Eleven

Iris Miller

There was a prophecy about me. Me, and an immortal werewolf. I didn’t know what to think about that. I was holding a glowing book with my name on it. A few years ago, before immortals were exposed, I never would have thought that this was a thing. “Can I read it?” I asked Malaki, looking from the book to him.

He hesitated. “I don’t know. Most of the time, humans aren’t part of prophecy. But it’s letting you touch it and nothing has ...