Sisters Red by Jackson Pearce

temptation to fall on him. We're silent for a moment, nearly tangible awkwardness floating around the front seats. Silas drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
    "Well, it's not Ellison, but I think you'll like the place we're renting," he continues. "It's in a cool area, lots of artsy sorts of things to do. There's this community center that has dance classes and pottery classes and painting and all that stuff. It's kind of seedy but... artistic."
    "Oh," I say, doing a pretty terrible job of masking some of the disappointment in my voice. I'm normally okay with not having a life outside of hunting, until I have to look at shining examples of the non-hunting world, like Sarah Worrell and company at the drugstore a week ago. And now I'll see it every day, people who don't hunt, people who don't even know the Fenris exist... and then me.
    "Do you..." I begin, then turn around to make sure Scarlett is really asleep, not just faking it--her chest rises and falls a different way when it's genuine. Satisfied, I look back to Silas and choose my words carefully. "Do you think I'm a good hunter?"
    Silas looks confused. "Of course. You and Lett are the best hunters I--"
    "No, not me and Scarlett. Just me," I say.
    Silas slows the car a tad to look over at me. "Yes. Yes, of course. You're--pardon my language--you're fucking deadly with a knife, Rosie."
    I smile and shake my head, remembering all the times Silas scolded his older brothers for throwing language around
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    in front of my "virgin ears." It's sort of satisfying to know that his perspective has changed. "Right," I say. "I mean, we hunt together. But Scarlett... it's like a part of her soul."
    "Dramatic much?" Silas teases, but he frowns when I don't laugh.
    "You know what I mean. It drives her."
    "But not you?"
    "I don't know. I mean, maybe. It doesn't matter. I owe Scarlett my life, you know?"
    "Yeah, but... like I told your sister, that doesn't mean she's got you locked in a cage forever. Unless you want to be locked in a cage, I mean. Wait, that sounds weird." Silas shakes his head and sighs. "I'm forever tripping on words with you, Rosie."
    "I have that effect on people," I joke, but Silas's face stays serious as he nods slightly. I grin nervously.
    "I'm just trying to say," Silas starts again, voice low, "that your sister didn't save your life only for you to sign it away to hunting if you want something more."
    I don't answer, because therein lies the problem. Hunters don't want more --at least, not hunters who are related to Scarlett March. It's sort of hard to justify taking dance classes when your older sister is trying to save the world.
    We ride along mostly in silence as the sun rises above us--Scarlett wakes when it's almost directly overhead. It isn't until afternoon that the city begins to hint at itself; we pass through towns not terribly unlike Ellison, then bigger towns, then rows of gas stations and car dealerships, until
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    the tallest buildings appear on the horizon. They grow closer as though they're moving toward us as quickly as we're moving toward them, swallowing us into their steel mouths as we loop under a bridge and finally enter the city streets.
    I glance back at Scarlett. She looks nervous, steely eye darting across the cityscape. She never looks nervous. Her mood makes my own nerves spike, a feeling that isn't helped by the sheer busyness of the city. People are everywhere, more people than I've seen in my entire life, more cars, more buildings as far as the eye can see, a maze of silver and gray concrete illuminated by vivid signs, flashing lights, bright yellow taxis. Scarlett sinks down in her seat slightly, lets her hair fall in front of her scarred eye, and tugs her sleeves down to cover her arms.
    "Wait--there it is, Andern Street," Silas mutters, wheeling the car to the right. The street he turns down is dark, as if a thunderhead is hovering over us despite the sunny day. There's a church on the corner that's in bad need of new paint