Page 2 of Tracking Snow

With her free hand, she reaches over and grabs mine. I squeeze back.

We sit for what feels like forever, holding hands, watching the two apples orbit and spin like little planets.

I'll never be as good as Rosie is, but she chose to be my friend, and I'll never let her go.

Chapter 1

Snack Cake Stalker

SNOW

Istalk the night. I protect this city. I'm there when an innocent runs into trouble and needs a helping hand.

I…

I am fucking bored out of my mind.

The dagger sails across the rooftop, a whizz rippling through the air in its wake. The blade embeds itself into the wood door with a satisfying thud next to the five I've already thrown.

I sigh heavily before pushing myself up off the stack of old crates I was lounging on to retrieve my little friends.

"Some people knit, Snow," I remind myself as I yank the petite blades out of the mottled wood and slip them into their sheaths on my black catsuit.

Throwing daggers is my hobby.

I started with darts after watching some guys in a bar play professionally, then moved on to dagger throwing and recreating sweet fight sequences from my favorite action movies until I could replicate them perfectly.

I've parkoured around the city every which way, following the movements of city rats, pigeons, and the occasional coyote. My feet learned to mimic their movements to grip ledges and jump to a seamless landing.

Maybe I should take up knitting. Though I doubt it would help me burn off the hungry energy that gnaws at me, keeping me up most nights, far past my shift at the bar. There's a restlessness that lives just below my sternum and never fully quits.

I stick my hand in the box of Magic Morsel snack cakes only for my fingers to hit the bottom. A handful of empty wrappers litter the rooftop. I sigh. Looks like the fun of the night is behind me.

Half of the daggers I threw by hand, the other half I levitated across to hit the bullseye. Grandma's Magic Morsels give everyone, even plain, boring humans, the ability to use magic for a short period of time.

The power is always weak, like what a level one mage can wield, so after gorging myself on the Rising German Chocolate Cakes, most of the daggers aren't even strong enough to hit the target and embed in the wood. They clatter to the ground.

Ariel says if I keep tucking away Magic Morsels like this, I'm going to end up sick. But part of me thinks if I keep gorging on the little trick snack cakes, my body will eventually absorb their magic so I’ll have it all the time.

But as always, I've ended up with a tummy ache and no permanent magic powers.

Boo.

Every single time, some part of me is genuinely convinced it'll work. Like if I just eat enough of them, something in me will finally wake up. And yet...

Silver light from the full moon illuminates the Boston rooftop as clearly as if it were broad daylight, adding to the restlessness coiled in my muscles.

What would it be like to be everyone else? Blissfully asleep, my pretty little head on the pillow, full of dreams of⁠—

"What do we have here? Another freak?" A rough voice filters up from below.

My heart trips over itself as I rush to the edge of the rooftop. Four people are standing in the alley below.

Three of them are wearing the matching white jackets I know all too well, and they are all facing down a tall, lanky man, features hidden by his pulled-up hood.

Hands shoved in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, the guy in the hood regards each one as they slowly close in, backing him up against the wall directly below me.

I can't help the grin spreading across my face. I grab my long white hair and rush to yank it into a ponytail. Heat floods my arms, my fingertips buzzing.