PETER LISTENED TO the rain trickling down the gutters as Nathan paced in and out of the stairwell doorway.
It seemed a long time before they heard anything, then a loud shout echoed down the stairwell.
Nathan started for the stairs.
“You don’t want to do that,” Peter said, coming out of the shadows.
The boy jumped back. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
Nathan squinted at him, then another shout came from above, followed by several angry voices.
The boy forgot about Peter and dashed up the stairs. He made it only one flight up before a scream came from outside, a long, horrified shriek, then a sickening thud in the courtyard. Nathan froze.
Peter grimaced, knowing what that thud meant. He could see by the boy’s face that he did too.
“Tony?”
The boy leaped down the entire bottom flight of stairs and shot out of the stairwell. Peter followed slowly behind.
THE BOY LAY sprawled upon the sidewalk, one leg bent awkwardly behind him, his eyes wide, blinking, lips moving but no words coming out. His head lolled over and Peter saw that the back of his skull was crushed inward, his hair wet with blood.
“TONY!” Nathan screamed, and ran to his brother.
Peter glanced up the face of the building. There, looking down from the sixth-floor balcony, was a man and four older teens. The man pointed at Nathan, said something, and all four of the teens sprinted to the stairwell.
“We need to go,” Peter said.
The boy ignored him. “Tony. Tony, man. Ah fuck, no. Tony.”
Several people stuck their heads out their doors, glanced over the balcony, then went quickly back in.
Peter heard the teenagers’ feet drumming down the stairwell. They’d be down in another moment. Peter placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, they’re coming. We need to go.”
Nathan looked up at Peter, his lips trembling. “They killed him!” A sob tore loose from the back of his throat. “They killed my brother!”
“They’re coming for you now. We need to leave.”
The boy looked up to the balcony, saw the man, heard the boys shouting in the stairwell. Peter watched the fear leave the boy’s eyes, replaced with hatred. The boy jabbed his hand into his brother’s coat pocket and pulled out a knife. He popped open the blade and stood up.
“You want to kill them?” Peter asked.
The boy didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His eyes said it all.
Peter grinned. “Good. Let’s kill them.”
Peter darted back beneath the overhang, ducking behind the open stairwell door. He slipped his long knife from his jacket and pressed his back to the wall.
All four teens rushed from the stairwell out into the yard, saw Nathan, and stopped. They looked at the small knife trembling in his hand and began to laugh.
One of them, a short, muscular kid with long sideburns, stepped forward. “You already dead, motherfucker. You just too stupid to know it.” He pulled a gun from his jacket and leveled it sideways at Nathan. “Well, what’cha waiting for, badass. Let’s see what—”
A blur shot past the teens, a flash of steel, and both the gun and the short, muscular kid’s hand flew through the air, bouncing onto the grass.
All the boys’ eyes went wide. But none wider than the muscular kid’s, as blood began to spurt from his severed wrist. He held his stump away from him as though afraid of it, and began to scream.
The kid next to him made a play for something under his jacket, but Peter didn’t give him time to pull it out. Peter had learned that when guns were involved, there was no room for games. You moved fast, stayed a step ahead. In a blink, Peter shoved his knife into the boy’s neck and yanked it back out again.
The boy fell to his knees, clutching his throat, and began making a horrible, gurgling sound. Peter’s eyes lit up and he let out a laugh like a demented demon. When he did, the two remaining teens took off at a dead run.
“LET’S GO!” Peter called, shouting to be heard over the screams of the kid with the chopped-off hand. “We really need to go.”
Nathan looked at him as if he didn’t know whether to be thankful or afraid.
Shots came from up above them; dirt sprung up around Peter. The man was shooting at them from the balcony. That got the boy moving; the two of them ducked beneath the overhang. Nathan spotted the gun, the one the muscular boy had dropped. He snatched it up out of the grass.
They heard shouts coming from the building across the courtyard, where the teens had fled. More boys were coming.
“I know where we can go,” Peter said and took off.
The boy followed.
