'Go to Idin Library.'

Aleena's words echoed in my head as I stared out the window. Strangers sat next to me, typing away on laptops or staring wide eyed at the grass ridden paddocks surrounding us. I felt a frown touch my lips. I hated buses, in particularly I hated sharing space with people who smelt like they hadn't showered in weeks.

I shuffled closer to the window, practically pressing my face against the glass to breath in air that wasn't shared with the old woman next to me.

A part of me grew curiosity of the journey I was partaking, but another part dreaded it. I had never been to the city, I never had any intention to. All my loved ones had lived in Brookefield, and the familiarity of the town lulled me into never leaving.

However, times had changed.

I needed to know more about the Parade, I needed to know their motives, the legends, intentions and weaknesses of every warrior. It was the only way to fight back, and the only way to survive. No one would miss me, no one would realise I left town until Aleena voiced it. She had let me go with a pale face but said she wouldn't stop me. She promised she would tell Ethan I went to visit a family member, not that he would ask anyway considering he hates me.

I swallowed down a stab of regret. He was right. I was a monster. Even if the monster remained inside of me, I knew it would eventually surface as soon as my birthday plays its part. Eighteen. The year everyone looks forward to, but for me it means death. If the Parade doesn't get to me before the clock strikes twelve twenty on the eighteenth of August, my other side will.

"Being a Night Child runs in your blood. Once you are turned, most of your humanity is left behind, especially considering you're the First Descendant. You won't be able to control your actions or thoughts. You'll kill anything you see."

My hands clenched into fists. I used to call myself Renee Argent, the girl who will never be the shadow of herself. But now I am Renee Argent, the First Descendant. Daughter of the man who murdered children to turn them into wolves. Survivor of silver. Death bringer. Inhumane. Soon I will be one of them. I'll crawl on all fours, baying at the moon with only one incentive on my mind. To kill.

Isaac never killed, I reminded myself but I knew how painful the disease had been for him. In his state my father had manipulated him to kill the only two people he loved. He couldn't control his thoughts; his humanity had been in fragments. It took every ounce in him not to go insane.

I knew I didn't have the strength he had.

Grasslands gradually grew to bitumen, dirt roads broadening into highways until skyscrapers lined blocks, mirrored glass sheets glinted in the sun. Cars hurtled past, slowing to a stop to let several pedestrian's cross streets, their hands clutched with shopping bags. Now I really did press my face onto the glass. Dogs yapped at each other, tugging at their leashes. Buildings touched walls, majority displaying shop windows piled with mannequins and items of clothing. Cafes lined the streets, with pigeons settling on any food left unattended. It was chaotic but beautiful. I felt myself smile despite my uneasiness. This was what a city felt like.

We were hustled out of the bus shortly after, told to ask for directions by the clerk but I grabbed my backpack and ambled to one of the closest cafes. It was nothing like Brines. There was triple the amount of people in it, with various people laughing and chatting about their weekend. Children ran around their parent's feet, laughing the way children did that brought a smile to my face. I forgot how normal life was. No one laughed in Brookefield. No one shopped or went out for food. We were practically a ghost town.

"You're not from around here." I turned in my spot. A boy smiled at me, his brown eyes bright with curiosity. He had wavy hair that settled around his busy eyebrows, curling into somewhat of a fringe. He was slender, not in the way Isaac was, but in a way that gave off he was stronger than he looked. An apron was wrapped half-heartedly around his waist and it took me a moment or two to realise he worked here.

I returned his smile. "What gave it away?"
He tapped the side of the register, his smile broadening. "Well you are looking around the place like you've never seen this many people before so I'm guessing you're not from the city."

I let out a small laugh, almost surprising myself. I couldn't remember the last time I had genuinely smiled and laughed. It seemed foreign to me. I covered up my shock by walking towards the register. "Yes you're right. I'm from Brookefield."

His eyebrows rose. "The mystery town?"

I titled my head in confusion, searching his eyes. They were the colour of molten amber. "Mystery town?" I echoed.

