The City on the Edge
Seven

Ronnie woke to the burn of flames tickling at her skin and the sensation of smoky fingers pulling the air from her lungs. She sat up with a wretched gasp that sounded like a scream in the stillness of the room. A sheen of cold sweat covered her face and bare chest, making her hair stick to her skin uncomfortably. Beside her, Lorna mumbled and rolled over to face away from her. Ronnie took a moment to take in her surroundings- books piled in questionable towers, clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor and Lorna’s beaded glass bracelets and necklaces catching the first rays of morning light, painting a palette of color across the wall.

Nothing was burning. It was only a dream.

A quiet breath of relief passed through her trembling lips. Ronnie slipped out of bed, pulling the blankets up over Lorna’s naked form before she could shiver in the morning chill, her hair still slightly damp from their bath last night. Her Seer glinted around her neck, nearly invisible beneath a tangle of red.

Ronnie tried not to feel guilty about the phantom caress of their hands on each other. Of lips pressed together. Of the way Lorna sought a connection that just wasn’t there for her to replace. At least, not the one she really wanted.

Treading lightly across the room, Ronnie scooped a pile of reasonably clean clothes from the floor and stepped into them. She opened the bedroom door and paused by the shelf where she emptied her pockets. The silver coin from the massacred house sat among a pile of useless junk. Ronnie thought for a moment and plucked it from the shelf and pocketed it. She managed to make it out of the room without another sound, leaving Lorna snoring softly in the bed.

Most of the house still seemed to be sleeping, if the quiet was any indiction. The steps creaked under her weight as Ronnie crept downstairs. Through the windows, she could make out the smear of the grey sky. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. There was a gentle clink from the kitchen, the sound of metal tapping against glass. Ronnie poked her head through the door. Constance was unsurprisingly awake already, stirring a fine purple powder into a tall glass of water. She took her fingers from the handle and the spoon continued to stir itself as Constance ducked down to retrieve a flat tray from a cabinet.

Ronnie decided not to bother her and stepped into the sitting room. Malik was the only one in the room, sprawled along the narrow bench seat and covered with a misshapen quilt, Constance’s first attempt at knitting. It had been a gift years ago and though it was absolutely hideous, Malik insisted that he loved it.

One of his arms hung over the side, having escaped the confines of the quilt. Ronnie bent closer. Clutched in his hand was small, clear sphere of glass. His Seer. Fine lines were etched across it like the crisscrossing vines that had claimed the back of their home. A cloud of puffy white smoke swirled around inside the sphere, dancing like it was trapped in its own tiny whirlwind.

“Morning,” a voice from behind her said.

She turned around, startled. Constance stood in the doorway, a tray in her hands and a small smile on her lips. “I scared you, huh? That doesn’t happen often.”

Ronnie stood to meet her. “I don’t usually pay as close attention here at home. Try to sneak up on me out there,” she jerked her thumb toward the front door, “and you’ll always fail.”

“Right.” Ronnie could tell that Constance was humoring her, letting her salvage her wounded pride. The glass of water, a lavender hue now, was topped with a tiny white flower.

Ronnie pointed to the sphere. “Malik has his Seer out. Anya must already be out.”

“Yeah. You know how he is,” she shrugged with a wry smile. “Anya left early for some kind of big job she had lined up. She confident it’ll have a hefty pay off. And of course, Malik was worried about her.”

“Right,” Ronnie nodded, “I remember her saying something about that yesterday.”

“Goddess knows we need the help, but I hope she’s careful…” Constance trailed off. “Are you heading out?” she asked suddenly.

“Uh, yeah. I need to head over to Basso’s before he opens.”

Constance breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good.” The tension in her shoulders eased, making her seem more like the young girl she was. Ronnie hadn’t realized before just how much weight she carried. “We’re almost out of blood. We need some for Dalton and the twins.”

“Don’t worry,” Ronnie squeezed her shoulder as she passed, “I’m on it.” She paused at the door and glanced back at Constance, who stepped lightly toward the bedroom past the stairs. “Hey.”

Constance stopped and looked over her shoulder, a slim red brow raised in question.

“It’s okay to take a break. You know that, right?”

Constance stared at her for a moment before smiling gently, looking so much like her sister. “I know.”

When Constance’s back was turned, Ronnie slipped out of the house, shutting the front door behind her gently. She paused for a moment and closed her eyes, taking in the morning chill and contemplating whether she’d need a jacket. A breeze drifted over her bare arms. It wasn’t too far of a walk to the market and the cool air felt nice against her skin. She stepped off the porch and took off down the road. Neighbors were few way out here and Ronnie enjoyed the calm.

Still silence settled over the landscape, blanketed beneath the overcast morning. It had rained earlier and drops of dew hung like jewels from tall blades of grass, catching the shine of the early sun as Ronnie passed. It was like looking at nature’s jewelry box. If she were a witch, she’d probably strip and prance through the open field, plucking fresh herbs and flowers as she went. She’d seen the moon dance that Lorna, Constance, Malik, and Anya would perform every so often, but she never joined in. It was a witch thing.

