The Changelings (War of the Fae: Book 1) (5 page)

Tony and I looked at each other.
 
He put his hand in his bag, making me suddenly very nervous.
 
The last thing I wanted to see was that gun coming out and Tony playing Rambo again.

We heard the lock click open.
 
The door opened a crack while whoever was inside verified it was Jared standing there.
 
The door opened a little bit more and then stopped.
 
"Who the hell are
they?"
 
The female voice coming from within didn't sound very happy.

"Don't worry about it," said Jared, pushing on the door, opening it the rest of the way, the girl stepping back to make room.
 
"After you," he said, gesturing to the gloomy dark interior.

Even though it was dark inside, the girl at the door was easy enough to see, illuminated by the light of the late afternoon Miami sun – bright and hot as hell.
 
She was tall and skinny, a little dirty, hair almost scrappy looking.
 
None of this, though, could obscure her beautiful face.
 

Tony was awestruck.
 
I elbowed him in the stomach so he would close his mouth, afraid he was going to drool on me.
 
Tony's reticence about entering the dark warehouse disintegrated in the face of this Aphrodite standing in front of him.
 
He stepped forward, entering the building and disappearing into the blackness within.

Jared stood looking at me expectantly.
 
"What are you afraid of?"

Pfft
.
 
"Nothing," I said.
 
False bravado is my friend.
 
I stepped into the darkness behind Tony, hoping I wasn't about to become a teen runaway statistic.

Once inside, our eyes adjusted quickly and we could see that Jared and Angry Girl weren't the only ones here.
 
Three other teenagers were sitting on a couch and some chairs set up in the middle of the small warehouse space.
 
In the center of this not so cozy space was a banged up coffee table with a group of mismatched burning candles on top.
 

"Hey, Jared, what's up?" asked one of the kids sitting on the couch in a slight southern accent, one I identified as coming from central or north Florida, a little rednecky in flavor.
 
I immediately named him Tom Sawyer in my mind because he looked exactly like I always pictured that character
 
– straw colored hair and freckles, devilish look permanently stuck on his face.
 
I could picture him sitting on a dock, fishing in one of central Florida's many gator-ridden lakes.

"Nothin'.
 
Found some lost souls at the station.
 
Meet ... " he gestured to us so we would introduce ourselves.

"Tony.
 
Nice to meet you all."

"Jayne."
 
I wasn't sure yet if it was nice to meet them so I kept it short.
 
Angry Girl was still making me feel a little unwelcome with the cold stare she was giving me.
 
I gave her my hard look, hoping she scared easily.
 
I've been told my hard look is not much scarier than a chipmunk's, but I do what I can.

Angry Girl shut the door behind us.
 
Tony stepped over closer to me, and I was glad for his nearness.
 
I didn't feel threatened, but this wasn't my usual scene.
   
The living rooms I was normally accustomed to had lights, electricity, and a house around them.
 
I surveyed the room's vast openness and complete lack of decoration.
 
This would probably be a great place for a rave.
 
I'd never been to one, but I'd seen them in the movies.

Jared asked the group in the chairs, "Where's Spike?"

"He went out to play for a while, scare up some grub," answered Tom Sawyer.

"Spike's our resident musician.
 
He plays over on 54
th
Avenue and usually makes enough money to buy a pizza and some coke," explained Jared.
 
"Go ahead and have a seat, make yourselves at home."
 
Jared turned his back on us to have a whispered conversation with Angry Girl.

Tony and I walked over to the sitting area and sat down on the couch next to each other and Tom Sawyer.
 
Tony looked nervous, but probably no more than I did.
 

"So, Tony and Jayne, where are you guys from?" asked a small black-haired girl sitting in one of the chairs.

"West Palm," I said, not sure how much detail she wanted but unwilling to give more.

"Cool, I'm from Tampa.
 
My name's Becky by the way.
 
And that's Finn on the couch next to you from Apopka, Chase there is from Maryland, and Samantha at the door – she's from Miami.
 
Nice to meet you guys."

"Finn?"
 
I got a big grin on my face; I couldn't help it.
 

"What's so funny?" asked Finn.

"Oh nothing, just ... nothing.
 
Nice to meet you, Finn."
 
Huckleberry Finn, that is.
 
I had almost gotten it right.

Finn looked at me suspiciously, probably not believing I wasn't somehow mocking him since I still couldn't get the goofy grin off my face.
 

The Chase guy just sat there, not saying anything.
 
He didn't look mad – actually he seemed pretty zen.
 
He was sitting down, so I couldn't see all of him, but even so it was easy to see he was a big guy with broad shoulders and thick legs.
 
His hair was blonde and cut in a military style.
 
He looked like he'd just dropped out of boot camp or something.

Becky seemed pretty nice.
 
I was feeling less nervous being around her.
 
She was super little, so I was pretty sure I could bring her down if need be.
 
She sat cross-legged in the chair, practically bouncing every time she talked.
 
She was one of those types that was enthusiastic for no reason.
 
Normally those kind of people bugged me, but she seemed okay.

It got really quiet so we could hear Angry Girl, otherwise known as Samantha, arguing with Jared.
 
I couldn't really hear what she was saying, but my guess was she wasn't happy about us being there.
 

Tony elbowed me in the ribs.
 
I looked at him and he was gesturing not too covertly towards the far wall, off to our right.
 
There were some flattened cardboard boxes, a couple of mattresses, and what looked like some grungy sleeping bags, all set out in neat little rows.

