Inheritance

It was a cold November night in Squall’s End. Samantha could see her breath as soon as she stepped outside. With a sigh she tucked herself further into her coat, trying to avoid the light snowfall as she fumbled with her keys. She had been given them as soon as she was promoted to Denny's general manager, (a position that paid adequately but had absolutely shit hours), but in the month that followed she had only figured out what two of them were for. She had no idea what the other ten did, besides make her life more difficult.

Thankfully, she found the right one before her fingers went numb. Sam felt it latch, which meant almost nothing at all because she was never completely sure the lock did anything—the door felt flimsy every time she tried it—but they hadn’t been robbed yet so she usually let it slide. It wasn’t that kind of neighborhood anyway. The streets were too clean.

She pocketed the keys and started trudging toward her car. The street lights lit the snow around her like hundreds of little falling stars, and Sam watched them without comment, contemplating the coziness of inclement weather. She hummed quietly to herself. It hadn’t been a great day, but maybe it could still be a good night.

She could hope for that, right?

Sam collapsed, banging her knees on the sidewalk. Her stomach felt like it was being stabbed. She grabbed at her clothes, frantically trying to unzip her coat and lift her shirt. There, beneath her navel, a ring of foreign letters were being burned into her skin, sizzling as if she had been stuck with a brand. She sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to cry, completely at a loss. The pain started to fade just as quickly as it came, but black ink remained in its place.

Her phone rang. She almost had a heart attack.

“Hello?” she gasped, not yet getting her voice back in working order.

“Where are you?”

The voice was feminine and intimately familiar. It was Salesh, her roommate. Sam had always thought her name was a bit odd, but when mothers were naming their daughters things like Khaleesi and Ezrelda she didn’t really give it much—_this_ isn’t the time to be thinking about this.

“Denny’s. I’m at– I’m at Denny’s,” she said, swallowing. “Salesh, I don’t know what the fuck just happened, but my stomach felt like it caught fire and now I have a fucking tattoo. I don’t know—”

“Things are in motion,” she said, cutting her off. “I don’t have time to explain, but it’s related. Can you walk?”

Sam felt more than a little bewildered. She felt insane. Her head was light, spacey. Was she panicking? Was this what panicking felt like? “I think so, why?”

“I need you to meet me at the twenty-four hour dinner on south street. Get in your car and don’t stop for anybody. Do you understand?”

Sam felt herself shaking. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll explain later, Sam. I promise. Right now I need you to trust me. Get in your car. Drive. Do not stop. Okay?”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” There was a pause. She could hear Salesh breathing on the other end. Softly, she added, “Stay safe.”

She hung up.

Sam only then realized she was hyperventilating. She herself to calm down, allowed herself a moment to cry, and stumbled to her car. She got in and drove.

Tonight would not be a good night.