Ronnie sighed to herself. If she could fully transform, she’d strip and dance through the field on four legs, start her own thing. She’d kick up the dirt and dart through the forest behind the field, weaving in and out of the massive trees and feeling the sun warm her fur, just like she’d heard in the stories told by the ancient shifters who remembered what that freedom felt like. It was a feeling of unbridled liberation, they would say. The ultimate form of freedom.

But Ronnie couldn’t transform and she never would. It became the harsh reality for every shifter when Marla’s Battle ended and the humans claimed victory.

The sullen remembrance pulled a frown on her face as she reached the market and she tried to dash the thoughts away. She wanted to start the day off on a good note. When Ronnie arrived on Market Street, she expected it to be mostly empty, save for shop owners preparing for the day. It surprised her to replace the soft sounds of the city waking up being drowned out by the heavy footfalls of the White Guard marching through the streets. Ronnie stopped to take it all in.

A blizzard of white coats swept through the dusty streets, each heavy footfall singing to the tune of clinking swords. Groups of four, moving through the walkways in a uniform pattern, passing each shop and stall with scrutinizing eyes. Shop owners and early customers made sure to be out of their way as they moved.

Ronnie stopped at the market line, aware of the eyes on her from nearby guards. The hair on her arms stood up and the sweet trickle of adrenaline seeped slowly into her veins. Was it safe for her to be here? Only a few of the guards had seen her with the human boy yesterday. She assumed she’d be safe to walk around. Certainly the White Guard had other matters that demanded their attention?

Sloan had seen her, though. He’d seen more than enough to have her head delivered to his manor on a plate of gold.

Should she turn back and go home, just to be safe?

Her belly grumbled and she thought about Dalton and the twins, still young enough that a hungry belly was a painful thing. They needed the blood that Basso was offering. Ronnie shot a quick glance at the group of guardsmen still watching her. She pulled in a deep lungful of air and moved forward like she meant to be there.

The blue orbs tracked her as she stepped over the market line and passed them. She fought the urge to meet their gaze, to return their hard stares with one of her own. Just stay out of their way, she told herself. Be invisible. Don’t give them a reason to notice anything.

Ronnie clung to the old buildings, walking so close to worn bricks that they occasionally brushed her arms. She made herself as small as she could and kept her head down until the rustle of paper caught her eye.

The sides of the dusty buildings and shops had been covered with new posters. The old man’s portraits of missing supernaturals had been buried beneath a mass of wanted posters. Ronnie sucked in a breath and stepped up to the wall, scanning quickly for her own face, though it was no where to be seen amidst the flapping pages.

She sighed, a weight lifting from her chest. Breathing suddenly came much easier to her. She straightened up and lifted her chin a little higher. Her eyes darted over the posters, noticing that there were no distinct faces, only colored eyes staring out from beneath black hoods. These were wanted posters for the hooded assailants from yesterday.

Dominating the wall, plastered dead center, was an enormous portrait of Premier Donovan King. The caption below his picture promised wealth for information. The premier’s angular face and cold eyes seemed to stare out, accusing and threatening and alive. She frowned up at the picture. Did the market really need another reminder of who held their chains?

Ronnie looked over her shoulder, catching the white and black posters covering nearly every wall in the market. Had all of these posters been made overnight? And now there double the White Guard patrols.

The answer clicked so sharply in Ronnie’s mind that it brought a smile to her face - the humans were afraid.

A sharp bump at her shoulder nearly sent her face first into the wall. She straightened up with a low growl, turning to face the one who’d hit her. A guardsman glared back at her, his fist clenched at the hilt of his sword. His eyes were dark, morning ice, as they stared at her, daring her to retaliate.

“Something to say?” he asked.

Ronnie bit her tongue. “No,” she couldn’t help the growl that reverberated in her words. Shifters had short fuses. It was an unfortunate trait.

The guardsman opened his mouth to say something else, but his partner nudged at his shoulder. She looked down at Ronnie as the other guardsman left.

“Just watch where you’re going, mutt.”

Ronnie wanted to wrap her claws around the woman’s yellow braid and pull it from her scalp, but she simply nodded, watching as the pair continued their patrol.

“Not a good way to start the mornin’, pup,” a deep voice called to her.

Ronnie knew that voice. She spun around lightly, preparing herself either a mischievous grin or a stern frown, depending on how his morning was going. Basso seemed to be a mix of both, drying his hands on a filthy rag from his front doorstep. His lips were twisted under his bushy beard. Ronnie only shrugged and jogged over to him.

“They started it.”

Basso snorted. “Like that’s ever an excuse.” He jerked his head to side. “Come on in. I’ve got somethin’ for ya.”

It smelt of stale iron inside the shop. Fresh cuts of still bleeding meat were lying out on the counter, waiting to be set inside the display case. It wasn’t the freshest meat, but it was best the shop could do. Basso ducked beneath the counter and came back with a wooden crate of six jars filled to the rim with dark blood, silver lids screwed on top.

