Storm of Locusts (The Sixth World, #2)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

Men like him can’t be happy with living. They got to be praying for the end of the world.

“You armed?” she asks. I nod, a feral smile leaking from my lips. “I’ve even picked out a few for you. I know you prefer a gun, but it’s good for a woman to learn to use a blade.” “That’s nice, Maggie. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

“A god?” he asks, voice awed. “Better than a god. I am a Cat,” Mósí says.

I shot him dead. Slit his throat, cut off his head and threw it off a rooftop for good measure. Clearly, I should have done more. Because here he is, reminding me that the problem with immortals is that they don’t stay dead.

“Where are you going?” he calls. “To fight your friend. That god.” “Drunk?” “I’m sure as hell not doing it sober.”