It was past midnight now, from a clock she spotted through a window. She was in a part of the city she didn't remember, with no fancy colorful stores or bright lights. Many of the streets had broken lamps, and the entire place reeked in a way that made her wish she couldn't smell at all.

  Anything's better than what I just came from.

  Natalie needed help. She called out, as loud as she could.

  Nothing. A housecat peeked out of a window, but it just gave her a cold glare and went back inside, probably to a meal it had been enjoying. Natalie's stomach rumbled at the thought. I need food. But she had no money, and the food she'd been saving was in her bag… wherever that was.

  Natalie wandered the streets without a clear direction in mind. She thought about going into an overnight place and asking if they could spare her something, but she couldn't bear talking to anyone yet. Besides, if they rejected her, what else might they do? She couldn't risk it.

  A vague smell of fresh bread wafted past her nose. Natalie couldn't help it—she followed it, as best she could tell by just walking where it seemed to get stronger. It lead her down another alley, to a fenced-off building with CONDEMNED signs all over the windows. They reminded her of the old library in Rallsburg, which had also been planned to be taken down someday. Her dad said they'd just forgotten about it, like the rest of the town.

  That library was the only place to survive, in the end.

  The scent of bread lead her to a heavy iron door set into a brick wall. Natalie grabbed at it, meaning to slide it to the side just a tiny bit and look in, but it was too heavy. She hesitated, then sent another burst of magic into her arms. This time, she felt the strain a little. She was too hungry to be able to exert herself properly.

  Still, she managed to open the door. Too far, as it slid way further than she meant to.

  The interior was a wide open space, with a concrete floor covered in scattered flyers and other random debris. A half-dozen young guys sat in folding chairs around a small fire. At the door's grinding, they looked up startled. The one nearest the door rushed her down before Natalie could react, grabbing her by the wrist.

  No! Don't touch me! Stop! she screamed out in her head, but she was too afraid to say anything aloud. She started to pull away, but his grip was too strong and she'd already released the spell on her arms.

  "Who the fuck are you?" the guy asked, while one of the others dragged the door shut again.

  "No one," Natalie said quickly. She wanted to enhance her arm again, but she worried what they might do if they saw her cast a spell right in front of them. She couldn't do it without saying something, like she could with the lightning, and reactions to her magic from normal people were always bad.

  "She's like eleven years old. How a puny-ass girl like her move that?" called out one of the guys sitting around the fire.

  "She ain't no eleven years old. She sixteen at least. A very fine sixteen, too."

  "You're trippin', she ain't sixteen. Wearin' makeup and a pretty dress, but she just a kid."

  "Check it out," said a much stronger voice. A seventh guy, slightly older than the rest, emerged from an adjoining room in the wall. He held a tray of steaming bread in oven-mitted hands, with an apron tied around his front. He might have looked totally out of place… if he didn't have a gleaming silver handgun in the front pocket of the apron.

  Immediately, the door guy dragged it open again and went outside. The guy holding Natalie by the wrist lead her over to the campfire, sitting her down in the chair at the other end of the circle.

  "Stay there, okay?" he said, not unkindly. Natalie was just grateful he'd let go of her. Every moment she could feel him touching her was another she was reminded of… earlier.

  It was a few minutes of tense silence, with the rest of the group watching her or the door. The leader calmly sliced up the loaves of bread with a long serrated knife, watching the heavy steel door with heavy, unblinking eyes.

  "All good, boss," said the door guy as he returned. "No one out there."

  "So how the hell did she open the door?" asked one of the others.

  "Ask her, you moron."

  "Hey little girl, how the hell you open that door?"

  "I just did," she replied, very quietly. She didn't dare try to make something up in her current state. Her mind was starting to slow down from fatigue and hunger. She just wanted to eat the bread the boss was chopping up. It smelled so good. Her eyes kept drifting to it, before she snapped them away and back to the fire.

  "You're hungry, aren't you?" The boss was too observant. He'd noticed. The firelight glinted off his blade as he finished cutting the bread. "Want some?"

  "Yes, please," she whispered.

  "Tell me how you got in here."

  "I just opened it."

  He frowned. "Go close it for me then."

  Natalie didn't see any other way out of it. The guy was too serious, and she didn't want to make them mad. She couldn't take them all on, not right now. Reluctantly, she walked toward the door. There was a brief moment where the door-guy looked away, and she quickly muttered the spell in that second she had an opportunity.

  With a gentle shove, she slid the door closed. The door-guy gaped at her from beneath his thick, heavy black bangs, but he didn't say anything. She wandered back to the fire, feeling a little pleased with herself. Even under the circumstances, it was still fun to show off a bit.

  "I did it."

  The boss laughed. "Whatever. You earned your fuckin' bread." He kicked the nearest guy, who was starting to nod off. Apparently Natalie wasn't the only tired one in the group. "Get some plates out, asshole. Time to eat."

