It was supposed to be an easy, unremarkable job, but there’s always some asshole with a wild card getting in the way of me living my best life. The night air hung thick and heavy as I slipped through a narrow alley toward the hidden entrance to the rundown pawn shop I was about to break into. Just my luck, rain was imminent on the one night of the week I couldn’t be curled up at home, warm and dry. The dim glow of flickering signs overhead cast an otherworldly hue on the sidewalk beneath my boots, or maybe that was just my overactive imagination.
It didn’t matter. No one would take any notice of another random kid in a hoodie. If I let the hood fall though and they saw my long, platinum hair, a stark contrast to the black clothes and shadows I was trying to hide in, they might notice. I’d once considered a cropped style for jobs like this, but then it wouldn’t look so awesome the rest of the time. Not that I ever spent much time on my looks. I’ve always been a wash-and-go kind of girl, but I was blessed with good hair.
The pawn shop, flanked by two other nondescript shops deep in the south side of the city, was a treasure trove of curiosities and secrets. This wasn’t the first time I’d requisitioned an item from them. Even though they didn’t know about the supernatural world, they always had plenty of magical stock. My clients wanted a grimoire that had been a part of their family for centuries until it was stolen a few decades ago. They didn’t tell me what was so important in the book and I knew better than to ask. A girl has to eat, and sometimes the less info you have the easier it is to sleep at night.
Sending a sharp jolt of electricity into the door knob to get it unlocked, I slipped in and navigated with wraith-like grace through shelves of both inconsequential and heavily twisted magical items. No one would be aware by looking at it that the ugly, carved, wooden bowl was an integral part of a blood ritual that would give you nightmares, but I knew.
Sometimes I wished I didn’t.
Pushing that thought aside, I prowled toward the dark back corner of the shop, noting a faint scent of strange magic wafting past. I stopped, focusing all six senses on any potential hidden defenses the shop might have set recently. There weren’t any, there never were, so it was all clear. But in the back of my mind I still wondered what that smell was.
I zeroed in on the book, bound in cracked leather and adorned with sacred sigils and inconspicuously wedged in with other books on a dusty shelf. When I reached out, the contact sent a shiver down my spine. There wasn’t anything especially magical about the book itself, except that it held the key to at least a dozen ancient family rituals for my clients. A lock of hair fell over my eyes as I carefully slid the book into the folds of my leather jacket and I wasted no time tucking it into my hood and slinking back the way I came. I crept out the door, closing it gently in the hopes no one would ever know I was here.
It would have worked too. It could have worked.
If it weren’t for some asshole.
Just as I prepared to vanish into the shadows, a soft sound caught my attention—the muffled coughs of someone nearby. I couldn’t sense any magicals, but witnesses would still have to be dealt with. I didn’t need a spiraling parade of questions from the police about this. I had a reputation to uphold for one, but also, I didn’t like visitors and cops are so pushy. Sure, I could deal with them easily enough, but call me lazy, I’d rather not have to.
There, lurking in shadows under a wrought iron fire escape, a chunky man with shaggy hair stood with his hand over the mouth of a kid he had pressed against the wall. Couldn’t be more than fifteen, not that I’ve ever been any good at guessing ages. This kid, who could have been twelve or twenty as far as I knew, stared at me with ghostly eyes as wide as an abandoned ferris wheel. With the whites practically glowing, there was no mistaking the terror within. And that was before I caught the scent of fear wafting my way, like sweet cakes and rotten fish, always something I wished I could ignore.
I hadn’t just interrupted a mutually enjoyable evening for the two of them.
With that realization, my stomach lurched. Not because of the chunky guy–he was obviously up to no good–but that kid was dirty, bedraggled and terrified. This was a time for a snap decision. I couldn’t linger here, I had a meeting with another client, Luke, who apparently had something he couldn’t tell me by text or phone call.
This job was supposed to be an easy requisition, but turning my eye on the vulnerable went against my instincts ever since I’d lost my best friend a year ago. Since I couldn’t save her, I had to save everyone else I came across.
I narrowed my eyes in the dim light, staring down Chunk. He wasn’t unattractive, but in light of his bullying if not criminal behavior, I was not impressed.
He didn’t move, probably still hoping I hadn’t seen him. I rolled my eyes and took a few sauntering steps in their direction. “This ain’t none of your business, bitch.”
“Oh I know,” I drolled, taking two more steps forward.
“Then turn around and get outta here.” He twitched. Or was he reaching for something out of his pocket? A knife? A gun maybe?
I hated to find myself in situations like this. I’m no hero, just a girl with a privilege and it made me feel responsible. You can’t just go around ignoring all that misery when you know you can do something about it. Even with as misanthropic as I am sometimes, I can’t. I frowned at Chunk for thinking he could intimidate me. “Nah. I don’t think I will.”
