Chapter 3

  Mr. Bently (Unedited)

  It was 6:30 in the morning the following day when Tiffney entered the shop through the back door, ready to help Mr. Bently prepare for opening at 7:00. The night had passed without any hiccups; Rea arrived on time just as the streetlights in the High District were turning on. She immediately set to work scrubbing dirty plates, used porcelain mugs that had held coffee or tea, and white metal trays that held freshly baked pastries, which were set out behind a glass display at the front of the shop.

  The remainder of her subway ride the previous night with Al and Griffin was uneventful. After accepting that Al was not going to budge on helping her enroll in the Briar Academy, Al had changed the subject to more innocuous topics that were not too dissimilar to those discussed most nights the two traveled together. Rea gave the same rote response about how her mother was doing well and mustered a hopeful reply about how she believed an anti-spell would be found soon. She discussed the mundane details of her job at the bakery and reassured Al that Mr. Bently was doing well. Griffin relayed much of his previous conversation about school to Al and then added in a piece he had overheard from his parents. One of the government officials Griffin’s father was working for had been overheard arguing on the phone about the strain on the Society’s infirmaries caused by the dark magic plaguing the Society. Griffin’s father seemed to be under the impression that the Healers were going to stop treating people in the Low Districts altogether.

  After the subway had stopped at its destination, Rea, Griffin, and Al made for the platform where people were waiting to board the train back to the Low District. The man sleeping across from where they had been sitting was not disturbed by the stopping of the train. Had Rea not seen the subtle rise and fall of his chest, she would have assumed he was dead for all he seemed to notice his surroundings.

  Rea bid Al and Griffin farewell, who escorted her out to the streets above before returning to catch the subway back to the Low District. Al had business to attend to here in the Highs but was adamant that escorting Griffin back to his house took priority. Rea would be more than safe in the High District by herself; Crime was nearly unheard of for people living in the High District. As if she needed any reassurance, she saw Watchers wearing pristine uniforms walking the streets proudly and standing at attention at nearly every corner on her way to the bakery.

  Rea’s heeled leather boots thumped loudly on the perfectly paved roads as she passed two- and three-story homes made of stone or brick more often than not. Most were an ostentatious display of wealth. There was something about this outward display of pretentiousness that disgusted her. How could these people be so intent on flaunting their wealth when there were people in the Lows who wouldn’t even dream of living in a house that nice. From the brushes shaved down in the shape of animals, statues mounted in the center of a large, stone fountain, to the vividly painted bricks that nearly hurt to look at.

  She didn’t pass many people on her way to the bakery. After receiving a few askance glances from people walking along the wide streets and having a Watcher not so conspicuously follow her for half a mile, she reluctantly lowered her cowl. Wearing a hood in a High-Born neighborhood always drew attention, but then again, her yellow eyes had a similar effect. There was no winning with these people.

  After some time, she passed the residential neighborhoods that surrounded the subway station and moved into the heart of the High District. She could feel the buildings slowly begin to rise higher and higher until her surroundings become completely unrecognizable. At the base of most buildings, there were shops, intended to provide an outlet for the hardworking businessmen and women working on the floors above. There were clothing outlets, X, and restaurants where you could get any type of food imaginable. This late at night, most of the coffee shops and bakeries were closed—standing out against the lights of late-night establishments where Highs spent their time drinking themselves under the table or enjoying hookers that had been groomed since childhood.

  It wasn’t just the building that changed as she moved further into the city. The number of people around her began to increase exponentially. People of all sizes and shapes from all over the lesser districts of Society. One a tall, lean man with curly blonde hair, walking along the pavement with a short brunette who looked up at the man adoringly. An older woman with a pink hat and a thin veil covering her face, wearing more jersey than Rea had ever seen at one time let alone worn by a single woman. There were also children about, running through the streets rambunctiously playing a game Rea had never heard of that involved tackling one another for what appeared to be no other reason than for the hell of it. Large crowds of people gathered around wooden stands where jolly old men sold ice cream and stages where women played guitar or sang triumphant songs about the history of society. The voices of people chatting, of children screaming, and music playing created a rumbling cacophony.

  While she had gotten used to the masses of people that occupied this part of town, that did not mean she had to like it. It would be too easy for a cutpurse or thug to take advantage of you in a crowd like this— both things you had to be constantly worried about living in the Lows.

