Wolf Song (Wolf Singer Prophecies Book 1)

was a specific entrance and exit so that the rest of the fence line wouldn't be worn down from misuse and disrespect. After all, if you disrespect a fence line, it will no longer work for you. What's the point of keeping it mended and strong if you would just chop it, anyway?
I placed my hand on the post before I smelt it. That metallic tang in the air like the grinding of metal gears meant that a Reaper was nearby.
A shadow in the tree line made me pause too. I slowly backed away. Backed away from the shadows in the tree, from the smell, from the boy who was playing happily in the field.
I didn't stop until I was back inside the house and the glow of the sigils told me that it was safe and sealed. From the window, I didn't see much. I still saw the shadow, but not the boy.
I rushed upstairs, past the bedrooms and up through the attic to the rooftop access.
In the clear light of day, I ought to have been safe from any Reaper waiting for me.
I looked up and there he was, in the distance. I grabbed my rifle and looked through the scope. And yes, through the scope, I saw the boy. But I also saw the monster within.
It wasn’t fair that monsters should appear beautiful, but that was exactly what this one looked like. Beautiful. It had more mass than the boy it imitated, so that the rest of it looked like a shadowed halo around the boy it pretended to be. Long hair billowed around it like a soft halo. Its body had a sinewy grace that bordered on insectile with its exaggeratedly long limbs.
But it was its eyes that held the most danger. They truly were otherworldly, an opalescent black like a beetle’s carapace; they could hold you prisoner in their gaze if you let them.
It was really creepy the way Reapers could just wrap themselves up in people skin. I hated that I nearly got duped. And in the clear light of day, too.
When they got my mother, it was nighttime. They were stronger at night, and falling prey to them in the dark was more or less the expectation.
To be this blatant during the day, though, made it somehow...worse. Did that mean they were getting more powerful?
A shiver racked my body at the thought. The only reason there were any survivors was because of the sunlight. If that level of protection were gone, how long would any of us manage to stay alive out here?
I lined the boy up in my scope. I had to remind myself that he wasn't a boy. He was a trap. A lure. A bait.
He was bait so I would leave the house.
My finger shook against the trigger. All of my dad's affirmations and thoughts and all that goodness rang inside my mind reminding me of the rules of survival.
And I couldn't. I laid the rifle down. I couldn't.
I couldn't.
He was still playing there. And then he stopped. And just stood and stared. He was decidedly un-boy-like then. I whipped the gun back up but he disappeared.
The smile at the corners of his mouth would linger in my memory.

Staying indoors for the rest of the day seemed the best idea.
I scoured through my dad's book, trying to get a feel for what he had done and where he was going the day he disappeared.
He and my mom were really great artists. At least they seemed like artists, though one was a preacher and the other an herb witch. There were the usual sketches of flora and fauna, herbs and animals, and other strange creatures. I skipped any mention of Reapers and the Rave sickness. I was already living it. There was no need to read about it.
Some of the pages of the journal were torn out. That was weird.
It wasn't a neat precise cut as I would expect, but a tear. Why would he rip out a page? What was he doing?
Where are you?
I didn't want to be prisoner of my own house, so I went to the town the next day. For all my bravado, though, I still went along the blessed paths down the mountainside to where the town was.
I made myself a little list of what I needed. I brought some herbs and other things from my garden for trade. I was usually able to get all the supplies I needed with the medicines and vegetables that I brought with me.
Dad was against staying in the town for too long. He felt like that was an easy way to draw attention, like painting a giant target with the words “Shoot Here” in the middle. He’d said that that was the reason the cities were targeted in the first place Before.
He still preached though. Still lent his power of the word to the townsfolk who asked him to preach his Hellfire sermons to lend strength to the wards around town’s walls and gates that kept them all safe.
He did a pretty good job. If it weren't for him, many more of the town folk would have been snatched by the Reapers. And there had been no hint of the Rave since the town’s inception because of his gift of healing.
But now...
He only visited once, maybe twice a month, but it was a couple of days at a time. What would they do if he didn't come down? Would they notice?
The gates to the town remained shut even during the day because the giant locks that kept the heavy doors from swinging inward were too cumbersome for a quick entry. It took two men at least to walk them shut.
However, there was a pass-through to the side that kind of reminded me of old pet doors. Though it was open, there were enough interwoven spells to make it feel like I walked through dense webbing. It served one main purpose: to make