The One Who Eats Monsters (Wind and Shadow Book 1)

by Casey Matthews

  “Then explain,” she demanded. “Explain, and I promise I won’t hate you.”

  “Don’t,” Ryn snarled. “You promise things beyond your power—you don’t know enough to fear. You are untouched by darkness.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing in you is bloody, howling, or mad. Don’t ask for truth. You are unprepared.” I’m your nightmare. I’m the shadow who rips mortal flesh. “In ten words, you would break your vow and despise me always.”

  “You want to bet?”

  Ryn scoffed. “Your vows are noise.”

  Offended, she straightened. “Oh really, Miss High-and-Mighty?”

  “Yes,” the deva ground out.

  “Try to do it. Try to make me break a promise.” Naomi tilted her chin up.

  Ryn narrowed her eyes. “A barter. If my words make you doubt, never pry into my secrets again.”

  “Fine. But if I can still hug you after, you let me braid your hair. And! I’m going to put something pretty in it. Maybe even a bow.” She folded her arms.

  That was the flashpoint that made Ryn stand in challenge, angrily crossing her heart. “So be it!” She snapped her mouth shut, having almost exposed her teeth.

  They both fell silent.

  “So,” Naomi urged. “What’s the dark secret?”

  Anger had so knotted Ryn’s heart, she wanted to tell it all. She was filled with an inexplicable need to lash out, to see revulsion in her friend’s eyes, so she resorted to facts: “I’ve murdered.”

  Naomi’s eyes widened, but she was otherwise still. “Killed people?”

  Ryn’s heart caught. “Often.”

  “But, I mean… how many?”

  “I didn’t count.”

  “Why did you do it?” she asked, reeling.

  “To rid the world of them!”

  A bang downstairs brought her to attention. “Dad’s home. We, uh— we can finish this—”

  “No,” Ryn hissed, stepping forward until they nearly touched, until they could taste one another’s breath. “Finish what you began.” She needed an end to these feelings and sensed one was close.

  But no, it didn’t go right—not at all—because in a heartbeat Naomi’s arms wrapped her up and she came in so tight Ryn’s mouth was nearly on the girl’s ear. “I know. Okay? I know you have.”

  Stunned, she stood rigid in the embrace. As she realized what had been said, she trembled.

  “You’ve seen war. Of course you’ve killed. I never said so before, but I knew it, and it doesn’t change anything.” She squeezed. “I trust you.”

  Ryn choked on the swell of feeling rising in her chest. “It was more blood than you can—”

  “I can’t imagine.” She pressed her lips to Ryn’s temple, would have leveled her had she not been holding the deva up. “That’s why you’re an inside-out porcupine. It’s guilt.”

  Impossible.

  “You want me to hate you because you’re looking for a way to punish yourself. It won’t work; you won’t feel better.”

  But guilt was a mortal emotion, derived from their inability to hit a mark. Deva suffered, if anything, the reverse of that problem: Ryn could never be anything except an eater of monsters. Guilt in a deva was beyond absurdity—it was close to heresy.

  Naomi squeezed her ribs harder. “You’re my friend. And guess what?”

  “What?” Something hot burned at the corners of Ryn’s eyes and her chest felt strangely, wonderfully tight. It was all too much and at last she wrapped her arms around Naomi’s back, leaning into her and swallowing against a crease in her throat.

  “I get to do your hair,” she whispered. “And I’m gonna add a cute flower.”

  Ryn nodded into her.

  “We’re going to get dressed up, knock the socks off Horatio and Wes, and have the most amazing double date ever. Know why?”

  Ryn shook her head.

  “Because everything we do together is amazing. You’re my friend.”

  Friend. It sounded so good and, even as the embrace ended, she realized at once it was all still a lie—Naomi believed she’d killed in war, believed it in the most benign and abstract of ways. But Ryn had mauled sinful men and devoured their souls; what if her friend learned how much she’d enjoyed it?

  “Now sit—I’m going to finally do something with this gorgeous hair. Relax, just a French braid.” Stationing her in a chair facing the dresser’s large mirror, Naomi stood behind her. Sight of the reflection eased the prickle of having someone at her back.

