Page 59 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
Jesus fucking Christ, St. Sebastian wanted to shout. Are you stupid? Are you too stupid to see what’s right in front of you?
“It’s nice to see that Martinez found a friend,” Lee said, joining Billy and giving Auden and St. Sebastian a bored once-over.
“Well, this has been lovely,” Auden said. “Unfortunately, this graveyard is taken, so I’m afraid you’ll need to find somewhere else to do . . . ” Clearly at a loss to describe what it was these boys were doing, Auden made a vague motion at Billy’s sloshing cider bottle. “. . . this.”
St. Sebastian could feel his jaw literally drop. The fucking balls on Auden, the fucking unnecessary balls, because they had been about to leave anyway, and now Auden was drawing a line in the sand of a beach they’d planned on abandoning. Why? What point could this exercise in power possibly fucking serve?
But Auden didn’t budge an inch, not when the boys reacted to this with visible anger and excitement—because it was an excuse, Auden had just handed them an excuse to escalate—and Auden didn’t budge either when Billy stepped forward, another foot closer to them.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Billy demanded, face flushing. “Did you just fucking tell me to fucking leave?”
“Well, yes,” Auden replied. “I thought that was clear?”
“Listen up, you fucking bastard—”
“I’m not a bastard,” Auden interrupted irritably, as if Billy were interested in the nuances of legitimacy and had simply committed a factual error.
Billy was not interested in the nuances of legitimacy, it turned out, and Auden’s interruption twisted the tension even higher, as Billy struggled for a response and Auden raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Billy didn’t have a chance for verbal revenge, though, because another boy came forward and swiped St. Sebastian’s phone off Auden’s sketchbook, jumping back before St. Sebastian could reach him, and causing a chase that only lasted four steps as St. Sebastian’s options caught up with him and he froze.
The options were:
1) Chase the boy while the others laughed and possibly played keep away (and then still not get the phone.)
2) Chase the boy and get the phone but then get roughed up for his trouble.
3) Stop chasing and beg for them to give it back because it cost so much money and was the nicest thing he owned. . . which would probably signal to them how important it was (and therefore be a mistake).
4) Stop chasing the boy and hope they all got bored.
So St. Sebastian froze as the boy darted behind a screen of the other boys and started tossing the phone in the air and laughing. But Auden didn’t freeze.
He stepped forward, his jaw tight and his eyes flashing. “Give that back to him,” he said quietly.
“Or what?” the boy jeered. “You’ll call your mummy on us?”
“No,” Auden said. “Or I’ll make you.”
“Oh, is AHHH-dn gonna make us?” Billy said, seeming to shake off his funk at being verbally bested by Auden before. “They teach you how to fight in rich-boy school?”
“Of course not,” Auden said, annoyed. “Well, unless you count fencing, but that was elective.”
God, Auden, really?
This obviously did not impress them, and the boy with the phone started throwing it higher and higher until Auden snapped, “Give that back—” and the boy said, “Oh, you want it back, do you?” in a tone any kid who’s ever been bullied knows means trouble. Then he threw the phone as hard as he could—not to Auden or St. Sebastian or even to the ground, where the grass would cushion its fall—but right at a gravestone.
There was the dull crack and clatter of a shattering screen, and before St. Sebastian could go for it—or even react, really—Billy got to the phone where it lay dark and spiderwebbed on the grass. He drove his heel down against the phone, again and again and again, so that St. Sebastian wouldn’t just have a screen to replace, he’d have everything to replace, and it was like everything was shattering inside of St. Sebastian just like the glass screen, and each crack was his mother’s disappointed face, his secondhand clothes, his voice that would never sound like money in any of the three countries he could claim as his own.
“Fuck,” he whispered, only to himself, the single moment of weakness he’d allow himself before he figured out how to extricate Auden and him safely. But Auden heard, and pure, possessive protectiveness blazed from those hazel eyes, and Auden stepped forward and shoved Billy off the phone.
“Don’t you ever fuck with him,” Auden growled.
“Why,” Billy asked, furious, panting, “cause that’s your job?”
Auden went to shove him again, and that’s when Billy swung—a punch that clipped Auden’s elbow as Auden expertly blocked and dipped, changing his shoving hand into an uppercut at the last minute, aimed right for Billy’s solar plexus.
St. Sebastian was already moving even before the punch landed, because it didn’t matter if Auden could fight Billy and win, it wasn’t just Billy, there were six more of them, and they wouldn’t fight fair, they had no interest in fighting fair. Auden had just given them a reason to lose any last shred of decency when it came to that, because their only code was loyalty, and Auden had just humiliated and then hit one of their own.
