Malaki and I parted ways back in town, he descending down a dark street and I clambering up in the opposite direction. He knew I had to work, our morning adventure hardly helping pay the bills. The further the sun rose the darker the light seemed to transform. I walked down the cracked sidewalk all the way until it ended, following its curves and bends. Clouds now peppered in the sky, indifferent and grey. It started to drizzle, the kind of rain nearly invisible yet chills you to the bone. Small pools of cold rain water collected in crevices on the cement, and droplets ran down my face, hanging off my eyelashes. I took a right on Sullivan before going left down Berkeley, then O'Brian as the glittering lights of Presley neighborhood shone brightly against the haze.

Rows of well-kept homes perched on either side of the avenue, their lawns behind tall fences bright and green. The broken sidewalk was replaced with intricate cobblestone sanded down flat, springs of flowers in painted pots around street lamps at every corner. Not a single window was boarded or a home condemned. The sewers drained without complaint, swallowing the streams of crystal water that collected on the edges of the road. White puffs of smoke billowed from brick chimneys, whispering the promise of a warm living room with crackling fire.

The iron gate wasn't hooked, swinging back and forth with the breeze. It seemed to be entertaining a ghost stuck in a crossroad. I latched it behind me, following the path up to the brick house. Rounded hedges shaped like gumdrops sat in flowerbeds of stone, white trimmed windows with black shutters peaking out from behind the green. At three stories, the house was one of the largest on the street, and as I stood under the white awning blooming with thick columns I felt small, a little speck of dirt on a crisp white shirt, barely there but ruining the whole picture.

I knocked and waiting, brushing my hair behind my ear. When they looked at me, would they see where I had been this morning, scrambling through the outskirts with guard dogs on my heels?

The door opened, revealing the long face of Mrs. Janet McGregor. She looked tired and cold as she always did, her skin grey like the weather outside. Blue veins ran across her knuckles and up her wrinkles forearms. Her blonde hair pinned back against her skull was fading grey, making her hard blue eyes seem to bulge out further than her sharp nose. I glanced down, looking at her dark green day dress. She seemed thinner, smaller compared to when I'd last visited the old manor, a little lady receding deeper and deeper into her wool blankets until she was nothing any longer.

She pursed her lips, eyebrows wrinkled in as she looked me up and down. "Did you fall in the river on your way here?"

"No, Ma'am." I said, biting back blood.

"Take off your shoes out here. I don't need red clay in my foyer. If I see a speck of it on my new rug..."

"I'll be careful, Mrs. McGregor."

"Good. Your tasks are on the washing machine." She stepped away from the door, leaving it open as she retreated back into the heart of her bright home.

Every light was on, glimmering like stars. It was quiet, the only resident during the day being Janet since Mr. McGregor worked in the Capital City during the week. He returned on the weekends, yet I remembered some afternoons where he hadn't come home. Janet had stayed on the phone with him while I worked in the other room, her voice carrying through the empty space. I appreciated that for an older lady she didn't refrain from using the language that I heard in the bars and back alleys. The only sound besides the grumble of the washing machine was the occasional meow from Anton, the white cat that prowled the jungle of green curtains and wooden furniture that made up the McGregor house. He sometimes liked to sit on the dryer, nudging me to pet him and hissing when I lifted my hand. Just like his owners he demanded my presence yet loathed it just the same.

I spent most of my Saturday working at the McGregors' cleaning and doing laundry, and I was dismissed before dinnertime. Hurrying from their house down the street, I stopped inside the bakery to visit Ms. Lillian and she offered me a free strawberry pastry which I wrapped up in my pocket. In the shadow of the old department store, I stopped to glance down the alley before stepping over to a familiar cardboard box. "Mikey?"

The man's dark sandy hair popped out from the box as he offered me the biggest smile. "Evening, Kate!"

I kneeled in front of him, pulling out a stack of dollars and the strawberry pastry. "I picked up an extra job doing laundry at the McGregor's and they tipped me well. Take the extra please."

His eyes widened as he looked up to me in shock. "I can't take this. You worked for this money, Kate."

"And you would too if you could." I put the money in his gloved fist as Mikey looked down to what remained of his right leg. It was the only piece of him that hadn't survived when his house burnt down a few years ago. He'd lost his wife and their baby, and his job has quickly followed. "You're a good man, Mikey. I'll come back to visit you soon, I promise."

"Thank you, angel." He chewed his bottom lip. "You need to stop by the tavern."

A lump formed in my throat. "Why?"

"I saw your sister go by a little while ago, just ahead of you." Mikey licked his lips as he scanned around us anxiously. "You know why she comes up here at sunset."

I narrowed my eyes, glancing back down the road to where the stinking pub sat at the end of lane. "Thank you, Mikey."

"Be safe, Kate." He breathed. "Matilda won't be able to help you."

"I don't need her to." I said, standing and leaving Mikey in his alley.

