it.

The girl had emerged from who knows where and her body was a sight to behold. All sorts of marks adorned the exposed skin of her arms and legs in wounds that were both new and old. The fresh cuts looked minor and unalarming compared to the old scars that ran its twisted course down her body in a serpent's grip. There was hardly any color left to see from her face besides the blackened smear of forest grime, soot, and blood. In the hazy half-moon glow, she looked like a creature who clawed out from the depths of the earth.

"I ran away," she rasps, a drought in her throat. Famine plagued her lips, and there was a pause before a shaky breath. "So please."

At that moment, Vincent understood. Tonight, the markings spoke of a full moon, but in its stead was a bright coy smile that grinned mockingly in the heavens. It's been ten years since the last anomaly.

Another one, he sighed. Aware that another cycle was about to begin. Just like the others.

"I understand," he replied, offering a smile that looked odd against the ice-cold sharpness of his features. "Come with me."