They stepped outside to the stares of entire village. Some of the living wept openingly, but no one moved to stop them. A few of the dead followed them into the forest, begging them to rethink their flight, but eventually they turned back.
“Is that it?” Kaleigh asked, eyeing the lights above them.
“There is one more following us,” he said looking over his shoulder. “A spy, but he is our brother and won’t harm us.”
“How many siblings do we have?” Kaleigha frowned.
“Over the years, many,” Kasim shook his head. “But father killed most of us. The dead are more susceptible to blood rage. Those who kill too many too soon, become like the mindless shadows that follow our father around. I was the last living descendant.” The man paused and pursed his lips.
“I’m sorry,” Kaleigha offered.
“That’s ok,” he wrapped an arm around her waist. “It has opened new opportunities for the greater good.”
“What is this great plan?” Kaleigha asked.
“You aren’t ready to hear that,” a man’s voice emerged from the underbrush, interrupting their conversation.
“Keep walking,” Kasim said. “I will tell you when we are safe.”
“I have a feeling I will never be safe again,” Kaleigha felt sad. She missed her old life, but the rowhouse seemed like a daydream.
“You were never safe,” the voice said. “You only delayed your fate.”
Kaleigha came to a halt at the word ‘fate.’
“Show yourself, Kahrim,” Kasim’s voice was amused. “You’ve said the magic word.”