That was the last time Charlie had seen Vasco. Nearly a week had passed since they had stood together in the falling snow on Christmas Day, and Charlie had held the memory of the words they had spoken and the kiss they had shared close to his heart every day from then on. He had returned to the Spike and the gang the very same night, while the rest of his family slept, and he knew better than to hold out much hope of seeing any of them again soon.

When he had reappeared at the hideout, Faulkner had been angrier than Charlie had ever seen him before. Charlie suspected the reason Faulkner was so furious with him was not only because he had run out on his holiday bookings for the three days he was gone, but also that he had been able to vanish so easily in the first place. In retaliation, Charlie found his privileges withdrawn, his movements restricted, and a punishing schedule handed to him each night for the last week of the year, which, after Faulkner was through with him, he accepted without further complaint.

Barring the constant pain and exhaustion, which he was used to, it was not the unforgiving workload that was bothering Charlie as much as the fact that it was becoming harder and harder to separate himself from it. Things had been different in the beginning, had been much worse – his nightmares attested to that every day. But he had discovered years ago that if he could only tolerate it at first – if he could lock a secret part of himself away, somewhere deep inside of himself – his mind would do the rest, and he could survive it.

It was always slightly different each time. Sometimes it was like being sheltered by a blanket. Sometimes it was as though someone were holding their hands over his ears. Sometimes it was as if time wound itself differently for him. It was what had helped him get by in this world for so long. Charlie realised quickly, however, that since meeting Vasco, none of his old strategies seemed to work any longer. It was as though he had lost the power to protect himself, and now he was left with nothing to shield himself against the reality of what was being done to him every night.

The ghostly touch of hands on his body burnt along his skin days later, memories blurring into one another, swarming on him in quiet moments and dark places. He felt as though he was being steadily hollowed out inside, a little more day by day. When he stared up at the ceiling, his mind would no longer let him trace the patterns or count the cracks he found there.

Instead, all he could hear was the voice of a small child, pleading desperately with him, as though he could make any of it stop. Everything about himself felt wrong. He had grown tainted. He thought he might scream if he were not so numb. He was fairly sure that he had cried the night before last.

‘Good, you’re here.’

Charlie came to a halt in front of Faulkner’s desk and fought to steady himself on his feet. He knew he would not last another year like this, not unless he got a grip on himself somehow. He had to find a way to get through this. There was no other choice. He had nowhere else to go.

‘You wanted to see me?’ His voice was empty of emotion without him even having to try.

Faulkner was leaning over his mahogany desk, cross-referencing something between two thick leather-bound diaries that took up most of the free space on the shining surface. Beside them, his ledgers were stacked in a neat pile.

‘Complaints are starting to reach my ears, Charlie – complaints about you.’ Faulkner glanced up, and Charlie flinched at the barely contained rage in his eyes, despite his measured tone of voice. ‘You don’t look surprised. You could at least have the courtesy to get down on your knees and apologise to me for your behaviour.’

Charlie’s lips twisted into an approximation of a smile. ‘You want me on my knees?’

A dangerous light was dancing in Faulkner’s eyes as he lay down his fountain pen and rounded the desk to stand in front of Charlie. ‘Some clients like a ragdoll, but that’s not what you’re famous for, is it?’ His voice had become softer, and Charlie, recognising the warning signs, stiffened instinctively. ‘I’ve been lenient with you until now because of our long history together, but I can see now that I’ve indulged you too much.’

Charlie felt the blow to the side of his head from the back of Faulkner’s hand strike him before he had the chance to do anything to counter it. The force of the strike sent him straight to the wooden floorboards, where he lay, curled up in a ball and shielding his head with his arms, as Faulkner kicked and stamped at the rest of his body until he was panting with exertion. Coughing blood, Charlie crawled onto his knees, breathing hard through the pain.

‘You need to lie down after that, or what?’

Faulkner lowered himself into his leather chair on the opposite side of the desk with a sigh, resettling the knot of his tie and pushing his coiffed hair out of his face. ‘We’ll need to get you tattooed again,’ he said, in a tone that suggested this would be a minor inconvenience for him. ‘It’ll have to be the other shoulder this time – and don’t you even think about burning this one off, you hear me? I’ve seen what a mess you’ve made of yourself. Damaged goods are bad for business.’

