Page 4 of Marked By the Dark Lord
Ribs cracked, and I screamed in pain, suddenly sucked back into reality.
“That got her good,” Sarabeth snickered wickedly.
“What’s going on down there?” a voice called from the mouth of the alley.
“Shit,” Margo hissed.
“Run!” Nicole yelped, bolting down the alley, followed swiftly by the others, except Sarabeth.
“You think you’re so much better than us,” she sneered, staring down at me.
“I live on the streets. A cardboard box is a pleasant surprise for me,” I said through gritted teeth against the pain in my side. “How on earth am I better than you?”
“Exactly,” she said, hauling back with her foot. “You’re not.”
I tried to roll with it, but I was too slow. The boot hit my head, and I saw nothing but darkness.
When I came to, the rain was still coming down, but it was cold now. I was lying in a puddle, soaked to the bone, shivering.I stared up at the black sky, droplets washing my forehead clean of dried blood.
My side still ached, and I would be a mess of bruises everywhere for a day or two. But I would be fine in the end. I always was. Some days I wished I wasn’t. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with the frequent beatings when they came upon me.
So, leave, a voice whispered in my head.
But I couldn’t. Niagara Falls was my home. It had always been my home, and it was still my home. Something about the city called to me. I didn’t know how or why because it shouldn’t, but it did. I belonged there. Somehow. Some way.
Fighting down shivers, which awoke all sorts of new pain and agony, I got to my feet and struggled my way to the back of the alley. It took me a solid five minutes, but I made it—out of breath and in pain but in one piece.
From there, it took another ten minutes to make it over a few buildings to where I’d lived for several years behind the bakery. There was a little opening in the brick that had once been coal storage or something similar for the ovens. Now it was home, with a curtain for a door and a ten-year-old sleeping bag for a floor.
I’d just finished hauling my battered body inside when someone pulled open the curtain. I placed a hand under the corner of the sleeping blanket, gently caressing the corner of that old book, the one with the leather clasp I’d never been able to open. I still had it all these years later. I couldn’t bear to get rid of it. I touched it now, closing my eyes, preparing for the next beating.
Please make it quick. I’m not sure I can handle another one.
“There you are. I was worrying about you.”
I looked up to see a young woman with a homely face, thick brown hair, and the kindest set of yellow-brown eyes I had ever seen.
“Lily,” I whispered, relieved at the sight of the baker’s daughter. “Thank goodness, it’s you.”
“I don’t have anything for you today. I’m sorry. You’re late, and Dada is pissed.”
“Late?” I frowned, staring at the brick ceiling as if that would tell me the time. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten after four in the morning.”
“Damn it.” I was late.
The only reason Victor let me stay out behind his bakery was that I cleaned it for him every morning, free of charge. To him, that was worth a few loaves of bread or muffins that weren’t good enough to sell to the public.
Lily snuck me a few other items, usually some pastries. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that, combined with my begging and trashcan-diving, I could survive. Barely.
“Come on, hurry up,” Lily said, helping me to my feet. “If you work fast, you might still be able to stop him.”
“Let me go,” I said once I was on my feet. “I’ll be fine. Don’t let him see you helping me. He’ll just beat you, too.”
“He doesn’t …”
I gave her a long look. Lily fell silent, glancing away.
