I'M WORKING ON IT! I SWEAR! *runs and hiiiiiiiiiidessssss*
Have this teaser!
I startled from sleep at harsh words bounding through my room and the sudden intensity of the light being flipped on. I closed my eyes and opened them again, trying to adjust to the brightness. “You have got to stop doing this.”
“I’ve been summoned,” Peter said.
Immediately I was alert. I sat up and watched with wide eyes as Peter stormed through my room. He paused in front of my open closet before pulling out my suitcase. It took me a moment to remember I’d hidden my painting of the woods in there. When Peter wrenched open the top drawer of my dresser my attention refocused. “Summoned by whom?”
“You know who.” He sounded vaguely irritated that he had to take the time to explain, but one look at the cross set to his frown told me that he wasn’t so much annoyed with my questions as he was about the answers he’d have to give.
I was up and out of bed in a flash.
“You said I’d be safe here!” The panic rising in my gut made my voice high, scratchy. This couldn’t be happening. I wasn’t ready. Before I knew it, I was helping Peter throw clothes in my suitcase. I’d never get used to the intensity of my fight or flight instinct—after all, it was something I’d only recently developed. In some ways I missed the time when instead of worrying about myself, I’d throw myself in front of everyone else, even if it was the worse thing to do in the end.
“You are. They’re not coming for you,” Peter said. He sounded so sure. “They’re here for me.”
“I assume they want me to find you.” Peter snapped his teeth together and let out a long exhale through flared nostrils. I threw some socks on top of the pile of clothes in my suitcase and Peter zipped it shut. When he spoke again, it was with a softer tone, but not by much. “They can’t locate you through their normal means. That leaves me. There is no other reason.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I’m no fortune-teller. What we are going to do, however, is get you out of here. Once they’re gone, we’ll regroup.” Peter was already half-way to the living room before started following. I hadn’t felt my heart hammer like this in months, and along with that memory came the phantom smell of ashes.
“You knew this would happen.” I spat the words at him, desperate for the accusation to do something—anything—to mitigate this disaster, but in the end that’s all they were; words.
Peter was composed as ever. “Of course. Didn’t you?”