Fire and the Flood - KitTy

Chapter One - Kit

CAPS AND ITALICS = Kit screech-singing at the top of his lungs

Kit ran, his legs carrying him away from the Shadow Market. His mind was in a whirl. Where had she come from? Why was she there? How was she there? He focused on home and kept running, relishing the cool wind on his face whipping away his sweat. He had just been at the Shadow Market, and the moon shone down upon the field he was currently flying across, making the long, untameable grass gleam like the blades of a thousand steel knives.

Kit slowed down, far enough away from the village to stop running. Running from Livvy. She had been showing up randomly ever since Kit had moved away to Europe, but the question was why? Why had she been haunting Kit like a ghost from a horror movie? He'd only been taking a walk through the village, trying to clear his head—a tactic that obviously hadn't worked. Anywhere he went, Livvy showed up, her flowing white gown waving in the wind. The funny thing was, she looked as confused as him, as if she had never meant to find him, as if she was brought there against her will. But then back again to the big question: Why?

These thoughts raced through Kit's mind, making him dizzy. He sat down, leaning against one hand for support on the cool ground. The grass was slightly wet with dew, freezing on his bare skin in the breeze. Allowing himself to relax had been hard for the first couple of months he had lived with Jem and Tessa, and when he finally had was the first time Livvy had come. He handled the memory with care, as if too much pressure and thinking about it would cause it to shatter into a thousand shards of glass, stabbing his mind. That was the first time he had had a panic attack.

Their small family—him, Jem, Tessa and Mina, only a small baby then—had gone on a trip to the coast to visit a beach they had heard about from one of Tessa's warlock friends or something. The trip had been long and the ride bumpy, the dirt road underneath their wheels scattered with rocks, jostling the car every time one was run over. Mina had been happy in the car seat beside Kit, occasionally trying to whack him in the face with her baby's hands.

Kit had brought a book to read; the drive had gone continuously, and try as they would, Jem and Tessa weren't very good company to talk to for five hours straight. He had grabbed a random book from his small collection, and it ended up being The Hound of the Baskervilles, a Sherlock Holmes novel. Of course, Kit had chosen the one book Ty had given him. So, the whole trip had been five hours of trying to focus on his book, failing miserably, thinking about Ty, trying not to think about Ty, failing miserably again, getting whacked in the face by Mina, and having to listen to Tessa and Jem talk about the time when Will had worn a wedding dress while fighting demons, apparently a bet made to him by some Lightworm, whatever that was.

The beach itself had been much more pleasant. Kit had managed to sneak away from the others and found a stretch of sand without decoration or wildlife or anything—just him and the waves and the sky. A storm had rolled in without warning halfway through the journey, but Kit didn't mind. He found the storm peaceful; the grey of the horizon was calming, and the sting of the rain as he stood in the cold distracted him from other thoughts. Kit had been used to the ocean being an intense blue; the sun reflecting off of it, burning his eyes; his feet being enveloped by a blanket of golden sand. The change was nice.

Then he had seen her. Livvy had been floating above the water, her feet partly submerged, not causing the slightest ripple. He remembered the feeling, a tingling sensation in his stomach. It wasn't the same feeling as the butterflies he had gotten so accustomed to before he had moved, but not unlike it. It reached down with long tendrils that wound around his insides, unlocking something deep inside of him. It felt as if fire was running through his veins, an endless flood sweeping through his body, burning everything that hadn't already been gone. That feeling, that sensation, was one that he had come to dread.