  Turning away from the crowd of people, she walked down an alleyway and went in the backdoor to Mr. Bently’s shop. The lights had been left on for her, and the list of what she needed to prepare was pinned to the refrigerator as it always was. After looking over the list, she was relieved to find that macarons weren’t noted. She had had a hell of a time trying to make that her first week a couple of weeks before Mr. Bently had politely suggested that he simply make the desserts upon arriving in the morning. Rea was more than happy to take him up on his offer. Even after a month of working in the bakery, she still didn’t understand that difference between baking powder and baking soda.

  After cleaning the dishes, and spending hours preparing the dough of various types of bread, she pulled several large trays from the refrigerator and transferred them to the oven before baking. Setting multiple timers, she moved from the kitchen to the seating area out front. This is when Triffney arrived, still looking a bit groggy from having just woken up.

  “Hiya, Rea” was her greeting this morning for Rea, walking in the front door and relocking it behind her. She was a half an hour late but did not appear to be in any hurry as was her demeanor most days when she arrived late. She was High Born, only having to work because her parents thought it was good for her, so she had nothing to worry about. Show up 30 minutes late one day, an hour another, and perhaps even miss a day of work; it didn’t matter to Triffney, her parents would ensure Mr. Bently didn’t bother her about it.

  Rea replied with a polite good morning, not exactly excited to have the company. Triffney had the tendency to just get in the way of things, frequently interjecting about how something could be done more efficiently or complaining about Mr. Bently being an oaf who didn’t know how to run the shop properly. She never so much as pretended to be interested in the dull conversations the pair had while polishing the tables and whipping down the counters, yet Triffney seemed completely oblivious to the situation. She would be willing to be that Triffney thought that pair of them were close friends.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Fortunately, she was saved by the bell, literally, as the shop’s bell at the front door promptly announced the arrival of Mr. Bently. A jovial man, wearing his same black leather jacket and brown pair of breeches, entered with his motorcycle helmet tucked under his shoulder and his sunglasses pushed back on the top of his head. Perhaps as tall as he was wide, how the man fit on a motorcycle was lost on Rea. Nevertheless, he rode the thing to work every day and never complained about the ride. Every day was a good day for Mr. Bently.

  Turning to the girls in turn and admiring the cleanliness of the shop, Mr. Bently greeted them with an upbeat, “How goes it, my fine ladies? I can see the shop is almost ready for another day.” Turning to Rea, he continued, “Rea, dear, how did the banana bread turn out? Please do tell me you remembered the sugar this time?” He had a grin on his face that said he was only joking. She had only forgotten the sugar once, but she was convinced the man would never let her forget.

  Instead of being annoyed by the quip like she once had, she couldn’t help but pick up on the positive energy that was radiating from Mr. Bently. “Oh no, Mr. Bently, I wouldn’t dare forget the sugar after the last time. We wouldn’t want Mrs. X to lose her wits about herself like she did the last time.”

  Giving a deep chuckle, Mr. Bently shook his head and agreed with her sentiment. After some time cleaning the shop, going back and forth with Triffney about the upcoming Festival of Moons, which explained the mass of people shuffling to and fro on the street outside the shop, the girls had the shop looking spotless in no time. All the while, Mr. Bently was in the back putting all of the final touches on the pastries and freshly baked goods for the day. He was carefully bringing them out, one in each hand balances precariously, and setting them out to be displayed next to the cash register.

  It was about five minutes until opening when Mr. Bently asked if Rea would be willing to stay for the morning to help accommodate the increased business from the festival. She had the time; however, it would probably be best for her to return home and check on her mother. After some begging and pleading, Mr. Bently finally convinced her to stay for half of the morning. She quickly regretted the decision after the crowd of people haphazardly made itself into a semi-straight line at the front door.

  After the first hour, Rea was convinced that the line only got longer. It seemed everyone in the city was in the mood for a cup of coffee and accompanying muffin or flaky pastry, which Rea couldn’t blame them. It was going to be a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly over the rooftops of the nearby buildings with not a cloud in the sky. A modest breeze that felt more like spring than summer snuck in the door and lightly brushed her dark, black hair as people shuffled their way into the shop. Had she not been near exhaustion from staying up all night, she would have liked to spend some time outdoors to enjoy the warm sun.

