Cold and dry, the only blessing of the day was that it wasn't raining. He'd seen his fair share of homeless die in winter's teeth. Rain soaked into clothes, stripping meager warmth from threadbare fabric. Cold came in behind the wet, chilling skin and burrowing into bone. The fangs of winter killed the young and old, savaging the forgotten in the huddled corners of the city. They were the deaths no one wanted to know. So much easier to enjoy life without truths gleeful smile.
As it always did when he was alone, his mind turned along the well-worn tracks of the girls. He shouldn't have left Elizabeth like that, shouldn't have cut her to see her bleed. The words she'd let loose with casual poison burned in his memory. The betrayal flamed with incandescent fire, lighting his soul in all its tortured glory. Despite that, he shouldn't have weaponized his words.
Alexandra would be fine. She had training, and he had to trust she knew what she was doing. Both of them returning to lives they should hate. Lives that had brutalized their bodies and minds, carved away the good, butchering them into sharks with soulless eyes. And like the murders of the sea, there was nowhere else they belonged. This was the only place they fit; this was home.
Anastasia … he'd wanted to stay with her. He'd gone back on his word, had betrayed something he should have found a way to make work. Cesare had told her he'd be there for her if she ever needed him, and when she needed him, he'd left her. Had he broken his word for pride?
Pride didn't put food on the table. Wouldn't keep a roof over his head, or warm him on a cold night. It was the most useless of emotions. Pride died quick and hard on the streets. No, the thing that had forced his hand was fear. If they saved him, it would poison their friendship. Pity would taint and sicken what they had, coat it in a skim of decaying shit. He'd rather be here alone than have that happen.
Lady Kali … he owed her, knew that deep in his bones were only truth lived. She'd come through for Alexandra, but only because Cesare had asked her too. He'd needed her, and she'd been there. They didn't know each other, but that wasn't her fault. She'd never wavered in her determination to get to know him, but he'd shied away from her ferocious interest like a kitten being cuddled by a mastiff. Tonight, he'd write her a letter. It was the least he could do, not only for what she'd done but for the friendship she offered.
Hours bled together as the duo made their way over the city streets. It was too cold to walk the streets for fun; the only people out were those with nowhere to go. People used the streets to get somewhere, work, store, friends. The grotesque truth was, the homeless lived on the streets but went nowhere. Stuck inbetween, neither here nor there, they were always travelling but never arriving.
He'd never fit at school, and that had nothing to do with the monsters. He wasn't used to being in one spot for long. Always moving, he was bound for nowhere. Everything about school was foreign to him, and no matter how he tried, it always felt like an irate cat getting its belly rubbed.
But out here … it was like slipping into an ocean after being caged in a fishbowl. The perpetual tension that rode his shoulders transformed into the wire tight awareness he was used to. The constant worry about grades, girls, and bullies didn't matter on the streets. Those worries were lost in the reality of cracked concrete. A smile stretched across his face as he breathed in the piercingly cold air. He had money in his pocket, a place to stay tonight, and the promise of a meal later. That was all he needed. There was a beautiful simplicity in only surviving, nothing of comfort or friendship to dim his base hungers.
School gave him everything he needed, taking the hunt from his hands. Looking around at the concrete and steel with the icy wind whipping around him and the rush of being free filling his soul, it was hard to remember why he'd sold himself so cheap. The streets offered no peace, no safety, no comfort, but they forcefed you freedom until flesh ripped and guts pulsed wetly on concrete.
Lady Kali's words from months back came to him. Her quiet longing for a simpler time when she only needed to worry about herself and the world was her backyard. He hadn't understood, not really. But with his steps suddenly light and easy, he could understand now. He wouldn't trade his time with the girls for anything, but he wouldn't give this up for anything either.
The attorney's office was old brick pitted and worn from decades of weather and hard times, a forgotten door between a Subway and a place selling cell phones. The freshly painted door frame couldn't hide the scarred wood underneath. A small sign read 'Rosette Law Offices' in flowing gold cursive against a black background.
Cesare gave himself a once over, lips twisting with well-worn shame. Someday he'd like to meet someone without the marks of the poor and unwanted painting his truth for them to see. He was blind to himself, shame, loathing, and hate had plucked his eyes from his head. He'd only ever seen himself through the eyes of others. It wasn't his thoughts that condemned him; it was the words and eyes of others he'd taken into his heart. Cesare couldn't separate their truths from his own, because the way saw him was the only way anyone had ever seen him.
The brass bell on the door rang through the waiting room as Cesare walked in. A few tattered chairs kept company with a battered table that had seen better decades. A well-used wooden desk stood against the far wall, the woman behind it busily typing on her computer. "I'll be just a moment; you can take seat if you like."
Short and round, her pants suit was a searing green that clashed with her spiked, electric pink hair. Reading over what she'd written with a satisfied air, she nodded to herself before looking up. "Now, how can I .…" The words trailed off as her eyes locked on the wolf. No matter how scary the wolf was, it was equally breathtaking, a living work of art that tore at the heart.
No one had noticed the wolf on the way to the attorney's office. He'd watched cars pass by on the street, driver's eyes moving uncaring over the sable monster. Those that they'd walked by on the street had swept eyes over the wolf without stopping. The wolf wasn't invisible, he'd seen people walk around the predator, but something was happening.
"How did that thing even get in here?" The question hung in the air as the wolf stretched lazily under her wide eyes and laid down next to Cesare. Wrapped around his back, the creature was a crescent of black death. Even standing, the wolf's mass dwarfed Cesare as it lounged behind him.
