Page 27 of Heimlock

It’s about ten minutes before the mother and daughter exit the market. Panic pounds in my heart when they look around — looking for me. A bulging bag swings from the girl’s hand. The mother holds three bags; a greedy part of me can’t help but wonder if the single bag is for me.

Another cramp seizes my belly. If it’s food, I can’t let fear stop me from a meal. I walk a little closer until they see me. The girl walks up with a shy smile, the mother a few feet behind.

Neither has an umbrella, so we’re all becoming soaking wet rats.

Stopping in front of me, the girl lifts the bag. “Hey. Are you hungry? We got you some food.”

Without thinking, I snatch it from her hand, afraid she’ll reconsider. “Thanks.”

Opening it, I see bread, chips, peanut butter, bottles of water, and other edible things. It’s the most food I’ve seen in … too long.

Emotions swell in my throat; it’s a struggle to swallow them down. Looking up, I can’t tell if it’s rain or tears trailing down my cheeks.

More earnestly this time, I say, “Thank you.”

The mother steps closer. Her brown eyes seem to miss nothing as she inspects me from head to toe, the intense scrutiny pausing on my tattered shoes. “Where are your parents?”

Pulling out one of the granolas, I split open the wrapper and take a bite. Mouth full, I say, “Dad’s dead. Mom’s a dunghole. I don’t live with her anymore.”

Orliana’s hand comes to her mouth, as if the average story of kids on the street is unfathomable. What is it like to find this kind of story appalling? A story that too many homeless kid have?

The mother’s mouth thins. After readjusting the bags in her hands, she asks, “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

Finishing the granola bar in one more bite, I motion to the world around us. “Somewhere, hopefully with an awning. The local homeless shelter is full tonight.”

The mother shifts closer. “I’m Talia. This is my daughter, Orliana. What’s your name?”

“People call me Kyri.”

Talia jerks her head. “Come on, Kyri. We’re headed home. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

I step back, mouth going dry. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine. Thank you for the food, though.”

“Absolutely not, young lady. You’re coming with us. We aren’t going home until you’re on a Dragxi with us.”

My wings twitch with irritation. If I take off, they can’t stop me or take the food back. What if they’re kidnappers? They don’t seem like kidnappers, but I know better than most that appearances often hide … a lot.

“We aren’t going to hurt you,” Orliana murmurs as if speaking to a flighty wild creature. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“But you can stay as long as you want,” Talia adds.

A tear definitely falls down my cheek. “Why?”

“Kindness needs no explanation. Now let’s get out of this weather.” Talia’s tone brooks no argument. Having a mother take me under her wing like this is almost more than my hardened heart can handle.

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” I’m desperately trying to crush the hope. No need to get excited over something I can’t control.

“As you like,” Talia says smoothly, already walking away. Orliana smiles, holding out a hand. A hand. To a total stranger. I stare at it; a line’s about to be crossed. For better or worse.

A crack of lightning makes me flinch. Sleeping outside tonight will be torture. I can sleep at their home for one night. That’s it.

But when I take Orliana’s warm, soft hand, I know deep down that it’ll be longer than one day.

10

Fynn and I travel to headquarters together, but when he goes to take care of head boss things, I request a saddle. While I don’t make it a habit to take fares much anymore, I need something to fill my brain. To remember my problems can be small compared to others.

When I became a Dragxi all those years ago, it was borne of needing something to do in my life. Chasing Fynn’s footsteps made the most sense. I don’t hate being a Dragxi, but the de-personification bothers me. Being treated like an object only good for travel between destinations is chafing on a good day.