The cold night air was bracing as I padded out of Papa’s house. A shiver ran up my back as I stepped out onto the street, hands in my pockets, a scarf wrapped around my neck. I was sore, tired, and really wanted to get to sleep. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t allowed tonight.

  Joy had gone back to Hooks’ place, leaving me alone on the couch. I’d managed about ten minutes asleep before waking, barely muffling a scream before I woke the whole house. Another try had seen me laying still as a corpse for nearly an hour before my muscles started cramping. That landed me out here, gun in my pocket and going for a walk around the block.

  Papa had been pretty clear that I shouldn’t leave the house on my own, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Whatever, it wasn’t like a few thugs would be any kind of trouble for me even if I didn’t have a gun. Hell I’d welcome the try, might fucking blow off some steam.

  My chest ached as I walked along the center line of the quiet street. I’d cried enough as it was, really didn’t want to again, but I could already feel my throat tightening. I tried to focus on anything else. I could smell smoke on the breeze, strong enough that it was obviously close by. A frown grew on my face and I turned down another street, heading towards it.

  Probably nothing, a dumpster fire started by some idiots or maybe a hobo fire. But it was more interesting than any of the shit going on in my head. If I spent one more second thinking about Amy I’d—

  “Ay who you with?” a voice shouted from up ahead.

  I looked up and narrowed my eyes. A group of guys were standing around a fire in a barrel, staring at me. My heart started beating faster, but I forced myself to not make a sudden move, just slowly approaching them and the fire. This wasn’t the South End, these guys weren’t Nazis. Hell, they might even be Papa’s friends…

  “I’ve been staying with Papa,” I replied, wincing at how my throat stung when I talked. “That a problem?” A couple of them shared a look.

  “For real?” another asked, crossing his arms. I arched a brow, keeping a firm grip on my pistol but not drawing it.

  “Yeah,” I said flatly. “Work with Zeke, if that means anything.”

  “Wait shit you the cracker Zeke’s been rolling with?” He looked me up and down, shadows dancing on his face. “Bullshit, you a half-pint.” I grit my teeth.

  “And?” I growled. “I make up for it in nine millimeter increments if you catch my drift.” I heard a deep, bassy chuckle and saw an ember glow as one of them took a long drag off a cigarette.

  “Sounds like someone Papa would roll with,” he said, voice booming. “What’s your name, kid?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether they thought I was a guy or a girl, and I wasn’t sure which would be worse. “Anyway, you want something, or can I keep walking?”

  “Where you going?” he asked. “Wrong time of night for a kid to be wandering around alone.”

  “For a walk,” I said shortly. “Couldn’t sleep, so…” I shrugged.

  “Shit, I got some medicine for that,” he said, reaching down to his feet and retrieving an amber bottle that glistened in the firelight.

  “Breaking out the forty already, E-Z?” one of the guys asked.

  “No better time,” the man, E-Z, replied. He unscrewed the lid and held it out to me. I could smell liquor and wrinkled my nose. “Bless the bottle.” I gave him a look as the others reached out, tapping the bottle with their fingers all twisted together. “You too kid.”

  “What?” I glanced between them. “What you want me to smack it?” They shared a laugh.

  “Move your fingers like this,” the one nearest to me said, holding out his own hand. “GDs, see?

  “Sure,” I shrugged, making my fingers look like his. It was a weird shape, but looking at it I could sort of see the ‘G’ and the ‘d’. I knocked my knuckles against the neck of the bottle and got a round of approving nods.

  “Bottoms up,” E-Z said, tipping the bottle back and taking a swig. He swallowed and coughed, shaking his head before passing it to the next person. “Damn.”

  “Thanks cuz,” the guy said, taking a drink of his own and grinning. “Nothing better than free Henny.”

  “So you guys know Papa?” I asked as they continued passing the bottle.

  “Know him? Shit, man practically raised me,” the guy who’d just drank said. “Name’s Jeep, Zeke and me rolled together a couple times.”

  “Oh, okay.” I felt myself relax fractionally. I checked over my shoulder, but the street was clear. “Um, Lia, that’s my name.”

  “Shit you a bitch?” E-Z said, chuckling.

  “Yeah, I guess sometimes,” I sneered. “Zeke...said I was like an assassin. Don’t have to guess what that means.”

