Chapter One

The light reflected through the dirty windows, the dust making each ray break into a thousand pieces, striking an impossible glow inside every building. Dust accumulated on every floor, the tiles cracking. Wallpaper peeled from discolored walls, curtains hung, ragged and torn, aside each house’s eye. The streets choked with congestion – horses braying, children in rags dodging chubby policemen with batons, ducking underneath carriages, through alleyways. Newspaper boys with brown caps yelled each headline, flapping their arms as if to fly. Men in coats pushed past, stepping over women with greasy hair, long nails beckoning for those seeking to learn their fortunes. Smoke billowed over it all, giving this city a perpetually dirty feel, a grime that falls beneath the skin. True Londoners know this feeling, the underlying dirt and grit of a place with a history of such a thing. Skirts bustle and flow, the clip clap of tiny heels underscore the hearty hooves of businessmen, shopkeepers, horses of the street.

“Noelia, keep up!” called a woman, her head covered by a bright red hat, white gloves tightly holding her brown jacket closed against the London wind. Her eyes were bright, brown and dark like her daughter’s, who ran to catch up to her.
“Coming, mama!” The eight-year-old Noelia flapped her arms in the wind, the breeze pushing back her dark curls away from her forehead. A bald shopkeeper stepped in front of her, and she bounced off of his large stomach. “Pardon!” she yelled, off-put for a second, but quickly running around him. He shook his broom at her, yelling obscenities, but she was gone, weaving through traffic as only a small child can. As she ran, she looked up, and the sky had cleared, just for a moment, and she could see a tiny patch of blue within the endless grey. Arms open, she flew along the sidewalk, knocking into an old beggar woman with a cane. “Pardon!” she yelled again, ignoring all chaos her presence may cause. Behind her, the woman tumbled, grabbing onto a newspaper stand to break her fall. The newspapers slipped and scattered across street, falling into puddles and underneath the endless horse’s clattering.

The woman in brown stood at the corner, her hand against her forehead as she scanned the crowd for her daughter, searching for that familiar bustle of brown hair and bright, dark eyes. “Noelia!” she called again, but her voice blended into cacophony that had just erupted behind her. From the sounds of it, someone had tried to steal an apple without paying for it.

Noelia turned a corner and landed right in the middle of a street-market. She dodged through the venders, brushing past bright fabrics and fruits. “Mama!” she called, as the first fingers of panic shot through her veins. She looked left and right, but the streets were so crowded it was impossible to see. “Mama!” Her small voice was swallowed in the noise. She caught the eye of a tall, thin man with a scar along his cheek. He looked kindly.

“Excuse me, sir—“ she began, but he just grinned at her, hungry, his scar stretching with his cheeks. She swallowed and began again. “Sir, excuse me, but—“
He opened his mouth and spoke in a strange language, his words blending together in a mixture of ks and xs. It sounded like hissing, a strange exotic sound reminiscent of ancient sorcerers. She backed slowly away from him, tripping on the hem of her skirt and sprawling backwards in the dirt. Her hands burned and bled from where they caught her fall and she knew her white shirt would stain. She scrambled up to escape, but the man was gone, disappeared into the crowd once more.

“Mama!” she cried again, frantic now, pushing people with her small hands. They turned and stared at her with bright eyes and painted tongues, their laughs blending together. Through the crowd, she had a vision: a tall, thin woman with a pale face and skin stretched across too much bone. Her bright red hat bloomed like a rose against the black smog. “Mama!” Noelia screamed, her voice hoarse. The people pushed against her still harder, and she tried to push past them, but they were impossible to move, like bags of heavy flour. Her small fists strained with all their strength. She was too small! Why could she not be big and tall, with shoulders like an ox, big like her father?

“Mama! I’m here!” Noelia screamed once more, but this time, her voice failed. Nobody looked at her. Nobody saw her. She pounded her fists against the people’s thighs, screaming.

The woman in brown looked at Noelia in confusion. Her eyes like pools of cinnamon, the eyes of her daughter, searched across the expanse, and Noelia suddenly felt as if she were looking into a dream.

“Noelia?” Her mother said, confused, and her voice echoed, a mirage. “Where are you?”

The faces swirled around Noelia, laughing and laughing. It rang in her ears, poured down her throat. She was choking with the sound of it. “Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it! Mama! I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!”

She sat up furiously, and her head hit something hard and wooden. She stopped suddenly, opening her eyes and sighed, the vestiges of the dream leaving her as suddenly as water rushing out of a drain.