Streetwise

That one. The woman walking so easily, her handbag loose in her grasp.

Kav caught the eye of Nick, loitering in a shop doorway across the street and nodded. See her?

The werewolf leaned out casually, pretending he was flicking the butt of his cigarette into the gutter. Yep. Easy pickings.

In the busy shopping precinct, they were no different from scores of other teens wandering about, chatting, laughing, dodging between the knots of couples and families and lone bargain-hunters. And that, of course, was all part of the deception.

The rest of the gang were scattered around too, pairs and threes, all of them scanning the bustling hordes to find the careless and the weak. The ones like the woman whose attention was clearly elsewhere, bumping and jostling against other people with a word of distracted apology. Her hair was loose, fluttering in the wind – and blinkering her peripheral vision, and those little heels she wore meant she wouldn’t give chase. And if she did, well, he was a shapeshifter and he could snap her in two.

At fourteen, Kaffir Lybica considered himself tough and hard. Never mind that he wasn’t as tall as some of the others, or that he had a mild Southern accent that marked him out in the grimy streets of Liverpool: anyone with a whit of intelligence could see the harsh set of his face, the predator poised in his tawny eyes.

If his clothes didn’t fit quite right, if his slightness was more due to malnourishment than slow growth, he was no different to any of the other homeless kids who spent their nights under shop awnings or squatting in derelict buildings. And in many ways, he was better off. He had his gang, for one thing, and they had their own turf and one major advantage over most of the other ragtag groups who staked claims across the city: all of them belonged to the Nightworld.

It was with that supernatural stealth that he eased into the sea of people, a carrier bag swinging in his left hand. He slipped between bodies to walk a meandering path towards the woman. Nick came in from the other side, trying to overtake her. The flow of the crowd was against him, so Kav had to just drift behind her, waiting patiently. They’d done this often enough that he didn’t even feel any apprehension, only a small thrill of excitement.

At last Nick managed to get by, moving several metres ahead – and then he turned with a curse, as if he’d forgotten something, and headed back towards the woman.

Who suddenly lifted a hand to wave at someone beyond Nick – perfect, she was even more distracted. Nick sped up, and Kav closed the distance between them: it was a neat pincer movement, one in front of her, one behind.

Nick crashed into the woman, snapping, “Watch it!” and in the same moment, Kav shot forward, grabbing her bag and diving off into the crowd. A quick glance showed him a wallet crammed with credit cards, a phone, keys. With deft hands, he dropped it into his carrier bag and carried on, blithe and confident.

The woman’s cry rose behind him, and he didn’t pause, a slight grin stealing over his face.

That’ll teach you to be so careless with your money, pet.

And the best part was that no one cared. A couple of people glanced in her direction, but they didn’t stop, immune to her distress-

Hands closed around his shoulders like iron bands.

“Oy!” he yelped. “What d’you think you’re-”

“Mind showing me what you’ve got in that bag?” a man’s voice enquired.

He was spun, hard, and then Kav found himself facing the owner of that voice and a pair of yellow-green eyes that made his heart sink. There was more than a hint of the panther in that stare.

He might have been tempted to run, but he could feel the power that emanated from the man like static electricity, filling his head with the thickness of jungle foliage, tangled and complex, a screen across a core of flint: a solid, aged strength that Kav couldn’t hope to outmatch for all his street scuffles.

Still, strong didn’t mean smart.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said loudly enough to draw eyes. “Are you some kind of nutter?”

“The bag. Now.”

And then the woman came up beside him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her face caught between confusion and disbelief. “Neo, my handbag’s been...”

“Stolen by this little beast,” the man said, his grip never slackening. “I saw the whole thing, Connie. Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you?” Savagery sheathed the last question, aimed at him.

With leaden realisation, Kaffir understood just who the woman had been waving at. But the man was clearly a shapeshifter, and the woman didn’t register on his senses at all – he knew better than to try and rob his own kind, who wouldn’t hesitate to exact a stinging revenge on him – so why were they together?

“Him? He’s just a little boy,” she said, and the look on her face astonished Kav. “Did he really...I mean – he looks so sweet!”

It was pity. She felt sorry for him.

But he could use that. “I didn’t do anything,” he protested, turning his eyes to her and putting on an injured expression. “I’m shopping for my mum – it’s her birthday tomorrow, and he just grabbed me. He’s hurting me.”

The man – Neo – snorted. No one would have suspected the pressure he exerted on Kav’s shoulders: he appeared a businessman in that grey suit, all distinguished salt-and-pepper hair on a deceptively youthful face, only a few laughter lines to give away his age. “You’re a shapeshifter,” he said. “I’m sure you can handle it.”

He’d lowered his voice so the passers-by couldn’t hear, but the woman could – and she didn’t show an iota of surprise. That meant...

“You’re sick, man,” breathed Kav, staring up into that calm, strong face. “You told vermin about us?”

The man’s level stare didn’t alter but suddenly Kav really was in pain – it felt as if the man was trying to gouge out his flesh with his fingers. “Don’t refer to my wife in that disgusting manner.”

“Your...”

He gazed at the woman, half in wonder, half in shock. She must have been pretty once, but age had already started to erase her beauty, replacing it with what he supposed might be character. Her hair was thick and honey-coloured, but he could smell the dye on it, and see the make-up blushing her mouth and darkening her eyelashes. What on earth would anyone want with her, especially a man like this?

She gazed back, unafraid, and then he caught it: thin as tissue paper, a feathery brush of power, the faint baby pink of bubblegum. It was so weak that he could only feel it now he was focused on her.

She was a half-breed.

Most were pallid, pathetic things that hung between mortal and immortal worlds like a wishbone waiting to be snapped. But somehow this woman had wheedled her way into the Nightworld. How had she persuaded this guy to marry her, her so weak and him so strong he was like a headache on Kav’s senses?

