Flaming Hearts (a Leo Valdez Fanfiction)

Prologue

WILLOW

"Cedar?" I called, wondering where that idiotic sister of mine was.

"What do you want?" she hissed rudely from somewhere in our small Brooklyn apartment. I was used to it. When your the younger sister of a hormonal 14-year-old, you learn to ignore tones like that. I followed the sound of her voice to her bedroom an knocked on the door.

"Can I come in?" I asked politely.

"Why?"

"Cuz I need to get something!"

"What?"

"My pocketknife!"

"UGH!" Cedar groaned loudly, opening the door. She had red hair, like the tree she was named after, with bright, piercing green eyes, pale, almost translucent skin, and thin features. She looked nothing like me or my mom, which I guess is obvious, considering she's adopted. She was pretty, don't get me wrong, but she could also look scary. If you walked in on her while the door was closed, she would whip around and close the door so fast, all you saw was a blur on red and white. A couple of times, I almost thought I saw fangs...

I shook that thought out if my mind and took the black and red knife out of my sister's hand. Before I could say "thanks," Cedar slammed the door in my face.

"Well ok then," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" Cedar hollered from behind the closed door.

"Nothing!" I called back. I swear, that girl had super-human hearing.

I walked into my room, twirling my knife in my hand, and jumped on my bed

I studied at the knife as I'd done many times before. It was the only thing that my dad left behind before he left my mom. Every time I asked her about him, she just shooed away the question like it was an annoying fly and changed the subject. The black and red knife almost looked like pained and raged faces were stuck inside. I opened up the knife, gazing lovingly at the bronze blade. I never understood why it was bronze, but my mom said it was Dad's favorite type of metal. Seriously, who has a favorite type of metal?

A hissing sound snapped me out of my daze. I looked up to see Cedar staring at me through a crack in my door.

"May I help you?" I asked, the rude tone obvious in my voice.

She responded by growling at me. It was then that I realized her eyes weren't green anymore, but blood red.

"Ceed, are you feeling ok?" I asked warily.

With another growl, Cedar burst through the door and attacked. Turns out, I hadn't imagined the fangs. I screamed and struck my knife out, eyes closed. An unhuman shriek escaped Cedar. When I opened my eyes. When I opened my eyes, my sister was dust.

"C-Cedar?" I called. "Cedar?" I began to panic. Just then, I heard the front door. "MOM!" I screamed.

My mom came running in, her hazel eyes wide with worry, her dark pink lips open in shocked horror as she looked around the room.

"What-?" she asked.

"Cedar. Her-her eyes, and her teeth, and she attacked, and-and-." By this time, I was sobbing. My mother ran over and embraced me, stroking my hair.

"It's ok, baby," she said with her velvety voice that always soothed me. "Everything'll be alright. Now, right now, we have to go."

"Wh-where are we going?" I sniffed.

"A camp I heard about from a...friend..." she answered.

She grabbed her keys and my wrist, pulling me out of the apartment, down the three flights of stairs, and into her gold Honda Pilot. She put the keys in the ignition and sped down the dark, deserted streets of Brooklyn.