The Ravishing

An icy breeze swept past us. An omen.

And then it happened.

The glacier froze over.

Mom’s eyes went wide and stilled, staring at nothing and at everything all at the same time. As if seeing the world anew. I lowered her to the ground, feeling unworthy of holding her in this state of stillness.

“Mom?” Sophia begged.

I raised my hand to quiet her.

A gunshot rang out.

Ignoring my sister’s scream, I pressed a finger to Mom’s carotid to check for a pulse but felt nothing.

“Mom’s dead,” I told her, forcing her up onto her feet. “We have to go.” I stared at my sister. “Are you hurt?”

Tears streamed down Sofia’s cheeks. “No.”

“We need a phone,” I said.

Raw emotions swelled and roiled, and I forced myself to endure them.

Be strong for Sofia.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The bullets spewed in endless streams.

Springing to my feet, I grabbed the back collar of my sister’s shirt, trying to drag her with me but feeling her resistance.

Dazed, she moved her feet slowly at first, reluctantly following.

With Sofia’s hand in mine, following like a rag doll behind the power of my hold, we scurried across the lawn toward the chapel, back the way I’d come.

A shadow appeared in the doorway, cutting us off.

“This way.” I yanked Sofia’s arm left, frantically pulling her in the opposite direction. Everything in my gut told me this was the only way toward that shelter, exposed but known. Off across the sprawling lawn, voices carried in the darkness behind us.

Yelling.

Closing in fast.

Those first hedges of the maze stretched wide, threatening to swallow us whole as we disappeared within its sprawling walls. Enveloped by its darkness, both of us had long memorized the pathways, the turns, and the corners.

The leaves drowned out the noise of our footsteps.

Our pursuers followed us in, desecrating the maze with each step.

Looking for us.

Hunting for us.

Their voices carried over the height of the hedges. They were right on the other side of the greenery, so close they could reach through the shrubs and touch us if they knew we were there. They stormed through, searching every crevice, every angle, every conceivable space they expected to find us.

Leaning low, we continued on, weaving this way and that, avoiding contact, following familiar pathways, trusting what only we intimately knew—this place and all its secrets. As well as we knew each other.

We crouched inside our four-walled leafy hideout, cowering in the center, my hand cupped over her frightened mouth.

Shielded by familiar lush greenery, the foliage encased us like a womb. With my arm wrapped around her to comfort and protect her, I drew Sofia even closer against me to shield her with my body.

I should leave my sister here, safely camouflaged where she wouldn’t be found.

I should go out there and face off with those men. Fight them with my bare hands. At least try for what they’d done.

“Protect your sister.” Mom’s haunting last words sabotaged my plan.

My fury formed a shape.

Claws.

They ripped me apart, shredding my nerves.

Gnawing into my flesh. Their marks absorbed bone-deep, marrow-deep, leaving a new me in their wake. Invisible talons reshaped my essence, forging something malevolent, dark, and disruptive. A craving so real, I felt my cells mutating, sculpted into the purest vengeance.

Adrenaline surged through blistering veins, bringing clarity.

Bringing death.

I would kill him.

But before that, I would dismantle his life piece by piece.

And once that was done, I would find the one thing he loved most . . .

And destroy it.

14 Years Later . . .

Anya, 18

A flurry of nervousness rushed through me.

I knew I had to move, but my feet felt weighted to the ground, refusing to go down there and mix with all those people I didn’t know.

Peering out and down at the lawn from behind my bedroom window, I watched a group of teenagers trampling over our well-tended garden.

Some of them explored the bouncy castle. Some hungrily shoved cake into their mouths.

Others were watching a nightmarish clown whip up balloons in the shape of weird-looking animals.

I hate clowns.

I didn’t recognize a single face.

And I suspected neither did my brother.

They were all strangers. All invited over from happy homes to come and make it look like this was one, too.

A show for the neighbors.

Another demonstration of how fucked up our world really was.

All of this is to celebrate my birthday.

The big eighteen.

But the funny thing was, I didn’t know any of them. The only person I knew was my brother.

The brother who rarely spoke to me and preferred his privacy. His video games were far more entertaining than talking with me. I was just his boring big sister.

We usually passed each other in the hallways of this mansion—two children ushered here and there by our strict nannies and, as we got older, private tutors.

They had fired the last one for letting me use her iPad to scour the Internet. We were still interviewing for a new one for Archie. Sucks, because I liked Elizabeth. She was kind and patient, always sneaking in books for me to read and comics for Archie.