Melt: A Timebend Novel

Melt: Chapter 1

"Don't look. Don't-look-don't-look-don't-look," Mala muttered under her breath. Her eyes were fixed on her mother across the entryway. Erinne had her shotgun slung over her shoulder as she bent and dug through a trunk full of moth-eaten quilts, pulling out something that resembled a colorful spiderweb more than a blanket.

She's not gonna look, Mala chided herself. The light's too dim anyway. It was true. Other than the window they'd crawled through, there was no light to speak of. The foyer of the mansion resembled a tomb more than anything. The bones of a rotted couch cast eerie shadows on the wall. And her mother dug deeper into the trunk, intent on scavenging. She's not gonna look. Just do it. But Mala's heart didn't trust her head. It beat out a worried rhythm on her ribs.

Slowly, Mala crouched down and slid her hand between two jagged panes of glass that threatened to bite her wrist. She held her breath as she twisted a little knob. Luckily, it fell off without a fight. She risked a glance down. A pitted, abused face stared back up at her. Jewels pried out of the center, numerals pried off the cheeks—­someone had smashed this poor grandfather clock to pieces a long time ago. When gold had been worth something.

You are so stupid, Mala scolded herself. This isn't gonna work. Just leave- But her mother made a noise, and before Mala could argue with herself, she'd slipped the hour hand off the clock and into her frayed pocket.

Erinne led the way down a dim hall; Mala followed like a younger, suppler shadow. A cracked mirror gaped at the two women in threadbare brown trousers and collared shirts, the images of their untamed brown curls, sun-kissed skin, and chocolate eyes refracted back in slivers until the mirror saw only a shadowy, many-eyed monster. The women peered in every direction as they both stepped over a marble column—a fallen soldier among the many guarding this vast house. Erinne held the shotgun ready; Mala, a trident dagger that had been her father's.

Erinne jerked her brown curls toward a bedroom. Mala followed, and while her mother checked the closet, the seventeen-year-old peered out a broken window at the forest. Her eyes flickered over the trees, searching, seeking. An eerie feeling crept up her spine. Calm down. It's just another supply run. No one's here. Scouts said the last Erlender boat was thirty kilometers upriver. But a breeze caused the trees to shiver, and Mala couldn't help joining them.

She glanced back into the room to see her mother pocketing some rusted safety pins.

Mala returned to her mother. "We should hurry." She tried to sound calm, simply cautious. She tried not to let the fear trickle into her voice. The house had looked deserted, but this far north it was hard to tell. This far north, it was dangerous.

When Erinne was ready to move on, she grunted and Mala followed her into the hall. They went through room after room, quickly eliminating most. But Erinne stopped short in the master bedroom. A series of paintings stacked near the bed caught her eye. The first painting showed a girl swimming underneath the crusty hull of a ship. Mala barely glanced at it as she walked the perimeter of the room.

Crash.

Mala whirled around, prepared to throw the dagger. Her mother stood frozen, a hand to her mouth, the painting of the little girl forgotten on the floor. Mala followed her mother's gaze and saw the second painting. A ship aflame on the water. Her mother began to tremble.

Quickly, Mala crossed the room and turned the canvas around. She reached for her mother's hand but Erinne waved her off.

"Momma, I'm just trying to help—"

Erinne gave her the look.

"Fine," Mala muttered. "I'm going to check the kitchen. You stay here. When I get back, we're leaving." Her mother nodded absently, arms clutching her torso.

Mala sighed and walked purposefully down the hall to a vast kitchen. There was nothing to do but give her mother space when she was rattled like this.

The forest had already reclaimed a good portion of the kitchen. Ferns and stubby trees huddled in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the tattered roof. Mala yanked on a warped cabinet drawer. It wouldn't budge. Neither would its neighbor.

The top cabinets hadn't sealed themselves shut, and a quick glance told Mala they'd been raided long ago. But as she moved to close the last one, a glint from the top shelf caught her eye. She set down her knife and hoisted herself carefully onto the old stone countertop.

The lower cabinets groaned but held as Mala peered inside. She saw a single gleaming jam jar. It was full of bullets. Flooding hell. I knew it. Her heart raced as she reached for the jar. Behind it, well-polished and oiled, was a gun. Mala nearly fell off the countertop.

"Sludge!" she cursed and clung to the shelves. She tied a knot in her shirt and shoved the jam jar inside. She took the gun in her shaking hands and checked it. The magazine was fully loaded.

Mala wanted to yell for her mother, to run screaming down the hall and grab her. Instead, she counted internally. One, two, three ... her pulse started to calm. And then she slithered silently to the floor. Gun in one hand and knife in the other, she crept back to the master suite to collect her mother. But Erinne was nowhere to be seen.

"Mom!" she whispered, panicked. "Momma?" She ran across the room to a door on the other side. The breath fled from her body and cold flooded her. She grabbed the door handle for support.

Oh God—they've taken her.

The door smashed Mala in the face. She groaned.

Erinne peered around the edge apologetically. Mala clasped her jaw, but didn't feel the throbbing. She only felt relief. Her mother held out a long white plastic bag as a peace offering.

"We have to leave now! Forget that stuff, whatever it is. We have to go. Someone's been here. Someone's staying here. I found this." Mala held up the gun. Erinne's eyes widened in alarm.

"Come on!" Mala tucked the knife in her waistband and pushed at Erinne, but her mother wouldn't relinquish her hold on the plastic bag. "Then bring it—I don't care, but we've got to be out of here before they get—"

An explosion rattled their teeth. Mala grabbed her mother's hand and the two exchanged a long look. Then they raced down the hall, back toward the broken window that had served as their entry point.

Mala peered out the window before launching through it and dropping to the ground. Her mother landed softly beside her.

A sudden crash made the women freeze. Mala grabbed her weapons and flattened herself against the wall of the house. "Erlenders," she croaked weakly to her mother. Erinne shuddered in fear next to her, turning her head rapidly like a bird. Mala tightened her grip on the gun. She swallowed. If I have to shoot someone, I have to. I have to protect mom. If I have to shoot someone... oh, please don't let that happen. The gun quivered in her hand. The seconds dragged slowly, agonizingly, and each breath Mala took felt like a deafening roar, sure to give away their location. She held her breath.

But it did no good. A second explosion rang through the forest. Before Erinne could fully lift her shotgun or Mala could recover from her shock, a thick bull of a man barreled through the trees right in front of them.

Smack!

Pain radiated all the way from Mala's spine to her fingertips. It sang in her head like a bell. It reverberated through her body, shaking every last ounce of flesh.

Mala fought her body and forced her eyes to focus on the man in front of her. To her shock, she recognized him. He wasn't an Erlender. Deep brown skin, screws piercing his ears, snub nose, a black fish tattoo covering his chin and half his neck - he was one of the best soldiers in Bara's guard.

"Sorgen?" she whimpered.

"Mala!" Blood gushed down his forehead, into his eyes. "Help me."    

Thanks for reading. Please vote if you liked it this far!

Discussion Question: What do you think Mala wanted the hour hand for?