Dance of Ashes and Smoke (Age of Monsters Book 1) by Harley Gordon

Author:Harley Gordon [Gordon, Harley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Paranormal, Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2016-07-06T04:00:00+00:00

My breath caught at the beauty of the library. Live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss framed the huge white historic structure with majestic columns holding up the roof. Before all this, I would’ve loved to explore the city, still gorgeous even though it looked like the zombie apocalypse ravaged it.

I couldn’t believe it still stood.

My eyes closed to slits to read the words etched on the top of the building. “This eternal court is open to you with its society wide as the world. The chosen and the mighty of every place and time.”

Olivia and I hurried past the black iron gated ramps and up the stone steps, weapons readied, Jax and Adele behind us. The door was heavy and opened with a whoosh, stale air smacking us in our faces. No one had been here in ages. We went through the endless stacks and aisles and offices, clearing the building.

Relieved we found no rotten corpses or monsters ready to jump out at us, we locked the doors and sealed ourselves in, setting alarms and traps for anyone who found their way inside.

Exhausted from the ride and the returned throbbing pain in my face, I curled up in one of the green chairs set up in a circle, inspecting my scarred hands, wrapped in self-pity. My face would match my hands once it healed. Even if we won the world back, no one wanted a dancer with a ravaged face. I still hadn’t mustered up the courage to look in a mirror, not ready to see how hideous I was.

Jax crouched next to me. “I should really check your injury. It needs a fresh bandage.” His timing was creepy.

I blew out a breath, determined to stop being a coward. “Let me use the bathroom first.”

His eyes seared holes into my back as I walked away to hide in the ladies room for a moment. I kept my head down, avoiding the mirrors until I’d relieved myself. I stared at the sink as I pumped sanitizer into my hands, building my backbone from scratch.

With a growl, I raised my head and faced the mirror.

And burst into tears.

My hair was snarled and dull, the golden highlights gone, leaving it a muddy brown. Half of my face covered in gauze and the other half smeared with filth. Even the vodka hadn’t been strong enough to wash it away. Eyes gaunt and shadowed, skin sallow, cheekbones sharp and protruding. I looked like a walking skeleton with skin stretched across it—and what was under the bandage was probably much worse. Still crying, I peeled away the tape holding the gauze to my face. It was so bad, the tears stopped.

Lines of oozing crimson shredded my cheek from the edge of my brow to the corner of my lips, leaving the skin marred and puckered. Blood painted the side of my face, dribbling down my neck to pool in the hollow of my collarbone.

A scream built up inside me even as I scolded myself for being shallow.

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