Pawned

by Laura Bickle

  “All families are,” she says mildly.

  “No, I mean, it’s really fucked up.” I stare straight ahead at the darkness. “My dad’s done some bad stuff, and there’s no sign that he’s gonna stop anytime soon.”

  She touches my arm. “I’m here for you. No matter what.” And she really has been. Ever since I can remember.

  I feel a hot and uncomfortable lump in my throat.

  “Thanks. I...” I squint ahead. Our pawn shop and the burger joint are two blocks ahead. This time of early evening, they should be shrouded in mild neon light. But there’s too much light. Orange light. Sirens wail in the distance, and the sharp smell of smoke floods the street.

  “Oh no,” Lily breathes.

  We run.

  CHAPTER 10

  My boots slap the pavement, and my breath scalds the back of my throat. Lily is faster than me. She runs ahead, holding Platytude by one leg, her long hair streaming in the glow...

  The glow of the fire.

  Jesus, it’s a fire. For a split second, I wish it was the pawn shop. I want some elemental force to come along and scrub the slate clean, wipe away all the evil artifacts, the tang of magic, and the tears of home. I want something that would force us all to move on.

  But fate isn’t that kind. It never has been, and it sure as hell isn’t going to start today.

  Smoke pours from the front door of the hamburger shop. Orange light is reflected in the broken glass of the front window. More smoke billows from the upstairs window, from Lily’s room. The siren of a fire alarm blares inside.

  Mrs. Renfelter stands at the curb, clutching her sooty apron and shrieking into a cellphone. Bert busts out of the pawn shop, his tail undulating as he runs to the burger shop.

  “What happened?” Lily yells.

  Her mother howls. “The girls...the girls are still in there!”

  Lily casts aside the purple platypus, shoving it into Bert’s arms. Before I can catch her, she runs into the burning building.

  “Lily!” I shout. And I run after her. Can’t help it.

  I’m conscious of Bert behind me, the scrape of his clawed toenails on the pavement as he scurries to catch up.

  The heat hits me like a wall when I cross the threshold. It’s like a living thing. It shimmers like asphalt on a summer day, bending light. Smoke rolls up toward the ceiling. Tablecloths crinkle and light up like napkins, and the whole wall where the jukebox once stood is washed in flame. The sprinklers overhead are sputtering on, but the water pressure is too low to take down the fire.

  “Rose! Callie! Lily!” I shout, coughing. I put my sleeve over my nose.

  Bert shoves one of his tiny arms into my back. “Keep low!” he bellows. It occurs to me that perhaps he’s used to this—used to hell. He pushes a rag that smells like sticky soda over my face.

  We scurry into the kitchen. Rose is on the floor, a wet dishtowel stuck over her face. I can’t tell if she’s conscious. Earbud wires leak from the edge of the towel; I wonder if she even heard the smoke detector go off. I see Lily with her.

  And Lily is goddamn transcendent.

  She has a fire extinguisher. She’s hosing down the path to the back stair with a steady stream of foam, standing with her feet apart and holding the fire extinguisher like it’s a cannon. A wet towel is wrapped around the lower half of her face. Her hair whooshes wildly in the backdraft. She’s powerful in a way I’ve never seen her. Galvanized, not fragile. I realize, in a flash, that I’ve always underestimated her.

  She catches sight of me and Bert. She points at Rose.

  “Get her out of here!” she screams at us, above the hiss and pop of the fire and the grease and the howling alarm. Her voice isn’t her own. It’s not like anything I’ve ever heard. It’s like a hawk’s shriek or what I imagine Valkyries sound like.

  Bert’s good at taking orders. He snatches Rose up in his little arms like she weighs nothing, charges back out toward the street. I snatch a wet dishtowel and start beating at the flames on a wall.

  I grab Lily’s sleeve. “Where’s Callie?”

  She points up. Upstairs.

  The fire in the back is mostly down when the fire extinguisher sputters out of juice, but it’s not enough. The fire is still rushing along the ceiling, seeking charred holes to creep ever higher. Before I can stop her, Lily blazes past me and up to the back stairs.

