“Got a place to be, hon?”

The slur in the man’s tone was unmistakable and Magic could practically smell the alcohol—sweet and citrusy—drifting towards him despite the distance. It was as though the drunkard carried the bars with him as he prowled the streets.

“Not particularly, no,” Mira replied, wiggling her fingers behind her back as she adjusted herself at an angle, eyes briefly falling to the man’s pockets before flitting back up. Instinctively, Magic tightened his hold on his knife. “Just trying to see what catches my attention.”

“That so?”

“Mmm. Happen to have any good ideas?”

The man raised a brow like Mira had spoken to him in a foreign tongue he couldn’t understand. He leaned against the weathered bricks of the fountain, feet failing, eyes trained on their target. “Maybe a couple. You should come with.”

Mira turned a shoulder towards him, making a movement with her head that suggested something flirtatious. She took a step forward, her left hand disappearing behind the man’s coat. “We’ll see. I don’t like making promises I can’t keep.”

Her meddling with the fabrics didn’t last long; frustration flashed briefly across her features, a slight twitch of her jaw to suggest concentration. Despite his heavy drinking, the man’s eyes darted to Mira immediately and he seized her by the wrist, prying her from his pockets. Poorly clutched in her hands was a small, rectangular wallet dangling from the tips of her fingers and, as if to better examine the sight, the man held Mira’s hand in front of his face. He ignored each jerk of her wrist.

“Petty fucking thief,” he snarled.

“Drunk bastard,” she spat back. “And a waste of fucking funds.”

But the man continued on his train of thought as if Mira simply wasn’t there, someone to be talked at, not to. “You’re a pretty thing, too. Shame you can’t use that to make your coins. Rough and tumble life shouldn’t be for women like you.”

“Keep talking like that and you’re going to lose your front teeth.”

A grin split the man’s face in half, but the intoxicated glaze in his eyes made it feel more savage than amused. “I don’t like making promises I can’t keep.”

Mira swung a wild fist into the man’s jaw, the crack of bone on bone echoing through the alley as she snapped a foot into the side of the drunkard’s knee. He toppled like a tall, thick tree, releasing her with a shout. Despite the violence, not a single person intervened. Passersby spared a single glance, then scurried past with their heads down, tails between their legs. This was just another night for them.

The man, despite his wobbly legs, rebounded and lunged at Mira with catlike speed; he snagged her wrist a second time and even from a distance Magic could see the shock in his sister’s eyes. Her leg jerked for a preemptive strike, but her attacker yanked her close instead, a hand tangled in her hair to pull her face up as he moved his mouth in silent conversation. Had Magic not been staring, waiting for Mira to act, he would have missed the locking of her limbs before sense came back to her and she bucked back in an attempt to free herself.

Magic had seen enough. He’d given Mira her chance and refused to give the drunkard an opportunity to spirit his sister away into the depths of Elnoire. In a few long strides, he shoved between Mira and her pursuer, switchblade drawn, the metal singing briefly before it kissed skin. The stranger stilled and Magic waved his sister behind him with his free hand, hoping that the man was too drunk to notice the embarrassing tremor in his arm. “Touch her again,” he said, tone low and flat, “and it won’t be just the bruise on your face you’ll walk home with tonight.”

The man scowled, a hint of challenge lingering in a glassy sea of blue. “Watch your mouth, boy. The bitch should know better.”

“I at least have the decency to befriend a woman before asking her to bed with me,” Mira hissed, and Magic had half a mind to step on her foot. The least she could do now was keep her mouth shut.

Something sadistic flashed in the man’s eyes and he reached again.

Magic punished him for it; he pushed Mira to the side and raked his blade down the drunkard’s cheek, watching the man howl and blubber and curse. He cupped the wound as blood trickled from the spaces between his fingers. Eyes wide and dilated, the stranger growled. “What the fuck?!”

Magic’s eyes went to his blade. Bright red scarlet dropped in steady blobs from its point and he waved it around, the tip of it pointed at the man’s face. “Touch my sister again,” he repeated, knuckles white on the handle, “and you won’t have a tongue to complain with.

