The Flame Keeper

Chapter 25

Sickening cries erupted again and my stomach quivered as the crack of knuckles followed by bones rang through the streets, drawing a small crowd that eyed the scene from down the street, knowing to keep their distance.

"Break it up, break it up!" A voice broke through the tense atmosphere punctured by the shrill screams of Albert as he struggled to cradle his bruises. A man in a dark blue uniform, adorned with rusty metal buttons and wielding a baton stalked across the street to where the two stood—correction, one stood.

The tattooed man scowled as if pitying that Albert's torture had ended so soon, and before he stepped aside he gripped Albert by the coat collar and brought his stinking breath inches away from the bruises his fist had carved into the shattered face.

"You have until tomorrow to meet me outside the Swan," His voice dipped dangerously low as he spat onto Albert's blood-stained coat that had been ripped in several places. Blood trickled down the sides like tears before being swallowed by his broken soul that desperately clung to what little life was pumped into it, his heart a tireless soldier that would have marched on until the end.

"Off of him, sir," The officer commanded, receiving a snarl before the man stormed off, the skinny man casting a withering look at Matilda before joining him and his friend.

"Which bonehead ratted on us?" The man's voice reverberated through the air, racking my body like a rumbling maraca. Only silence responded—who in their right mind would say anything—and the man emptied a bucket of spit on the side of the street as if it would mark his presence to those ignorant enough not to realize it.

The officer had begun heading away when Matilda leapt up and grabbed him by the shirt.

"You have to arrest them," She panted, pointing at the silver-haired man. "He mugged me and the other almost killed him!"

He just gave her a stare that seemed to have seen all the world had to offer: the good, the bad, and every shade of gray in between. "No one's dead, so no one's going behind bars. I don't know what you're doing here in downtown, but keep a watchful eye and you won't end up like him."

Albert let out a gag, flakes of blood splattering the ground as I rushed to his side. I nearly reeled at the sight of his horribly disfigured face, purple bulges littering his cheeks, his right eye swelling like a large balloon, and a thin cut that seeped blood from his forehead.

"Are you alright?" I whispered, for fear that my voice would split his ears.

"Yes," He murmured and his eyes rolled back to reveal veiny whites before they slid back into place uncomfortably. Leaning against the wall with one hand and clutching my arm in the other, he stood up shakily, his arms trembling as he let go. "Pass me some bandages, will you?"

I hastily fished the roll of bandages out of my pants pockets, ripping a few pieces as he taped his bruises. My hands, I suddenly remembered, and wedging the roll between my armpits, I applied a new layer of bandages, wincing as the adhesive pricked the tender flesh.

With a swift motion, Albert whipped out a rolled-up piece of paper, leaned back, and put it to his mouth. Puffs of water vapor drifted from the tube and he let his arms sag as he let out an airy sign.

"Ah, much better," He said, wiping a bead of sweat—no, blood—from his forehead. Then he glared at the paper as if it were something hideous, before tossing it to the ground and stamping it with his good foot.

"That was my last puff, I swear," He said to nobody in particular. Kicking the crushed paper to the side, he headed down the street, a slight limp in his step as he let out a crazed laughter that shattered the gloomy atmosphere above us. It echoed along the street before a few bystanders joined in, and then me, and soon Matilda and Ken. Even Camila flapped her wings excitedly.