As the youngest Shelby child and twin to Finn Shelby, Kezia has spent the last 4 of her 10 years locked away for her mental defectiveness.
She returns to Small Heath under the legal guardianship of her brother, Thomas Shelby. Despite knowing she's s...
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CHAPTER ONE
Being good meant Kezia played with her horses for longer.
The ten horses made a line from her cot to the ward entrance. Bucking stallions and prancing colts. They were perfect. As perfect as could be, at least.
Their paint chipped and faded from years of use and numerous falls. Even Kezia ruined a few. She used a sewing needle dropped on the floor to carve her name into the molding, so no one could steal them again.
She was halfway through K-E-Z when a nurse found her under her bed and dragged her away. Kezia screamed and thrashed. Touching people meant their skin went inside hers and it itched. Often, she scratched her skin so raw it did not heal for weeks. Scars on her forearms were hidden by the long wool dresses the hospital provided. Deep slashes like cracks in the tile.
A nurse—one of the better ones—entered the room. Kezia felt the woman's frustration from across the room. It buzzed in the girl's brain and made her lips twitch.
"Kezia," she began, taking a breath. "You have a visitor."
"Not yet," Kezia mumbled.
The nurse shook her head. "In English, Ms. Shelby. You know that's how you communicate." The woman's emotions ramped up and Kezia found herself falling further into herself. The nurse looked down at the girl's fingers. She rubbed them against each other frantically while her pupils dilated. She was too gone. "I'm going to bring him in now, okay?"
The moment the nurse left, Kezia launched herself up and hopped over the nearby cots. Like a diving bird, she dipped between hers and slithered under the bed.
Impatient footfalls echoed in the room. Kezia recognized them. From her dreams. Was she asleep?
The stranger's shiny shoes—he was a doctor—stopped in front of her bed. Kezia went limp onto the floor, hoping the man wouldn't be able to reach her. Expensive shoes and impatient feet meant doctors: to chide her and force her to sit in group sessions. And this man had rage. It burned and made Kezia's skin swell. She would be punished harshly today.
Staying under the bed always worked. But only until the doctors and nurses found the cane with the rope attached to it. While never tight enough to prevent her from breathing, the more she thrashed and resisted, the more the rope agitated her neck.
The man bent down. His fingers gripped the thin bed sheets. Their eyes met, both that same Shelby blue.
The man exhaled like he had been punched in the gut, his shoulders slagging. Rage slipped into fury, a disquieting madness over his baby sister stuck under the moldy cot like a dying cat.
"Kizzie," he cooed. "Let me see you, pretty girl."
She remained heavy against the floor. Her fingers curled around her dress and the man followed her movements. He extended his arm, his palm facing up toward the mattress. A peace offering. He tried to hide the trembling in his fingers, but she saw.
His scent—tobacco and cologne—surged towards her once his hand sat between them.
"Tommy?"
His eyes glassed over. "It's me, lambkin."
Kezia inched away from his hand but crawled out. She sat against the shared dresser and observed him. If the nurses were here, they'd say she was vacant again. She never understood it; she did a perfectly fine job expressing how she felt. No one wanted to take the time to see, was all.
But Tommy knew. He always knew. And now, sadness lit her features. It crushed his soul. He fought to hold her, to shield her from this godforsaken place.
"You are crying," she told him.
He blinked them away. "You remember our language?"
She shrugged and rolled up the ends of her dress again. "I remember everything." A terrible thought made her stop. "Are you...going to live here?"
Stoic and blue, her brother paled. "No, Kizzie, I'm—"
"That's good. It's fine enough here most days. Depends who's workin'." She took a breath. "Sometimes, in group, there are men from the war. They have bad thoughts. Scary pictures in their head keep them awake and worried. Goes around inside them like a train. Do you have those? It's okay if you do. I sometimes get those too." Kezia rubbed her sleeved arm, satisfied once she found the scars.
"I'm here to take you home."
"But I am home."
Tommy sucked his teeth, his mask cracking. "This is not home, Kizzie. Home is with me, Aunt Polly, your brothers and Ada. You're never coming back here again."
"Do they still remember me? I don't remember an Aunt Polly."
"Aye, they do. And they miss you. Aunt Pol took—"
No, he couldn't do it. Tommy couldn't risk breaking her heart by telling her their father forgot about her. That he gave their siblings custody to her aunt and not her.
"You look different," she suddenly said.
"Yeah, lambkin?"
"You haven't smiled once since being here. You always used to smile. So wide I see your teeth. You were blue like the sky then. Now you're blue like storming water."
"I'm—"
"I don't smile much either...Well, I do. Just to myself." Her eyes shifted back and forth between her brother and the cot. "When I can be alone." Without realizing it, her fingers tugged the bottom of his trousers. The wool felt new and warm against his body. "I think I'd like to go home. Is there still a war, or are you going to stay?"
His baby sister—his soul—had not lost an ounce of innocence. He kept himself alive for her. And, like always, she was right; he did not smile anymore. But with her, he knew peace. She was the anchor of sanity. And the world be damned and set aflame if she is ever taken from him again.