  I follow. I follow her because I have to. I pull the rag tighter around my face to filter the smoke better.

  The back stair is black, thick as tar. Lily’s calling for Callie somewhere up ahead. When I reach the second floor, her lithe figure passes in the frame of the hallway, like a shadow in hell, searching for her sister.

  The door is open to Lily’s room, and everything inside is in flames.

  “Callie!” I shout. No answer.

  Lily spins in the doorway of Callie’s room. “I can’t find her!” Her eyes are white and wild. I know she’ll tear this place apart until she finds her.

  I shove past her into Callie’s room. It’s heavy with smoke, but mostly intact. It’s pink and decorated in unicorns and fairies. There’s a big mural of unicorns on the wall that Lily painted for her.

  Pulling up the ruffled bed skirt, I peer under the bed. Lilly has gone back to search her mother’s room. My eyes water, and I know we’re running out of time. I tear open the closet, pushing aside dresses and jeans on little plastic hangers. Nothing.

  My eyes fall to a large doll house on the floor. Lily made it for Callie out of a refrigerator box and pieces of vinyl siding. I kneel and open it up.

  Within it, Callie is curled up on herself. She’s breathing, but not responding to me shaking her. I don’t know if it’s because she’s scared, hurt, or inhaled too much smoke.

  “Lily! I’ve found her.”

  Lily appears beside me, and we pull Callie out of the dollhouse. Lily slings her sister over her shoulder and stands. She starts back the way we’ve come, but the hall is full of sparks, and the carpet on the floor’s beginning to melt.

  Not that way.

  The glass in Callie’s window implodes. Bert stands behind the frame of broken glass. Blessedly cool air slaps my face.

  The fire escape doesn’t run under Callie’s window on this side of the building. This is the far side of the building, facing the back alley with Dumpsters, away from the street. I gawk at Bert, clinging to the ledge with his clawed toenails digging into the brick.

  “Give the girls to me,” he says.

  Lily hands Callie to him, and he stuffs her under one arm like a package. He presents his back to her. “Hop on.”

  She shakes her head, her hair slapping her face. “No. Get Raz out.”

  “There’s enough room for two.”

  “You can’t carry that many!” she says.

  Bert swears and drops the glamour. I know he’s done it because Lily takes a step back and puts her hand to her mouth. “What are—”

  Something inside the building breaks, making a reverberating, ominous noise. Something that sounds structural.

  I shove her to the window. She reluctantly slings her arm around his scaly neck. I grab Bert’s waist, just below the hem of his T shirt, up close and personal with his tail, which snakes around my back as Bert climbs down the brick.

  “He’s like goddamn Spiderman!” Lily breathes. “What is he?”

  “Will the passengers please shut up while I’m trying to concentrate on this climbing thing?” Bert growls.

  Lily shuts it, and Bert clings to the brick facade. The wall is uneven and crumbly. My breath snags in my throat as one of Bert’s claws scrapes away old brick. No gawkers have gathered here along the back alley, and for that, I’m grateful. No matter what guise he’d take, there’s no way this would make sense to any witnesses.

  My feet hit the ground first. Jumping down, I’m relieved to feel the alley’s gravel beneath the soles of my melted shoes. I reach up for Lily. She lets go of Bert’s neck and falls back into my arms.

  And
Bert comes down at last with Callie. He turns her around in his arms so she’s face up, able to breathe fresh air.

  Callie takes one look at Bert’s unglamoured face. I totally expect her to start screaming.

  But she reaches out with her little sooty hand and presses it to his nose. It’s like she recognizes him or something.

  “Hi, Bert.” She smiles.

  And I’ll be damned if Bert isn’t smiling back at her.

  IT TAKES THE FIREFIGHTERS two hours to put the fire out.

  We watch as the fire pales to ash, carried out of the building by runnels of water along the street into the sewer. Night’s fallen, and it’s impossible to see much of the building. The firefighters wrap the building with yellow tape, slap a sticker on the door, and won’t let us back in until the fire marshal declares it safe. An arson investigator’s shown up, and he’s making noises about there being more than one point of ignition. Someone threw an incendiary device through the front window, but there was an empty gas can in the back.

