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Posted by / 14-Jan-2018 11:48

He leads me to the gutters below the memorial where they found the shiner.

Despite the cold breeze pushing against us, the girl looks like she’s just taking a nap.

I roll my eyes when I hear Sergeant Heartnell calling “Open up, Ange! I should give it to him soon, before the shiny giftwrap dissolves completely, but this time I drop it right next to the boy.

He jolts at the sound and gives me a look of a cow who’s just found out what a sledgehammer’s for. I assume he’s smart enough to use the fire escape, otherwise a dumpster laden with as he scrambles to dress himself.

But then again, I’ve never been the bookish type so I don’t exactly know how it works.

On the back of his neck is a cluster of dark freckles I hadn’t noticed the night before–my gods, a damn Academy student. The flavour of anise is still stuck on the back of my tongue. The smudge in the middle of it seems ordinary until you look closely and you realise it’s a puddle after a heavy storm, the boy’s Key.Sarge has a look on his face that makes his wrinkles seem like canyons. “Cut the crap, Magic,” he says with a ghost of a smile stuck to the corner of his lips.With that on his face he looks twenty years and a barrel of sadness younger.I suppose the chintz carpet she’s wrapped in kept the chill at bay. It’s hard feigning nonchalance when her mouth was sewn shut with blue string and blood crusted over the corners of her lips. Mad Maggie thought she was a pile of leaves.” I stay crouched by her shoulder. The skin’s turned waxy, but the falling moonlight does everything but make her look a corpse.Somebody’s unfurled the top so that her face was visible. Except one of the stitches has been broken, the thread hanging from her mouth like drool. Strayed lilac petals have dappled the mud around her body, as though she was suspended in the sky and I was looking up instead of down. Her features are sharp, cheekbones you could slice your finger on, a hard jaw that takes no excuses and a wide forehead with insidious lines between her brows. Demanding respect, she would force her lips in a thin line and stare you down till you cracked.

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A row of gallows had flanked the door where the dead, while swaying in the wind, would howl and moan and wail.

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