The early dawn light didn’t do much to illuminate the alley, but it didn’t take her long to find the others. The young man lay on a stack of trash bags while the two men took turns punching and kicking his torso and face.

  The bearded man in a black hoodie and ripped jeans growled, “You shouldn’t have dumped our supply. You cost us a lot of money, so we’re gonna take it out of your hide until we’re even.”

  The other remained quiet. His dark eyes were intent and focused on dishing as much pain to the young man as possible.

  Jasmine had seen men like this. The dead eyes and snarled commentary were hallmarks of dangerous but low-end members of organized crime. They seldom needed an excuse to vent their anger and deal with their issues by destroying people with their fists and exerting their dominance. Jasmine hated them and had dealt with many in her career.

  She moved closer with her arms at her sides. It would take a lot to pull their focus. Time to taunt them into looking around.

  “You know, it won’t go down well when you see your friends tonight and tell them you spent your morning banging a rando in an alley.”

  Beardy turned to her, surprised. He drank her in and decided she was no match for his masculine prowess.

  “Fuck off, princess. This doesn’t concern you. Unless you want to give us a celebration after all is said and done, you dance along your merry way.”

  Jasmine cracked her neck and felt the surge of transformation rushing through her. She flexed her fingers, and the bone claws burst free.

  Quiet Man tsked but momentarily stopped beating his fleshy cushion. “Ooh, pretty princess has some pretty nails. Unfortunately, tricks like that don’t scare us, bitch. Run back to sucking Wolverine’s cock.”

  Beardy laughed as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a glass object. He held it close to his lips. The item looked like a cross between a vape pen and a miniature glass bong. Inside the glass bowl, a deep red liquid sloshed around, reminding Jasmine of the red wine her mother enjoyed.

  Or blood.

  A pang of hunger surged through her stomach.

  The young man grasped their moment of distraction to wriggle free and jumped up from the pile of trash bags. His shoulder whacked into Beardy as he propelled himself forward. Quiet Man grabbed him by the other shoulder and pulled him back onto his ass before he could escape.

  In the chaos, the glass bong slipped from Beardy’s hands and fell, shattering with a soft tinkle. The red liquid dribbled onto the asphalt, losing itself between the cracks. A puff of red smoke ribboned into the air.

  For a moment Jasmine thought back to her dream.

  “Fuck!” Beardy spat. “Man, you’ve got to handle this one.”

  Quiet Man had been busy dealing with their victim. He glanced over his shoulder. “Did you drop your Crim dose again?”

  “Shut the fuck up and handle this bitch.” Beardy dropped to his knees and rubbed his fingers in the red liquid, trying to salvage what was lost.

  Jasmine took a step forward. “Do you two need a minute to sort this out? Should I come back in ten? Is now an inconvenient time for you to get your ass kicked?”

  The young man tipped his head up. “Can I go with her for that break? I promise I’ll come back.”

  Quiet Man kicked him in the stomach. A loud “woof” of air burst from the young man’s lips.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Quiet Man commanded.

  The young man groaned, trying to recover his breath. “I said I promise to come back and watch you get your ass shredded.”

  Quiet Man reached into his pocket. “We’ll see about that.” He pulled out his glass pipe. The same red liquid sloshed inside. Jasmine didn’t know what the substance was, but letting him ingest its contents fell into the “bad ideas” category.

  She lunged at the man as he brought the bong to his lips. Her knee drove into the pit of his stomach. He gripped the glass, trying not to make the same mistake as his partner.

  He stumbled back. Jasmine unleashed a roundhouse kick at his arm. This time she caught the bong. It flew from his hand and smashed on the ground. Shards skittered across the surface.

  The two men looked at each other in sudden fear. “Fuck, get out of here!” Beardy turned and ran with Quiet Guy hard on his heels.

  Jasmine chased them as anger coursed through her. That strange red mist fell over her as she flexed her bone nails.

  As she passed the young man, she spotted the bruising around his eyes and elsewhere. The injustice fueled her. She leaped at Beardy. One arm wrapped around his chest as the other put her in position to drag her claws across his neck. He choked and spluttered as he fell. His blood mirrored the fallen Crim doses, losing itself between the cracks.

