Free A Wild Light by Marjorie M. Liu

ancestors for the last several thousand years still didn’t sit well with me.
    Father Lawrence folded his furred, clawed hands over his round stomach. “Jack said, and I quote, ‘The status quo would have to change.’ That events had progressed to the point where he would have to take certain actions that might have . . . negative results.”
    “Yo,” I said. “His throat was cut.”
    “That’s . . . negative,” he replied mildly. “But I think he was worried about something even bigger.”
    “I saw him last night, but he was fine, relaxed, all smiles. He didn’t act like a man on the verge of anything terrible.” I hesitated, staring at the candles. “But Grant . . . Grant said that Jack called in the middle of the night. That he needed to tell me something important.”
    “So he told you, or he didn’t. But given the absence of your memories, my guess is that he did tell you something important.”
    “Something that someone else doesn’t want me to remember.” I leaned back, shaking my head. “The boys don’t remember, either. And that . . . that should be impossible. They can’t be tampered with.”
    “Except by those who made your bloodline. Or,” he continued, holding up his dark furred hand, forestalling any comments from me, “some other force you aren’t yet familiar with. How many surprises have you been given over the past year, Maxine? There’s so much none of us understand. We’re children, compared to the vastness that sleeps.”
    I was certain he didn’t mean anything, but my hand touched my stomach, my ribs. “I know.”
    Father Lawrence struggled to feed himself another cookie. I let him do it on his own, and he managed to shove the whole thing in his mouth. He was a messy eater, but only because his mouth was awkwardly shaped. He mumbled, “Grant is another matter entirely.”
    “Oh, God,” I said.
    “There are things he needs to explain,” he replied, with a great deal of seriousness. “And when he does, you need to ask yourself again why you don’t remember him. Why him? What would be the benefit?”
    “Why not make me forget everything? It seems as though that would be easier.”
    “Easier, yes. Assuming . . . assuming someone did steal your memories.”
    “Of course someone did.” I frowned, searching his gaze, which was becoming distant, thoughtful. “What are you thinking?”
    He hesitated, and the hush that fell down around us was thick, and the air hard to breathe.
    “Both of us would do anything to protect the ones we love,” Father Lawrence said. “I wear chains when I lose myself. I hide in this room with candles and prayer. But what would you do, Maxine, to protect Grant?”
    “I don’t know. I’m not that woman.”
    He gave me a sad, chilling smile. Against my skin, the boys stirred, tugging me toward the door. I didn’t need to be asked twice. I stood and pulled on my boots, unable to look at Father Lawrence.
    “I wondered if I killed him,” I blurted out. “I still wonder. My knife was there. But I wouldn’t have needed a weapon to finish it.”
    “I don’t believe that,” Father Lawrence said, gently. “You wouldn’t hurt your own grandfather. And you’re not a cold-blooded killer.”
    “But I do kill.” Tears burned my eyes. I blinked them away. “I’ll see you later, Frank. Stay out of trouble.”
    “And don’t,” I added as an afterthought, “keep stringing Killy along. You being here isn’t easy for her. You know how she feels about you.”
    “Don’t,” he said.
    “Don’t,” I echoed mockingly, and left the room.

CHAPTER 6
    I knew something was wrong before I hit the stairs. The boys were too restless. Even the armor throbbed; but that felt odd, and separate from what Zee and the others were telling me. Which was worrisome enough.
    I reached the bar. And found a shitload of zombies.
    Almost two dozen, scattered like gnats on rotten fruit: ready to eat, ready to fly. Men, women, even a couple teenagers, all sporting