The Crimes of Orphans

by Obie Williams

  ONE

  I

  One of life’s greatest blessings, Lita had once realized, goes completely unnoticed until it’s gone. It is forgetting. Forgetting a terrible memory so completely that you forget there was anything to forget in the first place. It’s just gone. Vanished. That is, until it comes back. And the memories always come back, one way or another, but most especially in dreams.

  Her fitful slumber interrupted, Lita now sat up in the small bed and rubbed her temples gingerly. Though fragments of the dream still clung to her senses like phantoms—torn sundress; Bible on a wood floor; flames all around—she knew they would fade shortly. The pounding headache, however, wasn’t going away any time soon. But perhaps one last drink would take the edge off, and then she could try to get some more sl—

  A click touched Lita’s ear and her left hand shot like a flash under the pillow, slim fingers immediately finding the grip of her subcompact nine-millimeter handgun. An instant later, its lone eye matched her gaze toward the bedroom door. As the knob finished turning and the door started to creep open, she moved her finger to the trigger.

  But when a very large man stuck his bald head in the door, Lita released an annoyed sigh and lowered her weapon. “Fucking Christ, Cutter, don’t you knock?”

  Tyson Cutter was a force to be reckoned with. He could barely walk through a doorway without having to stoop, his chest was as broad as a whiskey barrel, and his arms looked like they had been carved from pillars of black marble. But despite the fact that he was a full foot taller than her and roughly twice her weight, he was afraid of Lita.

  “Sorry to bother you, Lita, but Mr. Grant wants you back downstairs. Bar’s gettin’ busy again.”

  “What? It was dead when I came up here. What the hell time is it?”

  “’Bout three hours ’til sunup.”

  She had been out less than two hours. The headache suddenly made a great deal more sense. “You tell that pile of shit to hold his fucking horses. I’ll be down in five.”

  Cutter nodded, and then his eyes trailed down over Lita’s body. The bedsheet had pooled at her waist, and she was wearing only a black sports bra.

  Quirking a brow, Lita tapped her forefinger on the side of her firearm which, while lowered, still resided firmly in her grip. “Is there anything else, Cutter?” she asked flatly.

  He shook his head and quickly closed the door.

  Lita tossed the sheet away and stood, wincing at the stabbing pains in her feet that marked the first few steps of every day. She hadn’t bothered undressing below the waist before passing out earlier. Her well-worn green camouflage pants were still tucked into her weathered combat boots. Crossing the room, she snatched up a black tank top that lay crumpled on the floor and pulled it on as she approached the old vanity that resided against the wall opposite the foot of the bed.

  This tiny room above the tavern that Grant had set her up with was simply furnished, but it suited Lita’s needs. She had a real place, of course, back in Maple City. But since that was forty miles away, staying in this shithole most days had to do until she could earn enough cash to get a car. Besides, crashing here was better than hitching a ride home each morning with some drunk asshole who’d leered at her all night and only tipped a silverpiece.

  At the vanity, she swapped her handgun for a hairbrush which she yanked through her wavy, straw-colored hair a half-dozen times—just enough to make it look less slept on. Then the brush was replaced with a bottle of vodka from which she took three strong gulps. Shuddering slightly, she set down the bottle and sighed, forcing the fire from her lungs. Her hands moved to the vanity’s faded pine surface and she leaned forward until her nose nearly touched the mirror.

  She stood for but a moment staring at emerald green eyes set into a face that looked a full decade older than her actual age of twenty-three. But as soon as her mind started drifting back towards her dreams, she shook her head and stood up straight.

  “Time to work,” she muttered, then took up her handgun, shoved it into the back of her belt, and headed towards the door.

  An overwhelming combination of noise and light swarmed around her the moment she stepped out of her room. She squinted and groaned, her headache surging forth once again in the face of all the added stimuli. The tavern was only lit by oil lamps, but there were enough of them to keep it bright, even up here at the top of the twenty stairs leading to her lovely little loft. As she descended those stairs, she fished into her pocket and pulled out a hair tie.