  Quiet Man took the opportunity to punch Jasmine, catching her on the side of the cheek. He recoiled, pulling his hand back in pain. Jasmine responded with a stab in the ribs, feeling his lung burst like a soccer ball pinned on a nail as her claws drove into his flesh.

  “I warned you,” she hissed, her face inches from his. The light faded from his eyes. “You should have taken the opportunity when I offered it.”

  She withdrew her claws. The man slumped to the cobblestones. Quiet fell over the alley as Jasmine looked between the two men. Saliva pooled in her mouth. Her teeth ground almost instinctively, and the pain in her jaw felt like someone was using a tourniquet to tighten the muscles. Her nostrils flared as she imagined the satisfaction of chomping into each of these men and filling her stomach.

  She would have done it except for the footsteps behind her. She whirled with wide eyes. Her hair whipped across her shoulders. The young man stood between the two corpses, glancing at them.

  He looked down at the pool of blood, then at Jasmine’s hands, also covered in red. “Well, you’re not licking your fingers…so I don’t imagine you’re some kind of fang. But you’re not hairy enough to be a lobo, and you aren’t a Crim junkie because you aren’t snorting that shit off the ground.” He nodded at the red liquid. “So, what gives? What are you?”

  Jasmine dropped her hands to her sides, and her shoulders relaxed. “You know, at this point, I’m not really sure.”

  The young man seemed remarkably unfazed given everything that had happened. He chuckled. “Está chido… Confusing times for a lot of folks. Whatever you are, you think you’re up for a drink?”

  Jasmine hesitated. There was already so much she didn’t understand, let alone the fact she now worried about understanding this young man’s slang. Before answering, she wanted to know what she was saying yes to.

  “That isn’t slang for like…sucking brain fluid or anything?”

  The man smirked. “Brain fluid? Really? What kind of neighborhood do you think this is? Now come on. Let’s get these putos into that dumpster quick. Jemaine might not blink about bodies getting dumped into his truck, but he’s never late, and you don’t want these two having to sit here stinking up the place until next week.”

  Jasmine and the young man went to Beardy first. Jasmine grabbed his arms, and the young man grabbed his legs. “I’m Eddy, by the way.”

  Jasmine gave a small nod. “Jasmine.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Jasmine chuckled. “I suppose. Would have been nice to be in different circumstances.”

  Together they swung the body, launching it into a nearby dumpster. They moved to work on the second.

  “Funny,” Eddy announced, although Jasmine didn’t see what was so funny about this. “This isn’t exactly how I saw my morning turning out.”

  Jasmine raised her eyebrows, nodding as she picked up the lifeless body. She resisted the urge to take a small bite of the blood-stained corpse she clutched. “Yeah, that makes two of us.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cheers

  When they finally closed the dumpster lid over the two men inside, the rev of a heavy engine rumbled closer. Amber lights flashed as the dump truck arrived around the corner. Jasmine stepped quickly away to distance herself from what they’d done.

  “Quick, get out of the way!” she hissed at Eddy.

  Eddy didn’t bat an eyelid as he took a couple of steps back and waved.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it. Jemaine’s not the type of person to ask questions. Lucky for us, hey?” He offered another friendly wave to the man behind the wheel, a rotund gentleman with hair the color of salt and skin the color of pepper.

  Jemaine offered a lazy acknowledgment, then turned his attention to his job.

  “So, about that drink, huh?” Eddy prompted Jasmine.

  Jasmine nodded, and the young man led the way.

  He took them out into the early morning light. The sun had risen, and although the wind was a little chilly, the temperature was slowly rising.

  Eddy took them across the street, avoiding traffic and dodging the eyes of the few people they passed. Only once did a woman look Jasmine’s way. Her eyes lingered on the blood and dirt caked around her fingers as she doubled her pace and shuffled off in the opposite direction.

