Page 5 of Where We Belong

forsaking all I thought I knew,

Main Street is a blur. The security guard’s shouts ring in my ears, or maybe that’s my cholesterol. I skid into the nearest alley like a fucking cartoon. It only took me two months to revert to stealing again, but what am I supposed to do while the job centre makes me jump through all their bloody hoops? Starve? My breath tears at my chest. Everything aches. But I can’t stop. If I get caught, it won’t matter that it’s just a loaf of bread. My record is enough to send me right back to jail. Admittedly, free bed and breakfast doesn’t sound too bad right now. Yes, I’ve stolen here and there when I absolutely had to, like today, but the rest of those charges are magical mess-ups. I’m much more in control now. I think.

My first time in juvie was just after they shipped me off to that foster home, the fire still fresh in my mind. They dumped me with Martha and Maurice. Sick bastards. Especially Maurice. He had this thing for hurting little girls, and I, with my pretty freckled face and way too much attention on me, always ended up taking the brunt of it. Sometimes he had his eye on Macy. The sweetest soul who didn’t deserve it. So, I learned to direct his attention to me by stealing his booze. On my tenth birthday, I snapped. I broke his empty vodka bottle and slashed his face open. Mind you, I didn’t even lay a finger on it. After that, it was the same old loop. Home after home. Incident after incident. No one knew what to do with a kid like me, so I always ended up back in the system or sitting behind bars. Crouching behind the industrial waste bins, I hold my breath to avoid the tangy stench coming from the green sludge under my trainers.

“I know you’re here.” He sounds as bored with this as I am. I cannot believe he’s still following me. It’s just a loaf of bread. There’s no way he gets paid enough to care this much.

“This is the third time you’ve come into our shop and stolen Miss. I’ve overlooked it before; we’re all just trying to get by, you know? But it looks bad on me to let you go again, I’m afraid.”

Fair enough. Let the chase continue. The wall bites into my spine, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Up you get.” Heavy hands clamp my shoulders. I shriek and shove. Tingling shoots from my chest into my fingers, except this time it explodes out of my hand so violently it stings. Heat blooms in my palm as he hurls across the alley, his back cracking on the brick, landing in something that was probably alive long ago.

“How the hell did you…I’m on fire! You set me on fire!” He shouts, slapping at his jumper. I frantically scan the alley. There must be an extinguisher or some water somewhere. Something. But there isn’t anything. Yes, the right thing to do is try to help, but seeing him push to his feet and swat most of the flames from his chest, I figure he’ll live. His curses chase me out of the alley.

Glancing overhead, I notice the clouds gathering again, darkening. Weird, because the forecast definitely didn’t mention a storm today. And maybe I’ve finally lost it, but it almost feels like they’re talking. I ignore the rumbling whispers from above and shoulder past the annoyingly happy families on the beachfront, sharing steaming mini sugared doughnuts and fat chips, before making my way to my flat as stealthily as possible. When I turn into my hallway, I collide with something solid.

“God, Raph, what do you want?” I rub my scalp where his jacket zip snagged my hair. His mouth curls, and my insides flutter slightly. Okay, I know what he wants. But he’s not getting it.

“What you got there?” He takes a lazy step forward and bites his bottom lip, blocking my front door with his giant hand and running the other through his fluffy blonde waves. He only gets away with such shit flirting because he’s pretty.

“Just some bread. I bought. With money. Now, go away.” I’ve been avoiding him for weeks, slipping out of sight behind benches and cars. I don’t want him seeing how I’m living. Usually, I don’t care what anyone thinks, but with no money for electricity or heat, my apartment is more embarrassing than usual. Arguably, I could generate heat for free from my own hands, but knowing me, the whole building will go up in flames. Again.

“Come on, I miss you, Ashley. Did you meet someone else?” He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger before I bat him away.

“No. I said leave me alone. Get out of the way, you lamp post. God, I really need to move house.”

Raph chuckles softly. “Always with the insults. Let me in. I’ve got something you might like.”

He reaches for my chin, and I duck under his arm. But when he pulls a small transparent bag from his pocket of what looks like herbs and spices to the untrained eye, my breath hitches and my pulse spikes. Fuck pride, it’s just the wall between you and everything good.

“Urgh, fine. Ten minutes. Your place.”

*

Raph snoring like roadworks isn’t helping the pounding in my head. This hangover has its hooks in every muscle in my body. It’s age. In my early twenties, I could drink my weight in shots, crawl into bed as the sun rose, and still make it to work a couple of hours later. Last night, it took about four glasses for me to stop wondering if the security guard was alright, so after that I just kept going.

Careful not to wake him, I pluck my clothes off the bedroom floor, but when I reach the living room to retrieve my left trainer, something on the dining table catches my attention. Raph’s wallet. My heart sinks for even considering it. He doesn’t deserve this. But I make a silent promise to pay him back as I stuff a couple of notes into my bra. My hand closes around the door handle, but the bag of weed and his weird little lighter call me from the counter. A voice tells me to leave it. That this is a dangerous decision. But the other voice, fueled by desperation and a headache that could make the devil scream, pushes me to make one last regretful decision, before I tiptoe out the door.

There’s a front row seat in hell with my name on it, but at least my magic can’t make the underworld any worse.

Chapter 6

Aiden

I pillaged, I plucked, I ripped apart,

my faith was made anew.

“The King requests your presence in the throne room, your Highness,” The messenger’s white robes sweep the floor as he bows. My stomach clenches instinctively. Not long ago, each summons meant more awful news. Famine. Death. Resistance. More of our people taken by the Mer Army, though that has yet to change. I thank the gods for the ceasefire each day. But with territory councils still refining details for the peace treaty, anything can happen. “Immediately. He says Highness, not I. I would never demand you go anywhere immediately—”

“It is well. I understand.” I say. As he bows once more, his curious eyes dart around my quarters with avid fascination. Books are everywhere. Lining every wall. Stacked in drawers. Underneath the bed. Naturally, they are organised by category, then alphabetically, and finally by colour. There is, regrettably, no other sensible way to arrange books. But they do occasionally enjoy playing tricks on me, rearranging themselves whilst I am preoccupied. The sound of my throat clearing quickens his steps as I push my midnight blue tunic into my trousers and adjust my crown under my dark ringlets, before hurrying through the corridors.

I bow deeply before the King. He is poised upon the golden throne atop the dais. A goblet in hand.

To my left stands Nykholas, Lieutenant of Ember Court. With his strong arms folded across his broad chest, he towers above the other lieutenants. Lili of Ashen Reach— slight with an onyx stare and a beauty that could kill, Tobian of Cinder Cliffs, slender with eyes the colour of a storm, and Leander. The stocky, hairy brunette who was once lieutenant of Obsidian Hold. He is now the Master of Training and Discipline after ceding his previous title to Theron.

Nykholas offers a forced salute and a half-assed smile. I return it, while his insufferable black cat, Soot, winds between his boots like a tiny shadow summoned from hell. I make a mental note to investigate whether pets can be taxed. Nykholas’s dark eyes bore into the side of my face. I have never seen snow, but the illustrations from Earth Study books come to mind when I regard his short, wavy hair. It burns bright against his warm russet skin and short, dark beard.