by Lori Saltis
My stomach drops. The Beggar Clan didn’t arrive in the nick of time to rescue some crappy homeless kids from Payroll. They came to get me.
I yank free and step back. “I’m not going with you. I don’t know you.”
The Beggar Chief’s massive chest expands in a disappointed sigh. “What would your parents say if they knew how you’d fallen among thieves?” Though his voice is stern, his eyes are full of pity.
I don’t want or trust his sympathy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The slate gray gaze becomes unwavering. “After the Dragon Son and his wife died, the Two Dragon Clan let it be known that the heir, Paul, was now residing in the clan compound on Chisel Knife Mountain, and being raised by his grandfather.”
I can’t keep my hands from clenching into fists.
“However, I heard a different tale,” John Walks Long’s bushy eyebrows raise with his words, “of the Two Dragon Clan frantically searching for a fifteen-year-old boy. About a week ago, a remarkable young man came to see me. His name was Tony Lau.”
I force myself not to blink.
“I’d met him before, always in the company of his uncle. A stern, cold boy, though he became agitated as he spoke of his missing cousin, Paul. He swore me to secrecy before giving me this photo.” He reaches into his massive coat, pulls out a piece of paper and unfolds it.
It’s a photo of my grinning face, taken when my family had spent the day at Clearwater Bay beach in July. Had I once been so happy? I can’t remember what that feels like anymore.
“I can see why your family has had trouble finding you. You look almost nothing like the boy in this picture.”
“I’m not the boy in that picture.” I try giving a casual shrug. “So, were you offered some kind of reward for this kid?”
“Ten thousand dollars for his safe return.”
I take another step back.
“However, this kid’s father was a friend of mine, a real hero, one of the finest men to walk the Glory Road. I find it hard to believe his son would choose the Wayward Way without reason.”
I bite my lip. For a moment, I want to blurt out everything that had happened and ask the Beggar Chief for help, but I can’t betray my clan to another, not for any reason. “What would you do if you found this kid?”
“I would offer him refuge, a place to hide.” John Walks Long grasps his staff with both hand and lifts it with outstretched arms. “This, I do swear on my honor as the Beggar Chief of San Francisco. I will not return Paul Lau to those who seek him, even if they are his family.”
John Walks Long won’t – can’t betray that oath. Now that the crew has disbanded and Payroll is out for my blood, I need a safe place to stay. “On one condition.”
The Beggar Chief cocks his head.
“Call me Lennon.”
Chapter 18
Penny
I feel Dani’s oily glare as I enter fifth period maths. It spreads across the room and pools at my feet. I mutter the blessing, “May kings respect you, the devil neglect you, the angels protect you, and heaven accept you.”
It’s not for her. It’s for me. The notes have stopped, but I’m not thick enough to believe she and Jesus are BFFs. Beneath that dark gaze I sense a bitter brew coming to a boil. When it hits the surface, she’ll strike.
Avery and another girl – Madison, I think – sit beside her with huge Bibles on top of their textbooks. They chatter loud enough so everyone can hear about some church youth group they went to last night. I roll my eyes. Great. It’s my fault the Daisy Chain got religion. The Bible study nerds probably hate me now, too, for sending those harpies shrieking into their haven.
Avery gives me shady side-eye before declaring, “I asked Pastor Steve and he says witches definitely go to hell.”
“Christ on the cross, you’re so full of shite,” bursts out of me. Bollocks. I want to hit myself. I let them get to me and I can’t, especially not today. One complaint from the school is all the excuse Bill needs to cancel our plans for tonight.
The class goes silent. A few titters circle the room. Avery and Madison’s faces are filled with anything but Christian love. The Goths smirk, waiting for them to open their mean mouths and prove themselves hypocrites. Ms. Alvarez raps her knuckles on the desk, signaling the beginning of class. Luckily, she’s the no-nonsense type. She doesn’t care who started it, but if you try getting the last word, she’ll hit your ass with detention. I keep my head down and nose in my books for the rest of the day. I don’t breathe easy until I’m on the bus heading home.