Chapter Nine
First Blood
Sekeu led Nick over to the long table. It was spattered in gruel and strewn with dirty spoons and bowls. The blue pixies were swarming about the mess, scrambling to lick up any available crumb. Two boys and a girl were doing their best to fend off the hissing pests while they stacked the bowls and carted them over to a sudsy barrel.
“Your training will begin here,” Sekeu said and clapped her hands twice.
The kids stopped, their eyes falling on Nick. These kids weren’t covered in body paint, tattoos, or scarring. They lacked the hard angles in their faces, the wiry muscles, and their eyes weren’t golden. For the most part, they looked like your average middle-schoolers.
“Nick, this is Cricket.”
A girl with sandy, short-cropped hair stood with her hands on her waist and a sassy thrust to her hips. She wore ragged camo pants rolled up to her calves, a pair of well-worn orange high-tops, and a purple tank-top. She had a bald spot on the side of her head, a scar maybe, which gave her a mangy look. She cocked an eyebrow at Nick and smiled.
“And Danny.” Sekeu pointed to a pudgy kid wearing dark-rimmed glasses and balancing a stack of bowls. His glasses were wrapped around his head with a strap—it was a sport strap at least, but the strap still made the kid look nerdy as hell to Nick. Danny had gruel in his hair and smeared down the front of his white T-shirt. His brown corduroy pants were pulled up high on the waist, with the legs tucked into a pair of boots. A pixie landed on his head and tugged at the gruel in his hair. “Goddamn it!” he yelled and flicked his head back and forth. The pixie held on but the stack of bowls toppled, crashing down onto the table and floor. “Goddamn it!” Danny yelled again, swatting at the pixie as it flitted away.
Sekeu shook her head. “Danny and Cricket, like you, are unproven. They are New Blood. Once you prove yourself you become clan and only then may you enter the ranks of Devil Kind.”
Nick rolled his eyes.
“This is Leroy.”
Leroy was a heavyset kid, not pudgy like Danny, but thick-boned and solid through the chest and waist. His short, dark hair lay matted against his skull. He wore a sleeveless sweatshirt and the same sort of stitched-up leather britches as the Devils, but had none of their more extreme adornment.
“Leroy has been with us for a while now. He is still unproven.” She gave Leroy a somber look. “We are hoping Leroy will make his challenge soon.”
Leroy flushed and his mouth tightened.
“Leroy will see to you. Make sure you get settled in.”
Leroy set hostile eyes on Nick.
Without another word, Sekeu turned and left them to their work.
“Get busy,” Leroy said and tossed his rag at Nick. It hit the table, spattering chunks of wet gruel across the front of Nick’s shirt. “Oh, and for the record,” Leroy added, “I ain’t your babysitter. So don’t come whining to me with your problems. Got it?”
Nick let out a long breath, picked up the rag, and dragged it along the table. The pixies hissed and buzzed his head as he made his way down the length of the table. When he came to the end, he wiped the crumbs onto the floor, then strolled over to the suds barrel, where the girl, Cricket, was wiping out the bowls. He dropped his rag over the lip of the barrel and started to walk away.
&nbs
p; “HEY!” Leroy called from the far end of the table. “What the fuck? You aren’t done. Look at all the crud you left.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. You want the fucking pixies crapping all over everything? Get your rag and do it again. Do it right.”
Nick glared at Leroy.
“Lose the attitude,” Cricket said under her breath. “Trust me, you don’t want to push him.”
Nick picked up the rag, walked back over to the table, and began to wipe it again.
Leroy came up behind him. “Are you retarded? That’s not wiping. How hard is it to wipe a stupid goddamn table?” He snatched the rag from Nick and gave the table a good, hard wipe. “Like this. See? Now do it right.” Leroy shoved the wet rag into Nick’s chest.
Nick slapped the rag on the table and started to walk away. He made it two steps before he felt a hand on his collar, and the next thing he knew he was yanked around and shoved against the table. Leroy snatched a clump of his hair and pressed his cheek into the rag. Nick tried to twist away but Leroy grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back. Nick let out a cry.