"That's where we sleep," explained Finn, no expression on his face.
 

Yikes.
 
I wondered if we were going to be invited to sleep there.
 
I was trying to figure out a polite way to turn them down when Samantha and Jared came over.

"Hi.
 
I'm Samantha."

Obviously she'd been forced to come over and play nice.
 
Jared was standing casually off to the side.
 
The pecking order was now becoming clear.
 
Jared, Samantha, maybe Chase, Finn, Becky.
 
Done
.
 
I wondered how long they had been here and what their stories were.
 

Tony pushed his glasses up higher on his nose.
 
"Hi Samantha, nice to meet you."

Tony was always so polite.
 
He was my better half, if it was possible to have a non-romantically involved other half.

"So ... ," I stopped, unable to think of what to say next.
 
I wasn't good with awkward silences.
 

Someone banged on the door, saving me from my sorry attempt at conversation.
 
Samantha walked over and opened it, admitting a skinny guy with jet black, spiked hair and an acoustic guitar, also black.
 
He walked in sideways, the last thing coming in being his right hand holding up a pizza like a delivery boy.

"Soup's on!" he said cheerfully.

Everyone smiled and offered him their congratulations.
 
Apparently it's a big deal to come back from the streets carrying a pizza.
 

He brought the food and his guitar over to the sitting area, putting the pizza down on the table, saying, "Dig in; there's a piece for everyone, even the new guys."
 
He smiled at Tony and me, holding out his now free hand.
 
"I'm Spike.
 
Welcome to our humble home."

Tony and I took turns shaking it.
 
"Jayne and Tony," I said.
 
Man, did Spike sure have a cute smile.
 
And cool teeth ... if it was possible to have cool teeth.
 
They weren't movie star straight, but for some reason I dug them instantly.
 
They suited his look perfectly ... kinda messed up, friendly, sharp on the corners – if that makes any sense at all.
 
As I was thinking it, I doubted my own sanity.
 
I saw Tony staring at his smile too though, so I made a mental note to ask him later what he thought of Spike's teeth .
 
Tony wouldn't think I was crazy, I was pretty sure.

Everyone took a piece of pizza and ate in silence.
 
Spike pulled a two-liter bottle of soda out of his backpack, and everyone but Tony and me took turns swigging out of the bottle.
 

"Worried about cooties?" asked Becky, giggling and then burping the cutest burp ever.
 
What is it with tiny girls and their tiny burps?
 
When I burp, I sound like a trucker.

I shrugged.
 
I wasn't going to lie; and I also wasn't going to drink after six pretty scrappy looking runaways.
 
I was assuming they were runaways since they looked the part and seemed to be living together here in this warehouse.

I could see that they were some sort of cohesive group – maybe not a family in the traditional sense of the word, but they ate together, slept together, and apparently had some sort of agreement between them that Jared was the boss and Spike kept them fed.
 
At least, he provided the pizza and soda which are two of the four main food groups in my world.
 
I wondered how long they'd been together and how long they'd been living here in this warehouse.

Tony searched around in his bag and pulled out a bottle of water.
 
We shared it, trying not to be too obvious about our cootie aversion.
 
"Trying to cut back on the sugar," I offered as explanation.
 
I'm not sure that they fell for it, but at least they acknowledged my effort to take the sting out of our rejection.

I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable; not because of the company we were keeping but because I had to go to the bathroom pretty bad.
 
We'd been in the warehouse a couple of hours by this time, and so far all I'd been able to see from where I was sitting was the living room, front door, and sleeping area ... no bathroom.
 
Luckily Tony has a weaker bladder than I do.

"Um, guys, is there a bathroom we could use around here anywhere?" he asked.

"I'll take 'em," said Becky cheerfully.
 

She jumped up off her chair.
 
"Follow me, guys; it's not far."

We grabbed our bags, following her out the door and down the nearby alley.

"So, did you guys just get here from West Palm?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Tony, "just before we came here to your place."

"You gonna stay a while or are you headed somewhere else?"

I elbowed Tony, signaling him not to give our secrets away, even though we really didn't have any secrets.

"Not sure.
 
We don't really have a plan.
 
We were going to find a place to sleep near the beach or something."

"You don't want to do that," said Becky, a warning note in her voice.
 
"It's not safe.
 
There are some pretty mean guys who go there looking for homeless people – several kids have been beat up pretty bad lately."
 
She turned to look at us, walking backwards.
 
"You can stay with us.
 
We've been here a few weeks now.
 
It's not much, but it's dry and safe ... none of those guys know we're here."

"Do you know the guys – the ones who beat people up?" asked Tony.

"Not
know them
know them, but we're pretty sure we know who they are; gangster types that deal drugs and have prostitutes down there.
 
Some of the beaches here aren't too nice at night."
 
She shrugged her shoulders and then turned back around.
 
"Here we are."

We were standing in front of a blue and white port-a-potty.
 

"It smells pretty bad and it's not the cleanest thing in the world, but it's better than going in the street."
 
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wadded-up napkin, handing it to me.
 
"Here, use this.
 
It's mostly clean."

I took the napkin, staring at it.
 
So this is what my life's come to.
 
I'm a teenage runaway using an abandoned port-a-potty and a gently used Burger King napkin to wipe my nether regions.
 
Oh well – at least I'm not getting my ass kicked down on the beach by a drug-dealing pimp.