Sisters

by Eliza Nolan

  Grace’s eyes widen with realization. She nods and jumps to her feet.

  “Where do we start?”

  Don’t miss the exciting second book in the Hunter Sisters series:

  HUNGER

  by Eliza Nolan

  1

  Eva

  I dump out the last box of books on the attic floor, and frantically shove my way through the pile. In the dim light, my eyes strain to see what I’m sifting through. A cook book—I toss it aside. An old Bible—I flick my wrist to chuck it, but don’t let it go at the last second. I throw it in with the small box of other books I plan on taking with us. I’m not sure I believe in God, but I didn’t believe in demons either. Until last night.

  Grace’s voice carries up from the second floor. She’s singing Christina Aguilera’s “The Voice Within”—and nailing it. Singing is one of the ways she calms herself.

  “Grace!” I shout towards the opening in the attic floor that leads down to the second-floor hallway. She’s probably still in her pajamas. I told her we needed to go, should have left last night. I push through several National Geographic magazines, and a few moldy copies of Shakespeare’s plays, then pause.

  “Grace! Are you down there?” I shout. She’s the older one, I shouldn’t have to be the one playing parent, but she’s been through a lot—having learned she’s a demon and all. Still, how does she not see the urgency of our situation?

  “What?” she finally shouts up from the second floor.

  I scan the titles of the final two books and cast them aside, then carefully hop my way through the piles of upended boxes, towards the attic exit with my half box of semi—maybe, possibly, but probably not—important books. Anything from Mom’s old days of studying religion and the occult. Anything that might have some insight into what happened to Grace—’cause she’s a demon—and where our parents were taken—by a different demon. The small box of books is not as full as I would’ve liked, but what can I do? We have to hurry.

  “What?” Grace barks again. The ladder leading up to the attic creaks and the back of her ponytailed head pops up through the hole. Thankfully her horns—the ones she grew when we summoned her last night—are still nowhere to be seen. She steadies herself against the attic floor, holding a half-eaten protein bar in her fist, and faces me.

  “Aaaah!” I jump back at what looks like charred peeling skin covering her face, but relax quickly, and chuckle. It’s one of her masks. She does this when she needs a “spa day.” The protein bar and a charcoal facial mask mean she’s in mini-spa mode.

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  She takes a bite of her bar and mashes it into one cheek, chewing thoughtfully—as if she doesn’t have a worry in the world—then swallows and says, “What’s the rush, Eva? Can’t I have a day to process everything. I mean—” she points the half-eaten bar at her chest “—I’m the one that just found out I was a de...different. Don’t I get to have a day of self-care?” Grace’s eyes are wide and glassy, as if she’s half-checked out and absolutely not processing her situation. I doubt I’d do any better if I was in her shoes. It breaks my heart to think of what she could be going through.

  But there’s no time.

  “When the cops come looking for Mom and Dad, they won’t let us stay here,” I say.

  “We can say we’re going to stay with friends until our parents show up again.”

  “That’s not how it works in the movies!” I grunt as I drag the box of books over to the opening.

  “This isn’t a movie.” She rolls her eyes as if I’m being ridiculous. Her laissez faire attitude ratchets up my already panicked heart into a frenzy. If she won’t get panicked and ready, then I have to get ready for both of us—all while herding her self-caring butt along with me.

  “Grace, you’ve just found out you’re a demon, and our parents have been taken off to Hell or somewhere worse. Are you sure that now is the time to test whether or not the world works the way it does in the movies? Dad said this all happened back when Mom was doing her Masters in Florida. I found a professor in her contacts that works there in Anthropology. We need to go down there and see if they can help us. So please, chuck the granola bar and give me a hand with these books.”

  “If you’re in such a rush, let’s go now. We can come back for this stuff later if we still need it.”

  I shove the box at her. She sighs, cradling it in one arm, but still grips the energy bar.

  “Grace! Was I the only one who saw the news this morning?”

  Grace stops chewing and her forehead wrinkles as she searches her brain, then says, “What? About the serial arsonist still at large?” She moves down the ladder, hugging the box of books in one hand.

  “No! I’m talking about the story where there was a disturbance at a Christmas concert last night, when one of the young attendees appeared to have some type of serious head injury, and then vanished, leaving behind a large pool of blood. Shortly afterwards her parents were also seen fleeing the scene. Authorities aren’t sure what happened and are searching for the child and parents involved for questioning.”

  I follow her down the attic ladder, slide my phone out of my pocket, and pull up the news story. I take the box of books from her and replace it with my phone. Her eyes grow wide as they lock on the screen, and she drops the last of her protein bar.

  “That’s Mom and Dad,” she cries, turning the phone to face me.

  She’s right. The police have combed through the theater’s security footage and there’s a picture of our blurry parent’s racing through the lobby. Luckily, they haven’t figured out their names yet.

  “We may not be able to come back to the house,” I say. “We don’t know what the police know. We don’t know what they think happened. We need to get our stuff loaded up in the SUV and go!”

  Add Hunger on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48761658-hunger

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my brother who lent me his occult books and took a gander at my first draft. You are my favorite sibling! (Yeah, I know I only have one, but you’re still my favorite!)

  Thanks to the writing community on Twitter and IRL. Y’all inspire me to keep moving forward when I feel like I’ve lost my way.

  Thanks to my family and friends for all your support. And a shout out to Erika, who was one of my first readers.

  A super special thank you to my editor, Kate Foster. Each time you help me whip another story into shape I learn something new. You are the best kind of editor!

  And finally, thanks so much to you, readers. Y’all are amazing!

  About the Author

  Eliza Nolan was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She lived in Charleston, South Carolina for a few years, after which she returned to icy Minnesota—where she now lives with her two unruly cats in a house smaller than your closet.

  Connect with Me

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElizaNolanPants

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/elizanolanpants

  Website: http://elizanolan.com/

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ElizaNolan