by May Dawson
Someone cries out down the street like they’re being hurt. I let the bags slide down my fingers, making sure the handles aren’t knotted around my hands. I need to be able to drop the bags and run.
I’m not stupid; I don’t get involved. Anyway, it’s probably just one criminal going after another. Someone’s probably getting what they deserve.
Almost home. I’ll get into my room, close the door, and finish packing my bags, and the sound of that anguished voice will fall away.
The cry echoes down the lonely street. Goddamnit, I know that voice. Granny. She’s called good morning to me on my lonely trek back from the night shift every day in that whiskey-soaked voice. She always tells me, “You be careful out there! Be smart!”
My default setting may not be smart.
I take off running toward the cry. Staying away from the opening of the alley between the boarding house and the brick apartment building next door, I drop the grocery bags against the wall. I’ll be back for you later. My job at the twenty-four-hour grocery stinks, but the haul of dented cans and expired bread has been good for me. And for everyone else in the boarding house.
When I turn around the corner, two teenage boys—what the hell are they doing up so early?—are at the end of the alley with Granny. One of them flicks a lighter over and over. They’re threatening to light her shopping cart on fire. She’s on her knees, blood smeared across her cheek, begging them to stop.
My fingers tighten into a fist. I wish I had a wand. I wish there was magic in this world so it would matter if I had a wand.
But I always find another weapon.
I run past the entrance to the alleyway. The boys are so intent on Granny that they don’t even notice me. Just yesterday, Mrs. Estes complained about the piles of basura other tenants left behind. I nodded politely—while walking away because I didn’t see anything in the trash I could resell—but I noticed there was a shovel leaning against the faded brick façade.
I grab the rough wooden handle and head back down the stairs. I feel a hell of a lot better with the weapon in my hand, even if it isn’t much of one.
From behind the boys, Granny’s eyes fix on me. I can’t read her face. It’s hard to tell if she’s grateful to see me or afraid. She needs this trouble to go away. I usually make more trouble.
The boys turn, finally realizing there’s someone behind them. They’re young, twelve or thirteen. Too young to be so bad, but hey, my world exiled me at that same tender age for my sins.
The first one holds the lighter. The flicker of flame dies as he lifts his thumb. It’d be a small victory, except he slips it into his pocket and puffs himself up, ready for a fight.
“What are you looking at, bitch?”
My chest is tight with anxiety, but that doesn’t stop me from shaking my head. “You’ve got a devastating wit, don’t you? Leave the old woman alone.”
He glances back at Granny. My chest tightens even more at the sight of her wide eyes and the blood trickling from her nose; I want to bash these kids in the head so badly. I choke my grip up on the shovel, resting the sharp metal blade against my shoulder.
“This is a woman?” he asks me skeptically, and his buddy exhales with laughter. But there’s wariness in their eyes.
“If you walk away,” I say, “I’ll give you ten bucks. Or you can stay here and see if I’m actually capable of kicking your asses.”
Frankly, I have no idea if I can kick their asses either.
“You think ten dollars means anything to me?” he asks.
Ten dollars sure as hell means something to me, so maybe. I take a step toward them, and the two of them turn and run for the back of the alley. They hit the fence and start to climb.
I’m feeling pretty smug. Then Granny points behind me, and I turn.
There’s a taxi cab parked across the mouth of the alley. I don’t think they’re scared of the color yellow, though.
It’s the driver, standing behind his door with a shotgun braced in his shoulder, who probably scared them off.
I didn’t think it was possible, but my heart rate spikes a little higher.
“It’s for me,” I tell Granny, looking back. “Don’t worry. Hey, I brought some stuff from the store—I left it on the sidewalk. Take it, okay?”
“Are you all right, Tera?” she asks me in her gravelly voice.
I shrug. I don’t know yet. I’m taking a wild chance on the thing I want most, and hoping it leads me home, not to being dumped in a trash bin somewhere in this city where I’ve never belonged.
“Here’s hoping.”
“Be careful out there.” Her eyes are worried as she limps toward me.
“You’re hurt.” I swing the shovel down from my shoulder and lean it against the wall. “I should’ve…”
“Be smart out there.” She interrupts my vengeance fantasy.
“What are the odds, really?” I ask, more of myself than anyone.
She grabs me in a hug goodbye. She’s so much taller than me that her chest presses against my cheek, enveloping me in the scent of cigarette smoke and old laundry. But it doesn’t matter. I hug her back.
This world is a terrible place. But it has its rare moments of beauty too.
Click here to read One Kind of Wicked now.
Also by May Dawson
The True and the Crown series:
One Kind of Wicked
Two Kinds of Damned
Three Kinds of Lost
Four Kinds of Cursed
Five Kinds of Love
Their Shifter Princess:
Their Shifter Princess
Their Shifter Princess 2: Pack War
Their Shifter Princess 3: Coven’s Revenge
Their Shifter Academy:
Their Shifter Academy: A Prequel Novella
Their Shifter Academy 1: Unwanted
Their Shifter Academy 2: Unclaimed
Their Shifter Academy 3: Undone
Their Shifter Academy 4: Unforgivable
Their Shifter Academy 5: Unwinnable
Their Shifter Academy 6: Unstoppable
The Wild Angels & Hunters Series:
Wild Angels
Fierce Angels
Dirty Angels
Chosen Angels
Academy of the Supernatural
Her Kind of Magic
His Dangerous Ways
Their Dark Imaginings
Ashley Landon, Bad Medium
Dead Girls Club
