Devour the Dark (Devourer, #2)

by Nikki St. Crowe

With the Captain out hailing a cab, and Wendy now in the bathroom readying herself, I slip into my bedroom. There’s a lamp on the bedside table. I unscrew the bolt at the top and pop off the cloth shade. The outer workings come off with another pop and what remains is the hilt of a blade. A hidden button on the back of the lamp’s base releases the blade, and the weapon slides free. It’s about half the length of my forearm, made of a specific kind of metal that does not exist here. The handle is thornewood, weathered now by age and use. I can recall my uncle’s words when he gave me the blade all those years ago. Swift and keen, and always ready for service. Upon first glance, it would be easy to mistake the blade for nothing more than a kitchen knife. Maybe it was always meant to be overlooked. Because this blade, in particular, is the only type of blade that can kill Vane and me. The only one capable of killing monsters. Our monsters. I slide the knife into a sheath strapped to my left forearm and hide it beneath my shirt sleeve.

That is a beyond horrible idea. Oh this is gonna go so south.