RWBY YA Novel #3 Page 2

  “Please. Don’t,” the man said.

  “What exactly do you think I’m going to do?” Roman raised his cane, gripping the shaft like a club. He advanced slowly. The man’s eyes focused on the blunt instrument.

  It would be a shame to get blood on such a pretty coat. But as long as none of it was his, Roman would call it a win.

  “Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be a punching bag?” Roman asked.

  The man unbuttoned the coat with fumbling fingers. “Here! It’s yours!” He shrugged it off and threw it at Roman.

  Roman caught it with the hook of his cane and swirled it around before taking it. He put it on over his threadbare black shirt. The coat was a little roomy, but it made him feel like a million bucks.

  “I’ll have the gloves, too,” Roman said. “If you please.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Roman tapped his cane against the ground sharply. “Am I laughing?”

  The man peeled his black gloves off.

  “Don’t throw them. Hand them to me,” Roman said.

  The man raised a shaking hand. Roman took the gloves. He slipped them on. Leather. Still warm.

  “Can I go?” The man shivered.

  “Just one last thing.” Roman brought his cane back and whipped it down into the man’s knee. Crack!

  The man screamed and writhed on the ground, clutching his leg.

  “Tough break.” Roman sneered. He watched the man crawl away slowly, whimpering.

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here, Mortar?” A deep voice came from outside the alley.

  “Looks like another young punk stealing from innocent citizens, Brick.” A higher-pitched voice.

  Here we go, Roman thought. He sauntered out onto the road, figuring he’d had the bad fortune to attract the attention of a couple of goody-goody Huntsmen. He nearly laughed when he saw the two men, one tall and broad shouldered, the other short and boxy. They wore purple outfits and sported spider-and-cobweb tattoos identifying them as members of Lil’ Miss Malachite’s organization.

  That’s the kind of place Mistral was, where the gangsters wore uniforms and enforced their own rule of law.

  He recognized these goons. Once a week, they came around Peddlers Row to collect a tribute from the shops there. They always ended their night at Luck of the Mountains. And since they stayed for a few hours, Roman figured not all of the kickbacks they collected were making it back to Lil’ Miss.

  “What’s so funny?” Brick asked. His cheeks and forehead flushed with angry splotches of red.

  “For a second, I was worried you boys were Huntsmen.” Roman chuckled. Mortar laughed along with him until Brick smacked him on the back of the head.

  “You’re that thief we’ve been looking for,” Brick said.

  “I’m flattered. It’s nice to feel wanted,” Roman said. “Not by the police, of course.” He eyed the two gangsters. He might be in trouble here. But if he could beat them, the protection money they were carrying would get him a nicer place to stay. He could buy warmer clothes. Stop eating cheap street noodles for every meal. Take a shower. Maybe even move into a place with a roof and four walls.

  “If you steal from patrons, you’re stealing from the club. If you’re stealing from the club, you’re stealing from Lil’ Miss Malachite.”

  “You have a unique grasp of socioeconomics,” Roman said. He tightened his grip on his cane’s handle. Brick and Mortar had only guns and muscles, but they might have other tricks up their sleeves. Roman gave himself a 70 percent chance of winning a fight against them.

  He would never place a bet at Luck of the Mountains, but he wasn’t afraid to gamble when the odds were in his favor.

  “No one operates around here without Lil’ Miss’s blessing. And you owe her back pay for everything you’ve taken so far,” Mortar said.

  “I don’t need Malachite’s ‘protection,’ ” Roman said.

  “We’ll see about that.” The taller one, Brick, rushed forward. Roman sidestepped him easily, whacking him in the butt with his cane and sending him head over heels. Roman whirled around and swung his cane, knocking the gun out of Mortar’s hand as he fired. The bullet missed Roman by a hair.

  Roman spun his cane around in one hand to hook the handle around Mortar’s wrist. He pulled and stepped back, steering him into Brick, who was just standing up again. They both went down in a tangle of limbs and curses.

  “We’ve got a funny guy here,” Brick said.

