The Branded Rose Prophecy Read online

  There was a sound, a grunt of pain. It was not dissimilar to the painful wheeze Chocolate had made.

  “Fucker!” one of the others cried.

  Her other ankle was let loose and now she was hanging from Lonzo’s neck, her full weight pulling her forearms up tight against his throat. She hung only for a second, then hands gripped her middle and plucked her away like she was a piece of lint. Her arms were ripped from around Lonzo’s throat.

  She was placed gently on her feet, facing the back of the alley. Instantly, she spun to face the gang, to see what had pulled her from Lonzo.

  Two of the gang were sprawled on the stony tarmac, one propping himself up with an arm while the other hand pressed against his stomach, lying very still. The third was running toward the street, his silk shirt flying out behind him like a short cape, his slightly bowed legs pumping hard.

  Gutless creep. Charlee could feel her nose wrinkling in disgust. She turned her head to look farther down the alley, on the other side of the bend. She had a perfect view down both lengths.

  Lonzo was facing a giant standing in the middle of the alley. The giant had his back to Charlee. She didn’t know if he was really a giant, but he seemed huge. He stood a foot higher than Lonzo and from behind, his shoulders were really big, too. He seemed to glow in a dull way, but she didn’t stop to wonder why, for Lonzo was staring at the man, his lips curling back like Chocolate’s had done when he thought he was in danger. He was reaching under his shirt. Under and behind.

  “He’s got a gun!” Charlee warned the glowing man, for she had felt the shape of the pistol tucked into Lonzo’s jeans when she had been hanging against him.

  The man didn’t back away. He didn’t seem to react at all. He stood quite still. One hand was tucked into the pocket of what looked like perfectly normal trousers, as far as she could tell in the thickening dark.

  Lonzo pulled out the pistol. It looked really big, too, and made Lonzo’s hand look small. But his fingers curled around the handle with familiarity, the long forefinger resting against the trigger. He didn’t point the gun at the man. He held it pointing up into the air, not quite threatening.

  “Really not a good idea,” the man said.

  Lonzo just grinned.

  “I heard what you did to the dog,” the man said, not sounding even a little bit afraid of Lonzo or his gun. “You don’t get to walk away unpunished for that, but if you put the gun down, then you will walk away.”

  “I’m walkin’, man,” Lonzo said, hiking the gun up an inch to draw attention to it. “You can’t stop me.”

  “But if you don’t put the gun down,” the man said, speaking as if Lonzo hadn’t said anything, “then that changes things. I can’t guarantee you’ll walk anywhere if you don’t.”

  Lonzo snorted. “Says you.”

  “Think it through,” the man encouraged Lonzo. He sounded like he was almost begging Lonzo to reconsider.

  Lonzo brought the gun down and pointed it. Not at the man. He held it sideways, like the gangsters in the movies. Charlee’s breath jammed up in her throat, because he was pointing the gun at her.

  Lonzo grinned at the man. “Gotcha, asshole.”

  The man sighed.

  Things happened very quickly after that and it was only later, when Charlee recalled the next few seconds over and over, rebuilding the fractional parts of those seconds into the right order, that she was able to put it together with any coherence. The big man pulled his hand out of his pocket with a tiny swishing sound. His hand was held in a fist. In the dark, she thought he was holding something.

  Then, suddenly, he was holding something. It was a sword. A real, honest-to-goodness sword, with a long blade that pointed up into the night sky.

  The blade didn’t stay still. Lonzo spotted it and made a sound that Charlee could barely define. The snort/exhalation held some surprise, but there was happiness there, too. A primal glee over the man’s attack. Lonzo swiveled the gun to point at him.

  The blade moved with a high singing note, then Lonzo dropped the gun and gripped his wrist with his other hand, his eyes and mouth turning into almost perfect circles. Charlee smelled a hot, coppery scent and knew what it was without confirmation. Blood.

  “End this now,” the man urged Lonzo. “Walk away.”

