"That's not doing you any good," a low voice cut through my misery.
Footsteps sounded on the blacktop, and I glanced up, sniffling. A man stood in front of me, middle-aged and tall, with dark brown hair. A greasy apron hid his blue work shirt and pants. Brown boots covered his feet, and a black trash bag dangled from his right hand.
"Tears are a waste of time, energy, and resources," he said in a serious tone, as though imparting some great, mystical secret to me.
My mother and sisters were dead. People wanted to kill me. I was alone and living on the streets. Cold. Tired. Hungry. So hungry. I had plenty to cry about.
The man looked at me, his green gaze taking in my dirty face, matted hair, and ripped clothes. He sighed, then reached into the black trash bag.
I tensed, reaching for the magic flowing through my veins. If he pulled out a knife and came at me, I would use my power on him. Make the bricks fly out of the alley wall and smash him in the face. Form an Ice dagger with my bare hands and stab him with it. Whatever it took. Even if it meant using my magic to kill-again.
The man pulled out a crumpled, white paper bag. I was sitting down, my knees drawn tight to my chest. My eyes were just level with the pig logo printed on the side of the bag.
"Here. " The man held out the bag. "There's a burger in here. Takeout somebody didn't pick up. Baked beans, too. You can have the
m, if you want. " My stomach screamed yes, but I shook my head no. Nobody gave you anything for free on the streets of Ashland. He'd probably want me to blow him here in the alley. I wasn't desperate enough to do that. Not yet. I didn't have much to offer at thirteen, besides barely developed breasts and thin hips, but I'd realized most men looking to get laid didn't care, as long as they got off.
The man shrugged. "Suit yourself, kid. "
He opened the Dumpster and threw away the black bag. The white one followed.
Whistling, he opened the back door to the restaurant and disappeared inside. I counted the seconds in my head. Ten, twenty, thirty . . . When I reached forty-five, I got to my feet, ran to the Dumpster, and plucked the white bag out of the smelly, shadowy depths.
I darted back across the alley and slipped into a black hole. The crack was big enough for me to worm into, but not so large that anyone could come in after me. I ripped open the bag, tore into the sandwich, and chewed. So good, I wanted to cry. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had meat, especially this much. Hands shaking, I popped the top off the Styrofoam cup, tilted back the container, and let the lukewarm baked beans slide into my mouth. The sauce on them was sweet, but with a spicy kick. After the garbage I'd been eating, it tasted like heaven - "Son of a bitch!"
The cursing woke me. I cracked open my gray eyes, my hand already around the hilt of the silverstone knife under my pillow.
"Son of a bitch!"
The exasperated voice came again. Finn. Just Finn. I relaxed my grip, slid out of bed, and padded into the den. Finn stood in the kitchen, flipping a toaster pastry from one hand to the other to keep from getting burned.
"What time is it?" I asked, my voice thick with sleep and dreamlike memories I couldn't quite banish. "Five in the afternoon. " Finn took a bite of the pastry and almost spit it back out because it was so hot. "Twelve hours? Why did you let me sleep so long?"
"Because you needed the rest. We both did. "
He was right. Jo-Jo might be the best, but being healed by an Air elemental still took a toll, as your body tried to adjust from being severely injured to suddenly being well again. Despite my day of sleep, I still felt tired, my arms and legs moving slower than usual. Or perhaps that was because I'd used my body so strenuously for so long last night. But magic always had a cost, which was another reason I didn't like to use my power to kill. I didn't like paying the price afterward. It always drained me, made me weak. I couldn't afford to be weak. Ever.
The toaster burped up another pastry. Finn grabbed it and tossed it to me. I clutched the thin wafer in my right hand. The heat didn't bother me. Then again, Finn wasn't the one with scars on his hands. Wasn't the one who'd felt the spider rune burn into his flesh. Silverstone metal could contain only so much magic. The Fire elemental who'd been torturing me had had more than enough to turn my rune into superheated liquid, mark me forever, and laugh all the while. The memory made my head ache, and I massaged my temple.
The television was on, although the sound was muted. Some incomprehensible game show with what looked like screaming contestants flickered on the screen. I changed the channel to the Food Network.
"Any more news about my botched hit last night?"
"Nothing much," Finn said. "More press conferences at lunchtime with the police, namely Captain Wayne Stephenson vowing to catch you no matter what. Another one with Alexis James talking about what a great guy Gordon Giles was and how she hopes the reward will help bring his killer to justice. Do you know they've gotten more than a thousand tips since she offered that money last night?"
"A million dollars. " I shook my head. "Every nut job in Ashland, elemental and otherwise, will be after me. Or at least chasing my ghost. "
"Hell, for that much, I'm tempted to turn you in myself. " I stared at him.
"Not that I ever would," Finn amended. "Friendship is much more important than money. "
I arched an eyebrow. Finn's lips started to twitch, and he let out a low chuckle. I snorted. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face. "
"Me either," he confessed.
I threw one of the sofa pillows at him. Finn ducked out of the way.
His smile faded, and he jerked his head at one of the windows that fronted the street.