Page 2 of Age of Shade

It’s still early, but the city seems unnaturally dark as I open the front door, icy wind biting at my exposed skin. Theforecasted storm is blowing in, and I pull up the collar of my coat as I fumble with the keys to the practice. I’m just turning back to the street when a prickle of awareness makes me pause, lingering in the shadowy doorway. Chills that have nothing to do with the winter air crawl up my spine as I scan the street, looking for the source of the suddenwrongnessI’m gripped with.

There’s nothing. Everything looks as it should, but even after finding nothing out of the ordinary, I don’t move. It’s there—theunease. Something isn’t right. I may not be able to see it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. The longer I stand here the more certain I become.

Despite being a grown man—tall, well built, and hardly an easy target—I’m not fool enough to believe I could fight off an armed gunman. A mugger wouldn’t still be waiting around while his chance to get a jump on me in the shadows slips away, though. There are people making their way home down the sidewalk, and they all seem to be oblivious to whatever it is I’m sensing.

Snowflakes swirl beneath the beams of light cast by the streetlights, sparkling like millions of gold flecks in the wintery air. The beauty of the scene only heightens my paranoia, as though Mother Nature is lulling me into a false sense of security.

I shake myself. This is ridiculous. It’s getting late, and I can’t stay here all night, waiting for god knows what. I’ll be late for the session with Lindsey if I don’t leave right now, and I’m already too worn down to stomach the inevitable fight that would result.

Gritting my teeth and ignoring the uncomfortable tightening in my chest, I force myself out onto the sidewalk, still half expecting to encounter something sinister.

Nothing happens.Of course, nothing happens. As I turn toward my car, though, feeling ridiculous, movement in the corner of my eye makes my steps falter all over again. Whipping around to stare at the spot, my pulse races. There, tuckedbetween several overflowing trash bins in front of the building neighboring mine… something is alive.

Cautiously, I edge close enough to the curb to see into the small space. When I finally do, I’m struck by that feeling of wrongness all over again.

There, wrapped in cheap blankets amidst the overflowing trash bins, is a teenage girl.

She can’t be older than seventeen or eighteen, but what I can see of her face is too hard for such a young person. As I watch, a car drives by, spraying gray sludge over the sidewalk and the place where the girl is hiding, soaking her meager source of warmth. Still, she doesn’t move.

I’m rooted to the spot, wracked with indecision. There’s a major storm blowing in. Already the mayor is calling for school and business closings tomorrow. Even in bright sunshine, this is hardly the safest street in New York for a young woman alone.

Is she planning tosleepout here? Where the hell are her parents?

Stomach knotting, I glance at my watch. It’s already late, I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, and yet I can’t bring myself to turn away, head to my car and mind my own damn business. Plenty of people are passing her by, too caught up in their own struggles to worry about one more lost, hopeless soul on the sidewalk.

I can’t justleave her here. A kid that age doesn’t end up on the street if they have any other option. Wherever she came from... I can’t imagine.

Ah, hell.

“Excuse me!” I call before I can talk myself out of it, stepping a little closer.

Her shoulders tense, but she doesn’t turn to look at me or even acknowledge she heard my call.

Fair enough. I’m a stranger, and the adults in her life have obviously failed monumentally for her to end up here. She’s brave. If I were in her place, I’d probably be sprinting in the opposite direction.

Careful to keep a respectful distance between us, I edge to the lip of the sidewalk, facing her from ten feet away. Up close, I can see the hollow of her cheeks, smudges of dirt or shadow making her look even gaunter. There’s a horrible, dark bruise coloring the skin around her left eye, and a split in her lip looks barely scabbed over. Beneath the hood of her coat, the girl’s dark hair is cut low to her scalp in uneven chunks, like someone hacked it away.

My stomach churns.Holy fuck.

It’s only the fear I’ll scare her that keeps me from demanding to know who did this to her. I’m not a violent man, I’ve never been in a fight or attacked anyone, but I find myself wishing fervently that I have the chance to make the person who did this feel even a fraction of the pain they inflicted on this girl. My hands curl into fists in my pockets.

Shifting forward into the light, I offer her a polite smile. “I’m sorry to bother you—”

“So don’t.” Her voice is strong, and her jaw lifts defiantly. She’s still resolutely avoiding my gaze, staring blankly at the dirty sidewalk.

I let out a long breath, the vapor curling through the freezing night air as I try to decide what to do. In the five minutes since I walked outside, the temperature has dropped, and it won’t be long before she’s in serious trouble. “Listen,” I say, adopting the reasonable, persuasive voice I reserve for my teenage patients, “I just don’t want you to get killed being out here. It’s going to get below freezing tonight.”

If the threat of freezing to death is even remotely concerning to her, the girl doesn’t show it. “I’ll be fine.”

Okay. Fine. We can move on to the back-up plan. My hand finds my wallet in my pocket. “There’s a shelter a few blocks away. Why don’t you let me give you money to take the bus over there.”

She hugs her legs close to her chest as a gust of wind barrels through the tunnel of tall buildings on either side of the street, ruffling the few strands of dark hair escaping from beneath her knit cap. Still, she won’t meet my eye.

“I’ll pass. You offered, you did your moral duty or whatever. You can go.” She sounds so strong, so sure, but of course a kid who ended up on the streets would be good at putting on a brave face. She has to be scared out of her mind—anyone would be.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t let her stay here, not while knowing I might return to work tomorrow morning and find her corpse frozen stiff against that trash can. There’s a good chance she’s still underage. If she won’t go willingly, I could call protective services or the police and let them deal with her, but that plan doesn’t sit right with me. She may be young, but she’s not a child. If she’s willing to freeze to death on the street rather than go to a shelter or home, what business do I have to send her back to whatever or whoever she’s running from?

Sucking in a lungful of icy air, I make a decision. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say with a cheerful bravado I don’t feel. “I’m a dentist. That’s my practice in the building just behind you.”

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