  “Big talk,” said another guy, crossing his arms. The fourth held the bottle out to me.

  “What you want me to drink?” I gave him a look.

  “Don’t want it?” he said, swirling the liquid around. “It’s the good shit, help you unwind.” I narrowed my eyes. Amy would be pissed…

  “Give me that,” I snapped, grabbing the bottle. I licked my lips and tipped it back, wincing at the almost painful burn. I swallowed it and coughed violently, spitting the foul aftertaste from my mouth. “Fucking fuck.”

  “First time?” Jeep said, laughing and reaching out for the bottle. I glared at him and took another swig, getting a chorus of ‘ooos’ from the guys. “Shit, go easy.”

  “Screw you,” I said, handing him the bottle and spitting again before wiping my mouth. I shook my head, taking a few deep breaths. “Go as hard as I want.”

  “...and then I kicked him in his teeth like this!” I shouted, driving my foot into the burn barrel hard enough to knock myself on my ass. I giggled and pushed myself up, wobbly. “Anyway so yeah, I fucked up Nazis before.”

  “Hell yeah,” Jeep said, handing me the second bottle we’d been passing around.

  “Ay Jeep, you remember we caught that skinhead bitch on the bus one time?” J-Dog, one of the guys, asked as I took another swig and wavered on my feet.

  “Oh, yeah yeah, the one who threw up that Hitler arm right?”

  “Yeah that’s the bitch,” he said, grinning. “Bet that sucker’s still pissing red.”

  “Good,” I spat, handing him the bottle and belching. “You guys’re fucking cool. Wanna go to the South End and fuck someone up?”

  “Think we had a bit much for that,” E-Z rumbled

  “Naaah, I fucking feel goood,” I retorted, punching my hand and grinning. “C’mon, we can take them, I got a solution right here.” I slipped my pistol from my pocket and held it up, my smile growing.

  “Damn, she’s packing,” Jeep said with a laugh. “Don’t fuck with this bitch ‘less you wind up in a ditch.”

  “Damn right,” I said, giggling at the rhyme. “Well if you guys are pussies, I’ll just have to go myself.”

  “Ayyy, chill pill shorty,” J-Dog said, passing the bottle back. “Have another sip, do you good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, putting my gun away and taking another swig from the bottle, grimacing as my stomach twisted. I passed it to E-Z and leaned over. “Shit, don’t feel good.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Take it—”

  The rest of whatever J-Dog was trying to say was lost as I threw up on the grass. I spat, then heaved again, a groan escaping my lips. The stitches on my neck throbbed as I coughed hard, another rush of bile splattering on the ground. I rose and spat, wiping my lips and stumbling back from the burn barrel.

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “Fucking gonna walk, find some fun.”

  I ignored the guys as they called after me, tottering into the street and continuing my jaunt. My head was pleasantly swimming in liquor, making it hard to think. Ideal really, it had been why I grabbed the bottle to start with. Didn’t wanna think about...anything.

  Man where the fuck was the South End? I paused and squinted at a street sign, but my vision was swimming too badly to really make it out. With a shrug, I turned in the direction I felt like and continued walking down the cracked street.

  “Yo, wrong way girl!” a voice called after me. I turned and saw E-Z and Jeep standing on the corner, waving to me. “C’mon, I know a place.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, stumbling in their direction. “Where’s it at?”

  “This way,” E-Z said, beckoning. I followed them down the sidewalk, having to focus so I didn’t fall the fuck over. “Ain’t far, think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Cool, cool,” I said, nodding along. “Mmm, what was Zeke singing the other day,” I mumbled to myself, thinking. “Raise my nino, clock my Glock, and picking up a dead bitch…”

  “Ay shit, you know Dirty Red?” Jeep said, looking at me.

  “I’unno,” I shrugged. “It’s a fine song. Kinda real.”

  “I’ll swing by sometime with a few tapes,” he said, sounding excited. “Smoke up and chill, listen to some good shit.”

  “Don’t smoke,” I muttered.

  “Your loss,” he said with a shrug.

  “We’re here,” E-Z said, walking up the path to a blacked-out house. He stepped up and knocked on the door, hands on his hips. I clutched my pistol, just in case we’d wandered further than I thought.

  “Who the— E-Z?”

  “Hey Papa.” Papa? He didn’t live in the South End. “Picked up a stray, one of yours I think.”

