The Marked Girl

by Lindsey Klingele

  He pulled away just in time, jerking backward so that the tip of the key caught the skin under his eye instead of its intended target. His lips curled and he made a noise that sounded like a cat growling. And not a small cat, either.

  Liv’s mind raced to think of her next move. The man swung out with alarming speed and grabbed for Liv’s arm, getting a grip on her jacket sleeve. She pulled backward, maneuvering herself out of her jacket and pulling her arm free. The momentum sent her spinning, and she crashed to the ground, landing hard on her forearms. The chilly night air blew across her neck and back, exposed in just a tank top.

  Liv twisted her head around to face the black-eyed man. But he stood still, his mouth hanging partially open. He was staring at Liv with wide, rounded eyes that now seemed more human than feral. He almost looked surprised. Liv’s torn jacket dangled limply in his hands before falling to the ground.

  Before either the black-eyed man or Liv could make another move, Cedric leaped out of the darkness. He brought his blade down hard into the man’s back and pulled it out again. The man let out a ferocious scream that bounced off the walls of the alley. He cast one last glance to Liv before turning on his heels and sprinting away.

  “How do you like that for a toy?” Cedric yelled to the man’s retreating form. He turned to Liv as she slowly stood up. Her eyes were fixed on his bloody blade, which he quickly slipped into his pocket.

  “It is gone now,” Cedric said.

  It took a moment for his words to register. “It?”

  Liv realized she was struggling to breathe, and saw dots begin to circle in front of her eyes. The shapes in front of her—the building, the recycling bin, Cedric—all started to get a little hazy around the edges.

  Cedric stopped a few feet away from Liv. “Sorry, I misspoke. I meant he. He was trying to hurt you and—”

  “No,” Liv said, her voice coming out firmer than expected. “There was something really wrong with him. His mouth, his eyes . . .”

  Cedric’s eyes widened. “You could see that? You saw his true face?”

  “Of course I saw his face. It was totally jacked, like he was on some crazy kind of drugs or something. But why did he attack me? And, and . . . how did you get to me so fast? And that knife? You moved so quick—”

  Cedric reached a tentative hand out to Liv. “You are injured.”

  “I just hit my head, I think.”

  Cedric shook his own head a little, and gently lifted up her hand. Liv looked down, and at first all she noticed was a patch of red. The skin of her left hand, reaching from the fleshy area beneath her thumb down to her wrist, had been partially peeled away. She hadn’t even felt it until just now.

  “Whoa,” she whispered.

  “And yes, your head,” Cedric added. He reached up and moved a lock of her hair to get a better view of the side of her face. He moved slowly, gently, brushing Liv’s temple with his thumb. When she lifted her hand to her head a moment later, to the place where his fingers had just been, she felt something warm and sticky. Blood.

  “Oh,” she said, and her voice sounded shaky to her own ears. “I don’t do so well with . . .”

  Liv pitched forward a little, and Cedric caught her, one hand on her arm and another circling around her back. He held her steady and slightly away from his body, but Liv was still close enough to feel the heat coming off him, his breath as it ruffled her hair. She righted herself quickly.

  “It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s only my own blood that brings on the embarrassing dizziness.”

  “There is not too much of it,” Cedric said. “I can retrieve some clean cloths and bandages. If you wait here, I’ll be right back—”

  “Are you kidding? There’s no way I’m staying alone in this alley.”

  Cedric considered this, then nodded.

  “All right, come with me, but stay quiet. It would be best if the others did not see you.”

  “The others. That’s what the man, the—whoever, that’s what he said. That he was going to leave me for ‘the others’ to find.”

  A look of concern passed over Cedric’s face, but he said nothing. He picked up her discarded jacket and handed it to Liv. She threw it over her shoulders and followed him back down the alley.

  “You don’t seem really surprised by that,” Liv said. “Do you know who he was? Why he . . . what he wanted?”