  “It’s about goddamn time, Lita!” Grant hollered at her as she reached the hardwood ground floor of the Red Mare Tavern.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lita muttered as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and headed towards the bar.

  II

  Two hours later, a sleek black classic sedan slid to an abrupt halt on the edge of the clearing outside the Red Mare. Alex sighed and released his death grip on the leather sides of the front passenger seat. “You know, for being so protective of this car, you sure drive like you want to crash it.”

  “You’ll live,” Rain replied. He killed the engine and dropped the keys in his coat pocket.

  Alex rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. He stood by his open door for a moment, surveying their surroundings. Fifty yards to the left of the car stood the tavern. Although there were only two other vehicles out front, it was obvious from the noise inside that the place was busy. Folks traveled by foot a lot these days, and though they were miles from any established town, there was a sizeable logging community not far down the road.

  To the right of the car, twenty feet away, the ground dropped off sharply in a forty-foot fall to a small lake below. Alex approached the edge of the cliff and peered down at the black water, which reflected the pale light of the nearly full moon above.

  “One of these days, you’re going to have to teach me how to swim,” Alex said. He brushed a stray lock of blond hair from his dark blue eyes and looked over his shoulder to Rain, who had just stepped out of the car. Alex was only fourteen, but he was acutely aware that he should know how to swim by now.

  “I’ll get right on that,” Rain said, then gestured towards the tavern and began heading that way. As he walked, he reached into the inside breast pocket of his long black coat and retrieved a cigarette. He produced a lighter next, and the flash of flint reflected in his eyes before the flame drew up, writhing around the tip of the cigarette. He snapped the lighter closed and took a deep drag, a soft orange glow illuminating his ashen features as he turned his gaze up towards the stars. Though the cities of Ayenee paled in comparison to those the world once held, their light still dulled the stars above. Out here in the woods, the whole universe appeared to be within sight.

  Hurrying to catch up, Alex came to Rain’s side and had to look up to speak to him. At just north of five feet tall, his head only came to Rain’s shoulder. “How long are we going to be staying here?”

  “I just need to get something to eat. We’ve got to make some miles before dawn.” Reaching the large wooden double doors of the tavern, Rain shot a brief glance toward four men congregated near the corner of the building, but they didn’t pay him any notice as he stepped inside the establishment with Alex following close behind.

  Alex jumped a little as the door slammed behind him, then he looked to Rain. “I’ll be over here,” he said, gesturing to an empty table near the doors. He knew how quickly a situation could erupt around Rain, and he had learned to keep an exit nearby whenever possible.

  Rain heard Alex but did not respond. He was busy scanning his eyes over the entire room, unconsciously taking a head count of the patrons. Five at the bar, twelve at various tables, seven others randomly milling about. Three employees as well: one female and tw
o males, one of them very large.

  Leaving Alex to his table, Rain approached the bar. He took a final drag from his cigarette and jetted smoke from his nostrils as he snuffed it out in a ceramic ashtray that sat upon the bar’s smooth wooden surface. Pushing back the tail of his coat, he took up an empty stool and looked down the bar towards one of the tenders who had just finished serving a young woman.

  He was a weathered-looking man, perhaps in his mid-sixties, with white hair and a sizeable gut. As Rain watched him, the man took notice of Rain, looked him over, and then nudged the large man that stood nearby. After the two had a brief hushed conversation, the older man finally made his way over.

  “What can I get you, friend?”

  “A glass of pig’s blood,” Rain replied.

  The man took a slow, shaky breath. “We, uhh, we don’t really serve that kind of stuff around here.”

  His gaze remaining locked with the man’s, Rain slowly slipped a hand inside his coat. The man tensed and took a step back, then sighed when Rain retrieved a cigarette. Rain looked down as he lit it, then let his eyes draw back up to meet the man’s once more.

  “What’s your name, Tender?” Rain asked.

  “G-Grant, sir.”