  “God dammit you little brat.” Papa pushed through the two guys and grabbed my shoulder firmly. “Told you to stay inside.”

  “Fuckin’…couldn’t sleep,” I muttered. “Went for a walk.”

  “Smell like a damn forty,” he said, glancing at E-Z.

  “You’d rather have the kid wandering around on her own?” E-Z replied.

  “No,” Papa sighed, shaking his head. “Lia, get your lily-white ass inside before I whoop it.”

  “Try me old man,” I growled. He cuffed my ear and I wobbled violently, stomach twisting. “Uhh, bathroom.”

  I pushed past Papa into the house, while he spoke quietly behind me. There wasn’t much in my stomach besides the rest of the alcohol, but I still spent nearly ten minutes dry heaving over the bowl. I sat back shakily cradling my head in my hands as the world refused to stay still.

  “Kid, come get some water,” Papa called.

  “M’fine,” I mumbled, shaking my head and wincing at the wave of dizziness. I heard some muffled cursing, then a clink of glass. Looking up I saw him standing above me, arms crossed, a glass of water on the back of the toilet. “Said I’m fine.” He just pointed at the glass, and I let out a sigh and rose unsteadily. I tipped the glass back and started chugging.

  “Easy.” I flipped Papa off and finished the glass, then set it down on the toilet. “Feeling better?”

  “Be feeling better if I had another drink,” I mumbled, pushing past him and stumbling to the couch. I fell onto the cushions and groaned as my stitches throbbed in pain. “Better if I had Amy.” I sniffled and shut my eyes, curling into a tight ball, unable to help the tears I’d barely been keeping at bay all night.

  In a hazy, miserable fog I slowly slipped off to sleep.

  The shrill ringing of my phone sent a spike of agony shooting through my skull. I rose from the couch, cursing and throwing off several blankets that were heaped on top of me. Confused, I stumbled over to my bag, hissing as I pulled out the offending device and flipped it open.

  “What?” I croaked, throat drier than that Death Valley.

  “L, cucumber,” a smug, sing-song voice made my skull pulse with agony.

  “A, lemon,” I groaned, gritting my teeth. “Make that fire truck.”

  “Sounds like you had a fun night,” Lisa smugged smugly.

  “What do you want?” I asked tersely.

  “Got a job,” she replied, and I felt my heart rate pick up. “But if you’re not feeling up to it…”

  “Don’t bait me,” I spat, rubbing my tortured temple. “Fucking christ, when do you want to meet?”

  “I’ve give you a few hours,” she said. “Don’t want you smelling like a distillery.”

  “So generous,” I muttered. “Same place as last time?”

  “If that works,” Lisa agreed. “I’ll have a coffee waiting. Two o’clock, don’t be late.”

  I snapped the phone shut with a sigh, head pulsing with another burst of pain, bad enough I saw stars. I gagged, swallowing my rising bile before I could make a mess. Fucking hell, what had I… Right, E-Z and the guys, the hen or chicken or whatever the fuck they called that drink. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face before getting my day started.

  Wandering into the kitchen, I found a couple slices of toast on the counter and a note from Papa saying he and Zeke were getting groceries. Checking the clock on the stove, I found it was nearly noon. Well...better than not getting any sleep at all, probably. I grabbed a glass from the sink and washed it out, then filled it with water and chugged the thing.

  Panting, I refilled it and grabbed the plate of toast, sitting heavily at the table. I ate slowly, my stomach fighting every inch of the way. Maybe drinking wasn’t the best solution to my myriad problems, but what else was I supposed to do? Wasn’t like I could just walk it all off.

  No answer came by the time I’d finished my breakfast, so I cleaned off my plate and returned to the living room. I picked up the fallen blankets and folded them neatly at one end of the couch. Still nursing a headache, I laid down on the couch and shut my eyes. I needed a shower, I could smell the alcohol on me, like Mom…

  I rose and headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me before stripping. A glance in the broken mirror made me grimace, and I quickly moved past it and got in the shower. The water blasted out like a geyser of ice, making me yelp. I hurriedly washed myself off, wincing at the pain from my cuts, and got out shivering.

  I found a towel in the small cupboard and dried myself off before getting dressed in my clothes from the day before. They still stank, but I wasn’t going to walk through some guy’s house naked. Once I got out, I retrieved my only change from my bag returned to get dressed.