“How’s Valerie?” Ronnie asked suddenly, eyeing the jars.

Basso hesitated a moment before sliding the crate across the counter to her. “She’ll live, like I said yesterday. But it isn’t good. The scarrin’ is already settin’ in. She’s havin’ a hard time copin’. Valerie’s never really been vain, but even she cares about her face.”

Ronnie remembered the dark clump of hair sitting in the dirt outside the shop. For a gruesome second, she imagined it sizzling under the sun and simply sliding off Valerie’s head, left there to be scavenged by small starving demons.

She grabbed the crate, feeling the bite of rough cut wooden edges against her palms. “Is she still here?”

“Yeah,” Basso rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sendin’ her away until I know she’s better.” His jaw clenched tight, before easing. “I don’t trust Sloan or the guard to leave her alone. They might try to finish her off. She don’t deserve that.”

No one deserved any of the treatment they received at the hands of the White Guard.

A group of guardsman marched by the shop’s window. One of them turned their head to look inside, eyes narrowing as they passed.

“The guard is all over the place this mornin’. All thanks to those fools who attacked yesterday. You best skip out the back. I wouldn’t want ya to get caught with that. But before you go,” Basso dropped a wrapped package shaped like a beast’s leg on top of the jars, “a treat for the kids.”

Ronnie smiled up at him. “Thanks. Who doesn’t love a meaty leg?”

She hefted the crate into her arms and with a promise to Basso to be careful going home, she slid out the back door and into the alley.

The overcast sky was beginning to clear up, allowing rays of warm sunlight to kiss her exposed shoulders and arms. It looked the birth of a beautiful day. Ronnie almost wished she’d woken Lorna and brought her along. The witch lived for bright days like this, but Ronnie was in desperate need of a quiet morning to herself.

The crunch of something hard, almost imperceptible over the sounds of the market waking up, tickled at her ears. At the end of the alley, almost tucked away completely behind the shop, was a towering shape hidden under a ragged looking red robe. Something crunched again and Ronnie took a curious step toward the figure.

As she drew nearer she caught sight of a pair of horns with dark tips peeking out from under the red hood. The figure shifted, sensing she was there. It turned to face her and she froze in place.

The demon was massive. It stared down at her with three blazing red eyes that sat over wide slit nostrils. Its mouth was invisible against its leathery black skin. It held a bone, already stripped bare, in one of its clawed hands. Part of it had been gnawed away by powerful teeth and jaws, though Ronnie couldn’t make them out on the demon’s face.

Demons were scavengers. Ronnie eyed the bone in its hand.

“You’re hungry.”

The demon huffed air at her, not opening its mouth.

“I can help,” she said, setting the crate down in front of her. Her movements were slow and cautious. Demons weren’t known to simply attack out of nowhere, but this one was starving.

Ronnie wrapped her fingers around the leg of meat and pulled at the string tied around it. It loosened and the wrappings fell open, collecting on the ground. The smell of blood and fresh cut meat wafted up from the open package. The demon made a sound in its throat and took the barest step forward, cautious but hopeful that Ronnie’s intentions were genuine. Ronnie dropped the wrappings on the ground and held out the leg. The demon looked from her, to the leg and back at her again, as if it expected her to yank the leg away if it reached for it, a cruelness no doubt felt before.

“It’s okay,” Ronnie said gently, taking a step forward. The demon didn’t move, and she took another step forward until they were only a few feet apart. “You can have it. You look like you need it more than I do.”

The demon dipped its head and Ronnie saw that its black horns bled to red before meeting its scalp and turning black again, disappearing into the shadow of its hood. The demon dropped the bone to the ground, where it clattered noisily and rolled away to be claimed by another scavenger. It reached for the dripping leg with its massive hand, glancing back at Ronnie, who nodded encouragingly at it.

“Go on.”

The demon wrapped long fingers around the leg and took it from her. A congealed smear of fat and blood sat in the middle of Ronnie’s palm and she raised her hand to her mouth, licking it away. She didn’t eat raw meat often, but she didn’t mind the taste. Her ancestors were nature’s greatest hunters and they didn’t let their fresh meal wait.

The demon’s face split open, from side to side, so wide that Ronnie though its jaw might actually pop off. The inside was lined with rows are triangular teeth, leading far back into its throat. The demon shoved the entire leg into its mouth and Ronnie was certain she could hear it being shredded and cut as it went down.

The demon closed its mouth and swallowed. It held out its clawed hand.

“Oh. I don’t have any more. Sorry.”

The demon shook its head and raised its hand at her, just a bit. After a moment, she caught on. Ronnie took one of its massive fingers in her hand in an awkward sort of handshake.

“You’re welcome.”

The demon turned away from her and shuffled quietly behind the shop, with only the sound of its robe brushing the ground to signal that it was ever there. Ronnie watched it disappear before hefting the case of blood up from the ground and leaving the alley. If she hurried, she could make it home before breakfast was done. Dalton and the twins would have some fresh blood to start their day. Teri and Tara were the youngest of the children- they needed it.