  Ryn had never worn braided hair, though she’d of course seen it often. What she hadn’t anticipated was how the braiding felt: grazes from Naomi’s trusted fingertips, gentle tugs that were almost sharp, the sensation of fingernails tracing lightly over her scalp. It settled her pulse, lazed her thoughts into a pool at the base of her skull until her eyes shut. She lost herself in what—were she that type of God—she’d have made a sacrament. Never before had she given someone such freedom to touch her. It was the first sustained, compassionate contact of her life.

  It was bliss.

  “Done,” her friend announced.

  Ryn’s eyes opened wide and she was unready for “done.” Naomi could have unbraided and braided her hair for a decade and she’d have never tired of it. “Thank you,” Ryn whispered, feeling for the life of her as though soft mortal hands had just… changed her. Yet she was adamantine, not clay, and that wasn’t possible.

  “How do you like your flower?”

  Ryn turned her head to see a plastic, white blossom threaded into the root of a braid. “It’s fake.”

  “That’s so you won’t chew on it.”

  The braid felt heavier at the back of her head, loose enough not to constrict her, but secure—she tied her mane or trapped it in her kanaf’s hood for combat, but locks always popped loose. This would keep a lot of blood out of her hair.

  “It shows off your face,” Naomi said. “Which I like.”

  The dryer dinged, and Naomi fetched their clothes—she changed in the bathroom and Ryn felt wrong and excited at once, completely nude in her friend’s bedroom. Unsure what to do with such feelings, she hurried into the outfit. The panties applied unwelcome tightness, the bra stiff and forcing her chest into a shape she wasn’t accustomed to.

  The blouse and skirt weren’t so bad. It was hard to tell what humans liked, but she enjoyed the lines of her own body in the mirror and it was possible she was attractive. I should be humiliated. Compelled by the strange reflection staring back at her, she spun instead—just once. She could be humiliated later.

  Naomi knocked before entering, wearing leather boots, tights, and a belted earth-tone dress with shorter sleeves that accentuated her long arms. “How do I look?” Her smile was more nervous than she had a right to be.

  Releasing a held breath, Ryn murmured, “Beautiful.”

  Her friend’s smile bloomed sincere and she slipped close to tug the edges of Ryn’s blouse. “You’re perfect.”

  “Girls!” shouted Naomi’s father from downstairs. “There are two young gentleman callers who claim to be your dates. Should I have them shot?”

  “No, Dad!”

  “Are you sure? They look really handsome. Just a warning shot over their heads.”

  “I said no, Dad, now let them in and be nice. Give us five minutes.”

  Ryn heard the front door swing wide. “The girls will be down shortly. Have a seat. I want to get to know you boys. You both drink scotch, right?”

  Naomi shut the door and bustled to her desk, kissing a photograph of her mother, then settling on another long look into the mirror, where her eyes met Ryn’s. “I’m nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “Other than school dances, this is my first date. Do you think we’ll get food? I’m kind of hungry.”

  Being at the mercy of two juvenile males irritated Ryn deeply. “Next time, we plan. They dress up.” Though if Naomi did too, she wouldn’t complain.

  Naomi summoned h
er courage and they left the bedroom, pausing in the hall to spy from the balcony.

  Tom Bradford swiped through his tablet’s screen while Horatio and Wes sat stiffly on the sofa opposite his chair. “And what do we have here? Horatio went from ‘in a relationship’ to ‘single’ just six months ago. Frowny face!”

  “Sir, I promise this is not a rebound thing.”

  “Of course not, my daughter is much better than anyone else you could have dated. It concerns me you haven’t unfriended this ex, though—”

  “We have friends in common.”

  “And you’re certain it’s over with her?” Naomi’s father tilted in, a maneuver that silenced Horatio’s attempted reply. “You’re certain she knows it’s over?”

  Struggling for a response, the boy merely shrugged.

  Tom Bradford swiped a few more times. “You ‘like’ a lot of memes about marijuana legalization, Wes.”

  Wes’s knee bounced so quickly it shook his voice when he talked. “It’s not like—”

  “I, too, support the legalized use of cannabis, though I don’t condone it under my roof or as a parent. I’d rather not see young people’s lives ruined for toking.”