  Cedric hesitated before answering. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” Liv fought to keep her voice calm, but could hear hysteria edging in. She breathed in deep. “What exactly is it? Drugs? Gang stuff?”

  “It is . . . difficult to explain. And trust me, you really do not want me to.”

  “Trust you. You want me to trust you. You know how crazy that sounds? We were just attacked. We have to report it.”

  “Report it to whom?” Cedric said, looking genuinely confused.

  “Uh, the police?”

  They’d reached the grate in the wall of the museum. Cedric turned to face her, and his expression was difficult to read in the darkness.

  “You mean the men in blue. With the lights that flash.” He made a circular motion in the air with his hand, as if he was trying to demonstrate police lights. Liv’s eyebrows shot up, sending a spark of pain across her hairline. She winced.

  “Yes. Here in . . . well, pretty much all English-speaking countries, we call those men the police.” Liv put a finger to her temple and rubbed, trying to ease the pain there. At this point, she wasn’t sure how much of it was caused by her head cracking against the concrete and how much was caused by trying to carry on a conversation with Cedric.

  “You may call the men in blue if you wish, but if you do, we will be long gone before they arrive,” Cedric said. “We have already had interactions with those men—the police—and they only tried to separate us. They threatened to send us away. Though to where, I know not.”

  Liv flinched reflexively. They only tried to separate us. She thought of Peter and Maisy, then pushed them quickly again from her mind.

  “They cannot help us,” Cedric continued. “We are alone.”

  Cedric’s voice wavered when he said this, and Liv felt her frustration ebb a bit. She knew what it was like to feel that there was no one who could help. She also knew exactly how the LAPD could be when dealing with street kids. Still, she couldn’t shake the physical memory of how the black-eyed man had pinned her to the ground, how he’d fought . . . something was wrong with him. Really wrong.

  “Okay, I won’t call the police. But only if you explain what the hell just happened. That’s all I ask. Give me one straight answer.”

  Cedric breathed out. “Okay, I will try,” he finally said with a short sigh. “But not out here. Let us go inside. We will clean your injuries, and I will tell you what you want to know. Though I promise you will not believe me.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Liv said. “I mean, maybe it’s the gaping head wound, but I’m feeling pretty open-minded.”

  She smiled up at Cedric, but he shook his head, confused.

  Liv dropped down to the grate. “No one ever gets my puns.”

  Careful not to touch her injured hand against the concrete, Liv crawled through the grate hole and out the other side. After a moment, Cedric came through behind her.

  “What is this place, anyway?” Liv asked.

  Cedric’s voice was hushed when he answered. “It is an old part of the museum, I believe, that has been closed off. I found the opening in the alley wall, and it led to this.” He gestured to the tunnels.

  “And the other opening, to that room with the books? Did you just find that too?”

  “That was originally a small hole in the wall that I . . . helped along. I needed access to—” He cut himself off.

  “To what?”

  “Shh, we are getting closer.”

  They walked back through the wooden panel that led to the main blocked-off hallway. Wordlessly, Liv followed Cedric through the tunnel entrance, past the bookshelf, through t
he small room, and into the hallway beyond.

  The door to the archives room was still locked, so Cedric took Liv through another series of halls before leading her to the public portion of the museum. Once there, he quickened his steps and craned his head to look around every few seconds. He only slowed down when they got to a large black door labeled with an M. He pushed the door open and made to go inside.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Liv hissed.

  Cedric turned around, confused.

  “We will need water to wash your cuts.”

  “This is the men’s room.”

  For a moment, Cedric just blinked, uncomprehending. Then his mouth burst open with a laugh that completely transformed his face. His serious features melted away, leaving him looking almost like a different person. A different person who was still frustratingly attractive. And just plain frustrating.

  Cedric clapped his own hand over his mouth, silencing the laugh. His eyes still gleamed as he walked into the room and motioned for Liv to follow.