  It was when she was imagining being outdoors, while she was refilling the coffee behind the marble counters, when she heard commotion in the back of the shop. Not the usual chatter of dishes or clanking of oven sheets on the counter but rather the shouting at each other. Curious, and noticing the looks from customers in the shop, Rea pushed her way through the wooden swinging doors to find the source of the shouting.

  It turned out it was Mr. Bently, pointing a finger at a young man who looked well out of place here in the High Districts, demanding the other man leave the shop at once. Rea wasn’t sure how the younger man had found the back door to the shop, but it likely had to do with looking for somewhere to hide, unless she missed her guess. In confirmation of her suspicions, the younger man put his hands together as if saying a prayer, pleading with Mr. Bently to help him hide. Despite his outward appearance, Rea wasn’t convinced that the boy was in a position to X if Mr. Bently said no. Instead, he looked like a cornered dog with a hackle raised.

  A moment later the man lunged towards Mr. Bently. The man misjudged the distance, and their momentum carried them to the floor. Rolling back and forth throwing punches and kicks, the younger man was getting the better Mr. Bently. While sout, Mr. Bently was a High after all; he likely didn’t grow up fighting in the streets like most youth in the Lows. The other man was on top of Mr. Bently, throwing down haymakers that were just missing their mark when Mr. Bently turned in her direction, hand outstretched, pleading for help.

  Rea followed his outstretched hand, at first puzzled at what he was reaching towards, when she saw a fine pine wand sitting on a small table in the corner of the room. The man was reaching for his wand.

  Before Rea could think otherwise, she rushed across the kitchen towards the table where the wand was lying beside piles of paper and used coffee cups. Upon reaching the table she hesitated. If she even so much as touched the wand she could be charged with the unlawful use of magic. Taking a step in the opposite direction, thinking for just a moment that it would be best to go find someone else for help, she stopped herself, pushed aside a stack of papers, and grabbed the wand at its base.

  A wave of energy immediately surged through her entire body, a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Time practically ceased at that moment. But that was not the least of it. Her vision became abnormally acute, seeing the textures and colors around her with an increased acuity. All of a sudden, she could hear customers at the front complaining that their coffee, a baby crying, and the bell at the front door all behind the ruffled sound of the men fighting behind her. It was pure ecstasy; it was the only way she could describe it.

  Turning herself, she stared down the man that now had his hands around Br. Bently’s neck, Mr. Bently barely moving and seconds away from going limp. She raised the wand in her left hand, having no idea what she was doing, yet somehow knowing exactly what she was doing. With the flick of her wrist, a bright green spark shot out of the tip of the wand like a torpedo and struck true, hitting the ragged looking man square in the chest. Her target flew in the opposite direction, slamming up against the door where he had entered. After hitting the wall, he fell to the floor in a discombobulated heap of unconsciousness. A tendril of smoke was stemming from the tip of the wand.

  “What have you done?” It was Mr. Bently, giving her a look of pure horror, eyes wide, mouth ajar, and eyebrows nearly reaching his receding hairline. He pulled himself up to his knees, hands raised away from him as if in defense. He began to crawl away from Rea, not letting his gaze leave her even for a moment. Although he didn’t say it, Rea could tell that he thought she was going to strike him down next.

  “Wha_? No, Mr. Bently, I was just trying to help!”

  “Rea, just put the wand down and we can talk about this. You don’t know how to use that thing”

  In that moment her life flashed before her eyes. She could put the wand down, but if she did, she was sure that her life would never be the same. She had just killed a man. Even worse, she had just killed a man using magic. Mr. Bently would have no choice but to turn her in—there was no explaining this away to the Watchers. She would be charged and sentenced without delay, not given the heap of evidence and Mr. Bently’s testimony. At best, she was sent to a prison camp where she would be worked to death in the scalding sun or forced to work at an underground club in the Highs, sold as a prostitute for some Highs pleasure.

  And then an image of her mother flashed in her head. That was all the reassurance she needed. Without hesitation, she raised her wand, uttered an incantation she didn’t know the meaning of, and killed Mr. Bently right there in cold blood.