Leroy leaned into Nick’s face. Nick could see the kid’s pulse pumping through the veins along his forehead, felt his hands biting into his wrist, squeezing so hard Nick feared his bones might crack.
“Stop!” Nick pleaded.
“Look, you little shit. I tell you to do something and you better do it. Got it?”
“Yes,” Nick said.
Leroy twisted his arm harder. “Got it?”
“YES!” Nick cried.
“What?”
“YES! YES!”
Leroy let Nick go. “Now wipe the table, fucktard.”
“YOU CAN WASH up in there,” Cricket said, pointing to a door with a moon burned into its surface. “That’s the privy.”
Nick wrung out the washrag, hung it across the barrel, and headed to the bathroom. He stepped in and shut the door, pressing his back against it. He clenched his eyes and took several long, deep, hitching breaths, determined not to start crying. He clutched his hands into fists. “Fuck all you bastards,” he whispered. “Fucking, fucking bastards.”
Something rustled, a clacking sound.
Nick opened his eyes, glancing quickly around the small, dim room. An oval mirror hung from one wall, a network of cracks ran across the surface, fracturing his reflection into a dozen images. A tall window, about half a foot wide, let in a thin slice of light. Enough light to make out an ancient-looking brass pump in one corner and, below it, seated in the floor, a round wood plank. Nick guessed that was the toilet and realized he needed to go really bad.
There was a rope attached to the plank, which ran up through a pulley and down again. Nick grabbed the rope, tugged the lid up, and was greeted by a warm gush of stink. He was in the middle of relieving himself when he heard the clattering again. It came from the hole. He caught movement. Something about the size of a rat, black and hairy, with lots of spidery legs, skittered out from between the stonework. It cocked its head and looked up at Nick with six blank, soulless eyes, then dropped down out of sight. Nick peered into the depths; in the darkness, hundreds of glowing eyes looked back up at him. Nick kicked the lid down, then noticed piles of white goop, what looked to be bird droppings, on the floor in one corner. He glanced up; there, in the rafters, two of the little blue people stared back at him from their straw nest. They drummed their wings, and hissed.
“What the fuck kinda place is this?” he said under his breath as he zipped up. “Just what kind of hell is this?” He caught his reflection—a dozen angry faces looking back at him. He thought he looked like someone from a refugee camp—mud and gruel in his hair, his lip busted and swollen, dried blood streaked down his face. “What’ve I gotten myself into?” All at once an overwhelming need to see his mother crept up on him. His reflection blurred as his eyes filled with tears.
“No. To hell with her,” he said. This is her fault, all of it. She’s the last person I want to see. He wiped the tears angrily away and stepped over to the pump.
Nick primed the pump, stuck his hands under the spout, and splashed water on his face. The water was cool and refreshing. He washed the mud, gruel, and blood out of his hair and from his face and arms. He looked back in the mirror. I’ll play their game, he thought. But first chance I get I’m out of here.
SEKEU WAS WAITING for Nick when he came out of the privy.
“Come,” she said and led him across the chamber. They maneuvered around several groups of Devils practicing with weapons. The air was punctuated with loud shouts and the sharp clacking of wood hitting wood. Again, Nick found himself amazed at the speed and dexterity they displayed. Could he learn to move like that?
He followed Sekeu to the far side of the chamber, to where the straw men—the ones Nick had been so sure were children—hung from ropes. Now, up close, their purpose became obvious: practice dummies. The ground was sandy here. He watched Leroy, Cricket, and Danny practicing various striking maneuvers with short staffs on the straw men.
Danny stopped, completely winded, red-faced, and soaked in sweat. “Hey,” he wheezed and wiped his brow. “Is it break time yet?”
“Danny,” Sekeu said. “You just started.”
Danny’s shoulders drooped and he let out a long groan.
Sekeu ignored him, went to the wall, and pulled down a staff. She whirled it around her body in a blur, then stopped it with a snap. She held it out to Nick. “Here.”
