The deep thumps and sound of screeching metal are so loud that I almost have to cover my ears. The smell of smoke, soot and burning is so thick, that I struggle to breathe.

As we walk through the Elliot & Co. factory, the workers in their blackened overalls avoid all eye contact with me and Mother. Despite the booming noises of machinery, the men themselves are eerily quiet as we pass and walk up the rusting steps to Mother's office. I don't miss how they cower and gulp nervously as they try and move away from our presence.

Mother opens her dirty office door and storms inside. Uncle Reggie leans back on the chair, his legs on Mother's desk whilst he smokes a cigarette.

"Get off my fuckin' desk," Mother snaps, her whole voice changing now she's working.

"You're late," Uncle Reggie says, his voice deep, and horribly gruff. He snuffs his cigarette in the browning ashtray and swings his legs off the desk.

"I had important business at home," Mother says, pushing him away. That's when his bright blue eyes find mine.

"Row Row," he says and walks toward me. I laugh as he scoops me up into a tight hug and kisses me on the forehead. The hair of his thick ginger moustache is prickly against my skin and he reeks of booze and cigarettes. I push him away jokingly.

"I'm too old for that now, Reggie," I say, smiling.

"Nonsense," he says, then laughs. It sounds more like a croak than an actual laugh. "So, you got your results yet? Are you allowed to stay with us?"

My smile falls off my face, and my stomach drops.

"Enough, Reggie," Mother snaps before I can answer.

I gulp and put on a tight smile. "I leave in two days," I say, my voice small.

And then I'm never coming back.

I shudder and try to push that thought from my mind.

"Oh fuck," Reggie says, gesturing out at the windows. "He's here."

I groan as I watch Uncle Harry walk up the stairs and open the door.

He pauses as soon as he sees me and his cold blue eyes shoot me a harsh, hateful glare.

"What's she doin' here?" he asks, pulling off his suede blazer and flat cap, revealing his bright ginger hair which has been cut to near bald at the sides and back with the top slicked over neatly.

"She's as much a Redbird as you, Harry," Mother says, not bothering to look up from her paperwork. He scoffs, and tightens his dark blue tie, then adjusts the scratchy grey waistcoat.

"Fuck off, Harry," Reggie snaps and lights a match for the fresh cigarette in his mouth.

"She ain't coming on today's job," Harry says.

"That's not your decision," Mother replies, as she starts clicking away at her typewriter.

Harry's sharp jaw clenches and he takes a seat. Uncle Reggie grins at me, revealing his two gold-capped teeth.

"Where are Anthony and Benedict?"

"They're already downstairs," Harry says.

"Excellent," Mother says, standing. "Let's go."

We follow her out of her office and through the factory. Reggie laughs at the workers as they cower. He even jokingly jumps for them, making the poor men flinch and tremble.

"Aren't you going to miss this, Rowan?" he shouts over all the noise.

"A little," I reply, my chest aching deeply at the thought of leaving.

"Ahhh, I'm sure you'll be back," Reggie says and shakes me roughly. I roll my eyes and brush him off. He laughs some more and skips ahead, opening the large metal door.

"Good fucking riddance I say," Harry says.

"Fuck off, Harry," I snap, my fists clenching tightly. He's just jealous that his father made Mother, the youngest sister of four older brothers, the boss instead of him. He's too scared to take it out on Mother, so he attacks me instead. I calm myself down, resisting the urge to slam my fist into his face.

We walk through multiple dim corridors and down dingy rusty stairs before we finally enter a huge, empty warehouse. Standing by a pile of crates are Mother's other brothers.

"Fuckin' finally," Anthony shouts, his voice echoing around the hall.

"Oi oi, what's this then?" Reggie shouts, slamming his fist on the crate.

"It's the raw stuff, ready to be delivered to Bernard's lab," Benedict replies. His blue eyes fall on mine and he grins wonkily. Years of being punched in the face has left his nose and lips disfigured and his teeth are either missing or plated in gold.

"Row Row, good to see ya," he says.

"Yeah, you too Uncle Ben," I reply.