Bridie is preparing a king’s feast for Bill, consisting of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, a crisp green salad with buttermilk dressing, and apple pie, all his favorites. I chop vegetables, peel potatoes and roll the dough. The savory smells make my mouth water and I’m sorely tempted to dig in. Kai whimpers like a puppy until Mum gives him a bowl of potatoes and gravy.
Bill comes home, goes to his office, shuts the door and doesn’t come out.
“He’s being a grump,” Bridie whispers. “He’ll get over it after he eats. Carry on getting ready.”
I have to admit she knows him pretty well. By the time we’re heading out the door, he’s seated in front of the Giants’ game on telly, his plate overloaded with food. He doesn’t even grunt in response to our farewells. For a moment, I wonder if he’s feeling jealous or suspicious because Bridie looks so young and gorgeous in the miniskirt I made to match my costume. Then potatoes spew from his mouth as he protests an umpire’s call. Bridie gives a pained smile. I shudder. We both know she’ll have to have sex with him when we get home. Right now, though, we’re free and we flee before he has a chance to stop us.
I have a hard time sitting still during the drive. I practice dance moves with my feet. Bridie and Kai go over the set list even though it was decided weeks ago and we all know it by heart. The ride becomes bumpy after we get off the freeway. We haven’t been to this part of the city before, the part along the southern shore of the bay. We pass weedy vacant lots, container yards, and rows and rows of warehouses. It’s getting dark and the streetlights are sparse, making it hard to read the few street signs we pass.
I turn on my phone and use the light to read the directions that came with the invitation. “I’m pretty sure we’re going the right way. It says to keep going, to the end of this street and then turn left at the cement factory.”
After bouncing along another couple of blocks, we get to a structure with huge, concrete towers surrounded by a tall chain link fence wound with barbed wire. We can’t see any signs, but guess it’s the factory and make the turn. This leads to another street lined with warehouses. We keep going until it dead-ends. To the right, there’s a gravel road with an open gate. Leaning against the gate is a weatherworn plywood board spray-painted with the road marker of a Beggars’ Abode: an open-bottom rectangle covering three parallel circles, and the symbol of the Glory Road, a straight, vertical line topped with a crown.
This means the Beggars within walk the Glory Road, however, all Beggars are welcome. If there was a diagonal slash through the symbol, it would mean those on the Wayward Way are forbidden to enter.
This makes me wonder how much John Walks Long knows about us. Does he know we walked the Wayward Way or even care, since we’re not Beggars? I hope he didn’t ask Kingfisher to vouch for us. If he did, Upright Man will definitely hold that over us the next time we see him.
The gravel road ends at a gate guarded by two women in ragged military fatigues. Beyond them is a huge metal warehouse, at least two stories high, its front entrance lit up with bright lights. The guards use high-powered flashlights to wave us forward.
Mum unrolls the window. “Hello. Bridie Sparrow and children.”
The guard speaks into a shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie, listens, and leans down. “Go around to the back entrance and park next to the caterers. Jeremiah will escort you in.”
Bridie’s eyebrows lift. “Caterers. This is posh.”
“Later,” she replies firmly to his pout.
Two more Beggars in military fatigues guard the back entrance. Between them stands a tall man wearing camouflage trousers, combat boots, and black tank top. From the neck down, his left side is covered with the mottled, puckered flesh of old burn scars while swirling, dagger-like tribal tattoos decorate the intact skin of his right side. He’s talking into one of those shoulder walkie-talkies, but looks up as we approach.
“Bridie Sparrow? I’m Jeremiah Walks Long.”
“The Beggar Chief’s son?” Bridie asks. He nods. “Walk in peace, Jeremiah.” She sets down her guitar to shake his hand. “These are my children. Penny.”
“Walk in peace.” As we shake, I feel his callouses press into my palm. He’s kind of sexy with those gray eyes and that square jaw, and he looks as fit as if he were still in the military, despite the scars.
“And Kai.”
Kai stares with big eyes. “Were you in the war?”
