Conclave (Devil's Night, #3.5)

by Penelope Douglas

No one here could think for themselves. You had to tell them every little goddamn thing, and God help you if you had to give them more than one instruction at a time, because their brains would fucking short out because they couldn’t remember all that AND remember to breathe at the same time.

While driving, we think, even for just a moment, about jerking the steering wheel into oncoming traffic or leaping off the balcony of a ship and into the abyss of the black water below. They’re passing thoughts and little dares we allow our psyche, because we’re tired of not living and we want the fear. We want to remember why we want to live.

“That’s what binds us,” she told me. “Who?” “Our family.” Our family? “Kai, Banks, Michael, Rika, Will, Alex…” she went on. “You and me. We all hear it. L’appel du vide. The call of the void.”