"Burn, baby, burn!"
Howls ripped through the night air, followed by a chorus of Wooohoos and Yeehaws. Cars lined the field that kept a house that blazed with white flames. Atop the hoods of the cars, sat and propped men and women with appearances from the ages of thirteen to twenty-nine. The youngest of them all – a blue-eyed blonde haired girl named Abigail – tipped back the bottle of beer in her hand, and let out another howl, which set off a chain reaction. "That is what I call fun," she mused, looking to her older sister with a twinkle in her eye.
Clara Wilkes smiled down at her little sister, and ruffled her dirty blonde hair. "That's my girl," she said. Clara stood up and threw her empty bottle into the large metal bin a few feet from her. She faced her clan and raised her arms. "Tonight, we've obliterated our enemy!" She smiled at the looks of satisfaction and calm that settled over her father's clan. "But don't be fooled into thinking this means we needn't keep our guards up. There will be other clans looking to take their place, and they will come after us with all that they have. You're going to have to get stronger! Smarter! Quicker!"
There was a hiss that rang out in the night and Clara's lip curled over her ultra-white teeth. "Go! I'll summon you all at the sabbat!"
Some of them hopped in their cars and drove away, others disappeared into thin air. Others stood tall and scanned the area. "It's those witches from Missouri," a man with an arrow tattooed on his neck said in distaste.
Clara scowled, wishing that her father were here instead of her. Ever since she could remember, she'd had to step up and be the leader of somebody. She'd never had the chance to act like a teenager and two centuries after her nineteenth birthday, things still hadn't changed. She pulled her shiny blonde hair into a tight pony tail and slid the dagger from her boot. "I'm sick and tired of dealing with this," she said. She turned her blue eyes to Abigail. "Abby, get back in the car."
Abigail narrowed her eyes. "I'm two hundred and thirteen years old, Clara, I think I can take on some snot nose-"
Clara held up her hand and threw the dagger to her sister. "Fine, but if you get hurt, I'm gonna kill them and then I'm gonna kill you. Is that clear?"
Abigail flipped the dagger around in her hands and quirked a light eyebrow. "Crystal clear, ma'am."
The man with the tattoo strode forward, the others falling behind him. "Clara, something is off. I think they may have gained in strength."
"Isaac, I understand that, but I'm not going to let them think they can march up and-"
"This is different, Clara. They're darker. This isn't about pride anymore. Would you put our clan at risk for this?" Isaac's dark brown eyes challenged her and she sighed.
Clara grabbed her sister's hand. "If Dad never comes back and something happens to me, I want you to take over," she told Isaac, before she and her sister turned to nothing mist. Clara knew something was wrong even they'd before they became solid again. It wasn't just the fact that they were nowhere near their home.
Abigail hissed out an expletive so vile that Clara blushed. Abigail was clutching her leg and blood oozed between her slender fingers. Clara scowled and slapped her sister's hands from her leg, and ripped off the pants leg. "It's a clean freaking break," Clara informed her.
Abigail narrowed her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock!"
Clara touched the broken skin around her sister's bone and Abigail cringed. "Oops," she muttered sarcastically. I'm going to carry you, all right? I smell sea salt which means I might be able to hear you."
"Why can't you just dematerialize and pop us over? It's much easier," Abigail commented, blinking back the tears.
Clara snorted. "Right, like I want hellbitches on my tail. It looks like we're hanging out here until your leg's healed."
Abigail looked around at the dark forests that lined the road they sat in the middle of. She let her head drop and she sighed. "Oh, great."
