Chapter Two
Amelia
I’ m soaked to the bone by the time I get onto the train. My legs feel like they’re going to fall off from the distance I walked, and the rain turned the dirt road into a muddy mess, staining my feet and the hem of my white dress. I wring the water out of my long hair and watch as it splatters onto the train floor.
I’m cold. I’m scared. But most of all…I’m alive.
The train is packed, even this late. Farmers heading home, their hands rough and their faces tired. Some glance at me with something like pity. Others sneer, their expressions twisting into something darker. Something hungry. I don’t understand why. Do they know what I’ve done? That I’ve put my entire village at risk?
A voice crackles over the speakers. At first, I think the Hellkeeper is speaking to me from the sky, but no one else reacts. It’s just an announcement.
The train slows, and a few men stand. One lingers. An old man with a limp and sun-worn skin. He quickly shrugs off his jacket and puts it in my lap.
"Stay safe, girl," he croaks out.
He doesn’t wait for a thank you, just shuffles off the train. I blink down at the jacket, pressing the warm fabric against me. The elders always said the outside world was cruel, but that man just gave me the only thing keeping him warm. What else have they lied about?
The train jerks to a stop.
"Downtown," the voice announces.
I step off, shaking the weight of those men’s eyes off my shoulders. The city is loud. The air is sharp and chemical, nothing like the clean, open fields back home. Lights pulse everywhere, flashing, glowing, unnatural.
A horn blares, and I nearly leap out of my skin as a man leans out of a car window, cursing at me. People around me don’t react. They just stand there, waiting, and I stand close to them. A woman steps toward me, rummaging through her bag before holding out a few bills.
People just give money away here? But her eyes are not kind. She’s staring at my too-big jacket, my muddy feet, my stained dress. Her lips purse. She waves the money at me again, rolling her eyes this time, as if this is some grand favor.
It doesn’t feel right.
I push her hand away gently. “No, thank you.”
She huffs, shoving the bills back into her bag before turning her back to me. Weird.
The little figure on the post turns green. The people move. I follow.
I wander past towering buildings that stretch so high my neck aches to look at them. How can something like this exist? Humans built this? It’s too grand, too impossible.
But I don’t stop. If this is my first and last day of freedom, I won’t spend it staring.
Food stalls line the street, the smell of hot oil and grilled meat wrapping around me, making my stomach twist painfully. I hesitate. I have a little money left, but I need it for the train ride home. Still… if not now, when? Hell doesn’t have street vendors, I’m sure of it.
I buy a hotdog on a stick. When I hand the vendor my money, he frowns, then sighs and hands some of it back. Right. I’m bad at this. We rarely used money in the village. I don’t know what things are worth.
Sadness creeps in.
I’ll never get to learn.
Further down, a glowing machine catches my eye, stuffed with plush toys. A boy, maybe a few years older than me, steps up to it. He slides a bill in, moves a little joystick, and a claw drops down, grabbing a red plushie. He wins on his first try.
Excitement sparks in my chest.
My turn.
I feed a bill into the slot. The machine hums to life. My hands tremble as I maneuver the claw over a teddy bear and press the button. The claw drops. Misses.
I try again. And again. And again.
Just one more try. Just one more.
Finally, the claw grips the bear and drags it to the chute. A victorious jingle plays. I snatch the bear up, pressing it to my chest.
And then I freeze.
I turn to my palm.
Empty.
I check my pockets. My heart slams against my ribs. My money’s gone.
Gone.
I used the last of it on this stupid bear.
Panic crashes over me, cold and suffocating. No train ride home. No way back to the village. No way back at all.
The sky rumbles.
A second later, rain pours, thick and heavy, soaking through my clothes in seconds. My hair sticks to my face. My body shakes violently from the cold.
I walk. I don’t know where I’m going. My vision blurs. My legs weaken. My breaths shorten.
Then—
Black.
***
I force my eyes open when I feel a presence by my side. An old woman stands over me, and she looks heavily concerned.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
"You’re shaking. Come, let’s get you inside."
She helps me sit up. I glance around. We’re outside a small restaurant, its lights dimmed. She must own it.
"Do you have somewhere to go?"
Where do I have to go? Back to the village that wants to sacrifice me to the Hellkeeper? Or to these streets, where I’ll starve and freeze? So, I don’t answer. I truly don’t know what to say.
"Are you in trouble?" She whispers
I nod.
She glances around warily before making a decision. "Come inside."
"You don’t have to tell me anything. Just get out of the cold." She quickly adds when she notices how hesitant I am.
I follow her in, and she drapes a blanket around me. I grip it like a lifeline, thankful for the warmth.
“There now,” she sighs as she wraps another blanket around my shivering form. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Amelia,” I manage to croak out.
“Well, Amelia, I’m Margret,” she tells me. “Sit down. I’ll make you some tea.”
I obey without thinking, my legs weak beneath me. The restaurant is small but very cozy. It reminds me of back home. A handwritten menu board hangs above the counter. It stills smells like the dishes she made throughout the day, but right now, all I care about is the tea she’s making.
She hands me the cup before sitting next to me. “Do you feel comfortable telling me what’s wrong now?”
My grip on the tea mug turns white-knuckled as I fight back my panic. If I tell her the truth she’d think I’m insane. She’d send me right back out into the night.
But it spills out of me anyway.
“The village,” I whisper, my voice barely carrying over the rain outside. “The one I came from. They’re going to sacrifice me soon.”
Her face goes pale. The kind of pale that drains the blood straight from her skin. Her lips part slightly before she presses them together, as if she’s holding back a reaction.
She swallows. “What village?”
“Hell.”
She recoils like I just spit in her face. I brace myself for her to mock me, even kick me out.
“I always knew,” she murmurs, half to herself. “That village—there were rumors. Dark ones. But rumors aren’t enough to make the police listen.”
“You believe me?” I ask, perplexed, my eyes as wide as saucers. We’ve always been told that the city doesn’t believe in anything spiritual.
She nods, and validation floods my system.
“How can I help?” she asks.
The question makes me shrink into myself. Shame burns in my chest because I know what I need, but I don’t want to ask. I’m no beggar. I’m not someone who takes advantage of kindness. But what else can I do?
“Could you…could you give me enough for the train back home?” I say, even though it’s the last thing I want. She’s already done enough. I shouldn’t have asked.
She shakes her head, and I push back from the chair, guilt and humiliation tangling inside me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Before I can leave, she pulls me back to the chair gently.
“Do you want to be sacrificed?” she asks tentatively, but she already knows the answer. Maybe she just asked to make me realize it.
Yet, the question still stuns me. The answer is obvious. No. No, I want to live. But saying it feels like admitting something very selfish. What would come of the village? Who else would they choose?
I don’t want to die, but what other choice do I have? Run and starve on the streets? Stay and let the Hellkeeper take me? There may be a way out; the ritual says only virgins can be sacrificed. If I lose that, they won’t offer me to him. They’ll just kill me instead. So, it’s not even a solution in the first place.
“No,” I whisper. It feels like I’ve admitted a huge sin. The elders would have slapped me straight across the face.
She watches me for a long moment before she speaks. “Then stay here.”
“What?” It feels like the earth stopped spinning.
“I could use an extra pair of hands around here. And there’s a bed in the storage room. I sleep there sometimes when I get too tired during shifts. You can have it.”
I can’t process what she’s saying. She’s offering me safety, a place to stay, work.
There may really be a way out.