Page 10 of The Huntress and the Blood Moon (The Huntress #1)

H alloween has always been Carmen’s favorite holiday.

As a kid that grew up in the system, she never really had the chance to experience the magic of a family-centric holiday like Christmas or Thanksgiving.

Sure, there was always some sort of celebration at whatever facility or group-home she happened to be in each year: turkey sandwiches over a “fancy” vinyl tablecloth; a present or two waiting on her desk when she woke up Christmas morning, courtesy of an angel tree somewhere in the closest city.

But Carmen always knew it wasn’t the same as the way those holidays were always portrayed in movies.

Even the Fourth of July was an annual dud.

Kids usually had to be closed up in their rooms for bed by eight each night, which made it almost impossible to ever catch a glimpse of a nearby fireworks show.

For two years in a row Carmen had a room with a window that gave her the perfect view of fireworks that lasted for hours.

She watched them intently through the double-paned glass, yearning to be out in the world somewhere with people who’d want to watch them with her.

But Halloween was different. It didn’t have the same constraints of being rooted in love or gratitude—two things Carmen wouldn’t experience until Warren and Lacie took her in.

Kids like her could enjoy it regardless of circumstance, especially since the basis of it all was pretending to be something you weren’t.

Even without costumes, Carmen and the other children would spend days before Halloween rooting through each other’s closets, piecing together whatever they could come up with to wear the day of.

Most years they even got to trick-or-treat, using their pillowcases to go door-to-door down the facility corridors as they’d take turns handing out candy to each other.

When Carmen eventually made it out of the system with Lacie, they spent their first Halloween together trick-or-treating for real in some rural suburb in Missouri, dressed as a ghost and a devil, respectively.

Warren followed behind them all night like a dedicated bodyguard.

The girls tried to make him look like a wolf to be funny, but the floppy dog ears they’d found at the thrift store made him look more like a puppy than the real thing.

In the last couple years of being alone, Carmen’s chosen a bottle over a bag of candy.

Instead of pretending to be a farmer or a ghoul she just pretends like it’s any other night, hoping like hell she can avoid memories from sneaking through the haze.

She can’t do that tonight though . . . Tonight, she needs to face it.

She needs to use the power of her emotion to her own advantage.

Pulling out her black skintight one-piece suit, a uniform of sorts that Warren had specially made for both Carmen and Lacie when they turned eighteen, Carmen spends the next fifteen minutes shimmying herself into it.

There are over a dozen secret pockets built within the thick material meant to hide her various blades, and she spends a good amount of time sharpening each one again before sheathing them into place.

As she works, she decides it’s as good a time as any to open the mental trap door that serves as a barrier to her emotions, finally letting herself think about everything she’s endured.

She thinks of her mother's hands—the only piece of her Carmen can still vividly remember.

She thinks of growing up alone, having to fight to stay sane in all those group homes or foster houses, to maintain a sense of self-worth through every transition.

When she thinks of Lacie, of her golden hair and eyes as bright as the sky, Carmen begins to weep as the power of the love she still carries in her heart burns so violently it overwhelms her.

For the first time since she lost her, Carmen allows the memories to consume her, allows the image of Lacie to light up inside her soul so she can share one more moment with her while her heart still beats, one more experience with the love that changed her life.

She thinks of everything she’s about to do in the name of that love, in the name of vengeance against the monsters who thought they could trade Lacie’s life for their own gain.

Who thought they could take what wasn’t theirs because they were bigger and stronger.

Carmen can’t wait to make them bleed before watching them all burn.

She’ll take all their lives—will gladly trade her own for it.

Before sunset, Carmen walks into The Rusty Saloon one last time and takes a seat at the bar, giving Teddy a wry smile when he spots her.

Tonight he’s got neon green hair and a black and white striped two-piece suit, his face mostly painted white besides the black circles drawn around his eyes.

He looks Carmen up and down, grinning as he tosses a bar rag over his shoulder.

“Damn, girl,” he says after a long whistle.

“Let me guess . . . Catwoman?” His eyes dart to the top of her head, no doubt noting the lack of ears. “Wait, no . . . assassin?”

Carmen nods. “Something like that. What about you? Beetlejuice?”

He holds both arms out wide, as if presenting himself. “In the flesh. You want a shot?”

“Can you mix it with a Coke this time?” Carmen asks.

“I’m trying to ease up a bit.” A half-truth, really, considering the rest of the bottle she just polished off in her motel room.

She knows she needs to keep her wits about her tonight, but she’d also do well with a little liquid courage.

Striking the balance between both is key.

“Sure thing,” Teddy says, reaching for a glass. “You got any fun plans tonight? Or can I expect you to stick around.”

Carmen smiles. “Not staying long, I’m afraid. I’ve got plans.”

He places a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her before setting the drink on it. “Anything good?”

She shrugs. “Just a little party outside of town.”

“Ah.” He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head as he regards her. “Be safe, okay? Lots of freaks come out on Halloween. And it’s a full moon.”

“Don’t worry, Teddy,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “I can handle myself.”

Teddy snorts. “I have a feeling you can handle yourself just fine,” he assures. “But still, be careful, yeah?”

Carmen gives him a mock salute. “You got it.”

She wonders if he can see it: the vacancy in her eyes.

The void where life should be. Maybe it’s what draws him closer, what drives him to check on her in ways she hasn’t seen him do with any of the other customers.

It almost makes her ashamed to think of this perfectly normal (and probably good) man looking at her like he recognizes the darkness within, but like she still matters anyway.

Like she might be worthy of reaching a hand out for.

“Hey, Teddy?” she calls out just as he turns away. When his eyes meet hers again, she gives him her best try at a real smile. “Thanks. I’m glad our paths crossed.”

His eyes bunch together in confusion, but the corners of his mouth lift beneath his paint-covered mustache. “I don’t even know your name,” he muses. “But I’m glad to know you too, kid. And . . . I’m around, you know? If you ever need anything.”

The corners of Carmen’s eyes burn with emotion. She has to take a slow, steadying breath to keep her tears at bay. Teddy gives her a wink before moving to the other end of the bar, greeting a couple both dressed as doctors.

Carmen makes quick work of finishing her drink and leaves all her cash on the bar for Teddy—where she’s going, she won’t need it.

Outside, the sun is just about to set. She looks for the moon and finds it hanging over the motel’s roof.

She doesn’t have long before it reaches its peak, its power calling to the werewolves’ primal instincts to shift and hunt for their next victims. She heads for the Impala in the lot and climbs in, sniffing for any sign of the gallons of propylene carbonate she has stored in the trunk.

She’d filled two five-gallon portable camping tanks with the flammable liquid earlier this afternoon, knowing they’d be harder to detect than something more acrid like gasoline.

After doing a quick sweep of all her blades, making sure they’re all where they should be, she starts the ignition and takes a deep breath.