  “You two are the jokes,” Roman said. “I’m just the punch line.” Gripping each end of his cane, he bashed Brick in the face with its shaft.

  Brick shook it off quickly and pulled his gun. Roman jabbed at his chest with the tip of his cane, pushing him backward. But then Mortar tackled Roman’s legs and he fell on his back, trying to kick the little guy off. Brick grabbed for his cane, but Roman held on to it. His opponent changed his tactic, pushing the weapon against Roman’s neck. Choking him.

  With a bellow, Roman pushed hard and then pulled, unbalancing the ungentle giant. Roman knocked his forehead into Brick’s and the man collapsed on him, unconscious. Roman nearly blacked out himself, but he held it together and blinked away the dots flashing in his vision.

  Roman rolled Brick off him and looked around. Mortar was gone.

  Just as he’d always figured, Lil’ Miss’s men were just your run-of-the-mill thugs. Bullies who didn’t amount to much when they were challenged.

  Roman checked Brick’s pockets and came up with a thick envelope stuffed with Lien. He would not be eating noodles tonight.

  It took the Spider gang two days to find him. He heard them outside his room at the Happenstance Hotel a moment before they opened the door—with a key. He steeled himself for a fight until he saw that Brick and Mortar had brought ten of their strongest friends, all in the same purple garb.

  Lil’ Miss Malachite had sent a small army after him.

  “What took you gents so long?” Roman asked. With Malachite’s connections—to everyone, it seemed—they should have found him much sooner. It might be over, but he’d enjoyed two days of the good life, with a full stomach and luxurious baths and sleeping in a real bed again. Worth it.

  “Lil’ Miss wants a word with you,” Brick growled.

  “What if I don’t want a word with her?” Roman asked.

  “What you want doesn’t matter. Your life belongs to her.”

  Lil’ Miss Malachite wasn’t what he’d expected. When the Spiders dragged Roman into her tavern, she was seated in the back, neat stacks of Lien on the table before her. She was in her thirties with short blond hair and a beauty mark on one rosy cheek. Lil’ Miss was renowned for having a strategic mind, which applied to her fashion choices as well. Her white-and-purple dress showed off bare shoulders, drawing the eye to a tattoo of a spider in a web on the left shoulder; a plunging neckline and purple corset distracted Roman even more. She puffed on a cigarette in a holder while she studied Roman with piercing blue eyes.

  “You’ve been busy, boy,” she said.

  “I’m not a boy,” he said.

  “You ain’t a man, neither, not by a far sight.” She knocked some ash from her cigarette into a purple ashtray at her elbow. “You know what that makes you?”

  “What?”

  “You’re just potential. You’re caught between what you were and what you could be. This is that crucial time where you can decide who you want to be.”

  Roman raised his eyebrows. She really wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. He couldn’t fathom how she’d overthrown the old boss of the Spider organization and taken over, or how she was able to operate so successfully under the watchful eye of the Mistral City Council. But here she was: arguably the most powerful person in the city, outside of Leonardo Lionheart, headmaster of the Huntsmen Academy, Haven.

  “This is the guy who’s been stealing from us, ma’am,” Mortar said.

  Lil’ Miss waved her hand. “What do you have to say about that, Mr….?”r />
  “Torchwick. Roman Torchwick. And ma’am, I think that says more about your Spiders than it does about me. I’ve just been doing what we all do—try to survive.”

  “All you want is to survive? I’m disappointed. You seem like one of those ambitious types who always want more than they’ve got.” She smiled. “I’m like that, too.”

  “Ma’am, when you don’t have anything, surviving is more. You’ve gotta start somewhere. If I were you, I’d be more disappointed in Brick and Mortar here.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Brick said.

  “Do not shut that pretty little mouth of yours,” Lil’ Miss said. “I sure do want to hear this.” She glared at Brick, and Roman didn’t want her to ever look at him like that.

  Roman gave her a lopsided grin. “Here I am, a boy, and I just about bested two of your Spiders. And everyone knows it. It took a dozen of them to bring me in—and I only cooperated because I wanted to meet you.