"You here to help us oversee the deal?" he asks.

"It would appear so," I reply.

"I feel safer already. What we gonna do when you're gone being some honourable soldier fighting the good fight, huh?" he asks.

I force out a laugh and try not to let the emotions I tried so hard to push down resurface. Even still, my stomach sinks and my lips dry as I try to smile.

"When ya leaving anyway?" Anthony asks.

"In the next two days," I say, my voice trembling slightly.

"Awe, you'll be back," Benedict says, slapping my upper arm roughly.

I hope so.

"Enough chit-chat," Mother snaps, "get this sorted." She clicks her fingers and her brothers immediately start opening the crates with crowbars.

All of them share the same bright ginger hair, fair complexion, and bright blue eyes as Mother. Though where she is beautiful, there is a rough gruffness to these men. Especially with the years of fighting and gang life that has taken a toll on their bodies, leaving behind scars and a strange hardness about them.

Harry stands back, pulling up the sleeves of his off-white shirt.

"I thought you were here to help," he says to me.

"Fuck off, Harry," my other uncles all say at the same time.

He snorts and shakes his head. "Skin Thief freak," he mutters.

Heat surges through me.

"What the fuck did you just say?" I ask. He looks up at me and crosses his arms.

"You heard me," he says lowly.

Red clouds my vision. In an instant, I am storming toward him, barely in control of my own body. He doesn't have time to bring up his arms in defence before my fist slams into his face. Harry lets out a shocked, agonised shout. There is a sickening crunch and blood explodes from his nose. He tumbles to the floor, clutching his face. My body feels electric with an adrenaline-fuelled rush.

"Fucking bitch!" he sniffles. I grit my teeth and slam my foot into his stomach three times, each time leaving him wheezing heavily until he coughs blood up onto the floor.

When I step back, I feel a strange pressure leave my body as the haze of frustration and anger clears.

"Feel better?" Mother asks, standing next to me as I shake out my tingling body.

"Yes," I reply.

Harry groans on the floor, clutching at his stomach.

"You know better than to call her that. You know her people don't like it," Benedict says, then grins and winks at me.

"Drama's over, back to work," Mother snaps at them. "Harry, go and get yourself sorted."

"What time do our friends get here?" Reggie asks. Mother looks down at her small gold watch.

"Half an hour. So, get this all unpacked."

I watch as Uncle Harry carefully stands and limps away in disgrace. I shake out my muscles and smile, feeling slightly better after letting out some of my frustration and anger.

***

The first thing I notice about our "friends" is that their suits are a lot nicer than my uncles'. Their shirts are crisp and white. Their blazers fit perfectly and their matching fedoras are pristine. They seem to be in a different world to my uncles with their suits of grey suede, their flat caps, their bad haircuts, and their soot-stained skin.

Then again, these are posh city folks. So, despite looking messy and gruff compared to them, my mother and brothers all look down on their pristine finery, sneering and laughing to themselves.

"We've got the whole flock out to play. Aren't we lucky?" the main man says, taking off his fedora and running his hand through his slick black hair.

"The infamous Redbirds," he continues and clicks his tongue before laughing to himself.

"I ain't one for small talk. Let's just get this deal done," Mother says, stepping forward.

"Alright then," he sighs, sounding bored. "You know, it isn't often you see a woman in this business, Miss-"

"Mrs," she corrects, interrupting him.

"Ah yes, can't forget about your chemist husband, good old Bernard," he chuckles and just hearing him say my father's name has my body tensing. My hand twitches, ready to reach for the gun in my open handbag.

"The best of the best they say, no matter what he's cooking. Snow, crystals, green, opioids, you name it, he can cook it," he mocks and his men laugh around him. "But at the end of the day, it's all the same, no matter how well you cook it. A high is a high and the stupid and desperate will do whatever they can to get their hands on it, even if it is mostly laced with whatever shit our cook can get their hands on that day." He shrugs and holds out his hands.

"You sound jealous, Mr Hans," Mother says, her voice strangely, almost scarily calm.