  “I apologize,” he said, still smiling as he shut and locked the door behind them. “But the girls here have the strangest sense of propriety. They walk around half-dressed in the middle of broad daylight, but refuse to share a common toilet.”

  Liv looked down at her own clothes, frowning. Her outfit was perfectly respectable—tank top, jeans, and jacket, now a little worse for wear, of course.

  “I’m not half-dressed.”

  Cedric shrugged. He walked over to the sink and ran the water, putting a paper towel under the stream. Liv moved cautiously toward him and tried not to get too grossed out as she passed the urinals.

  Cedric reached out with the wet towel and gently pressed it against the left side of Liv’s forehead. It brushed against her torn skin, causing her to wince.

  “Hold still just a moment, I have to clean some of the dirt away,” Cedric said, his voice gentle. He was no longer laughing, but his face wasn’t as closed off as it had been in the tunnels, either. As he moved the paper towel down the side of her head, Liv tried to sneak glances at his face. His blue eyes covered by dark—almost black—lashes, his long nose, his lips slightly parted in concentration. A spot of skin near one cheekbone seemed to be inflamed, bright purple in the middle and spreading into red as it reached his ear.

  “You’re hurt, too,” Liv said.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “That’s . . . not comforting.”

  Cedric didn’t respond, but continued to gently wipe bits of dried blood from the side of Liv’s head. He moved closer to get a better angle, and Liv was hyperconscious of how his whole body was just a few inches away from hers. For a moment she felt lightheaded and short of breath. Weren’t people supposed to sit down while bleeding from the head?

  Cedric’s fingers pressed gently against her temple, at the worst of the cut. He leaned in even closer, so close that his features blurred before Liv’s eyes. Was it just her imagination, or was his breathing getting quicker, too?

  Liv wanted to say something to break the thick silence that had fallen between them, but couldn’t think of a single thing. Her gaze rested on a gold chain around Cedric’s neck. It extended down beneath his shirt, and she could see the outline of what looked like a ring hanging from the edge of it.

  “Nice necklace.”

  The moment the words left her lips, Cedric stepped back from Liv sharply, taking his hands from her forehead. His left hand went immediately to where the outline of the ring pressed against his heart.

  Liv knew she had said something wrong, but didn’t get it.

  “What is it . . . a ring?” she pressed on.

  “Yes, it is.” Cedric averted his eyes and turned to throw the wadded-up paper towel away. “It is a betrothal ring.”

  Liv laughed, sure he was being sarcastic. “You mean, like, an engagement ring?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait, what? Aren’t you a little young for that?”

  “I am nearly at the proper age.”

  “Yeah, in Kentucky, maybe. But that’s not exactly a Southern accent you’ve got. So where are you from? Eastern Europe or something?”

  “Or something. I think you can probably clean your hand yourself.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Liv rolled up her sleeve and set to washing dirt and small pieces of gravel from the scrape on her hand. Under the fluorescent lights, it looked even nastier than before. She wrapped it in a paper towel, trying not to look at the blood flecks soaking through.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Cedric peeled himself away from where he’d been resting against the tile wall, watching her.

  “Good. The museum will be cleared out and mostly locked up now, so we will have to go out through a side door,” he said. “Quietly.”

  Liv nodded. Cedric had almost reached the door of the men’s room when a thought occurred to her. “I heard you talking to a girl in the tunnels. Is that the one you’re . . . betrothed . . . to?”

  “Yes, that was her. Katerina.”

  Liv felt a small pang as she pictured the girl under the bridge. She’d been beautiful, all dark hair and fierceness. That girl seemed a perfect match for Cedric, with his rigid posture, untended wounds, and an actual betrothal ring. Liv imagined them in elaborate wedding gear, like two engravings from a fairy tale book sprung to life.

  As the male half of the living fairy tale pushed open the scuffed door of the men’s room, the image faded away.

  “She said something about being killed?” Liv asked. “And now with the not-so-friendly alley attacker . . . what kind of trouble are you guys in?”