  “With all due respect, your crew is a disgrace. If they can lose to me when it’s two against one, how can they intimidate anyone? How can you trust them to get the job done?”

  “You think you could do better?” Brick growled.

  “With my eyes closed,” Roman said.

  “Let’s test that right now.” Brick rolled up his sleeves.

  Lil’ Miss held up a hand. “Could you do better, Mr. Torchwick? Truly?”

  Roman paused. “I couldn’t do any worse.”

  “You really must set your sights a bit higher. Show more fire, if you want to live up to your name.” The tip of her cigarette glowed bright orange as she took a drag of it. “All right. You work for me now.”

  “Ma’am?” Roman, Brick, and Mortar spoke at the same time.

  “I like your confidence, but they’re just empty words if you can’t back them up with action. Like I said, I see a lot of potential in you, Torchwick.”

  “You should have seen him!” Mortar spoke up. “He’s vicious. He brutally beat a man just for his coat. He was having fun.”

  “That so? Well, I’ve always felt it was important for one to love their work if you want them to be good at it,” Lil’ Miss said. “And if it’s that coat he’s wearing, he also has good taste.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Roman asked. “I tend to work better alone.” He couldn’t believe his luck being invited into the biggest crime organization this side of Lake Matsu, but he wanted to play it cool. Although it was probably pointless to try to bluff someone who could see through him so clearly.

  “We always have a choice, but I can’t let you walk after stealing from me.”

  “So I join you or …”

  She nodded. “Or.” She tapped her cigarette into the ashtray. She used the cigarette as a prop, to punctuate her words and redirect attention. He appreciated her dangerous, dramatic flair.

  Roman swallowed. “Then I’m honored to accept.”

  “Yes, you are. And now we’ll find out after all what you can do with your eyes closed.”

  Roman frowned. “How’s that?”

  “They’ll probably be swollen shut for a couple days, once Brick is through with you. Call it a punishment; call it an initiation. Either way, you’ve got it coming and you are going to take your licks.”

  Lil’ Miss nodded to Brick.

  This was all a mistake, Roman thought as he watched Brick advance toward him, cracking his knuckles.

  But Roman was good at learning from his mistakes, no matter how painful they were. As long as he survived to make another one later.

  Despite living in Vale her whole life, all twelve years of it, Trivia had never seen the commercial district at night before. She had only been there shopping for clothes, books, and toys with her mother, whenever Papa sent them out so he could “take care of business in peace” at home. Whatever that meant. And she was never, ever allowed out alone. “For your own safety,” they said.

  The city in the evening was like a different world, as magical as one of her favorite fairy tales. She’d had no idea so many businesses were open this late; all their lights almost made it as bright as day. She only caught glimpses of the broken full moon between the towering buildings. And there were so many people—strolling and shopping; couples holding hands while walking; groups of kids just hanging out, taking pictures of each other with their Scrolls and uploading them and not doing anything in particular.

  It was so beautiful; it almost hurt.

  I love this, she thought.

  Neopolitan nudged her with an elbow and raised her eyebrows, a combination of I told you so and You haven’t seen anything yet.

  Trivia had been worried about sneaking out during her parents’ big party. Papa was celebrating a major new business contract he had closed, and Trivia wasn’t invited. They had ordered her to stay in her room, where she found a box of new video games to distract her. They insisted she would be dreadfully bored being around all those stuffy adults, but she knew the truth.

  They were ashamed of her. Because she couldn’t speak. Because of her mismatched eyes. On the rare occasions that she did go out with them, they made her wear a brown contact lens over her pink eye.

  Trivia was good at staying low and staying quiet—ha ha. And she had planned on doing as she was told, hiding in her room, out of sight. Out of mind. But the music and the laughter and the aroma of delicious food had gotten to her. Then Neo had a brilliant, terrible idea: They wanted Trivia to stay out of the way, so why not leave the house?

  Even her bedroom had grown too confining and she couldn’t run around the house playing with Neo, but there was a whole wide city out there to explore. She would be back before the party was over, Neo assured her, and her parents would never even miss her.