“You’ll be sorry you stuck your nose in. Get the fuck out.”
I shook my head. “Annoyed by the detour, yes. Regretful? I don’t think so. Why don’t you step back and let go of the kid.”
With his hand still over the teenager’s mouth he held a knife out towards me. “This is your last warning,” he said.
I pursed my lips, making eye contact. “No, this is your last warning. Let. Go. And step. Back.” I pushed some magic into my words, drilling into his head with no mercy.
He gasped and let his hands down, dropping the knife. Stepping back, his eyes widened as much as the kid’s, who, by the way, looked like they’d wet their pants by now. “What the fuck,” he muttered.
I stalked forward. “Out of the way,” I said, waving him back. He took another backwards step and I made a large sweeping motion with both hands for him to move further. When he did, I said, “Good. Stay.”
I turned my back to him to check on the kid. They stood motionless–besides the shivering–and looked at me like I was the devil. “Don’t hurt me,” they said in a quivering, high-pitched voice.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just stopped him from hurting you.” I smirked, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. They didn’t respond and it hadn’t occurred to me that I was being a bit brusque. Subconsciously I knew something was up though, and I didn’t want to scare them so I took a step back and held my hands up. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
They shook their head. “No. I’m okay.”
“What did he want?”
They stared at me, shaking and silent for a moment before shrugging, a slight and jerky movement. Not convincing in the slightest. I didn’t want to think about it either.
I sighed. “Fine. Do you have somewhere to go?” Hopefully this kid had a home to go to. It was a longshot though, going by the grungy getup. Like, I would have believed this kid had been wearing these clothes since the nineteen nineties.
They shook their head.
Of course not. “Great.” There was a shelter nearby but I couldn’t leave Chunk free to roam the streets. I looked at my watch. 9:27 p.m. I had time, but not enough to get stuck at a police station. Groaning, I turned on my heel and beckoned them both with a wave of my hand. “Let’s go you guys. Follow the leader.”
As we trekked the neighborhood, my cold, dead heart broke for the homeless kid at my heel. My life was nothing to cheer about, but at least I had a place to sleep and people who cared about me, who wouldn’t let me stay a night on the streets. If they knew about it, anyway.
I wasn’t one to whine. Or ask for help.
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Chuck was with us and caught his eye. Both weathered by the harshness of the streets in our own ways, trying to tease out each other’s secrets in a glance, I huffed at him. “Keep up Chunk.”
“Fuck you,” he muttered.
I laughed. “Atta boy.” I glanced at the kid beside me and smirked like, ‘get a load of this dude, ay?’
They grinned, but that stench of fear wouldn’t subside for a long time, I was guessing. Years, probably.
A few delicate droplets fell from the sky, landing on my face and I gritted my teeth, still hoping I could get home before the downpour. “What’s your name?” I asked. I’m not one for small talk but it seemed reasonable to at least know each other’s names.
“Bailey.”
“I’m Silver.”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
We continued on the few remaining blocks to the police station in an awkward attempt at friendly conversation until the building came into view. Both of us hoped the rain wouldn’t get too heavy and neither of us paid any attention to sports on TV. We looked at the brightly lit front doors, silently approaching the station, and I stopped, extended a hand to them.
“I can’t go in with you. But he won’t be a problem.”
Bailey hesitated, regarding me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, their piercing gaze meeting mine.
I laid my hand over my chest and promised, then turned to Chunk making eye contact. “You’ll follow six feet behind this kid into the station and confess to whatever you were going to do, and then you’ll confess to whatever you’ve already done to anyone else out there too.”
“Fuck. No,” he growled.
I nodded. “Yes you will.” I looked at the teenager. “He will. I swear it.” I gestured for them to go in.
Bailey looked at Chunk with suspicion, then at me with disbelief.
“I’ll stay right here until you’re inside and under their protection. You’re safe.”
They nodded and stumbled toward the door a couple steps. Through the hazy drizzle, I watched as they grew brave enough to scamper up the steps and in the door quickly. Chunk followed them in as directed, but I’d never questioned that. I knew what I could do. When I told a non-magical to do something, they did it.
Marching through the labyrinth of city streets towards the diner with the distant hum of traffic from all sides and the stolen grimoire nestled against my chest, there was only one more quick stop before I could get home for the night.
The city swallowed me once more, leaving behind only echoes and whispers of this damned night. One asshole down, one more to go. “Alright Luke, whatcha got for me?” I muttered to myself as I walked up the steps and into the brightly lit all American diner.
Return to Scarred Heart & Sass ebook page
Download a free short story about Silver set years before this