  And like that, I was out of stuff to do. I numbly returned to the couch, cocking my head and taking my pistol off the coffee table. When I had put it down? Whatever. I turned on the TV and cleared the gun, then started taking it apart.

  I didn’t need to clean it, wasn’t like I’d shot Tattletale the other day. Really I just wanted something to keep my hands busy. On the screen, a news anchor talked about escalating violence in the South End, superpowered and regular alike. The Undersiders got talked up as the next most dangerous gang and the reason behind things.

  Stormtiger’s death was briefly mentioned, with apparently no suspects because it didn’t fit the Undersiders’ MO and they had an alibi besides. I wasn’t sure if they were just playing dumb or something, there had been lots of other people at the scene. Maybe they didn’t know who I was either, and I’d managed to avoid doing the kind of damage that made people point the finger at me.

  The click of the lock made me turn my head, and I reassembled my pistol as quick as I could, loading it just in case. Fortunately, it was just Papa and Zeke, coming in with arms full of brown paper bags. I put my gun down and rose from the couch, walking over.

  “Want a hand?” I offered.

  “Sure,” Papa replied, holding out the pair of bags he was carrying. “Put these on the counter for me, will you?” I nodded and grabbed the bags, bringing them into the kitchen.

  “How you feeling?” Zeke asked. “Jeep texted me, said you were a real riot.”

  “My head feels like it’s filled with razor wire and needles,” I complained. “And I think I threw up enough I lost weight.”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled. “First time?”

  “Can’t exactly go around buying liquor,” I retorted. Not that I really wanted to turn out like Mom…

  “If that’s your poison I’ll call the boys up more often,” Zeke said, setting down his bags patting my shoulder. “Bring Joy by too, have a little party.”

  “Rather not make it a habit,” I grumbled. Ah shit, I needed to talk to him about something. “Hey, do you got a few minutes?”

  “Got all day,” he said easily, leaning against the counter. “What’s up?”

  “Not here,” I said, frowning. Didn’t need Papa overhearing, didn’t know if he could be trusted totally. “Out back.” We headed out the back door and to the corner. The fences here were high, but I’d still have to keep my voice down. “Okay, Zeke, I have to tell you something important about my powers and I need you to not freak out.”

  “Alright,” Zeke said, crossing his arms. “Lay it on me.” I took a deep breath.

  “The other night, when I tried to kill myself…” I shut my eyes. “When I die, I travel back in time. Sometimes minutes, usually days. That’s...yeah.”

  “Damn.” There was a brief pause. “So you’re like, immortal?”

  “Hardly,” I scoffed. “No I just come back, I can die plenty easy.”

  “Shit,” he said. “So uhh, what was that about, couple days back? Thought everything went pretty well.”

  “It was, um…” I felt my face growing hot as I stared at the ground, mumbling: “I broke up with my girlfriend.” There was a long, heavy pause.

  “For real?” I nodded, hunching my shoulders. “Ha haaa! Shit, you fucking with me boss?” I glared at him as he slapped his knee, cackling.

  “Yeah I’m for fucking real and keep your goddamn voice down.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he giggled, shaking his head. “Shit girl, can’t believe you did that over a bitch.”

  “She’s not a bitch,” I snapped.

  “You know what I mean,” Zeke said, shrugging. “It’s like the good doctor said Lia: bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks. But hey, if you wanna, I could introduce you to some fine honeys.”

  “No I…” I frowned and gave him a look. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

  “Shit, you’re a cape,” he replied, shrugging again. “If I get all messed up every time you say something freaky, I ain’t gonna make it, get it? For real though, I can hook you up. Sure there’s gotta be some ho around who don’t mind a little fish.” I let out a snort of laughter, even though it wasn’t funny.

  “No, no it’s fine,” I said, shaking my head, shoulders relaxing fractionally. “I...thanks Zeke, for being cool. Don’t go telling people, okay? I really don’t want the word getting around.”

  “No sweat Lia,” Zeke said, gripping my shoulder firmly and offering a cockeyed grin. “And I mean it. You ever need a wingman, you just ask.”

  “Sure,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t. “Okay, um, guess we should go help Papa with the groceries.”

  We headed back inside, and the weight on my chest felt just a little more manageable.