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Writer's picturePaige Regan

Chapter Eight

"Don't beat yourself up about it, kid. No one would'a guessed Louis grew a spine."


Silas roughly patted Spade's shoulder as they stepped into the Catfell Club. Spade dragged his feet behind him, the bitterness of his first failed mission weighing heavy on his mind. He joined Silas at the bar, allowing the older man to order for him as he stared at the empty dance floor. 


It was too early for dancers or music. By night the club would be filled to the brim as the bass resonated in their bones and the neon stage lights reflected the powdered drugs on their skin, but until then, the X-run business looked like little more than the abandoned warehouse it had taken over. 


Cracks trailed across the cement floor and two broken windows had been temporarily taped over with silver tape. A few early patrons lingered at the bar, but it would be hours yet before the party began. 


Spade wondered if they were here for the other entertainment. Silas had pointed out the attached storage facility partially hidden in the back when they entered, each unit renovated with carpets, drapes, beds, and enough soundproofing to forget that you weren't the only one paying for a good time. They weren't as luxurious as Madame Love's, but few could compare to one of the Lenore's longest-standing businesses.


"Drink up," Silas said, sliding a glass of amber liquid to the side. 


Spade stared into the cup, vaguely recognizing the sharp scent from one of the bottles in Dral's stash. 


Silas nudged the glass again. "It's bourbon. Ever have it?"


Spade shook his head and took a sip. He grimaced but continued to drink, slowly adjusting to the sweetness behind the burn. Spade never had much of a sweet tooth but wondered if his brother might like it instead.


With a grin, Silas downed his glass and let out a loud, satisfied, "Ah!" before ordering another. Spade finished his slowly, each sip more miserable than the last. What was there to enjoy when he couldn't even–


"Spade!"


Two strong arms pulled Spade off of the stool. He tensed, ready for a punch–but found himself in a hug instead.


"Aroth, Spade, I've been looking everywhere for you!" Coren shouted, enveloping Spade into a crushing embrace. "When I got off my shift, you were gone and Knight–Aroth, I haven't even found him yet–but don't worry, we'll find him. He can't be far. We'll–"


"Who's the talker?" Silas asked.


"Knight's fine," Spade said, ignoring Silas. He squirmed out of Coren's death grip enough to get a good look at the dirt scuffed on his pants. Coren's clothes were slightly damp and wrinkled, as if they didn't get enough time in the sun to dry. "What happened to you?"


"That's what I should be asking you," Coren said, his tone a mixture of frustration and worry. "I told you, I've been looking everywhere. Stayed up all night trying to find your ass. I thought I was gonna find you in a ditch somewhere."


"Well, here I am." Spade shrugged playfully, but the humor fell flat. Things were so chaotic last night, he didn't even consider that Coren might have been out looking for him. He imagined Coren braving the storm to make sure they were safe–and Spade hadn't tried to bring him along. It was a punch to the gut. "Knight's fine, too. I found somewhere for us to stay last night."


Coren's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank Evonry. I didn't want to think about what might've happened to him."


"We're fine," Spade reiterated. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "Listen, I finally got some good luck. See that guy?" He gestured to Silas over his shoulder. Silas waved with his glass of bourbon. "He's with X. I'm working with them now."


"You're with X?" Coren's brows furrowed as he looked between Spade and Silas. Spade had expected some kind of relief of congratulations, but Coren offered neither. "Are you sure about this?"


First Knight, now Coren. Why did everyone have to doubt his decisions? "Yes, I'm sure. I had my first mission today."


"Already? Look, Spade…" Coren pressed his lips into a thin line. He seemed to be figuring out what to say next. "Why didn't you talk to me about this before jumping into it? I'm sure we could've worked something out."


"I didn't realize I needed your permission to do anything," Spade said. 


Coren grimaced."That's not what I meant. It's just, you know." He kicked his foot against the concrete floor, looking solemn. "It's good to have a second opinion on these things."


"There wasn't time for a second opinion." Spade could feel his irritation rising, the very same as when he talked with Knight. Part of him felt bad for leaving Coren behind, but the storm had been upon them. If he hadn't made a snap decision, who knows what the storm could have done to them? "We had to find shelter. Even if we grabbed you, it's not like you would've come with us."


