Free The Undoer by Melissa J. Cunningham

Terminator and killed them all by himself while we watched.”
    “You killed them as demons. Not in bodies?” She searches my eyes, confused.
    “I’m Superman, I guess.” I try to lighten the mood, but from their expressions, it doesn’t work. “But I’ll take the Terminator too.” It’s typical banter for Heidi and me. This was how we joked around when we lived together. It comes out naturally, just being around her.
    Her mouth opens, and that familiar glint comes to her eyes. I can tell she’s tempted to joke back, but she doesn’t. Instead, she turns to Jag. “I believe him.”
    “I don’t care what you believe,” he tells her. “You aren’t even a Cazador.”
    “Not from what I can see,” Dean says with a chuckle. “Nice tat, Heidi.”
    She hurries to pull her jacket up higher, but it’s too late. Everyone gathers around and tries to see her newly forged tattoo. Jag is the only one not hovering for a glimpse. His countenance falls into one of dismay, and he stomps back to the basement.
    “Fine!” she finally says to her snooping friends who are trying to pull off her jacket. “I’ll show you.” She slips her arms from the sleeves, allowing the boys to stretch her tank top down in the back.
    I push closer too, and sure enough, a virgin tattoo rests between her shoulder blades. “You got a tattoo? Are you freaking kidding me?” Anger—like a bolt of electricity searching for a rod—flashes through me, all the way to my toes. Even my fingers tingle, and I feel a lecture aching to burst from my mouth. How can she be so irresponsible? Does she not know how easily these things become infected nowadays? How did she pay for it? Not to mention she’s too young! I doubt our dad gave her permission. “How much did it cost?”
    “Seriously, dude. Back off. Are you my mother?”
    “Yeah, seriously.” For the first time, Dean actually glares at me too. Owen and Doug look at me with surprised expressions.
    She has said those very words to me— are you my mother —so many times that I almost answer back with my automatic response of, yes, I am your mother. And your father—since ours was always gone—and your babysitter, and your tormentor . She would glare and I’d smirk, and then we’d both bust up laughing.
    The words are right on the tip of my tongue, dying to slip out. I stare at her oh-so-familiar face and rein in my raging emotions. I’m acting like a lunatic. I have no right to tell her what to do, stranger or not.
    “It’s totally awesome,” Doug murmurs, running his finger along the newly minted blade. “It’s runed.”
    “And how did they get it to glow like that?” Owen asks. “It’s so cool.”
    “Special ink.” She smiles proudly.
    I know that look. It’s the expression of someone who has reached the top of Mount Everest, who has finished a marathon. She wants to be a Cazador and has proven her fearlessness by going under the needle. She has the tattoo to prove it.
    I stand, pacing, holding my tongue, wondering when the hell my baby sister started seeing demons. She would have told me if it was back when we lived as a family, so it had to have been since the Rift. What other supernatural anomalies has the cataclysm caused?
    I end up at the top of the stairs that lead down into the basement. It’s totally rude of me to enter Jag’s domain without permission, but we should talk, and I don’t trust myself around Heidi at the moment.
    At the bottom of the stairs is a small, cement room about twelve by twelve with no windows. Jag squats in front of an old army trunk, tossing things this way and that, searching for something. His eyes shift, and he notices me standing at the bottom of the stairs.
    “What are you doing down here?”
    “I’m just looking around. Figured it was storage.” The room is cool, but not terribly cold. Two sleeping bags lie on the floor next to a low table with candles, a small radio, and other odds and ends.
    “Well, this is my private room, so