  Rain took a long drag and allowed it to escape his nostrils, momentarily obscuring his face in a dense cloud of white smoke. “Look, Grant, don’t lie to me,” he said. His tone was perfectly calm as the smoke parted on the breath of his words. “If you didn’t keep blood stocked, any vampire gang that roamed through here would tear this place apart.” He drew two goldpieces from his pocket and dropped them on the counter. “That’s three times what it’s worth. Now just pour the drink.”

  Grant stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “Is deer okay?” Rain nodded, and Grant dropped out of sight to fish around in the small ice chest below the bar. He returned shortly with a glass in one hand and a crystal bottle full of red liquid in the other. He poured the drink, as ordered, and placed it in front of Rain. “There you go, friend. Just don’t cause any trouble, okay?” Grant said warily as he took the goldpieces and put away the bottle.

  Rain said nothing, only took up the glass and began to drink, taking drags off his cigarette between sips. As he watched Grant retreat to the far end of the bar, he idly wondered how old this blood was. He could taste cheap anticoagulant, and it had to have been thawed and refrozen at least half a dozen times. Rain shooed the thought away as his ears picked up a fragment of Grant and Cutter’s conversation. When he heard Grant say, “that scar,” Rain absently touched his fingertip to the deep, eight-inch-long mark that vertically intersected his left eye, fiery red against his otherwise pale skin. Most days he forgot it was even there. Preferred to, anyhow.

  Across the tavern, Alex sat feeling relief as he watched the situation play out from afar. In the last tavern they had stopped at, the tender had made things significantly more difficult. Rain had reacted, well, as Rain would. However, Alex’s concern surfaced once more as his eyes shifted to a man standing at the bar four stools down from Rain. That man had also observed the interaction and now watched with visible disgust pouring across his face as Rain sipped his meal. Alex groaned to himself as the man slammed his drink down on the bar and made his way towards Rain.

  Approaching Rain’s right side, the man smacked him on the shoulder with the back of his hand and said, “Hey, pal. We don’t want your kind around here. This is a good tavern, and we don’t need shit like you stinkin’ it up.” The smell of whiskey came off him in waves, both from his breath and the large wet stain on the red shirt that hugged his stocky frame.

  Rain butted out his cigarette, turned his eyes to Red Shirt for a brief moment, and then disregarded him just as quickly, looking back towards the rack of bottles behind the bar. “Walk away,” he said flatly.

  Alex, watching the scene, drew a small silver switchblade from his pocket and depressed the button on its face. It snapped open with a quiet click and he held it close to his thigh under the table.

  Red scoffed at the warning and reached out once more, this time grabbing Rain’s sleeve. “I don’t think you heard me, Vampire. I said I want you out of my goddamn tavern!”

  Rain moved with such speed that Red never saw it coming. His right hand whipped out, fingers curling tightly around the man’s thick neck. In one fell swoop, Rain lifted him off the ground and slammed him down on his back atop the bar. The ashtray fell to the floor, losing a chip and rolling away to hide beneath a stool. Leaning in close, Rain glared into Red’s wide, disbelieving eyes. “I said walk away,” he repeated, ominously enunciating each word.

  Then, a huge paw of a hand landed on Rain’s free forearm. Immediately releasing Red, Rain spun towards Cutter and thrust a single open palm into the man’s huge chest, knocking him flat on his ass.

  But when Rain turned back around to continue addressing Red, he instead found himself staring into the fierce green eyes of a woman who had stepped between them. Before he could blink, Lita shot her hands out and took up two fistfuls of his coat.

  “Take it the fuck out of my tavern, or I’ll take it out for you!” she yelled, then shoved him away. He took a step back, but did not break his gaze from hers. He didn’t say a word, only stood and stared in surprise at the young woman. Alex even blinked twice in disbelief from his vantage point across the room.

  Then Red slid off the bar to his feet and shoved Lita’s shoulder from behind. “Hey, little girl, why don’t you get back to work and let the big boys handle this?”