  Charlee licked her lips. Lonzo wasn’t the type to walk—or run, like his gang friend had. Besides, his other two Lords were still there, watching. The one that had been lying still was sitting up now. Lonzo glanced at them and Charlee knew he wouldn’t leave. Not now.

  She wanted to warn the man, but before she could think of what to say, or draw breath to speak, Lonzo leapt at him, a switchblade in his left hand. The blade glinted in the little light still left. It swung, reminding Charlee of the way Lonzo had swung his boot when he kicked Chocolate. It was the same fast, powerful arc.

  The man spun in a tight circle. Again, much later, Charlee recalled seeing him twist around and at the same time his arm, the one that held the sword, brushed aside Lonzo’s forearm, deflecting the knife as it swung around to meet the spot where the man had been standing less than a second before.

  Abruptly, the man was behind Lonzo. His free arm wrapped around Lonzo’s shoulders, encompassing them easily and holding him still. The tip of the long sword slid up under Lonzo’s chin, puncturing the skin…and kept going, sliding easily like a knife through soft butter.

  Lonzo jerked, his whole body stiffening. Then he relaxed in the man’s grip, making a soft sighing sound.

  “Holy Mary, mother of god…” one of Lonzo’s friends whispered. “He scragged him. The fucking dude just scragged Lonzo.”

  Charlee could feel her heart trying to ram its way past her ribs. The ease with which he had moved was fascinating in a black, bad way.

  The man was facing the remaining pair of Lords over Lonzo’s still shoulder. “I gave him every chance to end it before this moment.”

  The silent one of the pair glanced at the other.

  “If you speak of this to anyone, I will find out. Then I will find you,” the man added. “Do you doubt that?”

  The first shook his head. The second spat on the tarmac.

  The man jerked his sword out of Lonzo’s skull. It made a wet, sucking sound, and Charlee clapped her hand over her mouth, holding in any noise she might make. Lonzo crumpled to the ground at the man’s feet, his face scraping across the pebbles and dirt.

  “Take him and do what you do with those you deal with. I don’t want his body surfacing later for the police to examine. I will be upset if that happens. Do you understand?”

  The first of them, the talker, crept forward on his hands and knees and grabbed Lonzo. The second stirred and helped him pick Lonzo up. They started backing down the alley toward the street, Lonzo hanging limp and crumpled between them.

  “The other way,” the man directed. “Away from public eyes.”

  They hesitated, looking at him fearfully. Charlee knew they didn’t want to get too close to him and he stood in the middle of the narrow alley, blocking their way.

  “Move it,” he growled at them and stepped aside, giving them room to pass.

  They shuffled past him awkwardly, their burden slowing them down. Then they hurried along the alley until the dark swallowed them up and all Charlee could hear was their slow, dragging steps.

  It left her alone with the man and his sword.

  Chapter Two

  Asher put his sword away, barely thinking about the quick movements that reduced it and slid it into his pocket. They were moves he had practiced over and over, tearing good garments and slicing his hip and fingers open, until he had reached this automatic process. He was so good and so fast at it now that most humans weren’t able to follow what he had done.

  The young girl was standing very still, staring at him with enormous dark eyes, in a pale, thin face. It looked like her hair might be flaming red in daylight. It spilled over her shoulders in a wavy, tangled mess. She looked ready to bolt at the merest
hint of danger.

  Asher knew why she hadn’t already faded away like any normal New Yorker would have as soon as they could get free of the trouble they were in. So he held out both his hands to show her they were empty and addressed the issue head on. “Where did the dog go?” he asked her gently. “Do you know where he lives?”

  She blinked and her throat worked as she swallowed. “You…k-killed him!”

  “I had no choice.” Asher glanced at the paling fence that separated the alley from the houses behind it. In the dark, he could see the silhouette of a crow sitting silently, watching them. As he looked, another fluttered down and settled next to the first, folding its wings with a snap.

  The birds told him he was running out of time. “We need to hurry,” Asher told the girl. “Quickly, now. Where will the dog be? We need to make sure he’s okay.” He jogged her memory with a deliberate prod. “What did the…” Then he remembered the name the others had used. “What did Lonzo do to the dog?”