  Cedric turned to her, his eyes concerned.

  “You were eavesdropping.”

  Liv shrugged.

  “You should be careful when you do that, you know. You could overhear something you might not want to.” With that, he started walking quickly down the empty hallway, toward a door marked EXIT.

  “Okay, I can see you’re really, seriously committed to this whole man-of-mystery bit.” Liv said, her voice low. “But the vagueness stopped being charming around the time my face hit pavement. Don’t forget you owe me some answers.”

  “I have not forgotten, and I will keep my end of the bargain. If you are absolutely sure you want to know everything, follow me.”

  Liv hesitated, but only for a second.

  THE PRINCE’S TALE

  The diner just down the road from the museum was mostly empty, so Liv and Cedric took one of the orange vinyl booths by the window. It was mostly dark now, and when Liv looked through the plate glass, all she could see was her own reflection.

  Cold, recirculated air pumped down onto their booth from a grate in the ceiling, and Liv shivered. When the waitress came by to drop off some laminated menus, Liv ordered a coffee. She raised her eyebrows at Cedric. He just shook his head.

  “Aren’t you hungry at all?” Liv asked.

  “I am fine.”

  But she saw Cedric’s expression as he glanced over the pictures of pancakes and French toast on the menu. Liv had seen that look before—hunger was hard to hide.

  “Look, I can’t decide between the Hash Brown Surprise and the Chocolate Waffles Supreme . . . split them with me? My treat.”

  Cedric tore his eyes away from the menu, but said nothing.

  “Come on, you’ll really be helping me out,” Liv continued. “I don’t feel like eating alone, and it’s not like my foster mom is going to have a hot dinner waiting for me. Rita has many gifts, but cooking? Not among them.”

  Cedric’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Foster mom?”

  “You know, a foster parent. Legal guardian.”

  “Guardian?” Cedric’s voice was pitched unnaturally high. Liv wondered if he was messing with her. Had he really not heard of the foster system?

  “Yeah, like, appointed by the state. She takes care of me because my parents can’t.”

  “Oh,” Cedric answered, his eyes clearing. “Why can’t they?”
>
  “They’re dead.”

  Liv kept her eyes on the table, feeling a little bad about her blunt reply. She knew just springing the dead-parent thing like that could freak people out, reduce them to stammering, pity-filled gazes, or worse—follow-up questions. Liv had become adept at steering entire conversations away from that inevitable next question—what happened to them?

  She finally lifted her eyes to Cedric’s. He was looking directly at her, his mouth turned slightly down. He sat very still.

  “I am sorry.”

  Liv shrugged and pointed to the menu again. “So are you going to help me with my pile of carbs or what?”

  “Maybe I will have a little,” he finally said.

  When the waitress came back with coffee, Liv put in the order. She warmed up her hands on the side of the white ceramic mug for a moment before opening up a packet of creamer and pouring it in. Cedric watched her with an intense concentration, as though he’d never seen anyone put cream in coffee before.

  “Okay, so level with me. Were you, like, raised in one of those really strict religions that doesn’t let you watch television or go outside on Sundays?”

  Cedric shook his head, slowly.

  “So what are you, aside from a museum employee? If you’re even that? I mean, I saw how you moved in that alley . . . that must have taken some serious training.”

  Cedric looked out the window. Liv didn’t know what she expected him to say. Was he a martial arts expert? A speed freak? When he spoke, his voice sounded tired.

  “I am a Guardian . . . and a prince.”

  Liv tried not to react, but knew her eyebrows had shot up nearly into her forehead. She tried to hide it by taking a sip of coffee.

  “Never seen a prince work for minimum wage before.”

  Cedric shook his head. “I told you that you would not believe me. No one has, not since we arrived.”

  “By ‘we,’ you mean you and Katerina, right? And there was another boy under the bridge. Is it just the three of you?”