To his relief, the stranger made no attempt to pursue them further. Instead, the man made wild and obscene gestures towards the two of them. Magic silently wiped the bloodied knife clean on the inside of his coat, watching his sister make an equally foul gesture from his peripheral vision. It wasn’t until the man’s figure disappeared into the shadows of Elnoire that Magic sheathed his knife and placed it back into his pocket, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his ears.

He glanced at Mira from over his shoulder, expecting a “thank you” for stepping in. After all, it was the least Mira could have done for having him clean up her mess. But then he noticed the hard set of her jaw, her squared shoulders. His sister was fuming and when she made eye contact with him, rage still swimming in her bi-colored eyes, Mira took a deep breath through her nose.

“I could have handled that,” was all she said, no louder than a whisper, breaking eye contact to fidget with the ring on her index finger.

Magic felt his jaw drop. It could have fallen all the way to the ground with his shock. That was it? Not even a simple acknowledgement of his help? “Are you fucking serious?”

“I could have handled that,” Mira repeated, “if you’d given me the time.”

“If I had given you the time, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Magic rolled his eyes and walked towards the alleyway, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other just to ease his anger. He felt a tug on his jacket mid-stride and swatted Mira’s arm away. “Stop.”

“What is your deal, Magic?!”

“My deal?” he asked, slinking past a stack of crates, Mira hot on his heels. “Where would you like me to start, Mirabellis? Your complete lack of understanding? Or your complete disregard for where we are?”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I don’t need your lectures, Mags.”

“Then maybe you should listen when I tell you something.”

Mira quickened her pace to pass him, turning on her heels to face him and walk through the alleyway backwards. “I can protect myself! I don’t need you running out into the middle of town with a knife ready to fucking stab people, Magic!”

A laugh erupted from him, cynical and brash. “Would you rather I stand around and do nothing while you’re being preyed on?”

“That’s not my point! Hell, can you let me talk?”

“I’d be more happy if you didn’t,” Magic muttered under his breath.

Mira ignored him. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, Mags, so we can get the money we need and move on. Picking fights like that does nothing for us!”

“Ori’s feathers, are you hearing yourself?!” Magic stopped in the middle of the pathway, snagging the ends of his coat sleeves. “You froze under pressure! I told you before I don’t care about the fucking quota, Mira, I care about keeping both of us alive in this shithole of a town! You can pick as many pockets as you want, but I’ll be damned if I let you get killed trying. Stick to the easier targets before you give me a migraine!”

Mira kicked dirt and dust into his direction; he coughed and rubbed the debris out of his eyes, resisting the urge to snap at her further. He didn’t even care if she ended up receiving the quota-breaking funds from the woman by the fountain. All Magic wanted now was the safety of their makeshift home a few alleyways down.

The two of them continued under the moon’s light, its silver glow now growing in intensity as it reflected off broken glass shards sprinkled along the ground. They waded about in uneasy silence, the weight of it heavier than Magic wanted it to be. Still, the quiet was welcome. The noise of nature replaced the music of the bars and was calming enough for him to decompress. Occasionally, the whistle of an incoming train further north echoed throughout the town, the only noise to jolt him out of respite and make him flinch.

In his nearly twenty-one years of living, Magic didn’t think he’d rejoice at the sight of stacked broken crates, sharp enough to leave splinters behind. Yet when they returned to the alley they’d made their home in, he was grateful for the security the boxes provided. It did little in the way of shelter, but they were familiar and he was exhausted and today, it was enough.

There was nothing his muscles craved more than sleep; they burned and ached the second he sat down. Everything about the last half hour drained Magic of his energy and he had barely the motivation to dig through his duffle bag for his blanket tarp, which he kept among other essentials like a sleeping bag, extra sets of heavy clothing and some quilts. The luggage was so heavy that he opted to leave it behind in the first place. It would weigh him down if he needed to run, so stashing it away seemed the only good option.

He was halfway through layering his clothing with sweatshirts when a hand tapped him on the shoulder; sparks shot through him down to his elbow.

Mira was beside him, a closed fist in his direction. “Funds,” she whispered.

Magic kept his mouth shut. He still hadn’t forgiven her and everything about her presence was annoying him. Even just her lingering around in his space made his skin crawl and he resisted the urge to shove her back if only so he could breathe better.