  The buildings on either side rose above them. It felt claustrophobic despite their relatively modest heights, as though the city's structures were pressing down on them and holding its civilians in.

  Eddy made a right at the end of the street and crossed the road, making a beeline for a dingy hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Its faded neon sign with one light blinking read, Stryga’s Nest.

  The owl painted over the entrance was cracked and peeling, giving it an odd depth when viewed at certain angles. One set of the owl’s talons poured vodka into a mug. The building’s façade didn’t fit in with the more upscale and modern buildings around it.

  Jasmine smirked as she followed Eddy inside. She’d wondered if a place like this would be closed this early in the morning, but the door opened without trouble. A gentle jingle of a bell announced their arrival.

  What surprised her most was the absence of the typical pub and bar smell she was used to. The air was fresh with a hint of chemicals, but the place looked as she expected it would. As she passed a table where an older man snoozed with his head in the crook of his arm, she ran a finger across the table, expecting a line of dust. Instead, there was nothing. The surface was squeaky clean.

  There were only a handful more patrons in the bar. They were either asleep at their table, one hand clutching the remains of their drink, or lying down on one of the bench seats, lost in slumber.

  Jasmine and Eddy approached the bar where the only man still awake shuffled around behind the counter. He was short and stout. A bald patch sat atop his head, ringed with a doughnut of wispy gray, but a certain vigor to his gaze belied his apparent age.

  As Eddy tapped excitedly on the counter and called the man’s name, he spun to reveal a heavy set of eyebrows and a whiskery mustache with graying stubble. In his hands was a gleaming pint glass and a cloth that looked as though it was brand new.

  “Ivan, mi padre.” Eddy half-jumped over the bar to pat the man on the shoulder.

  Jasmine couldn’t help but notice that on the outside, the gentleman didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture, although the corners of his lips ticked up slightly with mirth.

  Ivan grunted and nodded at the other patrons. A silent message passed between the pair.

  “Madre de Dios.” Eddy turned to Jasmine. “Bear with me one second. Actually, you should probably wash your hands while I clear out these pendejos.”

  Jasmine examined the blood on her fingers and agreed with Eddy. Ivan pointed Jasmine in the direction of the nearest restroom.

  Inside the restroom, she was once again surprised by the cleanliness of these facilities. There was no graffiti on the walls, and the only smells that reached her nostrils were cleaning products and bleach.

  Jasmine spent some time at the sink, scrubbing furiously at the blood on her hands. Most of it came off easy enough, but a dull pink remained in contrast to the rest of her pale skin. It would be easy for the average Joe patron to wonder what she’d been up to.

  By the time she finished, even Jasmine couldn’t tell if her skin had pinkened slightly because of the blood or the irritation of scrubbing so hard for so long. Soon the pinks melted into the pale white she had glimpsed at her house in the mirror. She drew a reflexive breath before looking in the immaculate restroom mirrors and studying her reflection.

  The same stranger she’d seen in the mirror of her own home stared back at her with the same pale skin, hollow cheeks, dark eyes, and black hair. For the first time, she didn’t mind. If anything, this showed some consistency in her suddenly changed life.

  Jasmine finished in the bathroom with a half-assed attempt at taming her hair, then exited back into the bar. Eddy sat on a barstool in the empty venue. The door was now also locked. Jasmine wondered how Ivan could be soft enough to let his patrons fall asleep here and have to rely on someone else to kick them out in the early hours. If he wasn’t careful, this town would swallow him alive.

  Then again, he seems to be doing well so far.

  She joined Eddy at the bar, feeling refreshed and a little cleaner, if only on the outside. Eddy nodded at the drinks on the bar before him, two double shot glasses full of a clear liquid and two tall glasses of orange juice.

  Eddy slid one of the clear glasses and one of the orange juices toward Jasmine. “Ivan refuses to mix a screwdriver. He says it’s a waste of good vodka.” His voice dropped into a passable Russian accent for the last part. “But he won’t kick us out if we’re paying for it.”

  Eddy dumped his vodka into the orange juice before giving it a quick stir with his finger. He waited for Jasmine to copy. She obliged, not remembering the last time she had a drink this early in the day.