Jeremiah nods. “Two tours of duty in Afghanistan.”
“Is that where that happened?”
Bridie’s face reddens as she tugs Kai’s arm. “Shush.”
“It’s all right, ma’am. I prefer people notice than pretend they don’t.” He turns so more of his scarred flesh is visible. “It happened in Kabul. A car bomb took out a whole building and burned half my body.”
Kai chews his lip like he wants more details the way he wanted a skewer of shrimp. I step on his foot. “Ow!” He glares at me before glancing more meekly at Jeremiah. “Um, walk in peace.”
“Walk in peace. You are most welcome to our Abode.” Jeremiah picks up Bridie’s guitar. “Follow me.”
As we enter, we pass two storage areas on either side of the door. The area to the left contains shopping carts piled with threadbare blankets and dirty plastic bags filled with crushed aluminum cans and plastic bottles. Ripped and torn overcoats hang on pegs, along with equally worn scarves and hats. Cardboard signs are stacked against the wall, the top one scrawled in blocky words:
Homeless
Anything helps
God bless
The other area holds sparring equipment like boxing gloves, helmets, padded mats, punching bags and a table of hand-held weapons, including broken bottles and knives. Beggars might appear helpless, but believe me; you don’t want to mess with them.
The warehouse is huge with two levels of corridors and rooms. Bright, fluorescent lights flood the interior, giving everything an artificial glow, until I blink a few times to adjust my vision. Jeremiah leads us past an octagonal fight cage and a workout area with exercise equipment, toward a boxing ring in the center of the building. The ring is surrounded on all sides by long tables, several rows deep, each covered with gold tablecloths and set with silverware, cloth napkins, wine glasses, and gold-rimmed plates. Square metal lanterns with lit candles adorn the center of each table. Men, women and children are mingling around, chatting with each other, all of them dressed in thrift store finery rather than rags.
“This place used to be a steel shop.” Jeremiah raises his voice to be heard above the echoing hubbub. “It was shut down about thirty years ago, after a construction crew ruptured a nearby pipe that caused toxic waste to spill into wetlands out there. It cost too much to clean up, so the city left the area to rot. My father bought this place for a song, and we’ve been here ever since.”
“I’m surprised you’re allowing caterers in here,” Bridie remarks. “Don’t you have a kitchen?”
“We have two kitchens, a laundry, an infirmary, even a school. Father wants as few of our people as possible to work during the banquet. The caterers are cooking, but not serving. The servers are chosen by lottery from among our people. We have a system so no one winds up serving for two years in a row.”
I sigh. Why can’t the local Strowlers have a bang-up chief like John Walks Long instead of a bounce like Kingfisher?
As if he heard my thoughts, the Beggar Chief steps out from among his people. He’s wearing a deep blue velvet blazer with leather-patched elbows, a brocade vest, a white dress shirt and seamed black trousers. Polished black boots have replaced his fringed leather ones. His wild mane has been neatly brushed and even his beard and mustache look trimmed. He looks so majestic, if I was older – a lot older – I might think he was handsome.
“Dear lady.” He bows over Bridie’s hands. “You and your family honor us with your presence.”
Bridie inclines her head. “You honor us with your invitation.”
He holds out his arm to her. “I’m afraid we have but a makeshift stage,” he says, as he leads us to the boxing ring. “We took down the ropes just for you.”
“We’re used to performing on the street and in pubs. A boxing ring will make a lovely change.” She glances over her shoulder. “Isn’t that right, children?”
“I think it’s brilliant,” says Kai.
I don’t answer. Jeremiah has walked ahead and is handing Bridie’s guitar to an Asian boy standing beside the ring. He’s about the same height as me, and skinny, but with broad shoulders. His full lips and high cheekbones are to die for, and he’s got cool, spiky blond hair with black roots. I wish I could see his eyes, but he’s wearing round, tinted glasses.
John Walks Long calls out, “Lennon.”
Really? Did he get the name because of the glasses or the glasses because of the name?
