The Gifted

8 | Isabel

Death stood in a young hayfield. The grass was only knee-high, swaying in the gentle breeze. She tilted her face up to the sky, unwarmed by the bright sun, and scrunched her eyes closed out of agitation.

It had been so long since she was a child herself that she seemed to have forgotten how stubborn, pig-headed, and stupid twelve-year-olds were. She was sure that showing Maya Park a horrifying dream would knock some sense into her and make her realize that being around Jack Parker was a death sentence, but no. Maya's fear was gone the moment she woke up, and she was still with him.

Death had even hoped that Maya would at least get mad at Jack for giving her the dream to scare her off—which was a reasonable conclusion to jump to, since he hadn't wanted her there in the first place—but that little thought hadn't crossed her mind, either.

So in reality, all Death did by giving Maya that dream was alert Jack to the fact that she was keeping tabs on them. He'd definitely been suspecting it, but she'd given him absolute confirmation. Death didn't particularly care about what they were up to, but she was growing impatient with Jack's indecisiveness.

(She called it indecisiveness, but in his opinion, he'd very decisively said No! and she just wasn't accepting it.)

Jack was wasting his time, and now this strange child from Colorado was being thrown into the mix, not to mention that red-headed bitch who was still struggling to figure out where the fuck she was even going.

Well, Anna van Danne might prove useful later, so Death should probably stop thinking so lowly of her.

Death opened her eyes and sighed. After her plan failed, she'd fled to a hayfield in Mexico to think. It was nice here, it was serene and beautiful. It was everything she was not, it was everything she admired but enjoyed destroying.

She took one step forward, and the grass behind her caught fire. Another step, and the flames followed at her heels, spreading evenly to the sides but not overtaking her. As Death walked, the field behind her burned. Smoke curled into the sky like long fingers, an omen to whoever could see.

There was a farm up ahead, and a family was running around and shouting in panic. Judging by how often the words hija! and Isabel! popped up, they were missing their young daughter, and judging by the way a hysterical woman was being held back from charging into the hayfield, the daughter was somewhere in the grass.

How sad.

Halfway through the field, Death came upon a small clearing, and there was Isabel, a girl of around seven, huddled with her dog, startled by the heat and crackling of a not-so-distant fire. The burning continued but the fire did not spread as Death stopped in her tracks, looking down at Isabel and her whimpering puppy.

She studied them the way a boot studied an ant before stepping on it: uninterested and ready for the next step. She debated between taking the dog or the girl; both would be 'cruel,' but she decided to go with the one the family would mourn more.

She crouched down and caressed the girl's cheek. The dog's fight-or-flight response kicked in as it seemed to understand what was happening, and it bailed for the farm. Isabel's eyes glazed over as Death's black eyes lightened into a shade of violet. They didn't glow, though, and the girl, however entranced, did not become paralyzed.

"You would've been an amazing woman," Death whispered with a smile.

She planted her lips on the girl's cheek and gently kissed her. When she pulled away, Isabel's tan skin was turning ghastly gray. Death was devouring everything—her life, her soul, her memories, her fears, her dreams, her future. Everything she was and everything she never got a chance to be. Death closed her eyes in reverie, tuned into the world, her heart beating with power and newfound energy as Isabel's young heart slowed and stopped. The girl swayed, eyes fluttering open and closed as if she were simply tired, and she ultimately fell to the ground, dead.

Death stood, and as she walked, the world behind her burned.