  So she put on her “adventuring outfit,” a white tank top, a brown blazer and pants, and her favorite white sneakers with the pink hearts. Simply leaving her room felt like a transgression and she almost stopped there, but Neo shoved her into the hall. The loud conversation of the party guests nearly drowned out the expensive live band. Such a waste.

  Each step through the house toward the back door emboldened her, Neo pushing her on and on and on until she was outside. She was frightened but exhilarated, like she was coming alive for the first time.

  Everything was a new, exciting, scary experience: riding the bus across town, sitting on a fountain in the square and watching people go by. Trivia had no particular destination and no goal other than to see as much as she could before she had to go back to her normal, sheltered life. To live as much as she could, making up for lost time and because she didn’t know when she would get another chance at freedom.

  Of all the wondrous things in Vale, including the arcades, bookshops, and movie theaters, Trivia’s absolute favorite thing was the food carts. They sold food right there on the street, as if every day was the Vytal Festival. And you could get anything you wanted: popcorn, cakes, burgers, milkshakes. Fresh-baked cookies the size of a plate, sugar-spun candy, ice-cream sundaes bigger than her head, steaming baskets of fries with a dozen different dipping sauces. Trivia wanted it all, but she settled on a chocolate-and-vanilla shake to start.

  Neo looked on jealously while Trivia took her first sip. Heavenly. The perfect balance of flavor and just the right consistency.

  “What’s wrong with your eye?” a voice said.

  Trivia frowned and looked at a girl with green streaks in her short, spiky hair. She was flanked by two other girls, who had similar hair and identical outfits: short-sleeved black jackets, pale blue tops, tight miniskirts with silver chain belts, chunky boots. Was this a gang?

  The girls were only a few years older than Trivia, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and she envied them for being out on their own and for dressing and styling their hair however they wanted.

  “And what is she wearing?” another girl said in a singsong voice. “Look at those shoes!”

  Trivia’s face grew warm.

  “She’s just a little kid,” the third girl said softly.
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  “Nobody asked you, Heather.” The girl rolled her eyes.

  Trivia lowered her head and turned to go, but the first girl stepped in her way. “Hey, where you going? We just want to talk.”

  Trivia touched her throat and shook her head.

  “You don’t want to talk to us?” The other girls giggled. She held up a hand and they stopped. “I get it. You aren’t supposed to talk to strangers. Well, I’m Cookie. This is Mags and—” She sighed. “Heather. You can hang out with us, if you buy us shakes, too.”

  “I’ll take butterscotch,” Mags said.

  “Mint chip for me,” Cookie said.

  “I’m good,” Heather said.

  Neo stalked around them, hands behind her back, a scowl on her face. Trivia followed her with her eyes.

  “Come on, what’s your name?” Cookie said. “Don’t you want to be friends? Friends don’t let friends go out dressed like that. Hey, how about after the shakes, we can go clothes shopping.”

  Trivia shook her head again and tried to shove past Cookie, but the girl pushed her back. “I didn’t say you could go.”

  Trivia narrowed her eyes. Neo made fists and jabbed with her left, then her right, in the girl’s direction.

  “Just leave her alone,” Heather said. “Let’s go see a movie.”

  “Sure, whatever.” Cookie stepped aside and swept out an arm to let Trivia leave.

  Trivia hurried away, but as she passed Cookie, the girl tripped her. She landed on her hands and knees. Her shake spattered everywhere, all over her clothes.

  Trivia stood up. Cookie and Mags were laughing and pointing at her. She blinked back tears. Her throat got tight.

  A crack appeared in the ground between her and the girls. They screamed and stumbled backward as the fissure grew wider.

  “Watch out!” Cookie shouted.

  “What’s happening?” Mags said.

  Heather studied Trivia from the other side of the gap. “Did you do that?”

  Trivia glanced behind the trio. They turned and saw Neopolitan there, her pink hair now in the same style as the clique and in matching pink-and-white clothes.