Malachi’s steps came to a halt. With a turn of his head, he fixed a dissatisfied (or was it disappointed?) look on Edmund.

In all likelihood, the boy was right. Whoever ran the hotel was most likely accustomed to a different sort of patron. Did that mean that a young man and his tired sister, down on their luck, were not allowed to take shelter there? That their place was on the street, or better yet- in the alley between this building and the next?

He didn’t care what the owners thought. Didn’t care what anyone else thought about it either. It was a safe place with beds and with any hope, it would have anything else the kids needed too. If it didn’t? He’d make sure that whoever was working – prejudiced or otherwise – was paid well enough to ensure that it did.

“And what’s wrong with kids like you and Mable?”

His tone was far from accusatory, but it was pointed. It had already decided the answer: nothing.

Malachi didn’t bother to hide the concern that had crossed his face, highlighted by the stars and moon above.

“You’re just as good as any other customer,” he insisted, and was surprised by the defensiveness in his own voice. “If they say a word suggesting otherwise, I’ll take care of it.”

Edmund had neglected to answer his other question. He did not ask it again, but instead told himself to remember to have them fed regardless of the lack of answer.

“If you’re really not comfortable here, we’ll find somewhere else. But please don’t let something like that make your decision, Eddie.”