Coren's frown deepened with hurt. "Why do you think that?"


"You would've gone to X?" Spade asked skeptically. Coren glanced away, confirming his answer. "Like I thought."


"I'm just saying, there are other options…" Coren sighed and dug his hands deep into his pockets. The way Coren avoided looking at Spade directly told him that he wouldn't like what else his friend had to say. 


"Like the Black Hearts?" Spade guessed, his nose turned in disgust.


"I talked  to some of them at the orphanage last night," Coren said. He spoke too quickly for Spade to interject.  "They had some recruiters out. Said I would be a good fit, so…"


"So you signed up." Spade wanted to be angrier, but all he felt was a tired resignation. His hatred for the Black Hearts had been as long lasting  as Coren's dream to join them. He couldn't blame him–the Black Hearts offered food, shelter, and a clean set of uniforms for every season. The offer was too tempting to refuse.


Even Spade had tried to join once but was shot down for being too small. Too weak. If he couldn't make it, there wasn't a hope in the world that Knight stood a chance, and Spade wouldn't leave the Gate without him.


Coren, on the other hand, was tall and fit. A little scrawny, but he got fed enough scraps from the butcher's that he had enough bulk on his body to show potential. It wasn't a surprise that the Blackhearts Guard would eventually recruit him.


"They're not all bad," Coren said softly. "A couple of them even came out with me to look for you two."


"Was that before or after they kicked us out of our beds?" Spade scoffed. "Left us out to die in the storm?"


"Not all of them agree with that. Some of them are really against it."


"But they still took our beds, right?"


Coren frowned and looked away. "I think you should come with me and talk to them again. They might change their mind–"


"They don't want me."


"That was three years ago, Spade. Of course they didn't want a twelve-year-old!" Coren laughed but it was strained. "You're older now."


"What difference does it make?" Spade snapped. "They're just another gang, Coren, except this time they're sponsored by the crown. I already have somewhere to go."


"So you want to remain a criminal?" Coren lowered his voice and glanced at Silas, who waved at him with his glass and a grin. "Come on, don't be mad. You know why I had to join. Belsey was gonna kick me out in a month or two, anyway."


"Yeah, I know." It was the bitter reality that Spade had been scrambling to avoid. Once they turned eighteen, the orphans were considered adults and forced onto the streets. The ones that weren't able to find immediate work usually applied for the Black Hearts or joined one of the gangs. The ones that didn't… well, Spade had seen them here or there–both at the end of his blade and facedown at the docks. 


He would not become one of them.


Coren touched his shoulder. The gesture was tender and bittersweet, but the comfort Spade usually found from his friend twisted into something harder to place. A knot in his throat made it difficult to talk. They'd known each other since birth, or close to it–Spade couldn't remember when either of them had come to the orphanage. Coren had always been there, more of an older brother than a friend. Only two years apart, Coren had taught Spade and Knight how to tie their shoes, how to navigate the streets, and which floorboards creaked the least so they could sneak about without getting caught. 


It was all coming to an end. Or something like it. Spade felt like he was walking on air, his feet brushing through the clouds as he dipped lower and lower into the sky, waiting to drop through and crash into the ground. He wanted to stay there, clinging to the cloud that was Coren, the childhood they shared, before everything evaporated away. 


"If you change your mind, you know where to find me, okay?" Coren squeezed Spade's shoulder once before letting go. Their paths had diverged, and each step Coren took to the exit left a chasm in his wake.


Spade climbed back onto his stool and requested another drink.


"Friend of yours?" Silas craned his neck curiously to watch Coren leave before the metal door slammed shut.


"Brother," Spade said. 


"Huh. Looks nothing like ya, but y'know, I once met these twins that–let me tell you–the difference was night and day. Literally. You wouldn't believe it!" Silas leaned against the bar, his speech slurring together. "You got one bitch lookin' like white paste and the other's–"


Spade tuned him out and focused on his liquor. He'd made his decision to stick with X; now he just had to make sure Crow would let him stay. After the disaster at Louis's… 


Aroth, he had to do something.


