𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄 | ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴʟᴏɴ

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

FRENCHIE WAS SLOWLY GETTING THE HANG OF IT.

Far ahead, she saw city lights glimmering in the early dawn. Several yards away the body of a street performer waved out of control, his arms limp, fire flickering in his mouth like a badly wired lightbulb.

A body shot past her—Jack, screaming and frantically grabbing at the clouds. "Back off, Delancey!"

Frenchie tried to call to him, but he was already too far ahead.

Somewhere behind her, Morris Delancey yelled, "I'm gonna get you, Kelly!"

It was hard to control her confusion, but Frenchie summoned her head and regained most of her thoughts. She was yanked into reality with a hault, the ground underneath her like a solid block of ice.

She couldn't see much, but knew she needed to help her brother out of this mess. Her eyes searched the pavement until she saw Switchblade and Snotface walking together, their arms wrapped around each other.

"We have to help Jack!" Frenchie shouted.

Her run slowed as Switchblade looked back, but she still sped up and slowed down like her legs didn't want to cooperate.

"That would get rough," Snotface warned. "He's been in pickles like this before, French, he'll be fine."

Frenchie spotted Jack a few yards in front of them and rushed towards him. She locked her arms around him, and the pair shot toward the ground. Jack probably screamed, but the sound was ripped from his mouth.

Jack began wriggling and cursing. "Get offa me, Delancey!"

"Stop fighting!" Frenchie said, tightening her grip around him. "It's me!"

"Jesus, Ethel!" Jack yelled. "You cant do that to me!"

Frenchie was already struggling to keep the two of them on the ground, and she knew there was no way she could help hide them from Morris Delancey. But before she could try to reason with Jack, she heard a fight break out from behind them.

A rock rolled into the sky from behind a warehouse complex, and Snotface shouted, "Switchblade!"

Switchblade's face reddened with strain as he tried to maintain a cushion between Morris and he, but intermittent breaks were the best he could manage. Rather than knife-fighting, it looked like they were bouncing around in a circle, a few punches at a time, which wasn't doing Frenchie's stomach any favors.

As Jack wobbled from under her, Frenchie could make out details of the street ahead—warehouses, smokestacks, barbed-wire fences, and a group surrounding Switchblade and Morris.

"Jack, take care of yourself," Frenchie said. "Switchblade, hang on!" And she grabbed a ribbon and tried her best to keep her hair out of her face, even if she did a terrible job at keeping it tied.

She ran through the group of the largest men and crashed through into circle. Then she heard Jack's voice somewhere behind, echoing through the town square. "Ethel! Where's Ethel?"

"French, get out!" Switchblade groaned. "I've got my own back! I'm not a charity case! Morris, where'd you go?"

"Right here, wise guy," he said.

Switchblade grunted, following the voice, walking forward towards Morris. His eyes were so swollen from fighting that he could barely see what was in front of him.

He grabbed Frenchie and threw her aside to where he could hear Snotface yelling. She had landed on ground level, and was now standing up and walking towards him.