Splintered

Chapter Sixteen: Poor Man's Diamond

Chimney smoke swirled around the bizarre procession as the sunlight faded to nothing. A horde of peacekeepers was being led by a small girl, dragging a tired-looking redhead behind her through the streets of District Twelve.

Amethyst's hand was cinched around Hazel's with a surprising amount of strength for such a young, frail girl. She was all but skipping down the dark cobblestone streets. The knobby bones dug into Hazel's skin with each bounce, almost as if the young girl thought Hazel might disappear if she loosened her grip.

Ahead of the two was a humble dwelling that was barely sturdy enough to call a home.

Briallen and Clive paused at the entrance, stepping aside to let Hazel and her three guards file in. Sable instructed the comically large group of peacekeepers following them to wait outside.

The entire home could have fit inside Hazel's living room with space to spare. Its ceilings were warped and low. Each wall was uneven and patched with cheap particle board.

Wallpaper was pulling away from the walls, curling back like rotting fruit. Mismatched furniture was scattered about, the upholstery clinging to its last threads.

Bellona whispered, frowning at the depression-colored decor. "Best to keep this brief. We're fairly exposed."

Sable's lip curled as he scanned the area as well. "Yeah, exposed to tetanus."

Bellona elbowed him.

Leo whispered, "Bellona is right. I think we have had enough fireworks for one day."

Hazel kept her voice low as she murmured, "Don't worry. I'll scream if she draws a weapon."

Leo shook his head, exchanging a look with his sister. "Just don't take too long, Marlowe."

"Yes, sir," Hazel said as Amethyst pulled her toward a closed door with the letters "A" and "R" carved into thin scraps of wood hanging from a nail driven into its center.

"Better be." Sable crossed his arms, face completely humorless.

Hazel let the young girl shut them inside the cold, ragged bedroom. It was so uncannily similar to the shack where her father used to reside, that she half expected the smell of crusted whiskey. Winter air entered through scattered gaps in the siding. A solitary steel pot with rusted edges lay in the middle of the floor, collecting errant drops that insisted on creeping through the ceiling.

Against each wall was a mound of blankets folded into the shape of a sleeping mat. One held a stuffed bear with faded purple-colored fabric. The other was neat, folded tightly. It was as if it was waiting for its owner to return. Hazel bent closer to the empty bed, tracing the weave of the thick brown quilt and the embroidered little pink flowers along its border.

"It's over here." The young girl bent next to a rickety dresser and tugged open a battered drawer. The clunky sound it made was almost laughable. It was filled to the brim with rocks, stones, and random trinkets of hardly any value.

Hazel sidled up to Amethyst, looking down into the girls' treasure trove.

"Wonderful," Hazel's voice was as threadbare as the home's furniture.

Amethyst dug into her collection. "I want you to have one of these." She pulled out a fingernail-sized stone that looked like a sanded pearlescent crystal. It was generally round with scattered divots and minuscule imperfections. "It's called a poor man's diamond."

She surveyed the depressing little space and then the girl before her and then the gem in her open palm. She had that magical quality of children. They could make fantasies and adventures out of even the most dire circumstances. They dug up even small amounts of wonder from ruins, making diamonds out of worthless stones. The best kind of miners in the worst kind of mines.