the previous alley. But there’s no one. Just another drip and another. Coming faster and thicker. It’s raining. Of course it is.
It’s cold and wet. All. Night. Long. At least my gloves supply warmth, little though they add. And my thick skirts protect me some, but still manage to get soaked through.
Morning comes just as wet and cold. My stomach aches, reminding me the elements aren’t my only problem. I need to find food, and hopefully better shelter than I had last night. There’s much to fear from wandering about, like what will happen to me if someone should recognize I’m unchaperoned, or worse, Edward’s recent purchase in need of punishment followed by a swift return. Yet, if I continue like this, there won’t be anything left of me to punish.
I peek around a bin. There’s no one in the alley, though two warlocks pass by on the street without glancing my way. I jerk back. It’s not so bad being cold, wet, and hungry. Telling myself that doesn’t work as well as I think it ought.
Suppose I’ll have to pretend to myself as well as everyone else. The only things I have are the clothes and jewelry I’m wearing. When father was my master, I used to keep food hidden on me somewhere, a habit I should never have given up, even if things seemed safer. I sigh and comb my hair back with my fingers before returning it to a bun, letting my magic smooth it down.
Once I’m feeling a little more prepared for what may await me, I stand and plod to the street. No one is paying me any mind—yet. I step out and move along as if this is exactly where I belong, keeping my face lowered, and pretending like I’m following someone even though no male leads me.
People wander around, walking down the street, going in and out of shops. Mostly males, but occasionally a woman accompanies one. I make my way to an empty area and stand next to a building, out of the way, not knowing what to do or where to go. What I need is information. And food. And shelter. A bath would be nice as well. But where does one go to discover any of that? It’s not like I thought this through. If I had—no, if I had thought it through, I would have done the same thing. Except to perhaps make a plan for what to do afterward. Then again, maybe not. Plan making isn’t a skill I’ve ever excelled at.
For the most part, I’m ignored. Save for one man, with an umbrella protecting him from the downpour, hiding his features from me. Every time I peek down the street he’s still there, hovering. The only reason he’d have for watching me isn’t good.
He’s thin but in a strong sort of way. The way his coat hugs his frame speaks of trim muscles, not the bulge so many warlocks carry. He's short, at least short compared to Zade, though probably just taller than me. I can’t know for certain without him coming closer. And he is coming closer. Blast.
Pretending a nonchalance I don’t feel, I head away from him. My legs throb with the desire to move faster, to race away, but I force myself to stroll. Slowly, I increase my pace until I’m going as fast as I dare. Is he following? I can’t look back. Which is safer? Stay on the main streets or use a side street? If I take a side street, it could be another dead end, but the main streets have warlocks who will side with him.
My stomach rumbles, growling with a gnawing pain as if I needed to be reminded of one more problem. I’m hungry and dirty and tired, sloshing as fast as I dare through the mud, without any idea what to do.
Suddenly, the warlock is at my side, strolling next to me as if this was planned all along. Except I don’t even know who he is. He’s perhaps a year or two older than me, my height as I suspected, with dark skin just like the way I make a cup of chocolate with a dollop of cream stirred in. It tugs at a memory of others having darker skin at the tournament last year. Deep-brown eyes hiding behind the framed windows on his face also stir memories. Those like him wore red at
It’s cold and wet. All. Night. Long. At least my gloves supply warmth, little though they add. And my thick skirts protect me some, but still manage to get soaked through.
Morning comes just as wet and cold. My stomach aches, reminding me the elements aren’t my only problem. I need to find food, and hopefully better shelter than I had last night. There’s much to fear from wandering about, like what will happen to me if someone should recognize I’m unchaperoned, or worse, Edward’s recent purchase in need of punishment followed by a swift return. Yet, if I continue like this, there won’t be anything left of me to punish.
I peek around a bin. There’s no one in the alley, though two warlocks pass by on the street without glancing my way. I jerk back. It’s not so bad being cold, wet, and hungry. Telling myself that doesn’t work as well as I think it ought.
Suppose I’ll have to pretend to myself as well as everyone else. The only things I have are the clothes and jewelry I’m wearing. When father was my master, I used to keep food hidden on me somewhere, a habit I should never have given up, even if things seemed safer. I sigh and comb my hair back with my fingers before returning it to a bun, letting my magic smooth it down.
Once I’m feeling a little more prepared for what may await me, I stand and plod to the street. No one is paying me any mind—yet. I step out and move along as if this is exactly where I belong, keeping my face lowered, and pretending like I’m following someone even though no male leads me.
People wander around, walking down the street, going in and out of shops. Mostly males, but occasionally a woman accompanies one. I make my way to an empty area and stand next to a building, out of the way, not knowing what to do or where to go. What I need is information. And food. And shelter. A bath would be nice as well. But where does one go to discover any of that? It’s not like I thought this through. If I had—no, if I had thought it through, I would have done the same thing. Except to perhaps make a plan for what to do afterward. Then again, maybe not. Plan making isn’t a skill I’ve ever excelled at.
For the most part, I’m ignored. Save for one man, with an umbrella protecting him from the downpour, hiding his features from me. Every time I peek down the street he’s still there, hovering. The only reason he’d have for watching me isn’t good.
He’s thin but in a strong sort of way. The way his coat hugs his frame speaks of trim muscles, not the bulge so many warlocks carry. He's short, at least short compared to Zade, though probably just taller than me. I can’t know for certain without him coming closer. And he is coming closer. Blast.
Pretending a nonchalance I don’t feel, I head away from him. My legs throb with the desire to move faster, to race away, but I force myself to stroll. Slowly, I increase my pace until I’m going as fast as I dare. Is he following? I can’t look back. Which is safer? Stay on the main streets or use a side street? If I take a side street, it could be another dead end, but the main streets have warlocks who will side with him.
My stomach rumbles, growling with a gnawing pain as if I needed to be reminded of one more problem. I’m hungry and dirty and tired, sloshing as fast as I dare through the mud, without any idea what to do.
Suddenly, the warlock is at my side, strolling next to me as if this was planned all along. Except I don’t even know who he is. He’s perhaps a year or two older than me, my height as I suspected, with dark skin just like the way I make a cup of chocolate with a dollop of cream stirred in. It tugs at a memory of others having darker skin at the tournament last year. Deep-brown eyes hiding behind the framed windows on his face also stir memories. Those like him wore red at
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