"Haven't you heard the stories about that place?" After he considered my even more confused silence he went on. "They say barely anyone lives there anymore. That it's almost a ghost town because something scared all the people away."

I felt my heart sink. I wanted to come to the city to escape Brookefield, not relive it. He seemed to sense my discomfort because he quickly continued.

"It's just harmless stories anyway, made to scare sensitive city kids," he gestured towards the menu written on the board behind him. "Coffee?"

"Flat white please." I took out my money and handed it to him. His hands were warm and smooth. Something flashed across his eyes and he examined me.

"May I ask for the small town girls name?" His voice was very quiet, but gentle. Almost like a whisper in the wind. It was smoothing and peaceful. I allowed myself to trust the stranger.

"Renee," I said, brushing my braid back behind my shoulders.

He gave me a softer smile, one that made his eyes blaze. "A name for peace."

I stared at him blankly, my eyes suddenly shifting to the name badge on his uniform.

"At least mine doesn't mean venerable." One of the other employees offered me my coffee and I took it with a thank you. I reverted my gaze back to see the boy watch me with his observant but light eyes. It didn't feel like he was studying me but merely taking me in. I turned to trail out of the café, feeling his eyes and smile follow me.

"I'll see you around venerable boy," I called, earning a few glances from customers.

I heard his voice yell after me. "Just call me Sebastian."

He didn't see the smile that planted itself across my face.

I took the time to sip the coffee, not particularly knowing where I was going but I didn't mind it. The air was full of possibilities...and pigeon droppings. I walked past multiple clothes shops but none of them interested me very much. I would rather spend my money on books. As if answering my thoughts, a second hand book shop appeared on my left, a tiny building in comparison to its neighbours. No one was coming and going through its doors like other shops, which made me love it even more.

It is places that people ignore that are truly special.

I entered the shop, noticing the way only the sunlight that streamed through various windows brightened the area. I could see the dust particles in the air, dancing and swirling as I disturbed it. I closed the door with a thud, the bell clinking as I did so. At the noise, an old man peered from around one of the large bookshelves. His hair was grey and wispy, matching the paleness of his eyes. He wore spectacles that made his pupils look unnaturally large and a friendly smile touched his face.

"I was wondering if I would get any customers today," he said, almost to himself. His voice was ragged with old age, or maybe from the amount of dust in this place, I couldn't tell.

I mustered him a friendly smile. "I couldn't help myself but take a look."

He nodded at me, clearly pleased. The shop reminded me of Beauty and The Beast, with bookshelves towering to the high ceiling. Climbing ladders leaned against various shelves, looking slightly unsteady on the uneven carpeted floor.

"This place is beautiful," I admitted, moving to trial my hands against the spines of books. My fingers patterned a line, kicking up dust. I wondered when the last time anyone bought anything was.

"Beautiful for the people that take the time to look," he said, shuffling over to touch one of the books I had. He had a slight limp to him but he still seemed determined to reach over and pick up a fallen book. Once he placed it back in its designated spot, he beamed up at me. "What can I do for you possum?"

If I heard anyone call me possum I would've slapped them but this little man said it in a way that wasn't sappy, but simple.

I adjusted the strap on my bag. "I was hoping to find some books about Ancient Greek times."

He took a few extra seconds to study me, maybe it was for his old brain to think. But then he blinked and his eyebrows drew together. "Ancient Greek you say? Its been awhile since anyone's been interested in those times." He pressed his glasses closer to the ridge of his nose. "I may have stored some away, when people come in here they mainly look for fantasy books. Something about blood and gore and dragons intrigues them." He got lost in his thoughts before suddenly realising I had given him a task. "I'll have a look in storage."

He hobbled away with the speed of someone intent of fulfilling my needs and I couldn't help the grin that touched my lips. He was a funny man, but lovable even if I had only just met him.

I took the time to scan various book titles, never really settling for one until a set of words caught my eye.

'A rose scented beast.'

