Page 5 of Loreblood

Though the same age as me, kept in the same basement when we were diaper-wearers, Baylen Sallow had a swagger to him that rubbed people the right way. Most of the time.

For being six years old, he was quite good at this begging business. Of course, say the word “begging” in the vicinity of Father Cullard and you’d earn a quick smack against the backside. But that’s what it was. I might have been young but I knew enough to understand what he meant by “undignified work” now.

Bay schmoozed the next passing group and got two copper coins from one when he said something funny I missed. I was still too busy fuming, trying to pray away the anger that filled me from that man spitting on me.

It was a struggle to keep down my young wrath. Always was. Made me think there was something wrong with me.

Baylen came back squeezing and rubbing the two coins between his fingers. “See? Easy as sin. It’s all about picking the right mark.”

“The right . . . mark?”

“The target.”

My face screwed up. “Everyone should be welcoming to the plight of the Truehearts, Baylen. That’s what Father Cullard says.”

“Sure, butshould beandwill beare two different things. Look where we are.” He spread his arms at the dingy street. Human and animal shit was tucked against the road. Other beggars sat and slept in shadows with their bottles. The buildings were ramshackle, dilapidated. “We’re in the poorest district in Nuhav. We’re trying to pick off working people who already have so little.”

He was right. “What are we supposed to do? Father Cullard wants us staying close to the House because we’re young.”

His little nose flared. “It’s bullshit.”

I gasped. “Don’t say that, Baylen!”

Laughing, Baylen took my arm and pulled me away from the street. “Sorry, Seph. You’re still innocent. I like you like that.”

And I liked how he grabbed my arm, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Besides, he was six—what worldly experience did he have that I lacked?

Maybe he was right and I needed to get wiser to all this. Maybe I could learn something from him.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m starving. Mother Eola will have second meal ready soon.”

I glanced up at the sun, which sat at its peak in the sky. We’d been here nearly three hours and it was time to eat.

I hurried with him and we padded down the road, avoiding the shit piles and merchants with their creaky barrows. The wind blew in my hair, Baylen shared a look with me, and we both smiled.

There was something freeing about running aimlessly in the wind, like we were runningfromour troubles, even though we were headed right for the House where they all began.

“We’re gonna be late,” Bay said, his smile disappearing. He slowed down as we reached the mouth of an alleyway, glancing into the darkness. “Follow me. There’s a shortcut.”

“. . . Baylen,” I whined hesitantly.

He scoffed. “Don’t be such a little girl, Seph. You scared of a little darkness? You know how Mother Eola is if we’re even a minute late for second meal!”

He was right, again. If we didn’t show up on time, we wouldn’t eat. The rest of the day on the corner would be torturous.

So I followed Baylen into the alley.

There was a reason Father Cullard had told us to never take shortcuts—in life, on the roads.

We were ten feet from the exit when an arm lashed out of nowhere from behind a trash barrel and clotheslined Baylen. He flipped to the ground and the bowl of measly copper coins went pinging across the cobbles.

I squealed, gaping in horror.

Three older boys stepped out from the shadows, chuckling. Baylen groaned, writhing on the ground, grabbing at his throat and taking big gasping breaths of air. The boys stood over him in a circle.

“Bay!” I wailed.

The boys turned to the sound of my voice. There was crudeness in their eyes—they looked to be thirteen, fourteen years old, and scary.