  “Oh,” Wes exhaled, relieved.

  “But if you smoke it around Naomi, I might still ruin your life.”

  “Oh, no, never,” Wes insisted. “I never smoke it in front of people who don’t— I mean, I don’t—”

  “Of course you do. What else do you do?” Tom Bradford tilted his head to one side. “Too smart and cleaned-up for meth or heroin, but I’ll bet anything you’ve tried at least one amphetamine. What was it—friend’s ADHD medication?”

  Wes’s knee vibrated faster now, bullets of sweat working down his face. “I don’t think—”

  Horatio blew out a sigh. “His sister’s meds, just once to study for a test, and he just sat in a corner writing sonnets to techno music all night.”

  “Still got an A on the test,” Wes whispered in defeat. “On the bright side, I don’t drink.”

  “That’s because kids these days don’t have the fortitude for proper scotch,” Tom Bradford observed. “They want everything in a nice, neat pill.”

  Horatio snorted, opened his mouth to retort—but stopped himself just short of saying something.

  “Dad!” Naomi hollered, going from lurking at the balcony to hustling downstairs with Ryn in her wake. “You did not make our dates friend you on social media.”

  Tom Bradford clapped his tablet shut, standing. “Gentlemen. Please remember, this is why you want to protect your data from the government. Someone’s always watching.” He pointed at his eyes, then at both boys. “Post lots of pictures from tonight. Adieu.” On his way to the study he told the girls, “You both look nice. No babies, enjoy, and… Ryn… keep her safe.”

  Ryn nodded.

  “He’s unbelievable,” Naomi said to the boys, even though she’d spied on it happening and giggled at parts.

  The boys stood, reflexively wiping their palms on their thighs, eyes widening at the sight before them. Their hormones raged, but Ryn scented no aggression.

  “You look fantastic,” Horatio breathed.

  No one else spoke until Horatio elbowed Wes, who jumped and added, “Yeah! I mean, Ryn, you look… different. I mean great! Not that you don’t always look girl— er, great. Wow.” He tugged his collar, scanning for an escape route, and Ryn was pleased at the way he twisted—it reminded her she was still the predator. “From the top.” He flexed his mouth, as though to limber it up. “I like how you look.”

  Unsure what to say, she told the truth. “You smell harmless. I like that.”

  Horatio offered his hand to Naomi and they chatted on their way out the door. When Wes offered his, Ryn stared at it.

  “Oh, I got you this.” He removed from his pocket a thin, black metal object sharpened on every edge.

  “What is it?”

  “A batarang.”

  That didn’t clarify anything.

  “You throw it. To disable bad guys.” He made a tossing gesture and a sound from his lips, like air swishing. “I figured after the club… just figured you’d probably like a batarang.”

  It was thoughtful. Ryn hefted the weapon, testing its weight. “Sharp,” she complimented, fingering its edge.

  “It’s totally not a toy. I bought it online and tried throwing it a few times. The less said about that the better.” He rubbed a fresh scar on his chin.

  Horatio’s battered, four-door sedan had a recently placed Bradford campaign sticker on the bumper and he turned the radio down while driving.

  “Where are we headed?” Naomi asked.

  “Big surprise,” Horatio said, sharing a cryptic grin with Wes.

  “Holy smokes, your dad’s intense,” Wes said, changing the subject. “Was he serious about ruining my life?”

  Naomi chuckled. “Joking. I think. He called the president’s drug czar a ‘scrofulous snorter of…’ well, I won’t finish that. You can ask him someday.”

  “C’mon, you can’t leave us hanging,” Horatio cheered.

  “Rhymes with ‘paint.’ ”

  Everyone laughed but Ryn.

  Swiping through his phone, Wes muttered, “Crap, still got memes posted about term limits. How far back on my wall you think he’ll go?”

  “How about you cut the cord?” Horatio said. “New date rule: no phones.”

  It was agreed and they turned them off.

  “What’s your read on Naomi’s dad?” Wes asked, pulling Ryn unwillingly into the conversation.

  Naomi half turned in her seat. “Why do we have to talk about my dad?”