"Jealous? Nah, not of you, Mrs Elliot. Just frustrated, is all. You and your gang of redheaded, squash-faced buffoons, seem to have got it into people's heads that quality is important."

"It is important," she replies. "Our product is the best on the market. That's why you only sell to addicted degenerates on the streets who use whatever little coin they have to get their fix, and I sell to politicians, to bankers, and to the men and women who can pay more than petty change."

Mother slowly walks over to one of the crates, her heels clicking on the ground and filling the tense silence.

"And before you argue, both know it's true. You wouldn't be here requesting to procure some of our product if you didn't realise that we have you beat."

He laughs and his men do too. They make a show of it, clutching at their bellies and shaking their heads.

It takes all my composure just to look straight ahead and keep the twinge of fear off my face. I want so desperately to look to my mother for reassurance. I know she wouldn't give it. If anything, she'd slap me and tell me not to be so pathetic.

"You think the big boss wants to buy your product?" he finally asks. "Nah. He wants to take it and he's going to take it."

Mr Hans steps forward and points a leather-gloved hand at my mother. "You've pushed too much, Redbird. You've broken into the big league and you don't have the power to back it up."

Mother raises an eyebrow and clicks her nails over the wood.

"No one takes anything from me," she says, her voice void of any nerves or fear. She looks him in the eyes, her glare terrifyingly cold.

"I don't think you understand what's going on here," he says. "You've got your whole family in this room and I have twenty men. What do you think the outcome of a fight would be? Yes, you may win. It's unlikely, but I'll give your mindless brutes some credit. But even then, most of them will die during the fight. Including you and the pretty one there."

He turns to me and pulls his gross lips into a slimy smile.

"I'll tell you what. How about you give me this nice box of goods here, and agree to only deal through us, and I won't have my boys here put a hundred bullets into you and your little family? Oh, and include the girl in our little deal. She can be a gift from you to the boss as an apology for encroaching on his turf. Sound good?"

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms, biting at my cheek. I can feel the fight coming but I force myself to remain calm. Taking in slow, deep breaths, I keep my heart rate low and my mind as clear as I can.

"Mr Hans. You came here on the pretence that you were looking to buy some of my product. I strongly suggest we negotiate a price and you go on your way and back to your precious fancy city."

"Poor Mrs Elliot. Have you never been lied to before?" he mocks.

"In the early days," she says, "but people quickly learned not to."

"Well, it's time someone put you back in your place," he sneers, and gestures to his men. We watch as they pull out an array of guns, all of them pointing at us.

I raise an eyebrow and I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I would be scared, but I've faced worse after all the years at the academy. These men are nothing compared to my tutors, that's for sure.

"Are you sure this is how you want this to play out?" Mother asks.

"Very," he snarls.

Mother sighs and looks at me. "Don't kill any of them, I want to send a message."

I nod my head, a small rush of relief filling me after realising that I don't have to kill today.

Mr Hans bites at his lips as he looks at me, his gaze hungry.

"And what are you going to do, little girl?" he asks.

I roll my eyes back into my head and let my body drop. I hear his distant laughs as I hit the ground.

"Awe, poor little girl!" he mocks. "Look boys, their little hero fainted!"

Their voices get further and further away until I hear nothing but a loud ringing and the low thuds of my slowing heart. The familiar pressure builds and I take in a final deep breath before I open my eyes. I stare down at my sleeping body and watch as Uncle Reggie pulls it behind the cover of the crate, which is mostly empty of any product after Mother ordered the boys to reinforce it with sandbags to keep bullets from hitting them. They slowly position themselves behind it, not caring that Mr Hans and his men keep laughing.

I hover down onto my feet and then over to one of the men closest to Mr Hans, stepping into his body. He shudders but doesn't fight as I take control. Before he even knows what's happening, I push his mind down and stretch his fingers out, getting used to the new body.

"Come on then what's the big plan?" Mr Hans mocks, still laughing.

I spin toward him and fire the gun. He screams as the bullet slams into his kneecap. Blood sprays everywhere and he falls over. The rest of his men look around in shock, not quite believing that the bullet had come from one of their own.