  The girl flinched. She blinked again and this time her gaze focused upon him. He had caught her attention. Good.

  “What did he do?” he coaxed. He kept his voice low, but didn’t know why. Little girls, even boys…he had no experience with children at all. But she was frozen like a cornered animal, rigid with fear. Perhaps that was why he was using gentle, soothing tones. He’d had plenty of practice dealing with frightened creatures of all types. Torger had been a vicious stray once, too.

  The girl’s eyes gradually lost their fear as she looked at him. “He kicked Chocolate,” she said. “He kicked him!” Her indignation rose, squaring her shoulders and firing up her temper.

  Asher clamped down on the fury that touched him. I should have bled him out slowly, instead. But he didn’t say it. The girl was calming down, but saying that aloud would remind her of her fear and ruin the shallow peace he had built. Instead he said, very gently, “Well, he can’t do that again. Not to any dog, or anyone.”

  Her eyes widened again. This time, it was surprise. Then her head tilted as she studied him openly and frankly. “No, he can’t, can he?” He could see she was exploring the idea of raw justice and consequences in this new light, but he didn’t have time to let her deal with it. The birds were gathering thickly along the fence now, but she was too preoccupied to notice them.

  “Where would…Chocolate be?” he urged her, recalling the name she had used. “We need to find him and maybe take him to an animal shelter, if he needs help.”

  She looked around. “This is where he lives,” she said simply, with a shrug.

  “Call him. If he lives here and you’re his friend, he’ll come when you call.”

  “But he doesn’t know it’s his name. It’s just what I call him.”

  “Dogs are very clever,” he assured her. “He’ll know your voice. Call him.”

  She looked around in the dark. “Chocolate!” she called softly. “Here, boy!” She didn’t raise her voice. Her instincts, which had been sharpened by the last few minutes, were making her cautious. “Here, Chocolate!”

  There was a soft whine from farther down the alley. The dog shifted. Asher could barely see his shadow, tucked in among the deeper dark. “There.” He pointed.

  The girl crouched, making herself smaller and less threatening, although there was very little of her to start with. She held out her hand and coaxed the dog with soft calls. Asher stepped away from her, giving the dog the room he wanted.

  The dog limped over to the girl and thrust his nose into her hand. He licked the palm, whining softly. Asher could hear the pain.

  He moved slowly closer until the dog took notice of him, then held out his hand for him to sniff. The dog’s nose wrinkled as he sampled Asher’s smell. Then he licked his finger. His tail shifted slowly from side to side. Asher had been approved.

  He ran a hand over the dog’s back, getting him used to his touch, then very gently along his sides. Wiry hair slid under his fingers, stiff with dirt and neglect, almost bald in places. He leaned closer to examine him and gave a soft laugh. “Chocolate is a girl,” he told the human girl soothing the dog.

  “He is? She is?” The girl pressed her lips together. “I don’t know how to tell boy dogs and girl dogs apart. Is she gonna be okay?”

  The dog had flinched when he had run his hands over her flank, just behind her front leg, but she hadn’t recoiled or made any sound in reaction. “I think she is okay,” Asher decided. “No broken bones.”

  “You sure?” the girl insisted.

  He’d seen hundreds of broken bones in men, horses, dogs and all manner of creatures. War was destructive for more than the combatants. “I’m sure,” he told the girl, putting all the confidence he could muster into his voice.

  The birds on the fence shifted in unison, like they did when they were swarming. The dog turned her head, spotting them. A low warning growl issued.

  Asher patted her head and stood up. “I’m going to see you home,” he told the girl. “Did you sneak out tonight?” It was an educated guess. A girl this young wouldn’t normally be allowed to roam the streets by herself after dark. But anything was possible. She had the thinness and unkempt look he associated with the children of broken families. Or with no families and no one to give a damn about them.

  The girl hunched in on herself. “Are you gonna tell on me?”