Charlie scowled back at him, his mind racing. ‘When? Tonight?’

‘No, not tonight.’ A smirk curled the older man’s mouth, and Charlie knew Faulkner had seen straight through him. ‘Had you forgotten? You’ve already got plans for tonight.’

His eyes fixed on Charlie’s, Faulkner held one of the diaries up before him, one long finger trailing leisurely down a list of names. The writing was too small for Charlie to make out any of the details, even if he had known how to read, but he saw that by each name there was a timestamp and a price. He felt sick.

‘Those all for me?’

‘You still have a lot of making up to do after that stunt you pulled over Christmas.’

‘I don’t –’ It was the worst thing he could have said, but he could not stop, ‘want to –’

Faulkner had gone very still. ‘Don’t want to what? You don’t want to take care of that little family of yours anymore?’ Slowly, he rose to his feet, his hands gripping the edges of the desk. ‘That was why you came crawling back here, wasn’t it?’ he hissed. ‘This isn’t a drop-in centre, Charlie. Did you see any revolving doors on your way in? You do realise there’s nothing else out there for someone like you, don’t you?’

‘You’re wrong,’ Charlie whispered. ‘I used to believe that, but it’s not true. There is someone out there who … who cares about me … even though I –’

‘I’m warning you.’ Faulkner’s eyes were narrowing as his voice grew softer. ‘You had better shut your mouth right now, you worthless slut, or I will shut it for you.’

Charlie gritted his teeth. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and do it, then?’

He had fully expected Faulkner to make good on his threat, but he had not moved, except to pick up a remote control. ‘Get this straight – unless you want me to knock it into you another way. You work for me, Carroway. I own you, and you only walk these streets safely at my discretion.’ With a smile, Faulkner pressed a button on the remote control, and the television behind him flashed on. ‘Let me show you what I mean.’

Charlie recognised the point at which the recording was paused and froze. ‘Don’t.’

‘You get paid for showing our clients a good time, not for crying on their shoulders,’ Faulkner said, as he pressed the play button and watched the tape in silence for the longest few minutes of Charlie’s life. When he paused the tape again, the look Faulkner cast him made Charlie’s skin crawl. ‘You’re pathetic. Anyone would think you’d never done this before.’

‘Turn it off.’

‘I haven’t watched the rest yet,’ Faulkner said, sounding amused now. ‘Tell me, could he even get it up after that, or did he like you better when you were in tears?’

‘Just shut up.’ His skin felt as though it was on fire. He wanted to disappear, to die.

‘If you ever do anything to embarrass me like that again,’ Faulkner murmured, ‘trust me when I say that I’ll make sure you live to regret it. Don’t forget, I know where those brats of yours live.’

Charlie’s ears were ringing as everything else fell away. ‘What did you say?’

‘I can lift them anytime, just like I did with you. You remember your first night here, don’t you? You want that for them too?’

‘I’ll fucking kill you.’ He did not know how it happened, but the next moment Faulkner was on the floor, a red gash across his face, and Charlie was towering above him, the knife he kept hidden in his sock clenched in his fist and dripping with Faulkner’s blood. ‘You touch them, and I swear I will fucking kill you.’

He had fled after that, escaping Faulkner’s territory as fast as he could. In his position, Charlie knew few details about the gangs Faulkner allied with, or those he counted amongst his enemies, so he did not waste time working out any kind of safe route through the city. He would just have to keep his head down and stay away from any sign of trouble. He knew better than to think Faulkner would let him go without a fight, so he did not even consider returning to the Karbher Quarter. The last thing he needed was to put his family in any more danger.

Unable to go home, and without any better ideas, Charlie decided to cross the railroad tracks and try to find his way back to the apartment that Alexandra and Vasco shared in the nicer part of town. He had to hope that they would let him stay with them, at least for a while. However, he was still faced with a significant problem: he did not know their address, only that he was looking for a blue door at the top of a flight of steps. He remembered that there had been a wreath covering the panes of frosted glass over the Christmas holiday. He wondered whether Alexandra would have taken it down yet. Knowing her, he guessed not.

