Chapter 1

This bar was shit. Live music, Ray had said. Good booze. Tits for days. I should’ve known better. It was Ray, after all. His taste was already shit when he was sober, and he was never sober.

Now that rat bastard was feeling up a streetwalker while I nursed a glass of piss and listened to some poor instruments being murdered live on stage. Of the ten or so other patrons, there was little to say. They looked like the exact kind of people who’d frequent a place like this.

I’d like to say I stuck out here, but that wasn’t true. A blue-collar grunt like me, with little cash and less prospects, was barely a step removed from smack dealers, college dropouts, junkies and thugs. Shit, some of them could very well be better off.

I looked over at the stage again. Terrible band. Midnight Murder or some shit. The lead singer, if he could be called that, was a stringy kid with sunken eyes and hair greasy enough I figured he’d never touched water in his life. He shredded his shitty guitar with as much grace as a woodchipper. The bassist looked like he’d been picked up from a nearby back alley just before the show, and his skill bore out that observation. The drummer, though ... there was something about the drummer.

It was a slip of a girl with long black hair and unhealthily pale skin. Her crop-top revealed twig arms, more bone than meat, and a stomach that went beyond just slim into malnourished. She had deep bags under her eyes that she hadn’t quite managed to hide under thick mascara gone runny with sweat. Her cheeks were gaunt, and her nose was crooked, like it’d been broken and healed wrong. Probably more than once. Her lips were thin, and she had a wicked, tearing scar running from the right corner of her mouth halfway through her cheek.

But none of that was what had piqued my interest in the first place. She fit in with this place just as much as I did. No, it was the way the light reflected off the beads of sweat that covered her body, how it granted her a sort of ... angelic grace.

She shone like a diamond—a scintillating show of glimmer and glitter under the hot spotlight. For the second time tonight, I became entranced by that waifish girl who by all rights I should’ve overlooked as quickly as I did her bandmates. What was it about her? It couldn’t just be the light. It was deeper than that. Had to be.

“You’d think that philosophy degree would come in handy at times like this, but...” I grumbled under my breath.

She looked up then and happened to meet my eyes. My spot at the bar was close to the tiny corner stage, so we could see each other clearly. Startled, she jumped a little on her seat, losing all sense of rhythm.

Neither of her bandmates even seemed to notice the drums had stopped. Some of the clientele glanced over but quickly lost interest. Nobody was here for the music. The girl’s cheeks burned red as she struggled to find her groove again. She did eventually, and they finished the set with no further issues. Well, other than the fact that they still sucked shit.

Whatever it was ... it was probably nothing. My imagination. Maybe the second-hand high. This dive was hazy with pot smoke and stunk to hell.

I stole one last look at the girl as they packed up their shit and climbed off the stage to no applause. I found her staring right at me. Her eyes widened, then she scrunched up her face in thought before offering me the single most awkward, most crooked smile I’d ever seen. Resisting the urge to cringe, I nodded in return. She looked away, cheeks reddened once again. I didn’t.

Instead, I took the opportunity to examine her. Away from the stage light, the bar’s hazy low light did nothing for her. Her baggy black jeans and studded belt combo did little to flatter her non-existent ass, and her combat boots were about as cliché as one could expect from a scene chick.

She caught me staring again as she and her friends moved to the bar. She hesitated for a moment, then winced and straightened up out of her slouched, near-cowering posture. After saying something to her friends, who kept heading toward the bartender, she came my way with a confidence I wouldn’t’ve expected from her.

“Hey there,” she said, smiling brightly. There was a hint of red on her teeth. None of the previous awkwardness remained. “Hope you enjoyed the show!”

“I ... uh, yeah,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “It’s a unique sound. Sorry for distracting you.”

“Unique is one way to put it!” She laughed, the sound clear and sharp. “And no worries, it was my bad. I was on a stage, should’ve expected people to look at me!”

I had a feeling that attention wasn’t something she had much experience with.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued before I could respond. “This loser can’t play for shit and she’s ugly to boot. Why the fuck is she talking to me?”

“I didn’t—”

I backed off and she leaned in. Her smile turned manic as her eyes caught an eerie gleam. “You did, don’t you lie, but I looked good up there, didn’t I? On stage, I mean.”