  Perhaps she might have protested in other circumstances, but today seemed like a perfect day to take up morning drinking.

  “¡Arriba, abajo, al centro, pa’ dentro!” Eddy exclaimed. He winced, then shook his head. “So what’s your full name, Jasmine? What’s your story?”

  Before answering, Jasmine took her glass and drained the contents. Disappointment flooded her as she felt the drink’s cool tickle with no taste to follow.

  “My story… As I said in the alley, your guess is as good as anybody’s. You go first.”

  Eddy measured her for a second. “I’m Eduardo Vorhees, but most people call me ‘Eddy’ or ‘Eddy V.’”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look all that homeless. What were you doing hanging around a homeless shelter and getting yourself in trouble at…” She glanced at her watch before realizing it wasn’t there.

  Eddy answered for her. “Six in the morning.”

  “Right.”

  Eddy drew a long breath. “I’ve got a system.”

  “Not a house?” Jasmine quipped.

  Eddy chuckled. Ivan had his back to them as he attended to something, but his shoulders shook as he laughed.

  “Right. I’m in a very particular kind of work, which leaves me with no chance to have a permanent abode. People would find me, you see, and I’d rather they not.

  “I discovered quite some time ago that by putting myself in rotation among the numerous shelters in this dump, I could avoid detection and stay away from… How would you describe them, Ivan?”

  Ivan remained silent, attending to his business.

  “Thanks,” Eddy added as if Ivan had contributed something monumental. “Let’s call them…‘less favorable’ sorts.”

  “What is your line of work?” Jasmine knew she probably wouldn’t get an answer.

  Eddy sat back, spreading his arms wide. There was a cockiness to him that Jasmine appreciated. With buckets of charisma, sometimes it could go either way.

  “I’m an entrepreneur. Or a philanthropist. Think of me as this city’s Tony Stark.”

  Jasmine leaned back and frowned. “Tony Stark has buckets of cash, yet you’re a self-confessed homeless shelter rotationer. I’d guess that your business isn’t exactly in the same line of work as Tony Stark but focuses much more on the route of narcotics in the city’s dark underbelly. Is that about right?”

  Eddy raised his eyebrows, impressed, but he didn’t satisfy Jasmine with an answer. “What about you? I’ve given you some of my story. Now it’s your turn.”

  Jasmine motioned for Ivan to bring them another drink, the components of a screwdriver. They dumped the vodka in, and this time while Eddy drank his straight down, Jasmine sipped. Her eyes went glassy as she recalled her old life and how much she was willing to say to these strangers.

  She’d honed her skills over her years in the business, but her rebirth on the construction site had knocked her for a loop. Now she didn’t know who to trust, where to go, or what she was doing. She’d saved this young man’s life, but she still wasn’t sure why. Out of everyone she’d met that night, he was probably the only one she could trust.

  “I’m a journalist,” Jasmine replied, then went tight-lipped.

  Eddy sensed that the door to getting answers from Jasmine had closed. “Okay, journalist. At least tell me your name.”

  Jasmine frowned. “I told you, it’s Jasmine.”

  “Full name. You have mine.”

  “And I should trust that?” she shot back. “I’ve only just met you.”

  Eddy chuckled.

  Jasmine sighed. “Just call me Jazz.”

  Eddy glanced at Ivan. “You hear her? I ask for more of her name, and she decides to take what she’s given me and shorten it. I now have less. How does that work?”

  Jasmine wanted to take control of the situation before it diverged on a route she didn’t like. She turned to Ivan. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ivan. It’s nice to meet you and everything, but most premises I frequent that serve alcohol tend to kick out their patrons before the night is through. How come there were people here when we arrived? What time does this place close?”

  Ivan shuffled slowly, turning as though he was a statue made of stone and someone was dragging him on the spot. She expected a reply from the stout man, but Eddy spoke up.

  “Ivan’s big on hospitality, little on confrontation. He has a soft heart and sometimes it’s easy for people to take advantage of that. That’s why we make such a good team.