Page 101 of Wicked Flavors

Brandishing the other, Gwen crept toward the back of house doors. Her nerves were on edge, adrenaline making her dizzy. Or perhaps that was the hysteria of the night. The need to protect Ambrosius, to survive humans, had never been clearer to Gwen. This wasn’t about right versus wrong, this was about self-preservation.

It was the same instinct—that intuition—that made Gwen halt upon seeing a body a few feet from the door. Another cultist, lying face down on the floor. A number of possible explanations flew through her mind.

Oneof the others turned on them, leaving them to die. Or maybe the cultist wasn’t dead at all, but acting like it. A trap, perhaps? Gwen didn’t want to give them credit, but Sierra had proven herself to be quite the actress. It wasn’t completely out of left field. Either way, Gwen needed to make a decision.

Gwen tightened her hold on the knitting needle before approaching the figure. Cautious, but determined, Gwen raised the needle. While she intended to strike, Gwen frowned upon seeing the figure’s face come into view.

It was Zander, her missing coworker…

And all his teeth were gone.

The sight was so disturbing that Gwen had no chance to react at all. She heard the doors burst open, and by the time she saw the figure, it was too late. The ax had already come down—

Gwen’s arm fell to the floor.

42

Faithful

Gwen

Gwen didn’t have severed limbs on her list of things that could go wrong, but suddenly felt foolish for not expecting it.

The pain was indescribable, almost as much as trying to figure out how a simple fireman’s ax could have taken her arm off. It shouldn’t have been possible, though nothing Gwen had done that night should have been possible. The strange burst of thoughts ravaged her mind as black ichor quickly drenched her torso. Gwen hadn’t even registered she was screaming until she stopped.

Despite losing the arm, Gwen was still quick to react. As the cultist reared back to take another swing at her, Gwen reached for her fallen arm. Gripping her wrist, Gwen swung and caught the cultist across the face with it. Black ichor sprayed against their skin, the bone cutting across the bridge of their nose.

Gwen swung again, hard enough this time that the cultist dropped the ax with a grunt. She took another swing, this time the base of her arm landing against the bottom of the cultist jaw. Their teeth clacked loudly, wincing as they stumbled backwards into the door.

Sparing her arm a glance, Gwen felt something inside shift. A strange pop and crack of her bones and tendons. The realization that Gwen could still feel her arm pushed her intuition. As if the bones were stretching to reach the other, Gwen connected her arm to her elbow. She groaned as bones and tissue melded together. Not too different from the awful sensation of Ambrosius remaking her abdomen in her bathroom earlier that same day.

Her clothes had become more ichor than dress, the vibrant pink now stained and even more torn. The jet black that tipped her fingers had grown toward her elbows. Her fingers had grown in length, dripping black liquid at the tips of sharp, deadly claws.

Perhaps she wouldn’t need improvised weapons any longer.

Gwen pushed through the swinging doors. The cultist she’d beaten with her arm lay nearby, unconscious, though not for long. Gwen could feel the spiders descend upon him as she continued further. The screams that followed were short-lived as Gwen moved past the familiar bathroom. The lights started flashing, an indicator of something more than just poor wiring.

Head tilted to the side, Gwen felt for the dwindling emotions of the cultists. She stopped in front of Mary’s door at the sudden wave of fear that lay behind it. Gwen threw the door open, readying a clawed hand to swipe, and stumbled at an unexpected sight.

There were three humans in the office, all bound, gagged, and blindfolded. They were huddled together in a line. Gwen quickly recognized the familiar mop of Mary’s hair and cursed. Gwen felt none of the latent euphoria or hysteria from them, which made them innocent.

Fuck, shit, fucking fucker, fuck me!

The cult was planning more sacrifices to their devil, something she hadn’t anticipated. Gwen didn’t have time to play hero any more than she had time to waste, killing people who were victims of circumstances. For all Mary’s faults, she wasn’t someone Gwen had ever wanted to die, let alone murder. The same could be said for the other two figures. A man and an older woman—

Fuck, it’s George and Mrs. Han!

They whimpered, panicking—it was obvious they could sense her. Sense something untoward in the room with them, something that elicited dread. Ambrosius had said she would become something humans would fear. Gwen hadn’t realized how true the statement was.

“I’ll come back for you,”she hissed, voice no longer her own. It was shrill, even to her own ears.

They whimpered in return, but Gwen couldn’t offer them comfort. She had much larger problems to contend with. Gwen shut the door behind her and heard them cry in relief. The thing they couldn’t see, but feared, was no longer in the room with them.

If she survived, Gwen knew Ambrosius would throw a tantrum about sparing them. The thought irked her, but in an unexpected way. Or maybe her mind was starting to compartmentalize all the horror she had done.

Gwen nearly slashed as something flew at her face. It stopped within inches of her face before darting backenough for her to see it. It was Ambrosius’ eyeball, surrounded in a spectral light. It bounced, reminding Gwen too much of her beloved Piki.

“How many?” Gwen asked.

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