The Devil Child

Chapter Thirty

 A fox scurried across the street, and then ran along the edges of an alleyway, keeping close to the sides of the building. It was well past midnight, and the city was barely bustling, the sound of cars winding down. The night smelled of cheap perfume and pizza as the fox darted by a man carrying a stack of pizza boxes to a dumpster at the entrance of the alleyway, the first of many dumpsters that cluttered the narrow area.

The sounds of someone digging through a dumpster ran through the night, though the fox was used to this as it glided down the alleyway, hiding in the shadows. It paused at the mouth of a door, ears cocked and body low.

Right on cue, the door opened, letting light spill into the alleyway. The rustling stopped just as loud music rang into the quiet of the night, and then the door shut again. The man who stepped into the alleyway put a hand on the head of the fox, and then the man said something in his deep baritone of a voice.

A head poked from the dumpster, and wide eyes looked back at the man, pausing like the fox before moving quietly towards the man. The girl moved quickly on all fours and tilted her head to the man, expected him to place his hand there.

He did. Then, he bent down, allowing the fox to jump to his shoulder. The girl, who was more of a young woman, leaned into his warm arms, hiding in the cigar scented jacket he wore. To her, he was her savior, her everything. A man she did not know, but a man she trusted. A man who was as mysterious to her as she to him.

Her wide eyes, curious and believing, waited for him to move or to say something.

His face looked tired and worn down, but he smelled of cologne and business promises. His outfit was tailored for him, the expensive material stiff and wrinkle free. In the shadows of the alleyway, he appeared to be the boss of a wealthy business, lost in the underbelly of the city, far from home.

He stood with the fox on his shoulder and the girl in his arms. He spoke in a strange tongue, one the girl understood but the fox did not. The fox was used to this, and instead listened to the tone and pitch of the voice to understand the meanings. The man didn't sound like danger, nor did he sound distressed. The fox decided all was right.

The man did not enter back into the building. He kept close to the wall, just as the fox had, and his dark clothes blended into the shadows. A ghost of a man with his fox sidekick and his orphan girl heroine.

He was a mystery, Inside the club, the men there knew him as Nickels - the man who turned nothing into everything. A man who entered with a pocket full of change and exited with a wallet full of cash. He was the fresh face of an industry, the man who escaped the terrors of childhood and survived.

He skirted around the edge of the building and was met with the downtown, walking into what was usually a busy sidewalk during the day. The storefronts that lined the street were dark and the road was bustling with cabs looking for drunkards coming out of bars. The man didn't pause nor hesitate as he slid into a car. Smooth as butter, he gathered no attention from the people of the night. Not his fox or his girl were detected, and his driver paid him and his company no attention. The driver was used to this.

The girl flattened herself against him, seeking warmth. She knew the game, knew that she wouldn't be able to stay, but it didn't stop her from getting close to the man. She didn't even mind the fox, who rarely bared its teeth at her. The fox was just as much of a misfit as she was.

She was cold, and reeked of rotten food. She had some stuck to her body, due to her dumpster diving. The man didn't seem to mind as he ran a hand over her head, slipping his hand into her tangled hair. There was something about her that brought warmth to his heart.