Page 43 of Shades of Silver City

I’ve met plenty of jerks who get handsy and rude when drunk. I don’t care if he’s Mellie’s regular, he’s getting cut off.

I stand, careful not to cut myself with the broken glass. That’s when I catch sight of a small plastic bag on the table, smaller than the size of my palm. It’s a quarter of the way full with a glittering grey substance.

“You need to get your shit and get ou—” The words die on my lips when I catch sight of Kyle’s soul-shade. No longer a pea-green soup hue, it has faded into a smoky-grey.

He stands, advancing on me like a predator stalking his prey. I slowly glide backward, not wanting to turn my back on him but also not wanting to get wedged between him and the wall. Bruce, who wears a wide expression of alarm, jumps up, his stool clattering to the ground behind him.

“Hey, Kyle,” he says, gripping his brother by the arm. “Maybe we should—”

Kyle turns, swinging a fist at his brother.

Bruce ducks at the last second, barely avoiding the impact.

“I swear to the Gods,” Bruce says to me, his voice rising an octave, “he is never like this. I don’t know what’s gotten into him today.”

My eyes shift to the left, to where the bar stretches along the wall. If I can get to my bat, I’ll gain the upper hand. When my eyes return to the brothers, my gut sinks. Bruce now stands beside Kyle with a blank face, all of his alarm and fear gone.

A smoky grey fog surrounds his frame, too.

Blood pulses in my temples, and my hands shake. Something about the situation feels wrong.

So wrong.

Words from my father’s journal blur through my mind. Only the dead have grey soul-shades. This is impossible, yet it keeps happening.

I take a step to the side, ready to bolt away from them. Screw the bat; I’m going out the door.

But they both lunge before I can make a move, and a scream rips from my throat.

Rationing of Essential Resources

Silver Edict #17

“…Every citizen is ensured access to essential provisions necessary for survival and enhancement of life quality. In situations requiring it, the Ministry of Resource Allocation reserves the authority to implement stringent constraints to preserve resources citywide…”

CHAPTER 11

ARCHER

After leaving Tasia’s apartment, I hustle downtown to check The Rising Star. It’s the only other place I’ve seen her go during the past few days. If she’s not there, I’m out of luck.

I arrive at my destination a short while later and push the bar’s rotting door open. A bell overhead chimes with my entrance, but it’s quickly drowned out by a woman’s scream.

My spine turns to ice as I quickly locate the source of the terror.

Two aggressive men loom over Tasia, who’s on the floor between them.

“Hey!” I yell. My head pulses, red coloring my vision.

In three long strides, I make it to them.

With a surge of protectiveness, I clock the taller one square in the face. My fist lands with a sharp crack, and pain explodes across my knuckles. The force causes him to stagger back, and he topples into the jukebox, rattling the old machine. His body thuds to the ground, out cold.

“Tasia!” I say. “Are you—”

The other man jumps on me from behind, wrapping an arm around my neck. I’m only caught off guard for a moment, though. Quickly, I reach up and press my fingers into the pressure point at his wrist, causing him to yelp and release me.

Like his friend, he’s sloppy, untrained. Slow.

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