Excerpt from Chapter One – Ly Thi Ren

You never forget your first ritual sacrifice. So why had I? That seems like something you’d remember. It’s not something most American families gather for.

Hey, Má. Could you pass the rau răm? Oh, and what time is the sacrifice tonight?

And yet, I had forgotten. I had forgotten the little things, too. My mother’s laugh, her abrupt chortles that often devolved into giggles. My childhood nickname.

We eat pho the night our own parents sacrifice one of my best friends. It’s weird what sticks with you after years of trying to forget. We eat in silence, though I haven’t yet realized the reason for the solemn mood. My nine-year-old brain doesn’t quite grasp the idea of “sacrifice.” I can’t wait to wear my new ceremonial cloak. I begged my parents to let me wear it through dinner, but they refused.

“It’s too special,” they say. “You don’t want to ruin it, do you, con gái?”

No, I don’t want that. Still, my eyes wander to the piece of clothing that hangs on the coat tree next to the front door. The intricate symbols fascinate me. The only other place I’ve seen them is on the book. Not just any book. The book.

I get to see it on special occasions during the four months out of the year our family guards it. The other eight months are split between two additional families. My best friends’, Sophie Vanguard and Jeremy Berg-Nilsen.

We’ll join them later for the ceremony or the “thanksgiving,” but not that Thanksgiving. We are not pilgrims, but our three families are special. Chosen. And today, Jeremy is the most special.

“Ông xã, are you sure this is the only way?” Má squeezes Ba’s arm.

Ba remains quiet for so long I almost ask him if he’s heard Má. I’m not sure what she means by her question or why it’s gotten even quieter than before.

Ba answers before I speak. “It’s too late to back out. Maybe we could have years ago, but not now. This is how we keep our family safe.” He kisses my mother’s hand and stands to clear the plates.

I knit my brows together. Why are they so serious? It’s like they’re sad. But it’s the day of the thanksgiving. They should be happy.

Later that night, I beam proudly in my cloak with the strange symbols, relishing the feel of the velvet hem between my fingertips. Incense burns in a corner, permeating the air with a smoky aroma that I’ve always hated, but it reminds me of the days we celebrate the four equinoxes.

The adults hug and talk amongst themselves excitedly. All but Mrs. Berg-Nilsen, Jeremy’s mom. She stands against the wall, keeping to herself. Her long blonde hair covers most of her face, but I can tell her cheeks are wet.

I ponder this as I sit cross-legged on the antique rug with Jeremy in his family’s living room. We sip Capri-Suns and talk about what we think will happen in a few minutes.

“Happy birthday, Jeremy,” Sophie says after arriving with her parents and barreling through the adults’ legs. She holds a cloak that matches mine out behind her as she runs like she’s a superhero or a bat and plops down on the rug between us.

“Thanks, Sophie,” Jeremy mumbles, staring at his Capri-Sun.

Of the three of us, Sophie is the most frenetic. I think that’s the word Ba used. The adults are always hiding the sugar from her. She channels her chaotic energy for good most of the time. At school this past week, a couple kids from our grade cornered Jeremy. Sophie took me by the hand and came to Jeremy’s aid, not letting up until the kids backed off.

“Why is your mom crying?” I ask Jeremy.

His eyes move from his drink to his shoes, and he tugs at the laces. “Dad says she’s happy, but she won’t look at me.”

“Grownups are weird,” I say, watching Jeremy’s parents lead the rest into the kitchen.

“I think I did something real bad,” Jeremy says.

The door swings closed, and I’m on my feet, ignoring Sophie’s questions and drawn to the conversation happening behind the closed door.

Excerpt from Chapter Thirty – Sophie Vanguard

Did that just happen? Did I just take on a dozen crazed and bloodthirsty teddy bears with a golf club? I never had the knack for golf, but maybe I should look into some batting cages. Look at that, Dad. I’m not entirely uncoordinated. And I have to admit: the soft thuds of their tiny, evil bodies had been extremely satisfying. Therapeutic even.

I’m a mixture of pride, shock, fear, and adrenaline by the time I can finally rest. I lay my head back on the rough wall and work on bringing my breathing back to normal. One corner of Ren’s mouth curves up in amusement, and annoyance flashes through me and pushes out every other emotion.

She’s laughing at me. I know I’m out of shape and a muddy mess on top of that, but does she have to rub it in?

“What?” I ask, an edge to my voice as I toss my long brown hair out of my face and adjust my glasses. And now, Ren’s shaking her head and chuckling. Actually chuckling.

The nerve of this girl.

I just saved her life. She called out for me, and I came to her rescue. And she’s laughing at me?

I’m wavering between walking away and demanding Ren tells me what’s so funny when she plucks a piece of stuffing from my hair, flicks it away, and says, “They should name a hurricane after you.”

That…was not what I was expecting to come out of her mouth. A snippy remark paired with a “tiny” seemed a more appropriate response for her. What she’d actually shown was…respect? Awe? Pride? No one has ever looked at me the way she is now. Like I’ve impressed her.

I’ve impressed myself, if I’m being completely honest. I’ve never been the one to come to someone’s rescue. Not since third grade, anyway. And there was nothing incredible about saying a couple sentences to some bullies.

I’ve always been the damsel in distress, so to actually succeed at something like this? This is huge for me. I’m not the girl withering away in Everling, waiting for a hero. I’m not completely helpless. What a revelation.