Page 100 of Wicked Flavors

We need to forge ahead.

Saliva built in the back of Gwen’s throat, thick and heavy with the weight of something foreign. Opening her mouth, Gwen felt the soft material roll toward her teeth. She reached up, plucking Ambrosius’ eyeball from her lips. The same one he had gifted her days ago. It was large—about the size of a jawbreaker now, the pupil dilated as it stared up at her.

“It’s you and me, baby. Scout ahead.” Gwen ordered. “Find them.”

Pressing a kiss to it, she drew back her arm and chucked the eyeball as far as she could. It sailed over the aisle, though where it landed was beyond Gwen at the moment. Her attention was drawn to the slap of a sandal across the linoleum floor nearby.

Gwen pivoted at the end of an aisle, passing by storage and organization. Overburdened shelves containing poorly made decorative trunks and shelves were passed over as Gwen walked by. Her head darted left and right as she passed by more decor. Body tense, she listened for any sound of movement—

Behind me!

Enough timeto turn, but not enough to stop the dagger that pushed into her abdomen. Blood rushed to her head as she stared at the cloaked figure, both of them with matching looks of disbelief on their faces.

“Holy shit,” the woman said. “Holyshit.”

The woman was young—closer to Sierra’s age, if Gwen had to guess. Dark eyes that were half anxious and half dazed as she let go of the knife, drawing shakily back to herself. Gwen gritted her teeth, sparing the knife one more look before glaring at the woman.

“You …bitch!” Gwen cursed.“I just got this part fixed!”

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe the mayhem Ambrosius’ presence brought upon humans. Whatever it was, Gwen found that while the pain was excruciating, it wasn’t as terrible as being eaten. Her hand wrapped around the dagger’s handle, and Gwen quickly withdrew it. The gush of blood was more annoying than anything else.

“And you ruined my dress,” Gwen growled.

The euphoria and confusion had melted to anxiety and fear within the cultist. Emotions Gwen was much more familiar with as being organic. Knife still in hand, Gwen grabbed a handful of the cultist cloak, yanking them toward her. The wave of fear was so intense, the size of a Christmas dinner that Gwen eagerly filled her stomach with.

When there was but a scrap of fear left, Gwen brought the dagger to the woman’s neck. It slid through skin and muscle like butter. A gush of hot blood spilled, staining the woman’s cloak and the tips of Gwen’s fingers. The woman gasped, a wet splutter as she quickly sunk to the ground.

Impatient, Gwen pulled the knife from her neck. More blood pooled beneath the woman as she tried desperately to cut off the blood loss. It only delayed the inevitable by a few seconds as the woman’s eyes grew lifeless and her body became still.

Gwen glanced down to the cut in her dress. The material had been thoroughly torn and slashed, but the wound was slowly knitting together. It itched like nothing else, but Gwen shoved the irritation aside.

“Three down … three to go…”

She hopped over the dead woman and proceeded to make her way down the aisle. Gwen eyed the surrounding area before exiting, darting past terrarium kits and fish bowls. On her right were rows of model figurines, and on her left was more home decor. Gwen had nearly made it to the mirrors when something clouded her eyes.

Flashing images—an aerial view of the store, and darting down the aisle that contained the mirrors were two figures. When her vision cleared, Gwen froze near the aisle end, pressing her body against a display of hanging calendars. She ignored her own breathing, listening for the sound of the dashing footfalls.

Bracing herself for the impact, Gwen raised her armed hand. The body made contact, dagger piercing straight through cotton and flesh. A gasp fell from one of them, which one, Gwen wasn’t sure as she stuck her heel out. The propelling movement sent the injured cultist forward, falling face first to the ground. A sound of pain escaped the body, but Gwen would have to verify their death once she took care of the second cultist.

Or so she thought as a fist connected with her mouth. The impact sent Gwen back, nearly falling on the wailingcultist before she found her footing. Blood—thick and black—quickly filled her mouth, staining her teeth as her jaw ached.

“Linda!” the man shouted, shoving past Gwen.

She stumbled, catching herself against one of the mirrors. Gwen looked like hell, glowing neon eyes and veins that were visible along her neck, face, and hands. Gwen hadn’t noticed it before then, but even her body looked different. Her short, stubby fingers were long and pointed. Black blood spilled from her wounds, staining her dress. To put it frankly, Gwen looked nightmarish, but it didn’t unsettle her.

The cultist had fallen to Linda’s side, trying to turn her body over, but it was too late. Gwen couldn’t feel anything from the woman anymore as she slammed the mirror against the wall. Cheaply made, it shattered upon impact. Gwen grabbed a piece of the broken mirror, wincing slightly as the jagged piece cut into her palm. She stalked toward the cultist, reared back, and plunged forward—

Only to fall onto the body as the man twisted away just in time. He must have decided Linda was a lost cause, running toward the back of the store. Unlike the other cult members, this one was quick to lose his cloak. It fluttered in the air behind him, revealing ripped jeans and a basic shirt beneath.

Gwen scrambled to her feet, reaching out a hand again as she called that same burst of energy from her frame. It pulsated through her arm, exiting her palm with enough intensity that it almost knocked Gwen back. It flew through the air at an incredible speed, finding its target and sending the man flying ass over tea kettle. Gwen was quickto follow, sprinting down the floor as the resounding crash echoed throughout the store.

Frames had fallen from an end display, crashing into the cultist’s body. The wooden frames were always a point of concern for Mary, as she never liked them hanging so high, but Zander had always insisted. As Gwen drew near, she found there was some merit to Mary’s concerns.

One of the wooden frames had broken on the way down. Though Gwen could not say how, the result was still the same. A chunk of the heavy wooden frame had fallen at just the right angle and had hit the man’s forehead. The blunt force had already formed a welt on his head, blood seeping through. Gwen tried to feel for anything that wasn’t the lessening euphoria that clung to the air.

There was none.

Gwen hummed, leaning back on her heels. There was one cultist left for Gwen to take care of before she braved the back of house. Gwen wasn’t sure what lay beyond the heavy doors, but it was better to be cautious than not. As she slowly approached, Gwen stopped at the yarn section, swiping a pair of knitting needles. Like the cutting knife, she tore through the packaging and slid one into her boot.

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