Lennon hurries over. He’s wearing army fatigues, though he looks too young to have been in the military.
“These are the Sparrows. You can take them to the dressing room now.” John Walks Long turns again to Bridie. “Would you like to eat before or after your performance?”
“After,” Bridie replies, ignoring Kai’s groan. “Never perform on a full stomach. It slows you down.”
“I understand. You must join me at my table when you’re done.”
“Thank you.”
“If you need anything, ask Lennon.” He gives a benevolent nod before strolling away.
Bridie smiles at the boy. “Do you like the Beatles?”
The boy looks surprised, as if he hasn’t been asked this a million times before. “They’re okay.”
“I guess you didn’t give yourself the name.”
He shakes his head.
“I’m Bridie Sparrow, and these are my children, Penny and Kai.”
“Hello.” I smile.
The boy gives a quick nod and looks away as he gestures us to follow him. Okay, so he’s not a talker. No big deal. We’re not here to talk.
The dressing room is more suitable for boxers than musicians with its gym lockers, massage table and metal folding chairs. The hooks in the wall hold robes and there’s a stack of towels and a medical kit on top of a stainless steel table.
Kai swings himself onto the padded table. “Hey, can I get a massage?”
“Only if you’re going to fight.” A whisper of a smile lifts Lennon’s lips for a brief moment.
“Performing is exactly like fighting, only tougher. That’s what Gerry used to say.”
“Gerry?” Lennon’s puzzled expression becomes hesitant as he says the name, like he doesn’t want to be nosy. He glances at the metal table. “They forgot your water. I’ll be right back.”
While Bridie and Kai tune their guitars, I check my new dress in a mirror that’s leaned against the wall as if by second thought. I like the emerald green, stretch velvet fabric and the simplicity of the design, with its tight bodice, flared skirt, and spaghetti straps. Long sleeves are attached below the armpit, leaving my shoulders bare and sort of sexy. I perch on a chair and lace up my gillies. My skirt rides up my thighs and I tug it down in case Lennon walks in. Does he like my dress?
Whoa.
Where did that come from? Why should I care if he likes my dress? But I d
o. I want him to think I look cute.
Cute? Really?
There’s a tap on the door and Lennon enters, carrying a pitcher of ice water and three stacked glasses, which he clutches to his chest as he closes the door. I duck my head so he won’t see my cheeks burn. What is wrong with me? It’s not like I haven’t been around dimber lads before. Most were Strowlers and I had avoided them like the plague, not wanting anybody to get ideas about setting me up with anyone. Lennon – he’s different. He’s a Beggar kid. No one’s going to try marrying me off to him, so I’m free to think he’s completely adorable.
Oh god. Seriously, what is wrong with me?
Lennon sets the pitcher and glasses on the metal table. Then he moves to the center of the room and shifts awkwardly before sticking his hands in his pockets. “Um, I’m supposed to stay here in case you need anything.”
“We should be fine, but stay if you must.” Bridie opens the door a crack and peers out. “Any other Sharpers here besides the Beggar Clan?”
“Sharpers?” The boy looks puzzled.
“Sorry.” She turns and smiles. “That’s our word for the people of the Crossroads. You see, we’re Strowlers and I just wondered if any other Strowlers were invited. Say, a man named Kingfisher?”
Lennon shakes his head. “Not that I heard.”
Bridie’s smile brightens. “I see. Well, just wondering. Do you know when we go on?”
“The Chief said to send you out after the appetizers are served. I’ll let you know.” He takes Bridie’s place, opening the door slightly more so he can lean against the frame.
While my mother and brother finish tuning their instruments, I do some warm up exercises. After a series of plies, I rest my ankle on the edge of the metal table and bend over, wrapping my hands around the sole of my foot. My skirt rides up my thighs again, revealing my dancing shorts. I glance at Lennon to see if he notices. He remains in the doorway, facing outward with a solemn, vigilant profile. What an odd boy. Why doesn’t he take off those silly glasses?
Kai sets down his guitar and peers out the door. “Wow!”
