Chapter 2

The gate gaped open, and for a second, the alley felt like a cage she was afraid to leave. She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. Shallow breaths were better for handling the sour smells swelling with the heat into a raunchy stench between the butcher’s shop and the little raw fish dive on garbage day. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand and darted out to the street. A sparrow chirped as it flew by, happily dipping into the dump for a beak full of maggots.

Deep breaths, nice and crisp under the heavy moisture, an undercurrent of wet dog, but nothing gross. The road ahead stretched out into a grey haze of fog. She couldn’t see far from where she stood.

Didn’t matter. Whatever he said, Tar knew she was ready. This day had been almost seven years coming, starting the moment Tar found her, huddled behind a dumpster, a frightened nine year old girl paralyzed by shock. Tar had taken her to his shelter and armed her with the skills needed to survive on the streets. Then he taught her all her father refused to, gave her the keys to her inheritance. She’d gain the power and learn the skills to kill the creatures skulking in the dark, though she’d once sworn not to. She’d break her vow for those who’d made a mockery of her father’s beliefs.

It was time. Time to meet the end of her mortal life.

Small boys shouted and dashed between tombstones, completely wild now that night had fallen. The rain would come soon, but not one of them cared. And for the first time in far too long, David wasn’t concerned about letting them run free.

He smiled even as he knelt before the grave, still hearing the sweet laughter gone silent when her light had faded. And didn’t return in the years that led to her name being carved in this stone.

Among the children there were still a few who’d run with her through the trees, long before skyscrapers had reached into the New York skyline. Life had been easier then. Sometimes David would play with them too.

He could picture her, dancing in the tall grass with a child in her arms, her long blond hair reflecting the light of the moon, glowing like the sun.

“Oh why can’t you stay like this forever?”

No matter how often she asked them, the children would giggle and gather around her, shouting “We can!”

“You can?” Isadora would bend down to their level and they’d all go still. “But even puppies and kittens get bigger. You aren’t telling me stories, are you?”

Very serious, every little head would shake.

“Never?” She’d tap a little nose that wrinkled at the thought of growing up, then turn that beautiful smile on David. “Can we keep them?”

He loved her so much, he would have told her yes even if the children hadn’t already belonged to them both. She’d been part of the once impossible dream to give immortal children eternity.

When he’d lost her, they were all that kept him going. He couldn’t fail her even as the world changed. Grew hard and cold.

A tiny boy tripped up to David’s side with an armful of wild flowers. Front teeth missing, dirt smeared all over his face, he looked no different than in those days when Isadora had swung him up into her arms. He laid the flowers on Isadora’s grave even as David rose to his feet.

This wasn’t part of David’s turf, so he wouldn’t press his luck and stay long. The gangs that controlled the city’s carefully hidden unnatural presence had finally reached a truce. There was real peace for the first time in almost a hundred years.

The faint scent of clove smoke drew his gaze to dark forms in the distance. He prepared to call the boys to him, but the little one with the flowers jumped up and hugged David’s leg.

Tears spilled over dirty, chubby little cheeks and the boy let out a hiccupped sob. “I miss her so much.”

Isadora had been dead for fifty years. The child acting like no time had passed proved to David that he’d succeeded in granting her last wish.

She’d lost what she’d fought to preserve for the little ones. David’s throat tightened as he recalled her final words. “Can’t they stay like this forever?”

The boy sniffed and tugged at the sleeve of David’s crisp, white shirt. “Do we have to go?”

Likely hearing the child, the figures in the trees backed off. All but one. Who inclined his head to David.

As the leader of the city’s gangs, David had responsibilities to see to. He had to leave, but the children didn’t. And despite the tension between the gangs, the little ones would be safe.

“Stay as long as you want.” He ruffled the boy’s messy brown hair. “But we only play in the night. When dawn comes—”

“The sun hurts, but it can’t hurt her anymore.” The child paused, tracing small fingers over the curve of the tombstone. “She said she couldn’t wait to see the sun rise again, but all the stars are suns and she’d be watching us from them always.”

Putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders, David took a knee and pointed up at the stars that showed between the thickening clouds. He found the very one she’d shown him, the one from her favorite story, to the right of the North Star. “Even with the storm coming, you can see her star. If you ever lose sight of it, come to me. We’ll find it again together.”