Chapter 9 #2
The ground was a sprawl of ash and splintered wood, rusted beams twisted like the ribs of fallen giants. A nearly dry riverbed slithered through the wasteland, reflecting nothing but the pale, tired sky. No birds. No wind. Even the air felt scorched clean of sound.
It should have felt dead.
But it didn’t.
Lucky slowed. He saw it too. There, in the middle of it all—amid shattered stone and scorched dust—a single flash of color stopped us both.
A dandelion.
Bright as Lucky’s shirt the day I met him. Yellow. Stubborn as hell.
“Some days, it feels like we’re that fucking flower.” Lucky slowed until we’d fallen behind the others.
The weed had pushed through a crack in the broken path like it had been born of spite, its feathery soft petals trembling in the still air.
“Life hasn’t given up yet,” I said, holding Sorrow a little tighter.
The flower shouldn’t be here. Against all odds, it was surviving. Like me.
“Come on," Dave called from the other bike as he circled back to us.
Lucky patted my knee. “There will be more, Mal. Hope is like that weed, it’s not always pretty, but it doesn’t give up, no matter the odds.”
The land shifted three times as we followed the river—the near desert dead space, a path between hills that had my back itching as if someone had eyes on us and then finally, the edge of a lake and laid out next to it, what could only be Bone Town.
To be fair, the stench hit before the view did—molding rot and something sourer, older, like a grave opened too many times.
Our group slowed to a crawl as we drew close.
“Stay together,” Lucky said. “That’s the rule here. No body goes anywhere alone.”
The narrow street that led us in curved, slick with grungy water and whatever else clung to hard packed dirt and stones.
Buildings loomed crooked on either side, barely held together with rotting beams, rusted nails, and pure desperation. Balconies leaned like drunks in a bar fight, laundry lines sagged with threadbare rags, and every door looked like it might cough itself off its hinges.
Sorrow ruffled his feathers and clucked his beak, the sound of irritation.
A gull wheeled overhead, thin as a wireframe, wings nearly translucent in the mist. It screamed a cry that was not like any gull my broken mind remembered, a shrill echo that bounced between rooftops.
We idled straight through to the west side of the town and parked facing out. Lucky looked over his shoulder. “Quicker to bolt if Bone Town decides we aren’t welcome.”
Quick escape, I liked it seeing as this place had eyes everywhere, peering from shadows and taking us all in.
My boots slid on the wet cobbles as I stepped off the bike, as if the water was more gelatinous than true water. Treacherous footing no less.
Bone Town didn’t trade in hospitality. It traded in weapons, spells, and secrets.
And as far as I knew, those weren’t bartered cheap.
Veyyr handed out orders. “Lucky, you, Egan, and Harrison guard the bikes. Dave, you’re with Isla to get her supplies.”
Ah crap. Isla started to build up, her energy spiking into jealous territory. I had to shut this shit down.
Another gull swept by. Skeletal. Feathers clung like scraps to bare bones, beak stretched too long. It stared at me as it flapped past, eyes black and full of something darker than just hunger.
Hatred.
The bird scissored down. I stepped into it, caught the throat, twisted. Momentum and leverage gave it one clean crack—then silence.
I turned and flipped the body of the bird toward Isla’s feet. She didn’t flinch though, she paled and her lips tightened to a hard line.
“Unique skill set,” I said quietly, my voice flat. “Seems I’m still remembering everything I can do.”
Unspoken were the words, don’t fuck with me, witch.
Veyyr didn’t so much as spare Isla another glance, instead brushing past me, his cloak passed close; ozone and rain ghosted my tongue.
My body remembered the storm he brought, and every hair on the back of my neck rose as goosebumps tripped up my arms. “The rest of you, mind the guards. They can detect magic, and we can’t have them spotting us. ”
Lucky grunted. “You mean you don’t want them zapping us?”
I frowned. “Zapping? Who do they work for?”
Harrison shivered. “They’ve got these things—like old-world guns—and if they tag you with one, it shuts your magic down for a good while?
” He looked to his brother who nodded, eyes grim.
“Nobody knows who they belong too, but they take those they snag. Nobody ever sees them again.” Harrison opened his mouth and then Veyyr shook his head ever so slightly.
If I hadn’t been watching the interplay closely, I would have missed the exchange.
“Do not get noticed. Do not use your magic.” Veyyr shot a look at Isla who sniffed as she pulled a long, heavy cloak over her near naked body.
“I would never endanger us like that.”
Veyyr turned and crooked a finger, drawing me along, his blue eyes icy. “You, with me.”
That was…not unexpected. Because while he might not be a man of proverbs or sayings, I knew he believed what he'd said.
Keep your enemies under your thumb, no matter who they were.
Same, asshole, same.
He turned down the first alley without looking back, and I followed, the scent of ozone still sharp on my tongue.