Image: Calgary Cityscape by Jason Kamin

Soundtrack: The Last Of His Name by BrunuhVille

***

Mother Nature has outdone herself. That's what my aunt and uncle always say, anyway.

A dusty silver pickup rests snugly in our drive, oblivious to the impending storm. It needs a good wash, that's for sure. But David's just too damn busy marking papers to take the time. The sound of stifled voices reaches my ears as I ascend the stone steps to our quaint townhouse. The chilly walk from the bus stop was bad enough; now I have to force a smile for whoever's visiting.

"What do you want us to do? They'll mow down everyone in their path!" an unfamiliar voice exclaims from beyond our threshold, coarse with disuse and slick with sarcasm. "They'll see right through you."

I hesitate with the toe of my boot upon the first step. An aspen leaf snags against my sweater and I unceremoniously swipe it off. It spins dizzily down the steps, whisked away by the wind. Catching at the last moment, it becomes wedged between the railing and the spindle, where it madly flutters, torn between ripping itself free and giving itself up to the will of its captor.

"That's why we go after hours." I recognize my uncle David's voice. "Take whatever documents we can carry, free the captives and get out—"

"Maybe you're overthinking it, hon. How many years has it been, now?" Margo inquires, attempting to sound cheerful.

"Coming on seven," David replies. "Skye just began her last year of high school."

I freeze as I hear my name, palm poised atop the handle. A drizzle of rain begins to fall, carrying with it a fresh, earthy scent.

"Perfect," the stranger mutters. "She'll blend right in."

David clears his throat. "No. I'm not letting her anywhere near that place."

"It'll be discussed in time, which is certainly of the essence," the stranger states icily.

"You've got that right." David laughs nervously. "It feels like just yesterday Eight was dragged in, yet it's been months. I want them out of there—"

The guest scoffs. "You shouldn't have named them."

"They're not names; just numbers," Margo retorts and I picture her immense earrings swaying with the exaggerated movement.

"For this to work," the stranger insists, "you need to earn the Covenant's full trust. Then strike before they can. Don't think for a moment they'll let you live when they find out what you are."

"They trust me," David says indignantly. "They trust me with their lives. I can't just snuff them—"

"You can and you will, if the need arises," the voice snaps. "We're done here. I've got to meet with the clan in thirty."

The door abruptly lurches open and my jaw drops as a set of icy azure eyes meets mine.

"What's she doing here?" the stranger calls over her shoulder at David.

"I live here," I mumble, sidestepping to make way for the towering figure of a pale, blonde woman.

The visitor tugs up a tawny faux-fur hood and her delicate features slip into obscurity. "Tell her. The girl's been in the dark long enough," she sneers as she steps into the rain. I watch her dart between parked cars, disappearing into the gloomy eventide.

"How much of that did you hear?" David inquires, and I whip around to face him.

A sudden gust ruffles my uncle's tufts of strawberry-blonde hair and sends Margo's ebony curlicues aloft. The corner of my aunt's mouth twitches as she regards me with interest. She adjusts her thick-rimmed rose glasses.

"Come in, hon." Margo backs into our townhouse, hauling the heavy door open and ignoring the intensity of the imminent squall. The oak creaks on its hinges, imitating the whistle of the wind.

I follow my aunt, flipping the switch as I tug my boots off and deposit my pack unceremoniously onto the tiles. The lava lamp flashes to life, its pomegranate gases casting alien shadows on the walls. The fixture looks as though it could crash through the glass at any second. Apart from that, there isn't much for lighting in the house. Margo seems to relish the darkness.

"Who was that woman?" I inquire, preparing to pull my toque off and then thinking better of it. The sodden garment – a gift from my dad – has always given me a strange sense of security.

My aunt places a hand on my forearm and sits me down on the coral couch. I force myself to oblige. I was born with dreadfully low blood pressure; if I get too stressed out or go without my pills, I could faint. Vasovagal syncope, they call it. A total pain in the ass, I call it. Pun intended.

I hiss through clenched teeth as I feel a headache coming on. Of course, today had to be the day I'd forgotten to take the pills. And the strange visitor sure isn't helping matters.

"Shh," Margo soothes as if I'm five years old again. She leans towards my uncle's ear and I catch every word despite her effort to mask them. "Should we tell her?"

"Tell me what?"

David shrugs wearily, lowering himself onto the couch beside me. "I'm surprised we managed to put it off this long."