  I immediately flash to the two guys that showed up yesterday. The Mob guys. But when I tell the arson investigator that, he closes his notebook. He just nods as I talk, not taking notes. I don’t know what Mrs. Renfelter told him, but I’m pretty sure it won’t make a difference.

  The paramedics give Callie some oxygen, and she seems fine, except for a little doll-like cough. Lily has a burn on her arm that the paramedics wrap up. Rose sits on the edge of the curb, with no memory of Bert taking her outside. The paramedics give her oxygen and want to take her to the hospital to get checked out. Rose refuses. Her hair is charred, and she no longer has any eyelashes or eyebrows. Her face is covered in soot, and I imagine that her lungs are, too.

  I know why she refuses. A trip to the hospital in an ambulance would cost money—money she doesn’t have. But I can tell she’s worried. She perches on the curb with her hands over her chest, fogging up the oxygen mask. I think they’re going to take her anyway, not give her a choice. They’re already unloading a gurney and muttering among themselves.

  My dad does something that surprises me. He speaks to the paramedics in low voices. They load Callie and Lily into the back of an ambulance. He bends down and whispers to Rose. She shakes her head, but he pulls to her feet with both hands and escorts her to another ambulance.

  He then goes to Mrs. Renfelter. He speaks to her, points to the ambulance, and hands her an envelope. She starts crying.

  I approach cautiously. She puts the envelope in her apron.

  “We’ll take care of this. You go be with the girls,” he says.

  She nods and heads toward the ambulance.

  I stand on the curb with my hands in my pockets, rocking forward and back on my feet. I’m not sure what to do. I think I should go with the girls, but the ambulance is full.

  Bert’s ice cream truck clanks around the corner, the bell tinkling. Bert opens the door.

  “Get in,” he says. “We’ve gotta talk.”

  I swing into the passenger seat, watching the ambulance lights recede. Bert eases through the puddles and follows at a slow speed.

  “It’s the Mob,” I say. “I know it.”

  “Your dad has the money to make this go away. If it’s only money, that is. And Mrs. Renfelter got some nice change for her wedding rings and some old jewelry today.”

  “I can’t imagine what else this could be,” I’m unhappy to imagine Mrs. Renfelter pawning family heirlooms. “Mrs. Renfelter isn’t a hitwoman for them or running guns out of the kitchen.”

  “Since Young Don took over the reins from his father, he’s changed things,” Bert says. “Young man eager to show he’s not his father.”

  I gaze out the window, wincing just a bit.

  “Callie saw me,” Bert says. His little fingers chew the steering wheel. “So did Lily.”

  I glance in the rearview mirror. He’s taken on the guise of an old guy with white hair in a tan Members Only jacket, polyester slacks, and deck shoes.

  “I told the firefighters and cops we got out through the fire escape,” I say. “Lily said the same thing. You did a good thing for them. For all of us.”

  “But they saw me, man. Scales, tail, and all.” He keeps glancing over his shoulder.

  “They aren’t going to say anything. I’ll talk to Lily. And Callie...she’s so young. Even if she did say that Godzilla rescued her from the fire, do you think anybody would believe her?”

  Bert slumps back a bit in the seat. “Well...put like that, I guess not.” He sounds uncertain.

  “Nobody’s gonna say anything.”

  “You sure?”

  “We’re not gonna blow your cover, Bert. We owe you.”

  Bert lowers his head. “No, you don’t. I don’t like stuff being owed.”

  “We’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too much...like striking bargains with demons.” His smile is thin.

  I sink down in my seat. “Why did you do that, Bert? Why did you bring that...that Hoodie guy to our door?”

  Bert slouches. “I don’t really have a choice. It’s part and parcel of being a demon. When someone like your dad wants to make a deal with hell...I have to act as a conduit.”

  “You couldn’t have just said no?”

  “I can’t. Your dad knows my real name.” He shakes his head. “There’s a lotta power in knowing a demon’s true name. A lot more than you know.”

