a deadly storm, an unsolved disappearance, and a small town brimming with secrecy;
an outcast girl, a boy who only knows how to hide, and the world against them;
what could go wrong?
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Some say the world will end in fire; others, in ice. The world of Melita "Boo" Taylor both began, and ended, with water.
In the seaside town of Jack Creek, Boo was born on a rainy summer morning to what some would called a cursed family - bound by blood, broken apart by hatred. Her father, Russell, though he loved her dearly, died before she'd hit double-digits, leaving her in the care of her deadbeat mother, Lori. It wasn't long before Lori's incapability to care for her daughter became clear, and so at the age of eleven, Boo was graciously taken in by her maternal grandmother, Martha.
Jack Creek became the core of everything that Boo knew and the foundation behind every creed Martha followed; with only a thousand residents inside the city limits, people had to rely on each other without question. As she aged, the strange dynamics of the town only became more obvious to Boo - duty lies in blood, not in desire; never question the police, they're there to protect; and above all, keep your neighbor's secrets buried as well as you keep your own. The devil you know may very well be sleeping in the room next door.
The night Boo's world came crashing down was the night a category four hurricane, aptly named Monroe, touched down. With Monroe came the wrath of a hundred heavens, but as time wound on it became obvious that the physical damage was the least of the city's concern. Much darker beasts had been stirred awake by the storm; beasts fueled by evils as old as Cain and Abel.
With Monroe came the death of a family, the severing of a sacred bond, the unearthing of truths long forgotten, and the creation of a new family legacy.
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"Honey, if you keep scowling like that, it's going to become permanent."
"Good," Boo mutters, dumping a heap of mashed potatoes onto the plate of the homely man in front of her. He avoids her eyes as he mumbles a garbled thanks and scurries on to the next table. Boo sighs in defeat and glances down at the tray of potatoes, swallowing the tightness that surfaces in her throat.
They were at the baptist church downtown, volunteering at a potluck for the city's homeless population. Martha had unsurprisingly roped Boo into accompanying her but had left her to her own devices as soon as they arrived. Person after person had skipped Boo's table, where she was in charge of divvying out homemade mashed potatoes and green beans. Nobody even said good morning to her.