  Natalie ate quietly and quickly, staring at the fire while the guys talked and joked. She just wanted to get out of there, as fast as possible, but they were still watching her. Especially the boss, who was making her feel uncomfortable. He was still way too curious about her. She was getting worried again.

  She'd have to get away from this group, and Natalie wasn't sure yet if she could do that.

  "So what, you a gutter surfer?"

  "What?" Natalie looked up, realizing they were talking to her again.

  "Street trash. Park ranger."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "Homeless," the boss added, kicking the other guy in the foot.

  "Kinda," she answered.

  "In a crew?"

  "No?"

  "Fuck no she ain't in a crew," said a weasely-looking guy through a mouthful of bread. "You think anyone's gonna lose that? She looks well-raised and shit. Could snatch whatever the fuck she wants without breakin' a sweat."

  "No kiddin'," agreed the door-guy. "And with muscles like that, no fuckin' card puncher's gonna stop that ass from makin' the street."

  "You up for hirin', or running solo?" said Weasel-face.

  "What?"

  "He wants you to work for us," said a guy with huge tattoo across half of his face. He was lounging back against the ragged couch they'd dragged in, with another guy fast asleep draped across his chest.

  She shook her head. "I can't."

  "What the fuck else you gonna do? If you steppin' our turf for goddamn grain sticks, you ain't doin' shit for yourself." He glanced over her, but with less of the uncomfortable leer and more of a bland inspection. Like she were just the chair, and not actually a person sitting in it. "I'm surprised no one tried pimpin' you yet. How long you been crawlin' corners?"

  What does that even mean? "I don't."

  He raised an eyebrow. "So what the hell you do before now?"

  "I don't live in Seattle."

  "Good for you, this place is shit," said Door-guy. "Where you from?"

  "Tacoma," she said, as the only other big town she knew anything about.

  "Nevermind. Fuck that town."

  "I should go," Natalie said, getting to her feet.

  Instantly, Tattoo-face and the boss were also on their feet. Tattoo-face shook his head. "Sorry, shorty. You can't go."

  "What?"

  "You seen where we holin' up. Can't have you snitchin'."

  Natalie glanced around. There didn't seem to be much to care about. It had an actual kitchen, which she supposed was important, but other than that it wasn't a particularly impressive building. Another room had a few patchwork mattresses on the ground, and across the main hall she saw a bunch of small bags of what looked like… ice? It was white and looked kind of like crystal splinters.

  From the way it was packed away, well out of sight of the door, Natalie figured that must be what they were so protective of. Drugs, she assumed, but she didn't know enough to know what kind of drugs they might be. She barely knew anything at all, but they'd come up in a special Health class at school once or twice. She knew they were dangerous.

  Natalie intended to steer well clear of those bags, but that apparently wasn't enough for the guys.

  "I just want to leave the city," she said, standing up again.

  The bread was reaching her stomach, and she felt better already. Her nausea was going away, and her head didn't feel so light and empty. She felt a lot more confident than she did before, but still—she really didn't want to fight anyone. Especially when the boss still had that gleaming silver pistol, and who knew what other guns and weapons they might have?

  "Wish I could believe you," said the boss. He glanced over at Tattoo-face, who shook his head slowly. "But you ain't leaving unless we know you ain't gonna tell anyone where our stash is. If you snitches, we get the stitches, you feel me?"

  "What?"

  "They kill all of us," said Door-guy, surprisingly casually. "Bang bang, two to the head."

  "Fuck no, they ain't gonna waste two bullets on your skinny ass," said Weasel-face.

  "Sure they will, they won't want to see these pearls starin' back at 'em when they done." He opened his eyes wide and screwed them up, making a goofy face. "Give 'em fuckin' shit-their-pants nightmares."

  "So what am I supposed to do?" asked Natalie. If it isn't too bad, maybe I can just get away quietly.

  "What is she supposed to do?" asked the boss, looking at Tattoo-face.

  He frowned. "Can't snitch if she can't even get an ear. Two ways I call it. 'nitiate her, mark her good and clean so they ain't let her within a mile."

  Natalie looked around confused. What did that mean?

  "You think she can run with us?" asked Weasel-face.

  "He's a fuckin' captain, little bitch-face," said Tattoo-face's companion, not opening his eyes. Apparently not asleep after all. "You shits are just stash patrol."

  "You want me to join you guys?" Natalie asked, trying to figure out what was going on before something happened beyond her control.

  "You w-want an eleven year old g-girl workin' a stash house?" said the guy who hadn't spoken up yet, with a bit of a stutter. Natalie noticed he also had a gun, though, and everyone else fell silent the moment he spoke up. He was someone to be worried about.

  "Bitch, I was blazin' when I was less than a dime, so shut yo ass and listen up," snapped Tattoo-face. "I didn't say she'd be workin'. I just said to initiate her."

