Prologue

Innocence Lost

She had been carefree once, a child with ribbons in her hair and a smile wide and beautiful. She was full of childhood naiveté and the curiosity of a thousand and one suns. She wore pretty pastel dresses that her mother sewed for her, jumpers with shorts because she really didn't like skirts, thank you very much, and smart little brown boots good for exploring. She loved exploring—the pursuit of knowledge and a chance for fantasy. Books were her friends, words were her weapons, and her fists her shields. She was a girl with stars in her eyes and a heart full of laughter and love.

Children stay happy for rarely so long, do they not? One thing leads to another. Innocence is snatched like a butterfly in a spider's web, eaten, and forgotten in almost the same instant.

Sometimes, however, the spider likes to let the butterfly wait.

The smell of smoke was not uncommon in the Yates house so late in November. The chill always managed to worm its way into even the smallest crevasses of the attic, making the young girl, currently sitting up in bed, shiver fiercely. It was always cold this close to the mountains. They weren't quite as close to Briggs as they could have been (they were quite close to North City, just a six hour train ride away), but it was still cold. The girl knew that until her mother lit the fire in the fireplace downstairs, her room would remain as cold as the mountains they lived by. Oh how she yearned for the cozy warmth of her room via the fireplace flue at the right hand wall of her room. But already she could tell this smoke and heat were different

Fear clawing at the girl's throat, she slowly clambered out of bed, the clumsy feet of a four year old fumbling on the warm rug. The wood floor was warm where it should have been cold, almost painfully burning the underneath of her bare feet. She shuddered involuntarily as she literally hot-footed it to the other side of her room, tiny hand opening the door to her bedroom. She winced at the heat emanating from the brass door knob.

"These things aren't supposed to be hot?" she whispered softly, clever mind already putting a few pieces of the puzzle together, but not nearly enough to go for help while there was still time.

She slowly started down the hall, tiptoeing as not to disturb her mother; the scent of smoke intensified the closer she got to the head of the landing. A rough cough loosed itself from her throat, and she brought her hand up to smother it. From below, a flickering glow reflected off the repeatedly whitewashed walls, throwing the entire room into sharp contrast. "Mom?" she called warily. It was really late. Surely she had doused the fire…

No answer, however, met her ears. The crackling flames seemed to intensify, magnifying in velocity, the sound reminding her of sap popping during the summer heat when she'd swim in the river with Mattie Nichols and her baby sister Ethel, who was barely old enough to stick her chubby legs in the water without one of them watching warily from the riverbank. Her bare feet carried her unsteadily down those stairs, heart pounding uncomfortably in her throat. Why isn't Mommy answering me? Her feet were burning now, a painful hotness that had her skipping from step to step. Why was it so hot? It wasn't even this hot in the summer.

She was halfway down the stairs when she finally saw why.

"Mommy!" she shrieked as soon as she reached the first level. It looked like something birthed from the nightmares of children. Fire had engulfed the entire kitchen, and was making its way to the living room like a many tendriled monster vying for food. "Mommy! There's a fire!"

From atop the landing, the ghostly figure of a woman appeared. Her auburn hair was alight in the flames, and her blue eyes, so much like her daughter's, were wide with fear. "Evie!" she cried, running down the stairs to scoop her young daughter into her arms. "What happened?"

"I woke up and it was all smoky in my room, so I went downstairs!" Evie—who was really called Evelyn, but only when she wanted to sound like a grownup—cried, frightened tears running down her round face. "I didn't do it! I swear! I swear!"

But her mother ignored her daughter's pleas. Her mother was looking around, peering through the fire for something (anything) that had started the blaze. They were wasting time, thought Evie It didn't take long for her, even at the young age of four, to comprehend that we were going to die here if they didn't do something, and soon…

She struggled from her mother's grip, grabbing her tightly by the hand. It seemed stupid, a child her age grabbing her mother's gigantic hand. "We need to get outside!" she choked out, somehow managing to ignore the coying smoke in the air as it snaked down her throat. The sound of shouting pierced the air from outside. Men cried for Violetknoll's bucket brigade to form up. Some shouted for others to rescue the two inhabitants. Them.

