ARC: Cracked Read Online Free Page B

recognize. I recognize it because I routinely eat it.
    It is the essence of a human soul.
    I sit down. Hard.
    The boy pushes himself off the wall and his forehead scrunches with concern. Concern’s good. Concern means he’s not going to turn on me now that the others are out of the way. “Are you OK?” he asks.
    OK? I’ve gone from thinking I’m Superwoman (OK, so maybe her evil twin) to having my ass handed to me. I learnt my beloved mom was one big, fat liar and now here’s a boy exhaling souls who might try to kill me any minute. It’s been one hell of a day.
    But, it occurs to me he’s probably asking about all the blood and not my emotional turmoil.
    I nod, then hold out my gown. “It’s not mine. Another man was attacked.” The boy makes to take off for the stairs – can’t have that! “Don’t leave me!” He pauses and I shake my head. “He’s dead. He was… torn apart.” The Hunger flares at the memory, and I look down to hide my exhilaration.
    “I’m sorry,” he says, and I sneak a peek at him. “That must have been hard.”
    I try not to snort.
    I examine the boy from beneath a ragged curtain of hair. He still doesn’t look as if he suspects anything and an idea takes root. Despite his grungy appearance, the eyes are guileless and the face open. Giddiness sweeps through me. A second chance for some answers stands in front of me, wrapped in a simple-minded package.
    I’ll need to tread carefully. Just because he’s against my enemies doesn’t mean he’s for me. In fact, had he shown up half an hour earlier, I suspect this would have been a very different conversation. If he senses I’m more than some hapless victim, this could still go sideways.
    But the opportunity for some answers…
    My… specialness was one of those we’ll-talk-about-it-when-you’re-older topics. Turns out, it wasn’t my getting older that became the issue, but my mom’s. Unfortunately there aren’t any equivalent books to How Babies Are Made to cover these particular gaps in my education. I know Mom didn’t plan to get murdered, but I still curse her lack of foresight. Never more so than today.
    This boy might have the answers; I just have to take them from him. I consider the many tools at my disposal, eyeing his large blood-splattered frame, and settle on my weapon of choice – one so infrequently used I need to dust it off first.
    My eyes fill with tears. “Wha–” I swallow hard “– what were those things?”
    “Demons.” Thanks, Einstein. I got that part. “Turns out spiritual warfare is a lot less theoretical than you probably think.”
    How many times had he practiced that line? I wouldn’t make judgments on what I think, silly boy. I let a tear trickle over.
    He hurries to reassure me. “Don’t cry – I’ll protect you.”
    Humiliating. Absolutely humiliating.
    “What do they want?” I ask. The boy sits down on the floor next to me and pats my bruised back reassuringly. I try not to wince and look up at him like he’s my hero – which is equally painful.
    “To destroy the world,” he says. Apparently wannabe monster-hunters tend towards the dramatic. I turn my attention to the body lying across from us to hide my irritation.
    “Destroy the world?” I push. The boy sees where I’m looking and stands. He walks to where it lies and pulls a rustic-looking, clay globe from his belt. I recognize it as the same kind he had lobbed into the room; the kind that burned my shoulder. He pops a cork and pours liquid all over the corpse. The body starts to smoke and bubble. He turns back to me, holds the ball to his lips and takes a swig. I gasp.
    “Don’t worry! It’s just water! Well, holy water. But it only hurts demons.”
    I discreetly tug my nightgown’s neckline to more completely cover the burns on my shoulder.
    He offers the ball to me. “Thirsty?”
    I try not to look appalled.
    “So, how do they try to destroy the world?” I ask again. He’s starting to make me consider the