I use that pause to my advantage.

This body is stronger and faster than mine and I smile, revelling in my newfound power as I charge toward the closest one. His eyes widen in horror and he doesn't even fire a shot before I'm slamming the gun out of the way and my fist finds his face.

Then, the shooting starts.

My body burns with pulsing adrenaline, making my veins feel electric as I attack.

"Skin Thief!" I hear one of the men shout, as I use one of them as a shield from the bullets whilst simultaneously firing my pistol at others. They scream as they go down, the bullets either hitting them in the legs or shoulders.

I duck out of the way of a fist and slam my own right into their stomach, before spinning them around just in time for a hail of bullets to slam into his chest. He shudders in my hands, little clouds of blood exploding around him. I shove him out of the way as I reach the firing attacker. Swinging out of the way of the but of his now empty gun, my elbow slams into the side of his face before I grab his arm, kick him down, and dislocate his shoulder with a sickening crunch.

Pain erupts in my stomach. I grunt, clutching at it as the shirt quickly becomes hot and sticky with blood.

Ignoring the pain, I dive out of the way of more bullets and fire again. Everything is a blur. I don't hear the bullets or the shouting and screams. Instinct drives me as I spin, duck, fire, punch and kick. It stops suddenly.

I gasp, sitting up in my own body as I'm slammed back into it. My heart races and my limbs shake. My hands fly up to my face where I felt the bullet only seconds before the body I was inhabiting was shot.

"You okay, Row Row?" Uncle Reggie asks. I nod my head and reach into my purse, pulling out the pistol mother had given me.

Beyond our protection behind the crate, it is quiet. I peek out. The remaining attackers look at each other nervously, trying to figure out whose body I've already taken over.

I let out a shallow breath, shake my shoulders and then stand.

They don't have time to turn to me before my shots find their targets and the last few go down, screaming as they clutch their injured limbs.

Slowly, I lower the gun.

My hands shake from all the adrenaline and my stomach churns a little. Mother stands slowly and smiles at me.

"Good job dear," she says, taking my gun from me.

She walks out from behind cover and toward Mr Hans. His face is white and the veins pop in his head as he grits his teeth in pain.

Mother stops beside him and holds out the pistol.

"You wretched bit-"

I flinch as she fires. His head explodes and his body goes slack. Quickly, I turn away and look back at my uncles. Their expressions are those of boredom.

Mother's heels click behind me as she approaches. She hands the gun to Benedict.

"Get them shipped off back to their boss with a message that the fact most of them are returning alive means that I'm not taking his ridiculous offer personally and business is still open if he wishes to make a proper deal."

"Yes boss," Uncle Benedict says.

Mother gestures for me to follow her and we walk out of the room quickly. As soon as we are alone, I let out a long breath. My limbs still tremble as the adrenaline wears off and I still feel a little sick at the image of Mother shooting Mr Hans.

"Excellent job, Rowan," she says.

"Thank you," I reply.

She pauses and turns to me, looking into my eyes. With a sigh, she lifts her hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My eyes fall on the blood splattered over some of her dress.

"You know they were evil men, right?" she asks.

"Mother," I sigh, "I'm not that sensitive. They were monsters. The world is better off without them."

Mother smiles, but it is sad. "So am I," she says. I open my mouth to argue, but she stops me.

"It's true Rowan. I do heinous, evil things and I passed down all my knowledge and skills to you. But instead of using them for your own gain, you're going to use them for good. You are the one good thing I'm putting into this world, do you understand?" she asks, looking into my eyes pleadingly.

I gulp. Would she still think that way if she knew what I was about to become?

"I understand," I say, my voice hoarse.

"Good," she replies and then turns away quickly. "Now, come on. It's home time and I have a big party planned tonight."

I smile excitedly and force all thoughts of Wraiths and gangs from my mind. The rest of the night is pure bliss. The whole family gathers at a restaurant and we sing and dance the night away. I forget all my worries and enjoy every moment I dance with my parents.

It isn't until Mother and Father pack ready to leave for my graduation the following day that I realise that this is it.

I may never come home again.