Evie cried out in pain as a burning beam fell, landing on her back, crushing her to the floor. Flames charred her skin, along with the soft muscle underneath, but she managed to roll out from underneath it before any real damage could be done. Evie tumbled to the ground, landing in the far corner, the only part of the room not engulfed in flames. Through the haze and smoke, she could hear her mother screaming from the center of the smoke-filled room, terror clear in her voice as the structural supports of the home began to crumble all around them…

Before she sunk into unconsciousness, the last thing Evie heard was her mother's desperate cries for help.

…

"…poor dear. Losing someone so close at that age…"

"Any idea what started it?"

Evie winced as she slowly dredged herself up from the thick veils of unconsciousness. The first thing she noticed was that she was lying on her stomach. There was a cold compress pressed tightly against her left shoulder, and she shivered at its touch.

She hated the cold.

"They don't know. Foul play is what I'm chalking this up as." She could hear the two voices now. Loud and distinct, as if they were standing right next to her. "Anne was such a lovely woman…"

"Doctor Margery!" The door was swung open with such force, Evie winced. Her head was pounding like some sadistic monkey was taking a bat to it and using it for batting practice. She just wanted to sleep… "Evie! Is she alright?"

Mattie… Evie thought with a small smile. Too overprotective, as always… "Quiet, girl!" the first voice growled out. "She needs her rest!"

Who calls Mattie 'girl' all the time? She wondered tiredly, her brain at least four steps behind. The blurred sight of an imposing woman, blonde hair pulled back in a bun, cigarette held in one hand, met her foggy vision. Doctor Margery… that's who…

"I came as soon as I could," Evie heard someone else say. This one was feminine, too, but much younger than Doctor Margery. "I was just putting the girls to bed when I heard all the shouting. Did they find…"

"…Asphyxiation," Margery said softly, "Evie here has second degree burns to her shoulder and back. Collarbone's fractured, too. Most likely from the fall of that support beam."

"But did they find—"

"It wasn't human!" she exploded, earning a whimper from a curious third party, who had remained silent. Probably Ethel, she thought. "Anne Yates…she didn't look even remotely human."

Mommy didn't look human? Evie wondered. She wasn't going to stay silent any more. Why did they say her mother didn't look human? "Mommy…" she croaked, wincing at how weak and scratchy her voice sounded.

Gasping aloud, Margery rushed to her bedside, green eyes magnified by her thick glasses. "Evie, are you alright?" she asked gruffly, worry snaking its way into her voice. Distantly, Evie could hear her calling for Miss Geraldine, her daughter.

"Where's my…mom?" she choked out, trying to swallow. "Did…did she get out…alright?"

Mattie stared at her sadly, clutching Evie's tiny little hand in both of her. "Evelyn…" Margery murmured softly. "Your mother…she didn't make it out."

Evie didn't move. She felt as if the world had just shattered, yanking the proverbial rug from right underneath her unsuspecting feet. The fire. Her mother's pleas for her young life… "No…" she whispered hoarsely, throat constricting in her agony. "No…no…you're lying! My mom's alright! You're lying!"

The woman who had entered sat on the edge of Evie's bed, tawny colored hair loose around her face, gray eyes soft with sympathy. The child she was holding had her eyes and coloring. Mattie looked like her father, with her rosy cheeks and thick, dark hair. She was still holding her hand.

The woman's hand found itself to her hair, raking her fingers through it softly. "It's okay, Evie…" she murmured softly.

"It's not okay," Evie—now Evelyn—whispered brokenly. "It will never be okay…Mom's dead. The fire was my fault!"

Mattie looked at her mother sadly, unable to comprehend the severity of the situation. Her sister stared at Evie as if she had suddenly morphed into an alien, compress slipping just enough to reveal angry red muscle, skin blackened around the edges of her burn. It would hurt. It would leave scars. But she would heal. She was strong.

The little girl withe ribbons in her hair was gone now, burned to a crisp and scattered to the four winds. Left behind was this girl with fire in her hair, her voice, her skin; an angry thing of black and yellow and red. Gone was the drive for adventure, the need to know for the sake of knowing. Here to stay was the unwarranted passion of revenge.

This is the story of Evelyn Yates.

And she is, above all things, a fighter.