  Door-guy looked uneasy. "Kinda harsh."

  "What's going on?" Natalie asked, fear of the unknown overcoming her fear of the guys.

  "He wants to mark you as one of us," Door-guy explained. He pointed at a scar on his face she hadn't noticed before. Why is it always stupid scars? She looked around and noticed that they all had the same mark on their face. "You get cut up and that makes you one of us. Also means you take one step on someone else's turf and you ain't steppin' back, y'feel? They don't take no chances."

  "What's the other option?" Natalie asked quickly, looking back to Tattoo-face.

  He shrugged. "Cut'chyo tongue out so you can't talk any which way."

  Natalie's blood became ice. She froze in her chair, staring at him. Her eyes could no longer blink. Her hand shook in place. He'd said it so casually. How could someone talk like that?

  "Why not just kill her?" asked the boss.

  "I ain't killin' a little girl. I got standards."

  "Whatever the fuck that means," muttered Door-guy.

  "Bitch want to mouth off again?"

  "Shut the fuck up," the boss snapped at Door-guy. He deflated immediately.

  Natalie stood up very suddenly. They all looked at her with interest. She shook her head. "No. Please, don't do this."

  "Girl, you trespass on our house uninvited, the fuck you think was gonna go down?" Tattoo-face shrugged. "Only 'cause I like your voice, I'm gonna make this easy on you." He nodded. "Hold her down."

  Natalie bolted for the door, but Weasel-face tripped her up. She tumbled to the ground. "Don't ruin your pretty dress now," he sneered.

  That's it. Natalie wasn't taking any more of that. She rolled over again and got to her feet. Weasel-face was coming at her with hands outstretched. He was over a foot taller and a lot bigger than her, but he was underestimating her.

  Her little fist sank into his stomach. He flew back a good twelve feet, landing on his back with a heavy thud.

  The rest of the group stared at her with a mixture of confusion and awe. "Shit, girl," murmured Door-guy. "Do that again."

  "The fuck you waiting for, motherfucker?" shouted the boss. "Grab her!"

  Natalie glanced at the door, but the moment she looked back, Stutter had drawn his gun. He held his aim on the door. "D-Don't try anything st-tupid, okay?"

  "Just let me go!" she shouted. "I won't tell anyone!"

  "You know how much that fuckin' pile is worth?" said the boss. "Don't make this hard on us, kid."

  Natalie took a step toward the door. Maybe Stutter wouldn't pull the trigger. That happened sometimes, right? People were too scared to actually shoot. She was a kid. People didn't shoot kids.

  The moment her foot lifted for a second step, a gunshot pierced her ears. It was so much louder than the hunting rifles she was used to, like it was bouncing around the room and doubling over on itself. Her ears pounded like they were trying to cram themselves inside her skull.

  "I said d-don't d-do it," Stutter shouted over the ringing in their ears, though he lowered the gun anyway.

  "Fuckin' idiot," said Tattoo-face, decking him. He crumpled like a stack of cards. "This place ain't soundproof."

  The boss took advantage of the confusion and Natalie's momentary hesitation to close the gap on her. She twisted around, but he'd already managed to grab her. Lifting her off her feet, he started to carry her back toward the fire. "It'll only take a few minutes. Stop trying to run."

  "Don't touch me!" she screamed. Natalie tried to kick her way free, but he was too strong. She switched tactics, reaching for a different form of magic. The electricity was waiting for her.

  She reached out and grabbed the boss by the neck, letting all the lightning coursing around her body travel into him. His entire head snapped to the side, and he instantly dropped her. She landed on her feet, and he dropped heavily behind her, gasping for breath.

  "What the fuck…" said Tattoo-face. Weasel-face held up his hands, backing away a few steps. Stutter had retrieved the gun, uncertain but watching her closely.

  "Let me go," Natalie repeated desperately.

  "I'm changin' my mind," Tattoo-face said slowly. "Maybe I do want you blazin' for us." He got up from the couch, and started walking toward her. Natalie was breathing heavily. She'd put way too much into that last burst of electricity, and she was tired. Even with the little bit of bread she'd had, she was still too hungry to maintain a strong front. Her arms and legs were shaking.

  She stood her ground. All bets were off. I'm sorry, Rachel. If these people were gonna try to touch her again, she'd take them all down. No matter what she had to reveal.

  Tattoo-face made a motion with his hand, like a quick karate chop. Natalie tried to figure out what he meant. It took her a split-second, and that was more than enough.

  Door-guy, who'd managed to get behind her while she was focused on the rest, whacked her in the side of the head. She lost all concentration, the magic she'd gathered up flooding back into her core again unused. As she fell sideways, her vision got blurry and dimmed a little. She could still see just long enough to watch Door-guy's apologetic eyes swim into view, as Tattoo-guy walked up to join him.