Magic Children

Chapter 9 Alvarado Texas - Brigit

I wake up on the floor, a blanket draped over me. My head is resting on Dodger's legs, and he's leaned against the sofa with Baby curled up in his lap. Luna is in the arm chair with a blanket mostly clutched in her arms. I roll a little, straightening myself on his legs and making sure my body is covered with the blanket.

We've been here for three months. Last night, the Fallen Angels Gang hit a bank in Oklahoma. They left with over a hundred thousand dollars. That was all I dared to warp in and out of the safe with while Luna ensured no one moved and Dodger spotted. Baby helps too, as much as she can. The heist could have gone better. But it also could have gone worse. It's our fourth one and people are starting to expect us now. A guard got a shot off at me. I didn't stop it because I wasn't expecting it. Dodger saw and pulled me out of the way and then Luna froze the guard. She can hold them still. I can put them to sleep sometimes, but Dodger is generally against that. He's concerned I could accidentally kill someone when I think I'm just knocking them out. I think I'm okay, but I yield as it doesn't really matter if they're conscious and held in place or just asleep.

Luna is tired now. The bank was busy and she was bleeding by the time we were done. Dodger fussed a bit about that but she insisted she was fine. We drove all day and night to get back here, and now we're all quite tired.

Dodger stirs at my movement, opening his eyes a little. He winces and looks at his arm, which, other than the burns, is now cut open. The bullet grazed him when he pushed me aside.

"Let me see," I say, sitting up and holding my hands for his arm.

"It's not bad," he says, letting me look. He's wearing one of his usual floral print short sleeve button ups. I am quite enjoying picking my own clothes, and wear tank tops most days, though usually cargo shorts or pants with that. If we're in the house like now, no shoes. I'm home. Safe.

"It's kinda bad," I say, unwrapping the dressing that he'd hastily applied during the heist, "Thanks by the way."

"Nothing to thank me for. Anyway, you probably would've blocked it."

"Ah you never know. I freeze up sometimes," I say, examining the wound. The skin is well split open.

I lay my hand across it, closing my eyes as I feel every fiber, every inch of skin. Slowly, I tug the two sides and knit them back together, one fragment of skin at a time, same with the blood vessels, and every little soft fleshy bit underneath the skin.

"There," I say, wiping blood from my own eyes, as I take my hand away.

"How---how did you do that?" he asks, staring at his arm. The scar is there, but the skin is pretty well knit back together.

"It's not great, treat it like you would stitches," I caution, blinking the last of my own blood from my eyes, "Sorry, it's not easy."

"Where did you learn to do something like that?" he asks, staring at his arm, more concerned that I could do it than glad it's healed.

"I taught myself. I hurt my leg once, after they took me out. But I wasn't good. So they locked me up without any pain killers and the doctor wasn't going to come till morning. So I was alone and miserable, I figured I'd try to knit the bone and skin together, I thought I could if I could break bones apart, then why not put them back together," I say, shrugging a little, "It made me sick."

"Did they check you out---make you go and do things for them?"

I nod, fiddling with my fingers.

"Did you ever kill anyone?" he asks, quietly.

I nod.

"I'm sorry. No child should ever have to do that."

"They were gonna die anyway. At least when I did it, it wasn't painful, like a bullet. They didn't know what happened to them. I just took all the air out of their bodies."