"What I'm sayin' is," Silas said, slamming his hand on the bar to get Spade's attention. "People come and go, even brothers. You can't expect anyone to stick around. Boy says he's gonna be a Black Heart? In this case, best to let go. You two got nothin' in common anymore. This isn't the orphanage anymore, kid."


Annoyed by Silas's unwelcome advice, Spade drummed his fingers against the bartop–but he couldn't deny that Silas was right. They all had to grow up sometime. That time just came sooner than he thought. 


+++


It was well past dark when Spade and Silas stumbled back into the tunnels of No. X, their cheeks flushed and speech slurred as they fumbled back to their rooms. Spade hadn't meant to stay out so late, but one drink turned into another and before he knew it, the club had filled up and Spade was shouting for shots while Silas played cards with some men in the corner. 


Drunkenness was not a new phenomenon for Spade, but it was a rare one–especially to this degree. Memories of the night flitted like butterflies through his mind, too small and quick to catch. His body swayed over dizzying patterns of bricks and concrete and carpet. A smile was plastered to his face while his giggling echoed through the halls, the pleasant warmth of liquor running through his system enough to motivate him towards Ashe's bedroom.


It might have taken ages to find Ashe's room. Or maybe minutes. Spade genuinely couldn't tell–all of the tunnels looked the same and the ache in his legs felt dull and unrecognizable–but suddenly he was there, nearly slamming the door into Knight as he pushed it open.


"What's this?" Spade tried to say more, but the words came out slow and dragged as if they'd been raked from his mouth. His mind registered the scene at a similar pace, first noticing Knight sitting on the floor, then the gaming controller in his hand, the TV, the two plates of mostly eaten food on the floor, and finally a short redheaded girl with her own controller beside Knight.


"Are you drunk?" Knight asked, incredulous. The redhead rolled her eyes beside him and wrinkled her nose in disgust.


Spade tried to answer but a wave of nausea kept his mouth shut. He gripped the doorframe to steady himself and waited for the sickness to pass. This was bad–this was very bad. No one was supposed to know that he and Knight were here. What would this girl say? Was she going to tell Crow? Tell Charien? Spade had to fix this. He could fix this. He just needed to keep the contents of his stomach inside first.


"I can–I can explain," Spade said after a moment and gestured toward his brother. "We're here. Why we're here." Aroth, he couldn't think straight. "We–"


"Ashe brought you," the girl said matter-of-factly. She stood up and Spade stared at her, trying to figure out her age. She was so short, barely coming up to his chest. What was a little kid doing in here? She turned to Knight, showing remarkably little interest in Spade. "I'm gonna get ready for bed. Thanks for the games."


"Thank you," Knight replied with a smile. Spade stared at them, dumbfounded. "Are you still okay with teaching me how to make that cake tomorrow?"


"If you're feeling up for it." She spared a disinterested glance at Spade before rolling her eyes again, roughly brushing past him to exit the room. 


Spade managed to curb the nausea long enough to settle onto the floor, fully convinced that he would be sleeping there tonight. There wasn't a possibility in the world that he'd be able to climb up to the top bunk without vomiting. "Knight, toss me a pillow."


"Sure." 


Spade closed his eyes as his brother fumbled around the room before tossing a pillow onto his face. He ripped the pillow away, the gesture using more energy than he anticipated. "Aroth, Knight!"


"Don't start," Knight snapped. Spade finally looked up. The anger on his brother's face sobered him some. "You didn't come back for hours. I didn't know if you were dead."


It took everything in Spade's aching body not to roll his eyes. "I'm here, aren't I? Not dead."


"For now," Knight muttered. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sat down on the bottom bunk. Knight seemed like he wanted to argue but kept his thoughts to himself. 


Spade knew what he wanted to say; Spade's job was an elephant in the room. It bothered his brother–there was no way it wouldn't–but it wasn't an argument Spade was willing to have. He had to do what he could for the both of them, and Knight needed to understand that.


Silence enveloped them. Spade rested his eyes, the weight of the day pulling him under. He could feel his body succumbing, eager to follow suit. Sleep. He needed a good night's sleep…


"How was your day?" Knight asked, pulling him back to consciousness. 