  “No, but I am going to make sure you get home safely.” He glanced at the birds, silent witnesses watching without movement. The pressure to move, to get away from ground zero, increased. “Come on,” he said, urging her to move back down the alley by taking a few steps toward the street.

  She stayed still. “What about Chocolate? They’re gonna come back, you know. They’ll come back and they’ll find her and they’ll be angry about what happened.”

  Asher agreed with her. “Bring the dog,” he said shortly. “We’ll find somewhere for her to stay.”

  * * * * *

  Once they were out on the street and had merged with the few pedestrians, Asher relaxed. Chocolate trotted along beside the girl as if she had always belonged there.

  The girl looked up at Asher. “What do I call you?”

  She hadn’t asked for his name, as most humans would. Instead, she had asked what she should use as a name for him. Interesting. “You can call me Asher.”

  “Like a tenement fire?”

  “Like a tree,” Asher said truthfully.

  She wrinkled her nose, trying to fit his name into what she knew about trees. “Ash tree?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Yes.”

  “They called you a tree?”

  “Better than being named after a cow shed.”

  She giggled quietly and Chocolate gave a little skip next to her, her tongue lolling. “A cow shed?”

  “Do you know anyone called Byron?”

  “Is that what Byron means? A cow shed?” She grinned. “That explains why Byron at school is always in a bad mood. Do names always mean something?”

  “Nearly always.”

  “Even mine?”

  “What is yours?”

  “Charlotte. But everyone calls me Charlee.”

  “They call you Charlee because they care.”

  She snorted doubtfully. “You don’t know my folks.”

  “If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t call you anything at all. Strangers call you Charlotte, right?”

  “When they know that’s my name.”

  “People who think they’re friends, that they have the privilege because they’re friends, they’re the ones who call you Charlee. So that’s the meaning of your name for them. That you’re a friend.”

  “Friend?” She sounded incredulous.

  “It’s not a direct translation, like my name. But that’s the baggage that goes with your name.”

  She thought about it for a few steps, her lips pursed doubtfully.

  The farther they walked from the alley, the better he felt. But there was still one big problem he had to deal with. Pulling her an
d Chocolate away from the battlefield created a problem. She had seen him fighting, although on his personal Richter scale of battles, this confrontation barely registered. But she had seen the sword. What to do?

  They had turned the corner into 162nd and were heading for Cauldwell, when Charlee gave him the hint he needed.

  “My house is just up there.” She pointed, suddenly shy. No, not shy. Cautious.

  He wondered why she was wary now, when she had been almost free-spirited once they had left the alley. His dispatch of the gang leader, Lonzo, didn’t seem to have made any negative impact on her at all. He recalled her reaction to his suggestion that karma had caught up with the boy. Did the idea of Lonzo getting his just desserts make it alright in her eyes? Were all kids that resilient? He didn’t know.

  “I have to go in the back way,” she added.

  Ahh… He mentally sighed. Now he understood. She had crept out secretly earlier in the night. Now she needed to sneak back in and was hoping he would cooperate. Any other adult would insist on talking to her parents or guardians, if she had them. This was a relatively peaceful neighborhood. The chances were good she had someone who was technically watching out for her, even if they were actually asleep at the switch.

  Or perhaps she was too sneaky for them.

  “Do you steal out of your house a lot?” he asked.

  She bit her lip, her eyes big, as she assessed him, trying to determine where he was taking the conversation and therefore what the best answer would be to get him to work with her.

  Asher slowed, giving himself time to resolve this before they reached the house she had pointed out. “If you tell the truth, I’ll tell the truth,” he told her. “Deal?”

  She turned to face him, her back to the row of wrought iron and wooden fencing lining the footpath. The houses were square and small. Despite their tiny proportions, they were still jammed up against each other. Many of them had common walls. It was New York’s version of the terrace housing the Brits put up with. From one of them, he couldn’t tell which, Blondie was urging everyone to call her, at the top of her lungs. It made him wince. If he was going to listen to music at that volume, he’d much rather listen to The Wall, which Pink Floyd had just released.