I nodded. Mostly out of startlement, but it was no lie to say that there’d been something captivating about her. Even if I still couldn’t quite tell what.

Despite my answer, her smile shriveled. “I wish ... I wish I could look like that all the time.”

The girl deflated. Small as she already was, she now made for a pitiful sight. Sure, she was a bit strange, but we were all sad losers here.

“Is that too much to ask? I don’t need to look like Marilyn Monroe. I don’t need to drum like Neil Peart. I just want to ... shine. Just a little bit. Just for a little while.” She looked at me, teary eyes like flickering embers in the half-light. “Is that too much...?”

Probably, I didn’t say. But it wouldn’t do to kick the poor wretch while she was down. I didn’t think of myself as a good man, but there was no need to be cruel to this unfortunate. Instead, I flagged the bartender, slipping him enough cash for two more shots of what I was having.

“Chin up,” I said, slapping her shoulder. Maybe a bit too hard; she jostled forward, gripping the bar to keep her seat. “People like us, we don’t get to mope. Nobody’s gonna pick us up if we give up. We gotta fight, claw and bite for every advantage. Gutter trash doesn’t get to wish upon stars.”

She didn’t respond for a bit. I was afraid I’d hurt her, but before I got too worried, she whispered me a puzzling question. “What if we could, though?”

“What?”

“What if we could...” She lifted her face and looked me in the eye again. There was something in those eyes, deep and fearsome. The dark shadow passed quickly, and they were a young woman’s eyes again. “What if we could? What if we could beg and borrow and steal our way to a wish? Would you do it? Even if you had to do something terrible in return?”

“I don’t—”

There was such an intensity to her gaze that I couldn’t look away. It was like nothing mattered more in the world to her than my answer to that question. Her pupils sharpened to pinpricks as she leaned in, and I could feel a muggy heat emanating from her skin.

“How terrible?” I managed, swiping my newly served glass of swill and taking a swig. It still tasted like piss.

“The worst thing you can imagine,” she whispered, hot breath tickling my chin. It smelled sickly sweet. “A hundred times as bad as that. A thousand. A million. Unimaginably terrible. But to someone else. Not to you.”

Unimaginable? To whom? I thought. “Anyone else?” I asked instead.

“A stranger.” Her voice turned shrill for a moment, then softened again. “Someone you’d see once on the street and then never again.”

“And I’d be able to wish for anything?”

“Your deepest, truest desires.”

“I...” I could taste iron in my mouth. “Probably.” Did she know something...? I shouldn’t have said that, but for some reason, it felt like I shouldn’t lie to her and pretend I gave a shit about the life of some random I’d never meet. That’s how anyone got anything, anyway—at someone else’s expense. Everything you want for everything they have seemed as fair a trade as any.

“Right?!” She brought her face so close that her crooked nose almost touched mine. “Anyone who says they wouldn’t is lying!” Her expression curdled. “Or perfect.” Then she shook her head. “No, even perfect people couldn’t say no. I know one, and she said yes. Didn’t even blink.”

Something about what she said, about her smile, her closeness, her scent ... She took my thoughts to places they shouldn’t go. Fuck. I had to leave before—

I got up suddenly and not at all gently. This wasn’t the kind of place that trusted you to pay after drinking, so I could just go.

“It was great meeting you, but I really have to take my frie—” I swept my gaze around the smoky bar. Ray was nowhere to be seen. Of fucking course. “I have to go. Work tomorrow, you know?” Fuck Ray, I was out.

The girl grabbed my wrist. “Don’t,” she hissed.

Her grip was strong and her hand was hot. It was a feverish touch, in contrast with the sudden chill of my blood. For a moment, it felt as though a noose coiled around my neck. My stomach dropped as an inexplicable sense of danger seized me, and I wrenched my wrist from her grasp with uncontrolled violence. Just as suddenly, the feeling was gone.

When I returned to my senses, I noticed the bar was quiet. Everyone was looking at me. The girl was staring at her hands, slick and bright red with—

Her nose was bleeding, and my right hand hurt. Tears mingled with blood and dripped down her chin onto her palms. She quickly rose from her seat and ran out the nearest side door.

I could feel it. A smile tugging at the corner of my lips at the surprise and pain that had been mixing on her face. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t let myself breathe. I needed to leave.