I pulled the small book out of its socket. Some of its gold print had faded away with time but the bright blue had only faded slightly. Gold roses curled around the cover, printed into vines and tendrils to encircle the title. I blew on it, kicking up dust that caused me to sneeze. The author, Aviary Harper wasn't a poet I recognised.

"Ah yes, a forgotten classic." His voice made me jump and I only just managed to catch the book as it fell from my hands. He chuckled at my response, the noise curing my racing heart. He nodded towards the little blue book. "It was one of my favourites back in the day."

I glanced down at the book, watching as the sunlight reflected the gold title to play designs on the bookcase behind me. I glanced back at him. "What is it about?"

The man gave me a knowing smile. "A book is to read, not to spoil."

I gave him an exasperated look. "I don't want to waste my time reading it."

His grey eyebrows rose. "No book read is time wasted," he reached for the book and I let him take it. "Especially not this one." He patted the book so the last of the dust swirled into the air, causing him to cough. He grabbed a hankerchief from his breast pocket and coughed into it before handing the book back to me. I wondered how many germs were now on it but then decided that hopefully the ruminants of the dust collected his spit.

"I've never heard of Aviary Harper," I admitted.

He shook his head, his glasses fulling down his nose. "You wouldn't have. This was the only book he wrote."

I blinked in surprise. "He?"

The little old man chuckled at my reaction. "Indeed his chosen author name is surprising, but no one ever identified his real name." He tutted and indicated to the books he had left on his counter. "I found a few that might interest you."

He led me to the front desk where more dust ridden books were stacked together, only these ones were also blessed with spider webs. He slid them over to me. "Most of them are about war or weaponry but there are a few things that describe legends and other historics."

But not the Parade, I thought. I reached into my bag to hand him money nonetheless but he stopped me with a frown.

"Take them, their yours."
I shook my head. "No please, I am happy to pay."

He mimicked my head shake. "I can tell you'll put them into good use." His eyes landed on the blue book I still clutched, a tiny sparkle in his eye twinkling. "It takes a very good eye to pick out a special book like that. I don't doubt you'll treasure not only the book itself, but the words in it."

I gave him a questionable look but he waved me off, turning away to sort through whatever he had been doing before I came in.

"Can I at least get your name?"

He paused at this and turned back to me. He looked me up and down, taking in my pale face, black bag and messy, braided hair. He seemed to like what he saw because he gave me one last smile. "Peter," he said softly, the light catching on his glasses. "Peter Glasson." And then he disappeared, not noticing the one hundred dollar note I left on the counter before I exited the little book shop I had decided was my favourite.

Aleena had told me to go to the City Library but the sun was beginning to set and I was growing exhausted from all my walking. I checked in at the first hotel I had saw and now was in the shower, staring at the condensation on its glass walls. I traced patterns in its glass, relishing the searing hot water that trickled down my back.

I blinked, studying the word I had unconsciously written on the wall.

Isaac.

I felt myself frown and wiped the name hastily, ignoring the sudden stab of pain that shot through my heart. Isaac had made his opinion clear. He didn't care where I went, as long as he didn't have to see my face again. I knew I should feel relieved that I didn't burden him with the knowledge that I was retaliating against the Parade but all I felt was guilt. Guilt that I had left behind the boy who would never leave me behind if he had the option. I knew this Isaac wasn't him, that the part of him that cared about me had been burned away with his Night Child side. But I couldn't help but feel angry. He looked at me like I was a stranger, someone he despised. If he loved me like he said he had, he wouldn't ever look at me like that, even if a part of him had died with the Parazonium. Sometimes the old him would creep back, but he would blink it away, like a dark thought that needed to be discarded.

You think like your mother. Selfish and full of spite for people who don't deserve it. My conscious was right, I was self-centred and selfish. If I loved Isaac like I said I did I wouldn't have left him behind. Suddenly feeling sick, I turned off the shower and opened the door to reach for a towel. The large mirror opposite me was still foggy with moisture and I reached over to wipe a streak where my face would be. But I was granted with a reflection of myself with yellow wolf's eyes.