The silence in the dark kitchen was a tomb. It was so total, so heavy, Bruce could feel it pressing on his skin. He could hear Ruth's breathing, a small, hitched, terrified gasp... gasp... gasp.
"Who?"
Ruth's voice. A tiny, mouse-like whisper. "Who... who is coming?"
Anah's hand, a dark, gnarled shape, moved. A match scraped. Flared. The wick caught. The candle re-lit, a single, tiny, brave point of light in the overwhelming, impossible dark.
Anah's face, illuminated from below, was a map of terror.
"The... Hunters," she whispered. "The... Heralds. The... Dark... Lords. They... they... they have... a... thousand... names. They... are... shadows... between... worlds. They... are... the... cold... between... the... stars. And... they... are... hungry."
"The... the man... in... the... alley?" Bruce asked, his voice hoarse. "Kraven... he... he... he... told... me... Pops... was... dead. Like... the... others. No... heart."
"That... was... one," Anah hissed. "A... scout. A... jackal. Sniffing... the... air. He... was... drawn... by... your... little... explosion... at... the... school. He... was... weak... from... the... crossing. He... needed... to... feed. To... sustain... himself."
"Feed?" Ruth said, her voice sick. "He... he... he ate... Pops'... heart?"
"NO!" Anah snapped, and her voice was a crack of thunder. "Don't... be... a... child! They... don't... eat... meat! They... eat... power!"
She pointed a long, shaking finger at Bruce.
"They... eat... that! The... thing... inside... you! The... the... hum... the... roar... the... power... you... call... your... own! It... it... it... is... a... fire, Bruce! A... heart-fire. And... they... consume... it. It... makes... them... stronger."
"The... the... human... hearts?" Bruce whispered.
"Sparks," Anah spat, with a lifetime of contempt. "Pathetic, tiny, flickering... sparks. Aperitifs. Fuel. Barely... enough... to... keep... them... going. They... hunt... humans... to... give... them... the... strength... to... hunt... the... real... meal."
Her eyes, glittering in the candlelight, found his.
"You, Bruce. You... are... the... feast."
Bruce felt the blood drain from his face. He felt Ruth's hand, a small, cold, trembling thing, find his and grip it.
"But... why me?" he pleaded. "What... what makes... me... a... feast?"
"The... mark," Anah said. She nodded to his left shoulder. "Your... brand. It... it... it... is... the... sign. The... sign... of... the... well. You... are... not... a... spark, child. You... are... a... well. An... ocean... of... power. An... untapped... fountain."
She leaned forward, her voice a low, urgent, terrified hiss. "And... they... are... thirsty. They... have... been... hunting... your... kind... since... before... the... stars... had... names. They... are... the... darkness. And... you... are... the... light... they... crave... to... extinguish."
A... well. A... feast. He... was... prey.
But...
"The... the... wolf," he said, his voice stronger. "It... it... it wasn't... dark. It... it... it wasn't... hungry. It... it... it... was... made... of... light. It... it... it... was... cold. It... it... it looked... at... me. It... wasn't... bad."
Ruth's head snapped up. "A... a wolf? When?"
"Last night," Bruce said, his gaze locked on Anah. "It... it... it was... in... my... room. It... it... it was... a... ghost."
Anah... nodded. A small, slow, hopeful nod.
"The... Aethel," she whispered, the word like a prayer. "The... Good... Spirits. The... other... side."
"So... they... are... on... our... side?" Ruth asked, her voice a desperate plea.
"They... are... not... on... ANYONE'S... side," Anah corrected, her voice hard again. "They... are... not... human. They... are... not... kind. They... are... formless. They... are... old. They... are... bright. They... protect... one... thing... and... one... thing... only: The... Balance."
"The... Balance?" Bruce asked.
"The... Dark... Lords... consume. The... Aethel... protect. It... is... an... ancient... war. A... stalemate. And... you... child..."
She looked at him, and her face was a mask of pure, unadulterallted terror.
"...you... are... not... a... spark. You... are... not... a... well. You... are... a... bomb. You... are... a... power... so... great... you... could... TIP... the... Balance. You... could... end... the... war."
She stood up, her hands flat on the table, her knuckles white.
"You... are... not... a... boy... anymore. You... are... a... prize. You... are... a... weapon. You... are... the... most... dangerous... thing... in... the... world. And... you... have... just... very, very... loudly... rung... the... dinner... bell... for... BOTH... sides... of... the... war."
The candle guttered.
"They... are... coming, Bruce. All... of... them. The... Dark... and... the... Light. They... are... coming... here. To... Oaktown. For... you."
The... hunt... was... no... longer... a... secret.
It... had... begun.