Spade almost didn't answer. "What?"


"Your day. Work. How was it?"


"You don't want to hear about that," Spade said. 


"Why do you think that? I asked you about it, didn't I?"


Annoyance kept him awake now. Spade dragged one eye open and then the other, glaring up at his brother. "Don't pretend you care about my job, Knight. We both know you hate what I do. Everything I do."


Knight threw his hands up in frustration. Whatever patience he'd built up since Spade's return crumbled to dust. "Fine! I don't like you killing people, but I still would've preferred knowing instead of you keeping another secret from me."


"What do you mean another secret?"


"Don't be stupid," Knight snapped. "You don't tell me anything: where you're going, who you're with, what you do–"


"Didn't think I had to, mom."


"Does Coren know about this? Am I the only one that didn't know?"


"Yes!" Spade was sitting up now, the bellow of his voice rendering Knight silent. "Everyone knows, Knight. Aroth, it's not like I even tried to hide it that well. Now are you going to let me sleep or are you going to bitch at me all night?"


Knight stared at him for just a moment before shutting the light off and climbing into bed, keeping his back to his brother. Spade rolled on the floor opposite to him. He forced his eyes shut. If it wasn't for the alcohol in his system, the anger drumming in his veins would make sleep difficult. 


Things as they were, Spade passed right out.


+++


The morning came with regrets. Revelations. And a lot of nausea.


Spade pushed past this last part as he wound his way back to Ashe's room–was it his room now?–with a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, eggs, oatmeal, and orange juice. The mixed scents made him want to vomit, but Spade held it in. He owed his brother an apology and Coren had always said the way to a person's heart was through their stomach.


Too bad Knight was the most stubborn person Spade knew.


His brother was already climbing out of bed when Spade arrived. Knight spared him no more than a glance before getting dressed, the irritation almost visible from the tension in his shoulders.


"Hey," Spade said, holding the tray up a little bit. "I brought breakfast."


Knight did not look at him. Spade sucked the air between his teeth and set the tray down on the bottom bunk. This was not the first time that Spade had pissed his brother off–oh no, he was a master at such fine arts–but they were often little things that a good night's sleep and an apology could make up for. They had lines drawn between them over the years that neither dared cross, or–in the disastrous case that they had–were kept safely locked away lest they weaponize them later.


Truth was one of those lines. Knight relied on honesty, especially when his survival depended on it, but for Spade… the lies came easy. Why tell the truth when it would cause more problems, especially when he didn't always have the answer? Even now a part of him regretted his honesty. 


But was it worth keeping up the lies? Knight was patient and understanding, but once pushed too far, he was not easily forgiving. He wore his grudges like medals of honor; few in number, but unmistakable in battle. Spade feared whatever this new chasm had erupted between them would be another ribbon on his brother's lapel.


Spade took one of the cinnamon rolls and waved it in front of Knight's annoyed face. "I made this for you."


Knight paused, first looking at the treat and then his twin with skepticism. "No, you didn't."


"Well, no," Spade admitted. Knight tried to step around him to leave, but Spade threw his arm out, still waving the sticky bun in his face. "But I tried. Savvy came in and made everything after I burned the first batch."


"Ah." Clarity passed over Knight's face. "That sounds more like it."


"But we made it for you. She said you need to eat up. Get strong. Put your weak ass muscles to some use." Spade smiled wryly at his own joke, but dropped it when Knight didn't laugh. Still, his brother eyed up the cinnamon bun, and that was a start. Spade grabbed his brother's hand and placed the bun in it. "Go ahead. There's more on the tray."


Knight finally glanced toward the bed where his food was growing cold. "You aren't hungry?"


Spade grimaced. "I don't want to look at food for at least another twelve hours."


Knight hummed in response, but Spade could see some of the tension leaving his brother's posture. Annoyance was better than fury, he decided, and took that as a small win. Knight returned to the bed and, after briefly looking over the meal, took a bite.


"Savvy made this?" he asked.


"Mhm."


Knight chewed thoughtfully. "At least I know it isn't poisoned."


Spade let out a deep breath. He was forgiven. For now.


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