I once again failed to find Ray, who’d probably slipped away into one of the seedy hotels nearby with his purchase, and made my way outside. Luckily, though everyone kept their eyes on me, no one tried to stop me. I pushed the door open and exited into the slightly less muggy summer air.

With a deep breath, I pinched the bridge of my nose in an effort to reorient myself. It was a fifteen-minute walk to my shitty apartment, and while this wasn’t the best part of town, no self-respecting mugger would bother with someone like me. I knew all the muggers around here anyway.

My first step was a stumble, though, and the world started to spin. No sooner had I started for home than I was on all fours, hands stinging as I dry-heaved onto the sidewalk. I wasn’t even that drunk...

“What the fuck is going on...?” The night did not answer. “She’s not even my type, but she’s so ... ugh ... fuck me...”

With great effort, I pulled myself back to my feet. I also managed not to puke, but wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Should I rest for a while or just go? I didn’t feel woozy anymore but—

Before I could decide, a woman’s scream pierced the night.

Now, usually I’d just go about my business. I was some fuck-up, not a hero. I’d long made peace with the fact that for people like me, life expectancy was inversely proportional to conscience. But was that ... it sounded like the drummer girl?

I found myself walking in the direction of the scream. It had come from just around the corner, from the alley beside the bar. I stopped. If I heard it, the people inside heard it. She had at least those two friends of hers who—weren’t there. They must’ve left while she was talking to me, because I hadn’t seen them on my way out. And the other patrons? They hadn’t even done anything when I broke her nose in front of them—why would they bother now?

“Fuck me,” I muttered, taking a few more steps forward. I stuck my head around the corner to spy into the alley. Among the trash, a man in a dark hoodie pinned the girl against the wall, choking her with one hand and gripping her hair with the other. I should leave. This had nothing to do with me. I should...

One step after another, I snuck up behind the hooded man. The man let go of the girl’s hair and grabbed her shirt, violently tearing it off. I swiped a bottle from the lid of a dumpster. The girl tried to scream again, but she couldn’t even breathe. The man pawed at the girl’s flat chest. She looked like she was on the verge of passing out. I stepped on something, causing it to loudly crack and announce my presence. The man swung around. I swung the bottle. The man crumpled face-down, instantly and soundlessly but for the shrill shattering of glass against his temple.

The girl whimpered, sliding down the filthy alley wall as she drew a ragged breath. For a long moment, I just stood there, broken glass in hand, staring at the girl as she recovered. Not even at her breasts, just ... at her.

Several bugs buzzed around the girl. Round and round ... closer and closer to her exposed skin. My hand brushed against her face—when had I moved to touch her? Her skin was hot. Hotter than before. Burning. I couldn’t move away. I wrapped my hand around her throat and—the girl whimpered.

I stumbled backwards, letting go of her. She shivered against the wall, clinging to the scraps of her shirt.

Again. I—Again ... what the fuck. Fuck. I needed to ... I didn’t know what it was about her, but I needed to get away from her. Look away.

“S—Sorry.” I turned my back to her. “You ... You should probably leave now. Find your friends and go ... away. Home.”

The attacker didn’t seem like he’d be getting up any time soon, so it was probably safe to leave. Before I could walk away, a hand pulled at the hem of my pantleg.

“Don’t...”

Her grip was weak. I could just pull myself free and go on my way. I shouldn’t’ve come here in the first place. I should be halfway home by now.

“Please...”

My breath hitched. I had to leave. If I didn’t...

I turned back around and offered her my hand with a smile. She seemed confused at first, but after some wordless encouragement, she grasped it and I pulled her to her feet as she held the remains of her shirt against her chest. I hadn’t noticed before, but her arms were covered in scars. The sort you left when taking a razor to your own flesh.

“Let’s get you a ride home, at least,” I said, wetting my dry lips. Yes. That was all I was doing. It wasn’t safe here. “Call you an Uber. Got your phone?”

She shook her head and, rather than explain, lifted a hand holding the device. Its screen was cracked and dark. I crouched and delicately took it, and as I’d figured, it was either out of battery or broken.

I clicked my tongue, handing it back. “I’ll call, I suppose.” Having it on my phone would—be expensive. My smile almost faltered. “So, where’d you live?”