Yet it didn’t matter that he could have ruptured her heart with one flick of his fingers, she was protected now.

And robbing her had clearly been a very, very bad idea.

Mind racing, Kav reached one conclusion. He wasn’t going to wriggle out of this one.

Nick was going to kill him.

“All right,” he muttered grumpily. “I nicked it. I got to eat, you know, and it ain’t like you’re short of money.”

He dug into his carrier bag and pulled it out.

“What do you need all them cards for, anyway?” he said as she took it back and rifled through it as if to check everything was there.

Startlement swept over her face, stealing the years from it. “I...suppose I don’t really.” And then she looked at him, and her eyes were curiously piercing, despite their toffee softness, making Kav very aware of his faded clothes and his unwashed hair and the hunger gnawing in his stomach.

“Oh no,” the man groaned. “I know that look. No, Connie. Not this one.”

His grip hadn’t slackened in the slightest. Kav hoped he wasn’t going to call the police. Wiping their minds was so much hassle without Nick there, and he didn’t need another trip to court.

“Neo, look at him. He’s so thin. He’s like a scarecrow.”

Kav, who was proud of the cords of muscle that showed on his arms and liked to think of himself as lithe, sinewy, honed, glared at her.

“Connie, he’s a criminal,” Neo said wearily. “He’ll be in jail by the time he’s eighteen and dead before he hits thirty. Where are your parents, boy?”

“Dunno,” he said. “I ran away, didn’t I?”

“Where do you live, then?” The woman sounded aghast.

“Here and there,” he answered, guarded. “I got places to go if I want to.”

The man snorted. “Homeless, then. What a surprise. Connie, leave it be. We don’t need people like that.”

He didn’t know what they were talking about and he didn’t want to know.

“And what if he needs people like us?” the woman demanded, her eyes wide and expressive. The compassion in her face made Kav feel young and bewildered, not understanding why she seemed to pity him so. He was all right, wasn’t he? He’d got his mates, his turf, enough to scrape by. He didn’t have to go to school or work.

“What he needs,” the man replied, his mouth tight, “is a good kicking.”

Kav stilled. The man’s neutral tone meant he couldn’t tell if he was serious. Whoever this Neo was, he had the capacity to leave Kav permanently damaged, and that would mean he was easy fodder for anyone who wanted him. His gang wouldn’t keep him – no room for charity in the streets.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he interrupted, his words a flurry in his haste to keep his skin intact. “I’d only did it ‘cause I got to, okay? I won’t nick from you again. Let me go, I won’t bother you. We live in different worlds, yeah – when are you ever going to see me again? I see you, I promise, I’ll keep away.”

“He won’t hurt you,” the woman assured him. “As if I’d let him.”

The man shot her an exasperated look.

She bent down to him, so Kav could smell the flowery fragrance of her perfume. “We run a charity centre,” she said gently. “We help people who are going through hard times. People who are homeless, poor, who’ve been left destitute or alone. Good causes, you know. We could help you too.”

“I’m not a charity case!” he declared, proud.

“And he certainly isn’t a good cause,” muttered the man.

Her long fingers dug back into her bag, and from the cluster of cards she pulled a flat white business card. “Here,” she said, taking his hand and closing his fingers over it. Her hands were warm and smooth, and Kav couldn’t remember when anyone had last touched him without violent intent. “If you get tired of the streets. Let him go, Neo.”

“Connie...”

“Please,” she said, but it was a command and not a request.

And when the man looked at her, there was a gentleness in his eyes that Kav hadn’t seen before: it shone out like the first strains of light on the horizon, wondering and dazzled and proud and rueful all at the same time.

It made a pang echo in his chest. Long after, he recognise it as a yearning, so deep and powerful it was almost envy. Then, he only knew it was new and strange.

“Nothing good will come of this,” the man sighed, and finally that vice-like clutch vanished. Kav wriggled his shoulders, and hesitated for a moment before he darted away into he crowds, not noticing that the card was still crushed in his hand.

~*~

It was late when he got home. Nick had sworn at him, but they’d both known getting caught was a risk. And Nick hadn’t noticed she was a halfbreed either, so he couldn’t stay angry for long. Instead, they carried on their trade in another part of the street and came away with enough of a haul to earn some money from the adult gangs they passed the cards to, keeping the cash for themselves.

Home was this: a condemned building, waiting for the bulldozers to move in. It was a shell, stripped down to brick dust and cold floors, wires poking out from the walls, water dripping away somewhere. His sleeping bag, nicked from a supermarket last summer, was in one corner, surrounded by wrappers and empty bottles.

The gang each had their own place: safer that way, less chance of discovery. All were boltholes like this, forgotten places just as they were forgotten people who had slipped through the cracks of society.

He wolfed down fast food chased with cider, and only then did he recall the card that he had stuffed into his pocket. Kav pulled it out and opened up his phone, using the light of the screen to see by.

Connie Jubatus, it read. Executive director. Farbrook Trust.

He turned it over. There was a number on the back and an address for some place called Farbrook House, both in Cambridge. He’d never been there, but he knew it was full of rich kids and smart kids, some big university full of rah-rah people. It figured that those two would live there.

He threw it onto the ground with the rest of the rubbish and got into his sleeping bag, slipping into his shapeshifter form: a wildcat with thick fur that kept him warm in the depths of the night, hidden away safely inside the fabric.

But before he went to sleep, the woman’s voice kept echoing round his head.

If you get tired of the streets, she’d offered, her voice all sweet and warm.

He didn’t know why he kept hearing her as he lay huddled in the empty building, all alone in the city night.

This was his life. He didn’t want any other.

Did he?