No Peace for the Damned

realized.
    I crouched down in front of him. With gentle fingers I caressed the puckered flesh around the stitching of his eye patch. I leaned in close. My face brushed against his hair, nuzzling hischeek. His heart skipped. His breath caught in his throat. And I felt the rush of his blood traveling to his groin.
    “If it was to
me
that you kept allegiance,” I whispered, “then your loyalty has been seriously misdirected.”
    I refocused my power, this time specifically into my hands. I’d never done anything like this, but it felt so natural it was easy. Growing and stretching against Banks’s mottled face, my hands curved into something I’d never seen before. The bones and muscles cracked and shifted, realigned into larger, fiercer talons.
    I smiled. The power flowed through my hands and completed their change. Then, with the silky force of knives, my fingers curled into his skin and ripped the eye patch from his skull.
    Banks’s mouth opened to scream. Again, I was faster. With a quick squeeze of my other claw, I crushed his vocal cords. Only a gurgle escaped. I dropped the eye patch to the floor before my long, sharp nails returned to his face. Slowly, I scraped along the gaping wound of his lost eye.
    “You really think my family would ever share anything of value with someone as pitiful as you?”
    A small sound came from Thirteen’s direction, but I couldn’t make myself turn away. My nails gently moved across Banks’s forehead, leaving trails of bloody lines over his brows. His body convulsed in violent shudders. Tears streamed from his eye. The blood that flowed from his wounds spilled out and coated my strange and contorted hands. I could almost taste its tangy bitterness.
    In fact, before I realized what I was doing, I leaned over. My mouth moved toward Banks’s wounds. A strangled noise bubbled in his throat. I cradled his head in my long hands. My lips parted instinctively.
    “Magnolia.”
    I froze, my lips moments away from tasting his flowing blood. Thirteen’s voice stopped me. “Magnolia, don’t.”
    I blinked. The dark red of my vision dimmed, a semblance of normality returned. Banks’s head rested between my inhuman hands, but it was like I was seeing him for the first time.
Oh my God
. What had I just done?
    With arms trembling, I let him go. He fell to the floor in a heap. Slowly I backed away. All I could do was stare. The blood pooling around him, the desecrated flesh on his face—all evidence of the torture I had just inflicted. Proof that I was just like everyone else in my family. But worst of all, the torture had felt so right. It still felt right.
This
was what it meant to be a Kelch.
    “Magnolia…”
    In the next moment I was in front of Thirteen. Instantly, his restraints fell away. He swayed in his chair then crumpled forward. I held him up, my clawed hands on his shoulders. I used my forearm to wipe the blood from his face. The wound would be on the very top of his head. I searched through his hair, eager to heal him.
    “Thirteen? Thirteen, can you hear me?”
    Finally, I found a deep gash at the top of his forehead, right along his hairline. A perforated blade had been dragged along his scalp. It ran nearly ear to ear.
Damn those bastards!
Banks convulsed on the floor behind me.
    I placed my elongated palm on the top of Thirteen’s head. My energy flowed through him. It worked much faster than it had with Theo, or even Charles. My powers were stronger now. Within seconds he was completely healed. His sigh of relief filled me. But when he opened his eyes, there was a question in his look.
    “What is it? What do you need?”
    “Stop torturing him, Magnolia.” His voice was real now, commanding. No more struggled whispers.
    Banks twitched on the floor, curled in the fetal position. I put an arm around Thirteen’s shoulders and helped him up. We walked together across the room, where I leaned him against the doorframe. I stepped toward Banks. Thirteen grabbed my shoulder. “He has suffered enough, Magnolia.”
    “I know,” I said, not looking at him. “I’m ending it.”
    But as I approached Banks, the burn inside me returned. Red colored the room again. This time, though, I pushed it away. I was
not
like my father and uncles. I would not give in to this. I crouched on the floor beside Banks. His one eye pried open. So much terror in his gaze now. Images of all the things I could do to him raced through my mind. The pain I could cause him—such a sweet