  “My mom manages a department store and never called the president of her own party a ‘chucklehead’ on live TV,” Wes pointed out.

  “Fair.” Naomi relaxed back into her seat.

  “You follow that stuff?” Wes asked Ryn.

  She shook her head, staring out the window into the dark.

  “Got to be something you care about,” he pressed.

  “I care about the things her father does.” Ryn stared at the passing houses. “I hate flags, prisons, laws, schools, and self-important fools with badges or titles telling me ‘go here,’ ‘do that,’ ‘don’t think.’ But that is the end of our similarity.”

  “Sounds close enough,” Naomi grinned.

  “No. He thinks humans are… bigger… than they are; that they can fend for themselves.”

  Wes seemed confused. “What do you believe?”

  She’d never put words to it, but she believed most humans wanted laws—to feel safe from people with the wrong amount of money, the wrong color skin, the wrong religion or thoughts or words, and so they begged for them. They worshipped laws, because laws were how they puffed themselves up and pushed their foes into the mud. In one blink of Ryn’s eye, though, the laws turned around like tigers and mauled the ones who made them. It was idiotic, and she felt bad for Naomi’s father, because he had a principle; but there weren’t many like him. Most of their kind loved flags. Most deserved to choke on them.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Naomi asked.

  Not knowing what to say, she mumbled, “I don’t care what senators do, as long as they leave me alone.”

  They took highways beyond the city, where countryside whisked around them. An ache worked through Ryn, her limbs burning with the need to climb trees of hard bark, to sink into snowy litterfall and disappear into the wind that wove between trunks. She wanted to smell sap and lick it and hold the bitterness on her tongue, to drink the forest and be swallowed by it.

  Naomi yawned and slackened into the car door, breath fogging the window, and the deva finally realized that the moment she dealt with all threats to Naomi’s life, she would do exactly that: disappear into the wilds. That would end the nightmares, the quills—all of it.

  “This is some drive,” Naomi murmured. “How far are we going?”

  “Like I said—it’s a surprise.” Horatio kept his eyes
on the road.

  Ryn had a mind to demand answers, but Wes recommended they stop for food.

  Off the highway, they parked at a brightly lit restaurant next to an odorous gasoline station, climbing out of the car beneath a backdrop of tall trees. They flooded the deva with a need to slink into the shadows. Snow drifted in thick flakes, the smell of March’s last storm in the air. “It will blow cold tonight,” she said, and Naomi shivered without a heavy jacket.

  Flakes stuck to the teenager’s gleaming auburn hair, and Horatio hastened to wrap her in his coat the way Ryn wished to. “There are blankets in the trunk if you get too cold,” he said.

  “Blankets?” Naomi’s eyebrow rose.

  “No spoilers.” Wes offered his coat to Ryn, and she waved it off.

  “Give her a minute,” Naomi said, wisely assessing the way Ryn stared at the trees. “Think she needs a break—and she won’t freeze, she’s never shivered once while I’ve known her.” She and the boys went into the restaurant.

  Slipping off her flats, Ryn strode barefoot across the snowy lot, past the perimeter of lights, and deep into the slender black wood at the edge of the buzzing illumination. Once there, everything inside her uncoiled, a warm glow in her heart because Naomi had been reaching into her again, assessing her moods and needs in ways that were no longer uncomfortable.

  She knows me. Not every dark corner, but enough. Yet how she would scream if these glasses slipped even an inch. That put an end to the warm glow.

  Between the trees, she let the elder things stretch from her and touch the snowy boughs, the sky—everything in civilized lands tasted wrong, but in places without pavement, electricity, or shaded from artificial light, she could still feel the cold, unworked earth. Extending one hand east, she let the wind shiver through trees and unsettle flakes from her hair. Another hand west, and a second gust swept that direction.

  Her laugh was a cold, high noise carrying far. The city’s layer upon layer of brick and steel had not quite beaten this out of her. Savoring her comfort in the tiny patch of wild, she returned at last to the diner, refreshed.

  Naomi had ordered for her. They ate, and the boys paid. It was all too familiar, the mortals treating her like someone to be looked after. The date tasted different, the wood having reminded her who and what she was.