The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) Read Online Free Page A

hold back tears. 
    “Not all men are bad, Anya. Scrounge can make life better for us. And he’ll help us because he likes you. You’re going to have to start pulling your own weight. You’ll be out of Transition soon. Then you’ll be old enough. I’ve been protecting you, but it’s time for you to grow up.”
    Anya’s shivers had nothing to do with the cold.
    “Sex is the only thing we have that’s worth anything,” her mother said. “You treat Scrounge right and we’ll be okay. We sure as hell don’t need some snotty shelter and their rules.”
    Maybe Anya should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. Lots of kids—her age and younger—traded sex for food and protection. And lots of mothers believed the end of Transition meant their girls were adults.
    “Scrounge isn’t touching me, mama. Never. I’ll kill myself first. And I’m never going to be a whore like you. I’m going to the shelter. You do what you want.”
    Her mother slapped her so hard that Anya staggered. Blood spurted bright red from her nose onto the grimy concrete. She pressed her sleeve to her nose to stop the bleeding.
    “Never talk to me like that! You’ll fucking do what I say.”
    They glared at each other, neither giving ground.
    Her mother sighed, reached over, and roughly wiped the blood from Anya’s face. “I know this is hard, but it’s life. We’ll go to the damn shelter until I can get the money together for the metro, and then we’ll head back to Prudy. And you’re going with me, don’t think you aren’t. If I have to, I’ll get you tossed out of the shelter on your ass. So quit your whining.”
    Mne po barabánu — whatever.
    Voice muffled by her sleeve, Anya issued her own warning. “No drunks in the shelter, mama. You want to eat and get warm, you’d better stay sober.” She winced when her mother raised her hand again but the blow never fell. They turned and began their pilgrimage.
    * * *
    They arrived mid-afternoon, exhausted and dizzy from hunger. Two buildings, separated by a wide alley, faced them from the other side of the street.
    A dingy one-story structure of crumbling brown bricks squatted on their right. A small rough sign—St. Sergius Shelter for the Homeless—directed visitors to a side door.
    On their left, across the alley from the shelter, was the most amazing church Anya had ever seen. It was three floors high, built from dark bricks the color of wine. Glittering stained glass windows on each level were surrounded by stone edging so white it looked like fresh snow. The steep roof was covered with blue tiles and topped by an ornate gold cross that soared into the sky. A gleaming white sign with gilt lettering proclaimed Saint Sergius Cathedral.
    “We need to hurry,” her mom prodded. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
    Anya led them across the street and down the alley to the side door of the run-down building, where she stood on the stoop and banged her fist on the door. Nothing. She banged again.
    Please. Please let us in.
    A grimacing babushka wearing a white head scarf, apron, and flour-spattered black dress swung the door wide and demanded, “ Da ?”
    “The police—Victor—told us to come here.” Tears of desperation filled Anya’s eyes. “He said you would help us.”
    The woman looked over Anya’s shoulder and frowned at the crouched figure that was staring at the sidewalk several paces away. “Who’s that?”
    “My mama,” Anya said. “Please, Victor said you’d provide shelter.”
    The old lady’s voice softened. “Not mine to give, child. But come inside.”
    * * *
    The babushka closed the door behind them and told them to wait.
    The entry opened into a large, empty dining room. The plaster walls were cracked, clean, and unadorned. The ceiling lights, covered by ivory glass shades, cast a warm golden glow and sparkled on the polished plank floor.
    Anya whispered, “Mama, smell that? Fresh bread! Even if they won’t let us stay, maybe we can beg some