Beautiful Creatures Series
The rain dripping off the brim of Amma’s best black hat. Lena’s bare knees hitting the thick mud in front of the grave. The pinpricks on the back of my neck that came from standing too close to so many of Macon’s kind. Incubuses — Demons who fed off the memories and dreams of Mortals, like me, as we slept. The sound they made, unlike anything else in the universe, when they ripped open the last bit of dark sky and disappeared just before dawn. As if they were a pack of black crows, taking off from a power line in perfect unison.
That was Macon’s funeral.
I could remember the details as if it had happened yesterday, even though it was hard to believe some of it had happened at all. Funerals were tricky like that. And life, I guess. The important parts you blocked out altogether, but the random, slanted moments haunted you, replaying over and over in your mind.
What I could remember: Amma waking me up in the dark to get to His Garden of Perpetual Peace before dawn. Lena frozen and shattered, wanting to freeze and shatter everything around her. Darkness in the sky and in half the people standing around the grave, the ones who weren’t people at all.
But behind all that, there was something I couldn’t remember. It was there, lingering in the back of my mind. I had been trying to think of it since Lena’s birthday, her Sixteenth Moon, the night Macon died.
The only thing I knew was that it was something I needed to remember.
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