The mangled body lies on the concrete ground. I know who did it.
Why does nobody stop to help? Why am I left here alone to take care of this mess? I know why. I'm the only one who can see it.
I know who did it. I did it.
She wasn't human. She had scales. Sharp teeth.A body the size of a loaf of bread.
I'm not sorry. She had it coming.
They usually aren't an issue. The fae usually stay out of people's business. But not today. Today is the night of September 22. The anniversary of the night of the last hanging of the Salem Witch Trials. There aren't any rules tonight.
That's what we're here for.
I hear clicks and a muffled shriek. There goes another. I look to see what he got. A teenage púca that was threatening to release its noxious gasses on the city.
This only happens once a year. Twice, if you count Halloween, which I don't. Me and Jason are always on the same squad. Always.
"Cecily! Behind you!"
I whip my katana around and thrust the glowing blade into the skull of a four-foot-tall púca. That's the biggest they get. Maybe because of genetics and maybe because of us. They never get bigger than four feet tall.
There are three squads. There used to be five.
We fight until there are no creatures left in sight. I take one more look around but Jason's eyes are more sensitive than mine. He doesn't see anything either.
The street is a mess but no one knows because the streets are empty. The carnage is invisible. We can see the broken bodies and the defiant looks of the soft, round faces. My conscience shouldn’t get in the way.
Jason puts his hand out over the púca nearest to him and stiffly recites the incantation. He goes to the next. One by one, the bodies disappear.
I numbly follow suit. They were all fine all the other nights. Why not tonight?
It’s the night of the last hanging, that’s why.
Soon they’re all gone, but the stench of death lingers. I feel my shoulders shaking and my bottom lip quivering. A silent tear burns down my face. I don’t want him to see, but he does. He doesn’t think I’m weak when I cry. That’s why we always fight together. That’s why I love him.
He doesn’t speak he just holds me. Watches over me. Always watching. He knows why I cry. He doesn’t understand, but he knows. He tries.
The streets are empty as we walk back to the apartment. It doesn’t belong to us, but we made it ours.
The world was still, as if it could feel the death hanging thick in the air. Not a leaf rustled. Not a bird sang. It was suffocating.
Death feels just like you would imagine. It’s a hot, stuffy feeling. It smells like mothballs and rotten pumpkins and old books. Its taste is overwhelming and its silence is deafening.
I would know, I can feel it. I can feel death and Jason can see monsters.
