He's the one to fear.

"Want a hit?" He held the pipe out to Leslie.

“No.”

He patted his leg. "Want a seat?"

She glanced down, saw the skinny girl's hand moving there, and started to back away. "No."

He reached out as if to grab Leslie's wrist.

She turned, ran up the stairs to her room, and closed the door against the laughter and crude invitations that rang through her house.

Once she was ready for work, Leslie slid open the window and slung a leg out. It wasn't a huge drop, but when she landed wrong it hurt pretty badly. She sighed. She couldn't waitress with a sprained ankle.

I could go back in, just run down the stairs and out.

Carefully, she dropped her bag to the ground.

"Here goes."

She sat with both legs dangling from the window, then twisted so her stomach was on the wood and she was facing the house. Slowly she backed out, bracing herself with her feet on the siding and gripping the wooden window frame with her hands.

I hate this.

She pushed off, bracing herself for the impact. It didn't come. Instead she was caught in someone's arms before she touched the ground.

"Let go of me. Let go." She was facing away from the person who held on to her. She kicked backward and made contact.

"Relax." The guy holding her lowered her gently to the ground and stepped back. "You looked like you could use help. It's a big drop for a little thing like you."

She turned to face him and had to crane her neck to see his face. He was an utterly unfamiliar older man, not grandfather old, but older than most of the people who hung around Ren. He had a different look, too. Heavy silver chains dangled from both of his wrists. His jeans were faded and ripped in the calves to reveal the tops of scuffed combat boots. Tattoos of zoomorphic dogs covered his forearms. She should be afraid, but she wasn't: instead she felt still, calm, like whatever emotions churned inside had ceased to connect with the world around her.

She motioned to the tattoos on the man's arms. "Nice."

He smiled in what seemed to be a friendly way. "My son did that. Rabbit. He has a shop—"

"You're Rabbit's dad?" She stared. There was no family resemblance that she could see, especially when she realized that this meant he was also Ani and Tish's father.

The man smiled wider still. "You know him?"

And his sisters.

"Look like their mothers. All of them. I'm Gabriel. Nice to meet…" He scowled then, causing her to step backward and stumble—not in fear, not even then, but in wariness.

But his scowl wasn't directed at her. The creepy dealer from the house had stepped around the corner. He said, "Come back inside."

"No." She collected her bag from the grass where it had fallen. Her hands shook as she clutched it and tried not to look at the dealer walking toward her or at Gabriel. Fear surged. Delayed and dulled as it was, it still made her feel like running.

Is Gabriel here to see Ren? Rabbit never talked about his dad; neither did Ani and Tish. Is he a drug dealer too? Or just an addict?

Gabriel stepped in front of the dealer. "Girl's leaving."

The dealer reached out toward Leslie. And without thinking, she grabbed his arm, wrapped her fingers around his wrist and held it immobile and away from her body.

I could crush him. She paused at her thoughts, at the weird calm settling back over her, at the weird confidence. I could do it. Break him. Bloody him.

She tightened her grip just a little, feeling bone under the skin, fragile, in the palm of her hand. Mine to do with as I want.

The dealer wasn't fazed by her grip, not yet. He was talking, telling Gabriel, "It's cool, man. She lives here. It's not a—"

"Girl's leaving now." Gabriel looked at Leslie and smiled. "Right?"

"Sure," she said, looking dispassionately at her hand curled around the dealer's wrist. She squeezed harder.

"Bitch. That hurts." The dealer's voice grew shriller.

"Don't cuss in front of the girl. It's rude." Gabriel made a disgusted noise. "No manners these days."

Something's wrong here.

Leslie tightened her grip again; the dealer's eyes rolled back in his head. She felt bones splintering and saw white through broken skin.

I'm not strong enough to do that.

But she stood there, holding the dealer's wrist in her hand, still squeezing. He'd passed out from the pain, dropped to the ground. She let go.

"Where you headed?" Gabriel handed her a dark rag.

She wiped her hand, watching the immobile man at her feet. It wasn't sadness or pity she felt. It wasn't… anything. It should be, though. She knew that, even if she didn't feel it.

"Why are you here?"

"To rescue you, of course." He grinned, baring teeth that looked like he'd filed some of them to points. "But you didn't need rescuing, did you?"

"No." She nudged the dealer with her foot. "I didn't. Not this time."

"So let me give you a lift, since my rescue services weren't needed." He didn't touch her, but put a hand behind her as if he'd rest it on the small of her back.

Not lying. His words felt true, not whole, not all there, but not lying.

She nodded and walked away from her house.

Some part of her thought she should be angry or frightened or ashamed, but she couldn't feel those things. She knew that somehow she had changed, as surely as she knew Gabriel hadn't truly lied.