Nick took the staff.
“Come.”
Nick followed Sekeu over to one of the straw men.
“Today you will learn how to strike.”
Nick noticed the other New Blood watching, couldn’t miss Leroy’s smirk.
Sekeu gave the straw man a shove and nodded to Nick.
Nick hefted the staff and got ready. When the dummy swung back, he struck out as hard as he could. The straw man caught him mid-swing, knocking the staff out of his hands. Nick stumbled back and fell on his butt.
Leroy let out a laugh.
Nick’s face turned red. He didn’t get up.
Sekeu waited.
Nick shook his head. “Why don’t we forget about this?”
Sekeu leaned toward him. “You will always be the brunt of brutes unless you make them respect you.” She cut her eyes toward Leroy.
Nick sighed, picked up the staff, and pushed himself back to his feet.
“Ready?” Sekeu asked.
Nick hefted the staff. Again Sekeu swung the straw man, again the straw man knocked him down.
Nick crawled to his feet. “Look,” he said, shaking his head. “Really, I’m not cut out for this sort of thing. It’s just not in me.”
Sekeu’s ageless eyes searched his face. “Nick, you fought the devil beast today. I saw a brave spirit in your heart. A warrior.”
Nick wanted to laugh at her silly words, but the way she said them, the way she looked at him when she said them, as though she truly believed in him. Nick couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him like that, ever.
Nick let out a sigh. “Okay.” He picked up the staff.
The straw man knocked him down again.
“Damn it,” Nick said and hit the sand with his fist. “It’s too heavy.”
“Size does not matter.”
Nick got up and Sekeu took the staff.
“First, you must get into an L stance.” Sekeu demonstrated. “Weight should be on your back leg. Front leg light. This will keep you maneuverable, but allow you to put the entire weight of your body into the swing. You push off hard with your back foot and fall into the swing with the front.” Sekeu slammed her front foot down to emphasize. “Now, put one hand low on the staff like this. The other midway. When you strike, the high hand slides down and meets the low. This makes power.”
Sekeu demonstrated, snapping the staff in the air. Nick could see the staff actually quiver from the force.
“Most important, do not focus on hitting
the target. You want to go through it. If you focus on hitting the target, all your force will be lost on contact. But if you focus beyond the target, your blow will carry power.
“There is also timing, but that comes with practice.”
Sekeu gave the straw man a shove, slipped into the L stance, her body rocking slightly to and fro as the dummy swung back toward her. At the last moment her body exploded like a coiled viper. The staff connected with the straw man, sending a terrific “WHACK” echoing around the chamber. The dummy almost bent double as it flew away from the blow. Loose straw flitted through the air as the slack played out and the straw man jerked on the end of the rope.
“Whoa,” Nick gasped.
“You can do it, Nick. But you must practice.”
Nick couldn’t do it. Not even close. But after an hour with Sekeu, Nick could certainly bring the straw man to a stop without getting knocked down, could hit his mark most every time. These were small steps, but with every blow Nick found himself getting better.
Sekeu moved from kid to kid. Encouraging each of them to focus and push themselves. Showing them tricks and pointing out what they were doing wrong. After some time, Sekeu left them on their own and Nick found himself lost in the repetitiveness of training. Unaware of passing time, unaware that he was actually enjoying himself. And for a while Nick forgot all about high-tops in the mist, blue pixies, Leroy, and the golden-eyed boy named Peter.
SEKEU GATHERED THEM around. Nick, Cricket, and Danny all watched as she pushed the straw man at Leroy.
Leroy struck the straw man a powerful blow, sending the dummy flipping back.
“Good,” Sekeu said.
Leroy grinned. “Hell yeah.”
“Now, once more.”
Leroy gained his stance and hefted the staff, looking cocky, obviously getting a kick out of showing off in front of the New Blood.
Sekeu shoved the straw man toward him, but this time she sent it spinning wildly side to side.
Leroy stumbled back, trying to compensate, and the straw man knocked him to the sand.