Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [3]
“This is your money, Sarah. It’s not much, but if you are careful, you should get by. Do you understand?”
I don’t, but I nod.
“Good. Can you read?”
I shake my head. She frowns and puts aside a list she had been about to give me. For a moment, I think she will say something. Then she takes my arm and leads me to the exit door.
“Good luck, Sarah,” she says and pushes me gently through the doors that open before me.
I step and find myself facing the busy street I had often watched from the windows. Newly processed patients huddle singly and in groups, uncertain what to do. I see Ali and Francis and hurry toward them, the enmity of the morning forgotten.
They only nod and we stand and watch the traffic hiss by. Rain has fallen recently and the streets are still wet. Evening darkness is filling in the gaps left by the parting clouds. Here and there, automatic lights flicker on.
Ali holds Francis by the arm. The other man has retreated into a depression more paralyzing than any of the drugs he has taken in the past.
“See ya, Sarah,” Ali says. “We’re off.”
He shepherds his friend off, muttering confidently. Neither spares a glance for me.
“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I whisper after.
Looking around, I find myself alone and for the first time in memory there is no one to tell me what to do or where to go. The doors of the Home are locked behind me.
Staring out into the darkness, I start to cry.
Two
FOR MANY HOURS I WANDER THE DARK, WET STREETS, COMFORTED only by Betwixt and Between’s witticisms. At last, hungry and wet, even the little dragon falls silent, and I huddle disheartened in a doorway. The cold metal security bars press against my back and the damp pavement seeps through the soles of my shoes and the seat of my pants. Still, I am tired enough that I drowse.
In my dreams, I hear chattering voices. Only when they persist and grow shriller do I begin to suspect that I am not dreaming. Reluctant to relinquish sleep’s shelter, I open one eye. Quickly, I open the other, for I cannot believe what is before me.
A girl crouches on the sidewalk, her head level with mine. Her hair is shaved short and dyed flaming orange; her lips are iridescent blue. She wears tight pants of bright purple leather and a short cape of the same material. When she leans forward to prod me again, her long, silver earrings jingle and I see that she is not wearing a shirt—instead a wolf’s-head tattoo peers out from between her small, round breasts.
I stare at this harlequin, so amazed that I forget to be afraid. Her blue lips curl in a smile both innocent and merry.
“Hey,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“Sarah.”
“I’m Abalone.”
She looks as if she expects me to question this. When I don’t she goes on, “I haven’t seen you before. Are you new on the streets?”
Confused, I can only shrug.
She tries again. “Is this your home?”
I shrug again. “The foxes have their holes and the birds of the air have their nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head.”
Abalone grimaces. “You’re not a preacher, are you?”
I shake my head.
“Wolf’s Heart!” she exclaims suddenly, touching her tattoo. “I’ve got it! You’re from the nuthouse, aren’t you?”
I tilt my head inquiringly.
“The Home, right?” Abalone’s glee is apparent.
“Yes,” I say, happy to please this merry miss.
“Great! Beer and pizza for me,” she says, leaping to her feet. “And Head Wolf will be proud of me. Come on?”
I hesitate.
“C’mon, you don’t want to sleep in the rain, do you?” she asks, putting out her hand to draw me up.
I am familiar with following other’s commands. Taking her hand, I get to my feet. Abalone is shorter than I am. I wonder how old she is. From their place in my travel bag, Betwixt and Between study Abalone.
“What a piece of work is man!” Betwixt chortles.
Between hisses. “She said beer and pizza. It’s better than being cold, wet, and starving.”
I let my guide hustle me away. As she takes me down side streets and alleys, I quickly lose whatever bearings I had. Finally, she pauses before