Charlie had been wandering around aimlessly for a while when he realised that he was being watched closely by a uniformed policeman. He checked himself over, sure he had done nothing yet to give himself away. He guessed it was probably his dirty sneakers that made him stand out, or the fact that he was still wearing his bright red Christmas sweater. There had been no time to pick up the coat Vasco had lent him before he made his escape from the Spike. His heart hammering, Charlie watched the policeman through wary eyes as he strode purposefully towards him.

‘Do you live in one of the houses on this street, young man?’

‘What?’ Already on edge, Charlie backed hastily out of reach. ‘No.’

The policeman frowned. ‘Then may I ask what business you have around here?’

‘I’m just …’ Charlie cast around lamely for an excuse. ‘I’m looking for my friends.’

The policeman had taken out a pad and pencil. ‘I’m going to need your name, son.’

‘Come on, I’m just walking,’ Charlie said, starting to feel desperate. ‘You can see I’m not doing anything wrong.’

‘Then I suggest you keep walking,’ the policeman said, looking him up and down with eyebrows raised in obvious suspicion. ‘Or would you prefer we continue this conversation in the cells down at headquarters?’

‘All right, all right, I’m going …’

His feet took him back to the plaza where he and Vasco had gone ice skating on Christmas Eve. It was freezing cold under a leaden sky. The rink was quieter now than it had been then, with only a couple of people circling around on the ice. The huge Christmas tree still towered above them, although it was beginning to droop a little now. The streets were silent.

Finding himself unable to bear the dismal slight any longer, Charlie slunk down one of the side streets and caught the smell of fried food on the air. His stomach growling painfully, he leant against the brick wall and counted the small change in his pocket. His head was swimming. When had he last had anything to eat? He could not remember for certain.

‘I really am pathetic,’ he muttered, shifting the coins in his hand with a sigh as he realised there was no way he would be able to afford even the cheapest item on the menu. Catching sight of movement out of the corner of his eye, he glanced up, and recognised the person coming towards him at once. ‘Oh, you can’t be serious …’

‘Hello, there.’ Arron Dragomir planted himself in front of Charlie with his hands in his pockets and surveyed him through cold, sharp eyes. ‘It’s Charlie, isn’t it? I recognise you from the mayor’s Christmas party.’

Glancing over his shoulder in search of a way out, Charlie frowned. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘You look hungry,’ Dragomir said, taking a leather wallet from his pocket and drawing out a few notes, which he batted against his open palm. ‘Want me to buy you something to eat?’

‘I’m fine,’ Charlie said stiffly, as his mouth began to water.

A smile that did not reach his eyes spread across the soldier’s face. ‘Come on, don’t be like that,’ he said, draping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders as he steered them both into the restaurant. ‘After all, any friend of Vasya’s is a friend of mine.’

‘Well … all right,’ Charlie said, some of his wariness fading. ‘Thanks.’

Leaving Charlie in a booth near the door, Dragomir went over to the counter to place his order. While he was gone, Charlie lowered his hands onto the radiator beside him, trying to get some feeling back into his fingers.

He withdrew them at once at the sound of Dragomir’s voice, his eyes fixed on the tray the soldier placed on the table in front of him. There was a small stack of fries in paper wrapping, and a dark-coloured soft drink in a cardboard cup. His empty stomach twisted at the sight of them.

‘There you go,’ Dragomir said, sliding into the seat across from him. ‘Enjoy.’

‘You’re not having anything?’ Charlie asked, forcing himself to chew his food before swallowing it.

Dragomir’s lip curled. ‘In my position, I don’t have to eat this kind of crap anymore.’

Downing his drink, Charlie mustered his courage. ‘Have you seen Vasco recently?’

‘I’ve seen him around,’ Dragomir said, shrugging. ‘I can take you to him if you like.’

Charlie rubbed his eyes. His head was starting to feel fuzzy. ‘I don’t want to …’

‘Oh, I insist.’

Charlie knew at once that something was wrong with him. There was a part of him that knew he had to get away somehow, but his limbs felt like water. All he wanted to do was sleep.

The bright lights of the restaurant were blurring in front of his eyes.

It reminded him of the twinkling glow from the Christmas tree when he had spent the day on the sofa in front of the fire, watching old movies with Vasco and Alexandra. He had liked the hand-drawn cartoons best, especially the one about the bear who went home to the North Pole, even if the one about the toys that got thrown out after Christmas Day had made him sad.

He wished Vasco were there.