I crossed the street, stepping over potholes overflowing with black muddy water. The Wooden Nickel Pub sat cradled between two foreclosed buildings, the street lamps flickering. A few taxis were stalled by the sidewalks, waiting for easy money. From the loud sound of music and the harsh, screaming voices, I knew today was not the day I needed to walk inside this pub alone. Yet, I opened the door and went in regardless. Duty called.

In the old days, Matilda and I hardly ever fought. She'd been my best friend, my secret keeper, my protector. She made it known to any man walking down the street that if they dared even give me a funny look, she'd sucker punch them in the face. I could count on her to save me from my bully or walk home with me in the streets. 

She protected me as a kid, but our roles had transformed over the years when she spent more time at the Wooden Nickel than she did at home. Andrew wanted to get her help, but he seemed to forget about her completely when he sunk into a new book, a new newspaper, a new job. 

When I was about twelve I left the house alone, tired of Andrew's empty threats and Matilda's empty promises. In all our years of this new dynamic, me begging her to put the drink down and she letting me lead her away, Matilda hadn't turned her sights on me. I never thought I'd be the one to receive her punch.

It happened in slow motion, her hand swinging around, knuckles against my skull. I landed on the back of my head against the cement floor. I remembered trying to grab my sister's arm from where she danced on a table, and then the next we were both on the ground.

"Jack," Matilda giggled, reaching her arms up to her lover. Jack scratched his chin before roughly yanking her to her feet. "Can we go dancing? I want to dance and eat salsa!"

"We go where I say we go." Jack growled, wrapping a sausage arm around Matilda's waist. I visibly saw him flex his muscles before giving a big grin. 

I groaned; the typical Adonis. You'd think he was a God until he opened his mouth and actually started to speak. Any indicators of hidden wisdom evaporated in the heat of his stupidity.

"Anywhere, baby! With you, any place!" She laughed, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek.

He flicked her hand away before turning to me in disgust. "How's your face, Kate? I guess you never had much to lose."

He chuckled at his own joke as I brushed the hair from my face. More of the slum broke into laughter, slamming their fists and drinks onto their tables. I heard the sound of fake tears and high-pitched whimpering which sent them into a howling frenzy. Was that supposed to be me? Damn all of you! I sound nothing like that!

"Your crooked nose is the least of your worries." I muttered before standing to my feet. "Matilda, let's go home."

"Never!" She cried out, draping herself against Jack, who looked like he wanted to punch me through a wall like in the cartoons. "You will never separate me from my soulmate!"

Jack shoved her off him before storming towards me. Matilda swayed backwards, stumbling until she tripped over her feet and fell to the ground. 

"Say it to my face, Shrimp!" Jack stomped with a flair of dramatics as he lifted his feet especially high and straightened his posture. He better be careful or he'll hurt himself trying to prance.

He came to stand especially close, towering over me like a pissed bull elephant, only encouraging me to restate my feelings. "I don't want to look at you ever again. The sight nearly makes me dry heave." I spat out each syllable, watching the volcano of his face grow redder as his bulky frame began to quiver.

I squealed as he swung a fist. I jumped backwards, barely missing the blow by a fraction of seconds. He was too bulky and large to be fast. His other fist flew forward, catching the front of my shirt. With ease, he jerked me forward and lifted me off the floor.

"Let go of me!" I yelled, trying to claw him with my fingernails. Digging my nails into his hand like a feral cat, he roared, dropping me on the floor. I scrambled to my feet, trying to imagine my game plan.

Something sparkled in the darkness to my side. I scurried towards it, taking the weapon in my hand. I held out the glass bottle in front of me as Jack licked his blood from his fingers, eyes glowing a malicious grey as he plotted every way to dismember me. Perhaps he would turn me into a decorative rug for his grandmother. We all knew who paid Jack Warren's rent and could drag him by the ear out of any bar.

Taking a firm hold of the bottle, I smashed the other end against the table. It split into two jagged pieces, one half remaining in my hand as I eyed Jack. With my other hand, I coaxed him on. 

Steam seemed to rise from his ears. He in turn cracked his knuckles as the surrounding men jumped from their feet in excitement. Each had glowing eyes of lust as they threw down cash and placed their bets with dealers while ordering fresh drinks. Their excitement was electric as they began to make a bowl shape around the two of us, money flying everywhere between them.

"Fifty on Warren!"

"Twenty that she'll have broken ribs!"

'Jack Warren against a woman! What an obvious win!' I could hear them scoffing in my head. I heard that same shit everywhere I went. Maybe now I could prove them all wrong.

The devil's horn interrupted our brawl, the thundering screech sending chills through my veins. 

"The Guard!" A loud voice echoed over the crowd. Fights broke out as each drunk man made a grab at the money holder, trying to pry their cash from his fingers. Others fled out the back exits into the alleys, more concerned for their heads than their pockets.

I cursed as the broken bottle flew from my hand, slicing my palm. Through the crowd, a meaty fist landed straight into my gut. I gasped for air, falling to my knees. 