  “So...he can make you do stuff?” I’ve always been curious about the extent of Bert’s allegiances. When I was younger, I thought he was a pet. When I got older, I thought that it was a business arrangement. With him saving the girls and me...I know it’s more than that. Much more.

  The demon has a heart—or something very much like it—beating in his scaly chest.

  “Not just anything. Anyone who knows my name can force me to act as a messenger to hell. They can also force me to stay and serve them in most things.”

  “Your gig at the pawn shop.”

  “My gig at the pawn shop. But you guys can’t force me to kill, and that includes taking any action that would cause me to kill myself.”

  “I couldn’t order you into a burning building,” I say.

  “Right.”

  “But you could go in if you wanted to.”

  I swear that a red flush creeps under his green scales. “I do have free will in most things.”

  “Thank you, Bert. I mean it. And I promise...I’ll make this right. When things are up to me...I promise to set you free.” A pang of uncertainty hits me. “Can I do that?”

  Bert chortles. “Not while your Pops, your dad, and uncle are still alive. And Carl.”

  “Carl would want you to be free.” I chew on what he said. “So...what’s stopping you from killing your keepers?”

  It’s a question edged with sharp glass. It takes him a long time to answer.

  “This isn’t a bad gig,” he says slowly. “By and large, your family has treated me well. You’ve never asked me to do any truly terrible things, beyond kicking some crackheads out the door and playing metaphysical games of telephone. It hasn’t always been that easy for me.”

  “You’ve served other masters?”

  “Yeah. Many. And they’ve asked me to do a whole lotta shitty stuff.”

  I don’t want to press him. I don’t want him to feel as if he’s a slave. “Who else knows your name?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “Your family. That’s it.”

  I get a chill. “Thanks for not killing us in our sleep, Bert. I mean it.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He chuckles.

  I put my feet up on the dash uneasily, and pick at the melted waffle soles of my boots. It seems like we’ve reached a new level of honesty. “This thing with my dad. I just...I don’t know what to think. I want to kill him.” And that’s true. I want to stand on my dad’s neck and watch him twitch. The strength of my fury surprises me,
and makes me ashamed.

  “Your father has some good impulses.”

  I snort.

  “I said some. Your dad’s problem is that he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else around him—and everything. He needs to occasionally keep his trap shut and just observe.”

  “That’ll never happen,” I mutter. “He’s really fucked the rest of us up.”

  “Yeah,” Bert agrees. “He really fucked up.”

  I didn’t expect Bert to agree so readily. That gives me a clue how bad things really are.

  “You, um...have any advice for how to get through this deal he’s made?”

  Bert pauses at a stoplight, tapping on the steering wheel with a claw. “If I were you, I’d lie low. Be vigilant. That demon will wait until you’re complacent to collect.”

  I frown. “So...I don’t live life? I just wait for Hoodie to show up and demand his blood?”

  “Didn’t say that. Just be careful. Wait for a good opportunity.”

  “An opportunity for what?”

  “To eventually give Hoodie—as you call him—something he wants more. Some artifact may cross your palm that he won’t be able to resist.”

  My eyes narrow. “Is it possible to learn his name?”

  Bert wiggles his claws on the steering wheel. “Perceptive. Yes, you may eventually be able to learn it. That won’t nullify the deal...but will allow you to keep safe anyone with whom you share his name.”

  I press my palm to my temple. This is a lot to absorb. But I feel a little less doomed than I did this morning.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lily has changed.

  Or, at least the way I see her has changed.

  She sits upright in a hospital bed, frowning at a nurse stroking her forearm with a brown, stinky antiseptic. Her eyes narrow slightly as the antiseptic is applied, but she doesn’t react otherwise. It looks like it hurts, though. The nurse clucks over her and tells her she’s being very brave.

  The burn stretches from her palm to her elbow, where the sleeve of her T-shirt ended. It’s red and angry, a speckled splash reaching up the white flesh of the inside of her arm. Though Lily doesn’t ask, it’s clear it’ll leave a scar.