Long moments passed as the realization slowly came that the wolf wasn't born from a stray bit of acid lodged in her spine. With a visible wrench, she pulled her eyes off the wolf and gave Cesare a careful study. Taking in his patched shoes and threadbare hoodie, she zeroed in on the army duffel on his back.
"I don't work for free kid," she said, looking down in dismissal.
"I have money." The words lifted the woman's head from the computer. Old eyes met his with the world-weary jadedness of a woman that had seen it all and heard it twice.
"Really?" Her chair gave a low creak as she leaned back, gifting him with another appraising look. "It doesn't matter. I have a full day and no openings."
Cesare didn't blame her. Hard luck stories are a dime a dozen in the world. Only the young and soft think they can help anyone. You learn people lie; they cheat and steal, make up stories that warp fact and truth. Then a day dawns and you realize you can't help anyone, most days you can't even help yourself. Instead of a hero, you're just a stranded man on a black ocean with no food or port in sight, starving as the days slip away into forever. That's what life was. When someone trys to get in your boat, you kick them in the face and row away. It's why the world's eyes moved over the poor and broken, because they had nothing to give, it was all they could do to keep themselves alive.
"If I had the money, would you have an opening?" Cesare asked, not even sure why he bothered. There were other lawyers, and he had money. For what he needed, anyone would do, but something vicious and petty wanted him to push this woman to acknowledge him.
"It's not just the consultation fee. You might, just might, have fifty dollars. But so what? I cost two fifty an hour. No matter what problem you have, it's going to take at least two hours and probably a lot more. That doesn't include filing fees. Unless you can put down a thousand on my desk .…" She let the ultimatum trail off.
Cesare fished a sweaty wad of dark green out of his pocket, counting the bills onto the table. "One, two, three, four, five .…" It was all his winnings from last night and a good chunk from working with Elizabeth.
He'd squirreled away every cent he could. Only spending on what he had to have, paper, pens, and books, he'd gone without everything else, no matter the personal cost. Every insult about stained clothes, every time he'd looked down at his torn shoes, all the snide looks about how he smelled, he'd endured it for one goal, freedom.
No one had come for him when he was beaten into the ground, unable to lift himself from the concrete. There was no safe place waiting or knight in shining armor riding to the rescue. The only thing that kept Cesare whole was his own two feet. Adults could beat him, take pleasure in his flesh, use and discard him at their whim. The world was supposed to cherish children, but that wasn't the reality, children were used as disposable as money. Their words were worthless, discarded as fantasy, and only pain came from disagreeing with a grownup. Children didn't have rights, couldn't make choices, not where they lived or what they could do. You can't ask for help when you're a kid, only do what you're told. They were bound to the mercy of adults, and Cesare had never seen mercy from the strong.
Emancipation would change that. He'd have the rights of an adult, decide where he lived, make his own choices. The chains of being a child torn from his flesh, their hooks ripped from scar tissue and raw meat. He'd own the protections they'd kept from him. When a man hit him, he'd be able to call the cops. Homeless kids avoid the demons in blue, because cops don't care why you came to them. They don't care if you've been beaten or raped, savaged by life or starving. Laced into straitjackets of laws, all a cop can do is send you back, even if they're sending you into butchery.
Child is just another word for victim. Small and weak, forgotten by the law, discarded by society as liars, they made easy prey. No matter how much you hurt them, they never went to the cops. So much easier to break a sweet young thing than it was to keep an adult under your thumb.
Looking at the money, her expression soured, lips twisting in on each other. "My fucking luck … fine, wait around." Cesare looked back at the chairs and sofa. Seeing where he was going, she quickly amended. "Outside. I'll hold your money. If you decide you don't want me helping, I'll give you the money back, minus my consultation fee."
Neither of them made a move toward the money as they weighed each other. She could take his money and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. All she had to do was call the cops, it would be her word against his. A lawyer with her own practice against a homeless kid's word. There was no way that would go his way.
But if she was going to represent him, he had to trust her at some point. Instead of giving him something to hang his trust on, she was demanding it up front. His hand twitched toward his money, on the ragged edge of telling her to go to hell. Giving her a nod, he left the office.
Taking a seat on the cold sidewalk, he set his back to the freezing brick with a grimace. At that moment, when he was reaching for the money, he got it. She knew there was no way for her to help him unless Cesare trusted her. Until that happened, he'd only be throwing money away. And he didn't have it to throw away. He had enough to get started, with no guarantee's he could get this much together again.
The wolf laid down next to him as Cesare idly watched cars go by. Digging through his pack; he got out the sandwiches he'd stored in there before he'd left school. The hours crawled by as the day faded, the cold wrapping around him like a ghostly leech, greedily slurping his heat down. Clouds of gray darkness cut off what sun there was, threatening rain with threads of deeper grey. You didn't wonder if life was a bitch on a day like this; you knew she was.
The attorney hadn't lied about having a full day. He picked out her client's before they made it to the door. Caution marked their steps as they shifted around Cesare, eyes never leaving him, even as they pulled open the door to the office.
He'd seen it so many times he didn't have to wonder what they were thinking. Worry that he'd ask for money, followed by anger at being confronted with a boy living on the streets in December. They didn't want to think about kids freezing on streets, and they resented him for thrusting it into their daily life. They walked out without seeing him, having deleted him from reality, practiced apathy shielding them from unwanted truth.
Night had fallen before the door opened, a mop of electric pink hair proceeded the woman as she poked her head out. "Okay kid, come on in."