Black City (3 page)

I pick up the coat and press my nose against the silvery fur. I almost believe I can smell Calder lilies on it, the scent of a much happier time. A familiar pain bunches up in my chest, and I carefully put the coat back on the chair.

On top of the cluttered table is a mountain of bills. I pick them up, and my mind wanders back to the Sentry girl. What had the guards called her?
Natalie.

I dolefully sift through the bills, trying to focus my mind on other things, but my mood worsens with every red letter. I’ll need to get some new clients to pay for all of this, and the idea sickens me. I hate getting the kids at my school hooked on Haze, but I have no choice. It’s that or we’re out on the streets. That’s not good in a place like Black City.

“Are you going to tell me where you were?” Dad says as he enters the kitchen.

“Library. I was returning some books,” I lie.

“You risked being caught outside after curfew to return some books?”

“What can I say? The library fines are astronomical.”

“The library burned down last week.”

Oh.

“Heavens, Ash, if anyone catches you out after curfew—”

“I
know.
”

“You have to be more careful. Trackers are crawling all over the city now that the Emissary is back in town.”

He doesn’t need to remind me. After the Emissary was evacuated last year, only the general police force—the Sentry guard—was left behind to control the city. Now she’s back to open negotiations with the Legion to extend their territory, and the city is swarming with Trackers, a specialist military unit dedicated to hunting one thing: Darklings.

I toss the bills on the table. “I was getting some money for us. Someone’s got to pay for all these!”

Dad narrows his blue eyes at me. “What have you been doing?”

I rub the back of my neck.

“I told you not to deal Haze anymore!” Dad yells. “What if they catch you? Honestly, sometimes I think you’re trying to get yourself killed.”

My mouth twitches.

“Do you want to die?” Dad persists, on a rant now.

“I already
am
dead.”

“Just because your heart doesn’t beat doesn’t mean you’re not alive.”

“You don’t understand,” I say quietly. “You have no idea what it’s like to be a freak. How can you? You’re human; you’re nothing like me.”

Dad has a heartbeat, and Mom even has two. Yet somehow I ended up with nothing but a stone-cold lump inside my chest. No matter how many times he tries to explain it—my heart doesn’t beat because it doesn’t need to, the symbiotic protozoa in my blood feeds oxygen to my organs instead; it’s just one of the many weird and wonderful side-effects of mixing human and Darkling DNA—it doesn’t make any difference. I’m still a monster.

“I don’t want you going out at night anymore,” he says.

I let out an irritated sigh.

“I’m serious, Ash. I don’t want any Trackers sniffing around here asking questions.”

“Okay, okay,” I mumble.

Dad goes to a drawer and pulls out an envelope.

“This came through the mail,” he says quietly.

Dad hands me the envelope. Inside are a pamphlet and a copper wristband. I scan the contents of the leaflet:

DARKLING REGISTRATION ACT

O
N THE ORDERS OF PURIAN ROSE, head of the United Sentry States:

Darkling citizens living in Sentry territory must wear Identification bracelets at all times. Failure to comply will result in death.

I examine the wristband. There’s some text engraved on it:
Ash Fisher #000121 Property of Harold Fisher, Ivy Church, the Rise.

I inhale sharply. “They can’t be serious. I’m not a dog! I’m no one’s property.”

“I’m sorry, son,” Dad says, unable to meet my eyes. “Just promise me you’ll wear it. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”

I swallow back my shame and slip on the wristband, not wanting to give Dad any more reasons to be worried about me. I cover the band with my sleeve, but I still know it’s there. It’s humiliating. In the space of a few minutes, I’ve gone from being someone’s son to being his pet.

“At least this way a Tracker won’t mistake you for a rogue Darkling,” Dad says, his voice strained.

“Yeah. Look, it’s no big deal; it’s just a wristband,” I lie, whether to him or to myself, I’m not sure.

I glance at the padlocked door leading to the crypt.

“Has she eaten?” I say.

Dad shakes his head. “I was waiting for you.”

I go to the fridge and take out a sachet of Synth-O-Blood, a synthetic form of O-positive blood. The Sentry engineered it shortly after war broke out eight years ago, in order to feed the thousands of Darkling citizens they’d forcibly relocated to the Legion ghetto, behind the newly constructed Boundary Wall. They were the luckier ones who managed to bribe, bargain and fight their way into the ghetto, knowing it was their best chance of survival. The rest were sent to “migration camps” in the Barren Lands. Now the only Darklings you’ll find on this side of the wall are a few domesticated housemaids, some trespassers hiding out in Humans for Unity safe houses, rogue Wraths and
me.
The last twin-blood in Black City.

