8
Fabian
Ican’t stop staring at the witch beside me. Giddy at her presence. Her smile is intoxicating, although it’s more strained today than I can remember seeing.
Remember,I scoff to myself. It’s my damn holey memory that’s meant she’s spent the past six weeks hurting. And yet, she’s still willing to come out with me today, to visit the district and see how things lie.
Since I didn’t receive any further panicked phone calls last night, I’m guessing once I knocked enough people out and put out enough fires, things didn’t get off any worse. But who’s to say?
I’ve spent a long time with a heavy sense of responsibility falling mostly on my shoulders. Sure, Z and Roscoe help out, but running the district isn’t something they’re all that invested in. They’re not the ones who grew up with the importance of duty being yammered into their ear at every mealtime whenever my father deigned to show up for those. Every phone call. Every message he sends me, it’s all focused on one thing. The Nexus District.
Every decision I made, even as a teenager, would have a roundabout influence on the district, on the legacy he built.
And for years I went along with it. That was just the way things were and there was no point in arguing.
But recently, those burdens have felt heavier than ever. It was only when the curse kept me sequestered away and messed up my usual routine, I could see things for how they really are. The responsibility of becoming the next leader of the Nexus District is dragging me down, a chain around my neck pulling me into the deep.
And now Felix is dead and my father’s interest in actively running the district is waning. He seems to think it's time for me to step into the shoes that have been laid out for me since birth.
Except, now I’ve finally got to them, I can see they’re made of paper left out in the rain. They’re mush, collapsing as I walk, and they don’t fit right.
But what else can I do other than wear them?
Fuck. I need to pull my head out of my ass. The lack of sleep and the stress are making me melancholic and filling my brain with terrible metaphors.
Silver and I head down to see Roscoe, who lights up like a jack-o'-lantern at the sight of her. He’s doing a lot better today, no longer inches from death’s door like when I reached him last night.
My magic, plus that of the witches in the med bay, have him firmly on the mend, but it was touch and go for a while.
He’s buzzing with energy after apparently drinking down a potion created by Silver’s sister, Luna. Something that should enhance his healing and help knit him back together faster.
It’s practically a fight to keep him in bed, but as good as he feels, there’s no way he’s up to doing any more than resting today. Silver promises to return as soon as we can. Despite the puppy dog look he shoots her, pleading for her to stay longer, we head out.
The snow from last night is slushy, a grubby gray instead of pristine white as we head through the streets together.
Silver stumbles slightly when she spots the smashed windows and fire damage, the signs of violence and destruction.
“People must have been pretty angry,” she murmurs.
The bill for all the damages around here is going to be steep, and my head pounds at the thought of how much work is going to go into fixing things up. We’ll have to dig deep into the district coffers, even though they’re remarkably dry right now after Felix got his grubby hands all over them.
I know what the Archarcans would think if they saw this place right now. They already see us as a bunch of savages rolling around in our own squalor, and now we’ve resorted to smashing up and setting our home on fire.
The city elites are happy to use us for information-gathering, for bringing in less than legal artifacts they can display in their collections and increase their power. But other than that, we’re dismissed as worthless. A faceless, necessary evil, but they wouldn’t give a shit if we set ourselves on fire and burned to the ground.
We head into Gordo’s shop. He’s been one of our loyal street team scouts for years and his shop has stood in this position for over two decades. Today though, the windows are smashed and he’s grumbling to himself as he sweeps up. He barely glances up and continues clearing up as we step inside.
“Anyone injured?” I ask. The place is a mess, but I can’t sense any blood.
He shakes his head in a jerky movement. “You might not want to be flauntingherabout the place unless you want an even bigger mess to clear up.”
My neck prickles in warning as I take a protective step closer to Silver. “How do you mean?”
“People targeted my place because they’d seen your girl here. Remembered seeing her in my shop with the other two.”