  Lita’s lips turned up into a snarl before she spun around and jutted the palm of her hand up into Red’s nose. He stumbled back against the bar, but barely had time to reach up to his face before Lita grabbed a fistful of the messy brown hair on the back of his head and shoved him to the floor near where Cutter now stood. “I’m no fucking little girl,” she spat. “Cutter, get this tub of shit out of here.”

  Cutter nodded and dragged Red to the door, then unceremoniously shoved him outside. Returning to the bar, he eyed Rain cautiously, then looked to Lita. “What about this guy?”

  Rain looked to Lita as well, as if asking the same question.

  “He didn’t start the fight. He can stay as long as he doesn’t stir up any more shit,” Lita said. As Cutter headed back to the end of the bar, Lita gave Rain a questioning look. “You going to?”

  “It wasn’t my intention in the first place.”

  “Then take a seat; I’ll pour you a drink,” she said, motioning to the bar. “Grant is too chicken shit to come back over here.” With that, she headed back around to the other side of the counter.

  Alex sighed as he watched the scene play out rather uneventfully by Rain’s standards. He folded up and pocketed his blade, looking back up just in time to see Grant approach.

  “Can I get you anything?” Grant asked.

  “Water would be fine, thank you.”

  Glancing over to the bar, then back to Alex, Grant asked, “Is your friend going to cause any more problems in my bar?”

  “Not unless he’s provoked,” Alex said.

  “Great, and he’s talkin’ to Lita? That’ll go real fuckin’ well,” Grant muttered, then hurried off back to the bar.

  Alex chuckled and looked back towards Rain and Lita, trying to get a feel for their conversation.

  As Rain reclaimed his stool, Lita grabbed the empty glass that had held his meal. “What can I get you? More of this shit?”

  “No,” Rain replied. “Whiskey. Neat.” He studied her curiously, finding her interesting. Abrasive, but interesting.

  “The man knows how to drink, especially for an Ivy,” Lita said, making a crack at Rain’s slight southern English accent. Much of England had been left uninhabitable after the Last War, but St. Ives Bay was the primary port of departure for those emigrating to Ayenee, hence the slightly pejorative nickname.

  She grabbed a clean glass and filled it halfway with golden liquid from a nondescript bottle. Brand names were hard to find these days, es
pecially in a tavern this far from any major town. It was best not to think about where the alcohol came from and just be happy if it didn’t cause any ulcers. She set the glass in front of Rain. “That’ll be a gold and a silver.”

  Rain dropped two goldpieces on the counter before taking up his glass and gazing at her over the top of it. “You’re not afraid of me.” It wasn’t really a question.

  Lita raised her eyebrows, amused. “Should I be?”

  “Most people are,” he said.

  Lita chuckled. “I’m not most people.” Snatching up a rag, she began wiping down the bar. “You got a name, Vampire?”

  “Rain Moonshadow,” he replied. He had been raised to always introduce himself by his full name, and the lesson had stuck with him even after all his years.

  Lita ceased her wiping abruptly, giving him an odd look. Goosebumps rose up on her arms.

  Rain quirked a brow. “Problem?”

  She shook off the daze and scoffed. “No, I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck kind of name ‘Moonshadow’ is. Sounds like some sort of bathtub gin.”

  Rain narrowed his eyes, quaffed the rest of his drink, and slid the glass back across the bar to her. “Well, while I’m alarmed that some tender in the middle of nowhere disapproves of my name, why don’t you do your job and pour me another drink?”

  Lita clenched her jaw, grabbed his glass, and did as such.

  Rain paid, but this time did not tip.

  “You’re a real prick, you know that?” she said hotly.

  “And you’ve got a foul mouth for such a little…” Lita leaned forward and Rain caught himself, “…woman.” He immediately asked himself why he did that.

  Lita ground her teeth together and turned away for a moment, tossing the rag onto the counter at the back of the bar. Spinning back around, she glared at him. “You know, you—” she paused, her eyes shifting past Rain towards the front door. A wide grin spread across her lips as she looked back to him. “Your friend is back, and it seems he brought a few of his own.”