Page 11 of The Blood we Crave

I know what it feels like to kill someone now, and it scares me how easily I was able to do it. How easy it would be for me to do it again.

I was reborn into a new person when my mother was murdered. Scarlett died just as she did that night, and Lyra took her place. I became the bug queen, the odd one, the girl with a fascination with taxidermy, entomology, and the process of curating the dead.

I became a ghost.

Just likeheasked me to.

My throat bobs as a familiar metallic taste swarms my tongue, but I quickly swallow it down, focusing on the task at hand.

Carefully, I begin to remove the small pins that hold the wax paper against the wings of the moth. I’d been kinda bummed out that I couldn’t raise this one; it’s always much more satisfying when I’m a part of the entire process. I enjoy watching them grow as much as this, spectating their mannerisms, how they adapt, and eventually how they die.

It makes the pinning more interesting and more intimate. If I watch them grow up, live, exist, it’s only right for me to take care of them after their inevitable deaths.

Once all the pins are out and I remove the paper, I use the tweezers to very gently lift the insect up and onto the center pole, placing the moth’s thorax onto the front of the skull coated with warm, sticky superglue.

“Don’t mess up.” Conner snickers beside me, making me grin a bit while I hold it steady for a couple of seconds, just to make sure it’s set.

When I’m sure it’s set in place, I move back to look at the completed project.

“Do you think it’s too much?” I ask, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, questioning myself. “I probably should have just stuck to one kind of moth so the color scheme is similar, right? Maybe I can just redo—”

“Lyra,” Conner warns. “Stop doubting yourself. This is fantastic. I’m tempted to buy it from you to decorate the mantle above my fireplace.”

I look over at him, eyes bright with appreciation. I wish I were like Briar or Sage, girls who are confident in themselves with no reassurance or a friendly word here and there. However, I’d grown up in silence. Alone. A mist of a person who was rarely spoken to, let alone been complimented.

It’s only human of me to want validation.

“Too bad it’ll be decorating my apartment.”

My gaze snaps to the doorway, seeing the one face I’d been waiting to see since she left at the end of the semester.

“Briar!” I say a little breathlessly, hopping out of my chair and speed walking in her direction. I don’t think twice when I toss my arms around her shoulders and pull her into a hug.

“You know Sage and the boys hate Mr. Godfrey, right?” she whispers into the crook of my neck as she returns the hug.

I cringe, knowing that already.

“We can discuss that another time,” I mutter. “I thought you weren’t coming back until next week!” I playfully shove her back, feigning anger at her surprise return.

“I was tired of hearing her bitch about missing you, so I brought her back early.”

Briar throws her middle finger up over her shoulder, directing it towards the large shadowy figure that is leaning against the doorframe. Alistair Caldwell’s presence is hard to detect, like a dark fog that you can’t see but can feel. Once you know he’s there, it’s impossible to ignore him.

I reach my arm over Briar’s shoulder, pushing my fist towards him. He lifts his knuckles and bumps them with mine, tossing his head up in greeting.

“How was Texas?” I ask him.

He scoffs. “Hot as fuck. This place still a shithole, bug queen?”

A nickname that had been used as an insult for the longest time had been turned into one of my favorite terms of endearment. I know he doesn’t mean it in a way to put me down; it’s his way of calling me a friend. Sorta, I guess. At the very least, he no longer wants my head on a stake.

The Hollow Boys don’t have friends other than each other. They are a four-piece puzzle. Where one is, the others surely follow. I’ve never seen a bond so thick. So solid.

For a long time, I was jealous. Now, I’ve just come to admire it.

“Depends on the day,” I answer with a little shrug.

I hadn’t ever admitted it out loud to Briar, to anyone. But I like Ponderosa Springs, parts of it anyway. It was where my mother grew up. I love the thunderstorms it produces, and my home is here.