Dad moves the camp bed and unlocks the padlocked door. We walk down the stone steps in silence. The crypt stinks of death and decay. In the center of the room is a battered armchair, a discarded book on the armrest. I force myself to look beyond it toward the creature hunched in the corner of the room.

She stirs.

My grip tightens around the bag of blood.

“I’ve . . .” I clear my throat, which is dry like cotton. “I’ve brought you some dinner.”

The creature growls, tugging at the chains holding her to the wall. I slide the sachet of blood across the floor, and it comes to a juddering halt in front of her. She rips into the sachet and slurps at the blood with her black tongue, splashing blood all over her partially rotted face, revealing the full length of her long, curved fangs.

I sit down on the armchair, watching from a safe distance. The Wrath virus isn’t airborne, but I’m still at risk if she bites me. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I angrily wipe them away. Dad’s right. We have to be careful with the Trackers back in town. I glance over at the creature.

They mustn’t know about Mom.

4

NATALIE

I HURRY UP
the gleaming white steps to the Sentry’s regional HQ, my new home. One wing of the white marble building is still being reconstructed after it was blasted during the air raids, but otherwise it’s come out relatively unscathed. Not like everywhere else in this city. It probably wasn’t our forefathers’ smartest idea to build Black City using cheap Cinderstone bricks, as once they start burning, they’re impossible to put out. But it takes immense heat to start the reaction, and how would they know that, centuries later, our “great leader” Purian Rose would firebomb the city and everyone in it?

I miss the Sentry headquarters in Centrum, the state capital of the Dominion State, where we spent the past year after we were evacuated from Black City. It was much nicer than this one; simpler, less ornate. I’ve never liked Black City HQ, and neither did Father—he didn’t think it was a safe place to raise a family, which is why he insisted we live in the manor house on the outskirts of the city when I was growing up.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
But now here I am, back in Black City, a place I never wanted to see again.

I pass several Sentry guards by the front doors, and they salute me. I swipe my identity card over the scanner and step inside the sterile entrance hall. Tucked under my arm is the twin-blood Darkling’s coat. The Hazer girl gave it to me, saying she didn’t want it, and just holding it sends shivers down my spine.

I should be grateful nothing seriously bad happened tonight; it was reckless of me to walk the city streets alone after dark, but I just wanted to get some souvenirs from my old house for my sister, Polly.

I never did make it to the mansion after bumping into that twin-blood boy. I still don’t quite understand why he let me go. Maybe he just wanted to get out of there fast and leave me to deal with the Hazer girl? Another shudder ripples through me.
Tell anyone about me, and you’re dead . . .
I’m not going to tell. There’s no point—I’ll never see him again.

Besides, I don’t want to give my mother an excuse to increase my security. My bodyguard, Sebastian, is more than enough for me, thank you very much. At least I can wrap Sebastian around my little finger and occasionally get some freedom.

I head straight for the stairs, intending to find Polly, when the blond-haired receptionist raises her head and looks at me.

“Emissary Buchanan’s expecting you. She’s down in the laboratory.”

“But I’m not allowed in the labs . . . ?”

She shrugs. “Emissary Buchanan was very clear that you’re to meet her down there.”

I don’t have a chance to put the Darkling boy’s jacket anywhere, so I take it with me as I walk to a glass elevator, confused as hell as to why I’ve been asked to go to the labs. Why’s Mother letting me down there now? The elevator doors start to close, but a hand darts through them, prying them back open. Furious green eyes glare down at me.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Sebastian snaps, stepping into the elevator beside me.

“You didn’t have to come running after me.”

Sebastian clenches his jaw and punches the basement-floor button. The elevator slowly descends as we stand in silence, attempting to ignore the tension simmering between us. I can see his reflection in the glass, and my eyes trace the contours of his face: wide eyes, framed by brows that seem to be permanently knotted together; tanned skin newly darkened with day-old stubble; the small freckle on his lower lip that I’ve kissed a thousand times.

Never again.

My mind drifts to the boy under the bridge, and that tugging sensation I felt before pulls at my heart again.
Weird.