I blanched. I’d done something wrong. But there was no time to evaluate. Not a second to think over my words as the scary man rushed and gripped my father’s lapel.
“Please!” I screamed, running at them, unable to hide my fear a moment longer. “I’m sorry. What did I say? What did I do? Please don’t hurt him.”
As if he were slowed by time, the man turned inch by inch. His grip on my father loosening as a smile that wasn’t much of a smile at all grew on his ugly face. “Just a game, dear. Just a game. Isn’t that right, Mr. Vox?” Again, he’d used a voice that felt strange. Loud, but insincere.
My father nodded. “Perhaps she is too young, Boss.”
“Yes. Perhaps.” He walked to the giant carriage and swung the door open before turning back to me. His calm facade was startling, as if he’d never been upset at all. “Tomorrow, you’ll find my cane and return it to me. If you can manage it, I’ll arrange for a private dance lesson with…” he sneered, “Madame Fourth. Do we have a deal, little Huntress?”
I didn’t like him. I didn’t like the way he’d put his hands on my father, nor the smile that looked like a snake’s. I didn’t like the tone of his voice or the way he walked without needing that cane at all. But I could find it. And if that’s all that was needed of me, if it made my father happy and the scary man less scary, then I’d do it. But only this once.
The world beneath my eight-year-old feet tilted and spun until I was yanked back to the present, the burn of the Remnants barely fading as I leaned back in the chair, in my damn prison, hating every memory. Every naïve thought I’d ever bore as a child.
“I’m not interested inyourpast. We’ve been over this. The Maestro is of no concern to me.”
It took every ounce of energy and every muscle I had to pick myself up enough to look at Alastor, still eating his fucking apple. I didn’t look down at the blood collecting on my trousers from my dripping nose. I didn’t consider the fact that I could hardly open my eyes. I simply lifted my middle finger and hoped he knew exactly what it meant. His boots ground against the floor as he walked toward me, his gait slow. Deliberate.
He squatted and spoke, but I couldn’t hear the words. Not beyond the smell of the apple filling my senses. I knew how to be hungry. I knew suffering. But it’d been a long time since I’d felt the familiar pit of emptiness in my stomach. He meant to wear me down. To force my will to bend and break.
“How?” I managed, though my tongue felt too swollen, this fresh from a memory.
“Use your words,Treasure.”
At the use of that name, the complete violation of my past, I turned to the side and heaved. Nothing came up of course. Even the bile had stopped coming up two days ago.
“Use your words and I’ll give you a bite.”
“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
He tsked. “Your insults are getting weak. Perhaps your mind is as well.” He waved what was left of his fruit in front of me, the white meaty part of his apple, so sweet it lured me closer to him. “I can’t tell you how to use your power. I can only hope to coax it free again.”
The Remnants hit again before I knew they were coming.
“Go away,” I breathed, staring into the beady eyes of a rat who was probably as hungry as me. The cold, damp cobblestones beneath me seeped through my thin dress and into my bones. I huddled closer to the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. The alleyway was dark, the sun hiding behind the clouds, casting long shadows that danced and flickered like ghostly fingers.
I’d scavenged a half-rotten apple, and it only smelled a little terrible. Better than the moldy bread from two days ago. I’d learned at the ripe old age of five that a little rot was okay, and with fruit, the sweetness overpowered the sour if you didn’t let it go too long. But the squishy bits made my fingers sticky, and I hated going to the bathhouse.
Clutching my precious apple in my fingers, I waited for Papa in the alley we’d claimed as our own, huddled under a makeshift shelter we had cobbled together from scraps of wood and cloth. He was careful to pick a spot where I could hide at night, but the rats always found me.
And rats bit. Hard.
The little creature crept closer, sniffing the air, his whiskers bouncing up and down.
“Shoo. I’m saving half for Papa. He’ll be here any second. I know it.”
That was a lie. I never knew when he would come back anymore. Not really. He’d followed the scary cane man last night and left me to sleep in the alcove. I missed his warm back pressed against mine. I missed the smell of ale on his breath as he crooned into my ear, promising we’d be in a home soon and he’d buy me a pretty dress.
I didn’t need a dress. I didn’t even need a real breakfast. I just wanted him to be here with me. But last time I told him that, he said I didn’t know what was best for me. I probably didn’t.
My belly rumbled as I pulled the apple closer, staring at the tiny bit of skin that still held firmness. That would be the best bite. And that fat rat knew it too. He stepped closer again, his nose dancing as if he heard music that no one else did.
I could feel the swell of tears in my eyes before I heard the crack of my voice. “No. I need this one.”
But it would be a war between the rat and I, and we both knew it. I’d pull away, he’d scramble up my arms hissing, and his nails would scratch me, and his teeth would bite me, and I’d lose the apple anyway.
An angry tear slipped from my eye as I accepted defeat, pushing away the pain in my tummy, and rolled the mushy apple toward the beast. Last time I got bit, it’d swelled, andPapa had scolded me for trying to fight an animal. He was probably right.
Another tear fell. I didn’t know when I’d eat again. I sniffled, watching that rat devour my only meal. He hadn’t even bothered to run off.
