Valknut: The Binding by Marie Loughin Page A

Ragman’s spray paint. “Just the thing I need.”
    He wandered off behind the train, shaking the
can and chuckling to himself. The hissing Lennie had heard earlier
began again. Baffled, she stared after him. Junkyard grinned and
shrugged.
    “You want that?” He pointed at the pepper
spray lying near the track.
    “That stupid thing!” She picked it up and
thumped on its impotent nozzle. “Do you know how long I’ve been
carrying this piece of crap? Going on midnight runs through the
park? Walking home from work after dark?”
    “Too long, maybe,” Junkyard said.
    The amused glint in his eyes irritated her
beyond tolerance. With a yell, she heaved the canister as far as
she could. It bounced on a stretch of empty track and came to rest
in the gravel. A stream of pepper spray fountained high into the
air. Lennie watched it stonily.
    “Perfect.”
    Behind her, Junkyard cleared his throat and
said in a flat voice, “I hate to rush you, but we should probably
get going.”
    “Right.” She didn’t move.
    “Don’t want to get caught standing right
under the Brotherhood’s logo.”
    “True.”
    She gave the canister one last, dark look. As
she turned to go, her gaze caught on the fresh graffiti emblazoned
in red and yellow on the side of the hopper. Three interlocking
letters, BRR, were laid out in a rough triangle that was much too
similar to the tattoo on her hand. Her head swam at the sight of it
and she had an urge to run far away from anything to do with
trains, gangs, and spontaneous tattoos.
    Junkyard touched her arm. “You okay?”
    “No—yeah.” She thrust her tattooed hand into
her pocket. “Just shock setting in, I suppose.”
    She smiled to show she was joking. He didn’t
look convinced. She tried to match his casual calm, but her voice
cracked when she spoke. “So, do you think the Ragman’ll come
back?”
    “Maybe. And if he does, he’ll bring friends.”
Junkyard raised his voice. “Hey, Jim—time to go.”
    The hiss of spray paint stopped and Jungle
Jim’s voice drifted around the corner of the hopper. “Be there’n
two shakes, Dougie.”
    The paint can rattled exactly twice, and then
hissed one more time in a staccato burst. Silence followed. Lennie
and Junkyard exchanged puzzled glances. Jungle Jim came out from
behind the hopper. He was wearing bright yellow shoes.
    He looked from Junkyard to Lennie and then
down at his feet, a big grin on his face. Gravel stuck to dripping
laces and yellow spattered the cuffs of his baggy pants. “What d’ya
think, guys?”
    “Uh,” Lennie said. She looked at Junkyard,
hoping he could do better. He was laughing.
    “I think the kids are going to love ’em.” He
patted Jim on the back. “Grab your bag and let’s go try them
out.”
     
     

Chapter 5
     
    The back of Lennie’s neck prickled with the
feeling of being watched as she followed Junkyard and Jungle Jim
through the train yard’s exit. She glanced back, half-expecting to
see a pack of gangbangers charging after them, led by the
Ragman.
    His eyes haunted her. Brown eyes. She had
seen them clearly before the Ragman had run away. Had they ever
been a different color?
    And who was this El Lobo that was supposed to
be looking for her?
    Lennie’s feelings of unease faded as she
reentered the everyday world of cars, commuters, and well-kept
buildings. The return to mainstream seemed to have the opposite
effect on Junkyard. He slowed as the sidewalk grew more crowded,
letting Jungle Jim rove ahead. Signs of strain lined his face, as
though ordinary people made him more nervous than a train yard full
of gangbangers.
    “Is something wrong?” she asked.
    His jaw muscles worked under his long
sideburns. He didn’t look at her.
    “No.”
    His tone ended the conversation. They walked
in silence along a street lined with red brick buildings and
crowded bike racks. A pair of girls came toward them on the
sidewalk, backpacks hanging from their shoulders. Though the
walkway was plenty wide,