The Month of April (The Series of Months; Book #1)

Chapter I

For the first time in my life, I had something to regret. And not the childish guilt kind of regret you feel for a solid minute after your mother scolds you for stealing from the cookie jar. I'm talking about the real kind of regret, the kind that keeps you up at night with haunting faces and echoing words. You may be thinking, what does a girl of my age, of my status, of my privilege have anything to regret about?

Let's start with my choice of clothing. Of course someone like me, born and raised in the highlights of the city where people bustled from one shop to another in hopes of getting the hottest fur lined pant suit or the newest lionioness eyelashes, often found the whirlwind of high fashion to be one of the top priorities. And yet, stressing about matching a stupid magazine to blend in, for the first time in my life, was one of my regrets.

Running a hand through my hair, I had tried to hide the anxiety building in my stomach. Regret number two: allowing my emotions to so easily show themselves on my face. My fear was causing my nerves to glow, screaming into the dark sky "look at me, I'm one vulnerable and powerless mouse wondering the wrong side of town!" The clothes were suppose to help with that, but the tattered jeans and brown halter top I got from a used clothing store was still far too trendy and far too clean.

Last, but not least, was my choice of location. Regret didn't even begin to cover how I felt about the bar far off any written map and hidden only by the stench within, the smell resembling both booze and swine -- not that I was familiar with either, but the smell was a deathly reek that clung to the dust and hung in the air. Discomfort, fear, guilt: these other emotions swirled in my gut and kept me far too alert to appear relaxed. Especially around these trained loafers that lounged openly with the company of skimpy women.

There was nothing like this in the City, nothing like this where the lights glowed all shades of colors and music traveled in the crisp wind. I, Emmeline Thatcher, was not in my normal habitat. I'm pretty sure it showed too, a few of the men giving me hungry or mischievous grins from across the room. I had to remain focused, I thought, I had to remain brave if I'm going to find anything out.

I thought it best to approach the bartender first. He was a buff man, with arms as thick as my entire body and shoulders as wide as three of me. He had a scar down his eye, though it looked like it was etched on by a school kid. Maybe it was, the kid using his pencil to defend himself against the giant of a man. I swallowed, watching as his dark eyes drift up to look at me in the doorway for the fourth time. He knew I was there, and he sure as hell could tell I didn't belong.

Slowly, I walked towards the bartender. He only gave me another once over before continuing his conversation with woman perched on a barstool. I didn't want to interrupt, my manners drilled into me since the day I was born begging me to wait my turn. But I watched people come and go, interrupting one another for the past hour, and it was about time I had my turn. This was the slums, after all, and I had to play by their rules.

Assuming their rules don't tear me apart.

I pulled a paper from my jacket, turning it over once in my hand to give myself a little confidence. Holding it reminded me why I was here. No one in the entire City was going to give me any answers about my father. It was almost like he never existed, like he disappeared and is unspoken of. No one, not even my mother seems to miss him. Just accept that that was that. He was gone. Move on.

Sorry, but moving on was never my specialty. Everyone says my father was some scandalous lying prick, cheating on my mom with some prostitute. But I knew better, I knew the love my father felt for my mother. The loyalty Councilman Emile Thatcher had for me and my mother.

I turned the paper once more in my hand, unfolding it and smoothing out the wrinkle in one of the corners. It was about time I got the answers I deserve. I had to stop myself with starting with "excuse me sir, may I have a moment?" I was lucky my voice gave out when his eyes fell on me to begin with, or I surely would have embarrassed myself further.