“I put my blanket up already,” she continued as he swiped the coins from her hand. “Do you want extra mangleroot?”

What I want is for you to move. “Sure.”

“Take what I have, then. I’ll forage for more tomorrow morning.”

Magic squinted, taking the extra roots in his free hand, pouring the change into the coin pouch he kept tucked in the corner of his duffle bag. He tore a chunk out of the herb, withholding a gag as it coagulated, clinging to his palate.

“Where did you get that?”

His fingers curled. “Get what?” he mumbled through the paste.

“The blade. The entire time we’ve been here I’ve never seen you use it.”

“Never had to.”

He was hoping Mira would just leave the conversation as is. To his disappointment and annoyance, his sister remained where she was, voice irritatingly soft when she spoke. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though.”

Magic scooped the wad of mangleroot paste out of his mouth and stuck it to the bricks closest to his duffle. He mounted his thinner blanket to the wall and slanted it to rest on the ground, weighing it down with two loose bricks. Only when he situated himself beneath his makeshift tent, sleeping bag unfurled and opened, did he take the switchblade from his pocket. He rubbed his fingers gingerly over the embossed image on its handle: a small bird in flight with its three tails curling and waving behind it.

Ori, the ancient bird of light and good fortune.

Fabled to bear the stars themselves on her wings, Ori’s tales were rare in their hometown of Chrome. As far as Magic was aware, the stories only existed in Droidell’s capital city. On the occasion his mother could afford them when she traveled to sell homemade fabrics, she used to return home with several for him to pour over. Books upon books did nothing to quench his thirst for answers; they always seemed to bring more questions than satisfy his curiosity.

In addition to the fables, the switchblade was another souvenir of his mother’s from the capital city. He’d seen her use it as a makeshift can or letter opener, but he’d never paid much attention to its details until he started examining it to help him sleep at night.

“Mom gave it to me the night before we left,” Magic replied, turning the block around between his fingers. “She wasn’t using it for much. So she gave it to me.”

“Somehow, it doesn’t shock me that Amelia would keep something like that on her person.”

“Not on her person. Just in the house. But she thought it would be of better use with me than at home.”

Mira hummed softly, shuffling around beneath her blanket tarp. She poked her head out. “Good foresight.”

“Or just common sense,” he replied.

His sister laughed and went silent, the only sound other than the neon streetlights and the howling animals being the breeze as it whistled through the alley. Whether it was out of guilt or a need to just break the silence, Magic wasn’t sure, but he watched Mira stick half of her body out of her tent, rub her palms together and take a deep breath through her nose. “Sorry, by the way,” she mumbled, and when he didn’t reply—barely withholding something sarcastic—she turned to face the direction of town. “I know I … could’ve planned better.”

“You can say that again.”

“And to make it up to you, I’ll take the night shift.”

Shit.

Magic lifted a finger. “Mira, I can handle that, you don’t need to—”

“You took the shift yesterday,” she said. “You also took it the day before that. And the day before that one. Frankly, I don’t remember a time where you didn’t take the night watch. Let me do it this time. Can you at least trust me on that?”

Yes, he wanted to say, but No nearly made it out of his mouth. Magic did trust his sister and doubted Mira would risk doing something stupid or rash while he slept. He jumped at the night watch just to have something to do for fear of remaining idle. He fumbled with his glasses, taking them in his hands, repeatedly folding the legs and opening them. “Just keep your eyes open?”

“Yeah. Will do. I’ll even save you the trouble of going fruit picking. Get some rest, Mags, you look tired.”

He almost denied her a second time, but the aching in his limbs as he curled faced the wall made him reconsider.

Sleep didn’t arrive easily. Magic made several attempts, all of which were demolished by the faint noise of the train in the north and the flickering of the street lamps. He counted the bricks’ cracks and dragged a hand along in the dirt to make mindless circles. Eventually, he got bored and started to pluck at the sleeping bag. Mira was humming softly to keep herself occupied; Magic tapped his fingers on the ground silently in time with the melody. The night was long and tedious; eventually, the singing stopped, leaving Magic to his own devices.

It wasn’t until a soft pink shimmer from the Western Curtain appeared like stardust against the deepened sky of Elnoire that Magic felt himself slip into sleep.