Free Fated by Sarah Alderson Page B

now that you're wondering how I know so much about what's going on inside your head - things you probably didn't even know you were feeling.'
    Evie froze. Her breathing stilled.
    'I can read you,' Victor carried on. 'Not your mind - we're not telepaths - but I can read your body language: the expressions on your face, the way you cross your arms over your chest when you're feeling defensive, the way your breathing goes shallow when I mention your father, the way your jaw sets when you're angry and the way your nostrils flare when anything or anyone annoys you - which is most everyone in this town, myself included.'
    Evie swallowed and tried not to flare her nostrils. She uncrossed her arms and willed herself not to move.
    'You'll learn to listen to the voice in your head,' he said, tapping the side of his shaved temple, 'and to heed it, because that voice is going to be what keeps you alive.'
    Evie sank into the seat. 'It didn't keep my parents alive though, did it?'
    Victor's face fell, his lips pursed and a crease line took up residence between his eyes.
    'How did they die?' Evie asked in a broken voice. 'I want to know. I need to know. I need to know everything. How do I fight these things? When are you going to tell me?'
    Victor drew in a deep breath. Then he turned on his heel and walked over to a battered leather trunk that Evie had noticed standing in the corner of the room. He opened the padlock on it and she slunk closer for a better look - wondering if it was going to be full of medieval-looking weapons or something more modern, like guns - but Victor's broad shoulders hid the contents from view. He snapped it shut before she could get a look and turned around holding something in his hands.
    He offered it over to her and she saw it was a book. An old, stiff-paged, heavy-as-a-brick book.
    'Everything you need to know is in there,' he said, handing it to her.

8

    Victor disappeared off to Joe's Diner for lunch, leaving Evie manning the fort. No one had stepped foot inside since Mrs Lovell. They'd watched two dozen or more townspeople stand slack-jawed in front of the window, gaping and pointing at the price tags that Victor had assembled by the mannequins' feet. Then they'd watched every single one of them wander off down the street shaking their heads and laughing. One person even stopped to lean against a lamp post, bent double and heaving with laughter until Evie thought she was going to have to call the paramedics. But Victor had just watched happily, coffee cup in hand, from the door.
    Evie sat cross-legged and rested her hands on top of the book as though she could read it through her palms. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and turned the first page.
    It was a handwritten book. The ink was red and so faded that it looked to Evie like someone centuries ago had run out of ink and decided to open a vein. The pages were warped and dry as tinder. She had to peer closely to figure out if it was even written in English because the words were so curlicued and ornate they looked like pictograms. Her finger traced the first line, deciphering the letters one by one.
    The lore of the Hunter, she read.

    O-K, she thought.
    Hunters are the defenders of the human realm. Since the early 900s we, the descendants of the Hunter family, have fought to keep this world safe from demons.

    Hah! Evie thought, they called them demons back in the day! Maybe she'd stick with that rather than this postmodern Unhuman nonsense. And then she noticed that her hands were trembling.
    Taking a sacred oath to protect all humans, Hunters have sacrificed their lives in the name of the oath throughout the last thousand years.

    Evie could feel the earthy taste of panic filling her mouth.
    To be a Hunter is to be chosen from among the many. It is an honour.

    Honour schmoner. Evie swore out loud and turned the page. She'd had enough of her ancestor and his talk of death and duty.
    The next page was covered in an