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"Now, who the hell are you two?" Steve turned on Martha and Abigail, his body angled between them and the kids like a human shield. Max sniffled and shook, wrapped securely in Lucas's arms. He rocked her gently back and forth, stroking her hair.
"You're okay. It's okay." He whispered. It sounded like a reassurance for him as much as it was for her. Martha wished that saying it would make it true. The moment she recovered her voice, the second boy piled on, squeezing her between them and shedding thick tears of relief. The wind stirred the dead leaves around them, and the birds and small animals resumed their business as if all was right in the world again. It most certainly was not.
"I could ask you the same thing." Martha rasped, her vision dipping in and out of focus. Gravestones and green-cut grass melded into one. A blend of vague shapes and muted colors. She knelt beside Abigail, who bore the brunt of Martha's weight on her shoulder. "How'd you know how to help her?" Martha's brows furrowed as she looked at each member of their motley crew. None of them seemed to fit together.
Lucas was a jock if Martha ever saw one. Given that her experience with high school cliques and stereotypes was limited to the television she and Abigail saved up to buy, it was a miracle she knew even that. His lettered red puffer jacket and baseball jersey beneath sold him out. His hair was buzzed short at the sides and shaped into a squared afro.
"Lucky guess." The second boy shrugged, his eyes dissecting every detail of the two young women. He was a strange blend of patterns and bold lettering. His shirt was tucked into his belted waistband in a way that must've been drilled into him by his mother. "Your turn." He jutted his chin aggressively towards them. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. After a pause, the boy mirrored him.
"I'm Abigail Montez. This is Martha Labelle." Abigail pointed to them in turn. Martha tried to get her attention by shaking her head with wide eyes and pursed lips. She wished that mind reading was one of the coven's capabilities.
"Steve Harrington," he announced, then looked to the others. "That's Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, and Dustin Henderson." There was a pause, and Martha felt their expectation like a wall of hot air pressing in on her.