Coughing,  my hand flew to my ribs. My eyes were watering and the world was blurry as I looked down to my chest. My other hand was stained red, blood dripping down the palm. A large slit ran from my wrist all the way up to my pointer finger, but my new cut was the least of my worries.

The horn blew again and more shouts erupted around us. The Guard is coming. I need to get out of here fast.

"Matilda!" I called, flinching at my split hand. The gash had been deeper than I'd thought, warm drops of fresh blood falling from my fingers onto the floor.

"Jack?" I heard the faint whimper to my right. I crawled behind an upturned table. Matilda was curled into a ball with her hands over her ears, humming an old bedtime song that Mother used to sing, Little Rabbit among the Wolves.

"Matilda!" I gasped, grabbing her hand. "Let's go. The Guard."

"Where is Jack?" She began to sob. "Is he safe?"

I bit my tongue from using all the words that were in no relation to the word "safe". I hoped the Guard caught him in the alleys and beat him to a pulp. 

"He's fine. I'm sure he's waiting outside for us." I grabbed her hand and hauled us both up onto our feet. She wasn't steady on her own and I put one of her arms over my shoulders. I tried to coax her to walk, but she dragged her feet as though they were made of lead, stumbling with each step. "We aren't going to get anywhere." I breathed, feeling my heart pound against my rib cage.

If we were caught bloodied around these smugglers and moneylenders, they'd think we were...

The front door flew open.

My legs gave out and we both dropped onto the floor like the dead. Matilda laid down beside me, dropping into a snooze. We were shielded behind a circular table but that was hardly a proper hiding place. The loud clunk of shoes was the only sound inside the bar now
besides the rigorous pounding in my chest. The soldiers, it had to be.

A warm hand grabbed my shoulder and I screamed, taking a swing without looking back.

"Holy Fate!" A deep voice roared. I jumped to my feet, ready to strike again before my fist halted in the air. 

"Ethan!" I scowled.

The silver haired man stood in front of me, a long, twisted horn in his hands. He had a wide grin on his face and joy dancing in his blue eyes.

"Kate! Do you like this new baby?" He held one of the soldiers' horns in his hand, waving it like a trophy. "I stole it off one of them passed out at his post around the tracks. I've been causing mayhem with this bad boy!"

He put it to his chapped lips and blew, the deep and ominous sound reverberating off the walls. I covered my ears and Ethan tucked his trophy in his belt. His navy colored eyes widened as he knelt down to investigate something near his feet.

"Lucky bastard, aren't I?" He laughed, holding up a fistful of golden coins. He dropped them in his pants pocket before beginning to forage further.

I turned towards Matilda who had turned on her side, nuzzling her face into the crook of her elbow. Taking a hold of one of her arms, I tried to yank her up. My hand stung, burning until I let her go.

"Want me to carry her?" Ethan asked, brushing back his spiked grey hair. He shoved more coins in his pocket before taking a fresh bread roll off the bar counter. He plopped it in his mouth, giving a smile at my look of disgust. "Carbs and I have an intimate yet open relationship."

"I hope one of those sick beggars licked it."

"I have an immune system of steel, thank you very much. Do you want to continue to flatter me or let me carry your sister home?"

I nodded, giving in to him. I couldn't take her home by myself as much as I didn't want to admit it. 

Ethan wrapped his hands around Matilda's waist, helping her to her feet with ease. Her eyes fluttered, greeting Ethan with her jade colored eyes. "Hello storm cloud." She mumbled before her eyes rolled back into her head.

I made a move to steady her, putting out my arms, but Ethan held her tighter in his own. He swept her up princess-style, chuckling. "I'm a storm cloud? How interesting? Should I tell Malaki that his dream girl fancies me as a mysterious, handsome storm cloud?"

"He'd take one look at you and he'd cut you up like this." I held my hand out in front of him and Ethan leapt backwards.

"Fates! Get that thing away from me! You know I hate blood! What happened to you?" I hid my hand behind my back when Ethan's face began to turn as white as a clean sheet. I couldn't drag two of them back with one good hand.

I figured that he must have somehow overlooked the hand because of his excitement regarding the free money and food. Selective vision Ethan would say; idiot goggles Vulcan would counter.

"I cut it on a broken bottle. It's deeper than I thought it would be. You think Bodhi will stitch it for me?" There was nothing clean here I'd wanted to wrap around it without a high risk of infection and who knows what other contamination. This place probably doesn't even own a mop, too expensive.

"He'll stitch it, but it will cost you." Ethan shrugged before turning towards the ajar front door.

"You guys charge for everything."

"I'm carrying your drunk sister for free!"

"Wow, you deserve a reward for being a decent human being." I rolled my eyes and slammed the door shut behind us.

"That's the kindest thing you've ever said to me." Ethan joked.

"It was sarcastic."

"But still heartfelt!" He laughed. "I'll lead you back to the Capital and Bodhi can doctor your hand, but be prepared. Vulcan's in a mood."