Black City (9 page)

I laugh. That job’s a poisoned chalice. All the Emissaries who have been sent to the Barren Lands have been killed within a year, either by Wraths or the outlaws who live there. It’s a very wild place, and the citizens aren’t much nicer. Emissaries only get sent there if they’re being punished.

There’s not much else in Day’s room except a pile of books by her bed. A photo pokes out of one of the novels, and I take it out. The snapshot’s of her when she was about eight years old. She’s standing outside the church I saw earlier—Ash’s home—with her arm looped over Beetle’s shoulder.

“You were friends with Beetle?” I ask, taken aback.

“We were an item for a while. We all met at Minister Fisher’s church.”

“You’re not with him now?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I just use that old photo as a bookmark.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Ash happened,” she says bitterly, then adds, “Beetle’s parents were killed in the air raids last year. He was crushed, as you’d imagine. He went to live with his aunt, a Humans for Unity nut job, filling his mind with all their dangerous—never mind,” she says, getting back on the subject. “Beetle spent a lot more time at Minister Fisher’s church, searching for some answers, I guess. He was always on good terms with Ash, but they became best friends. There was no room for me anymore.”

“So you don’t speak to Beetle because he’s close friends with a twin-blood Darkling?”

“No, I’m not friends with Beetle anymore because Ash got him hooked on Haze, and Beetle became a stranger to me. He used to be so ambitious, so smart. We had dreams of moving to Centrum,” Day says, her eyes glistening. “But that all changed when he became an addict. He just didn’t care about anything except getting high. He skipped school, lost interest in his appearance. He even cheated on me with some Hazer skank when he was tripping.” She mutters the last bit.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “Someone I cared about cheated on me too, so I know how it feels.”

She gives me a small smile. “I was willing to forgive him if he promised never to do Haze again, but he told me to fragg off. He chose drugs over me. So that was that.”

A door slams in the other room, and a deep voice bellows out to greet everyone.

“We’re home!”

“That’s Papa,” Day says, beaming.

We go back into the kitchen, where Day’s mother, Sumrina, has already started preparing dinner over the open fire in the hearth. She’s changed out of her work uniform and has put on a pale blue, floor-length bustle dress, with intricate beadwork over the corset. The dress is clearly old, probably an heirloom, and somewhat over-the-top for a family dinner. Day’s father places a fish wrapped in greaseproof paper on the table, then kisses his wife.

“You look beautiful,” he says to her.

“Not now, Michael. We have a guest,” she says, shooing him away.

Michael looks at me with inquisitive, bespectacled eyes. He doesn’t seem particularly impressed that I’m here. He’s quite handsome for a dad, with skin the color of the blackest Cinderstone, a broad nose and a warm smile. Sitting at the table behind him is a young boy, who looks a lot like his father, except his spine is all curved over, like an old man’s. I think of Polly when I look at him. Why didn’t Day tell me she had a brother? Then again, I haven’t mentioned my sister.

Day wraps her arms around her brother and looks challengingly at me. It’s the same expression I give people when they see Polly’s scars, daring them to say anything. I go over to him and crouch down so we’re eye height with each other. Everyone in the room goes silent.

“My name’s Natalie. What’s yours?” I ask.

He smiles. “Michael Junior Jefferson-Rajasingham.”

I hold out my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He shakes my hand with surprising vigor. Day’s father, Michael Senior, laughs heartily.

“Let her go, MJ, before you take her arm off.”

MJ grins and lets me go.

Sumrina puts a pile of potatoes on the table.

“You lot peel those spuds.”

They each grab a potato. I sit where I am.

Michael Senior looks at me. “We all help prepare the meals in this house, even the guests.”

“Dada, you’re embarrassing me,” Day says through gritted teeth.

“It’s okay.” I pick up a knife and a potato, wanting to help, but quickly realize I don’t know what to do. I’ve never so much as peeled an orange in my life; anytime I’ve wanted a snack, Martha gets it for me.

Day shows me how it’s done. She occasionally chucks bits of vegetable at her brother, who sticks his tongue out at her. Everyone chats and laughs, and I sit back and watch them. So this is what a normal family feels like? It’s nice.

MJ reaches out for another potato, then groans. Michael Senior is by his side in a flash. He soothingly rubs his son’s bent back. Sumrina wrings a dishcloth between her hands.

“Did you get any painkillers at the market?” she asks.

Michael shakes his head. “I didn’t have any coins left after I bought the fish.”

“What’s wrong with your brother?” I whisper to Day.

“He has kyphosis, curvature of the spine. He gets really bad back pain sometimes.”

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” I say.

They all turn and look at me, dumbfounded. I bite my lip. Is it really such a surprise that a Sentry would offer to help them?

“I have access to a laboratory. We have lots of medicines; no one would miss a few painkillers,” I explain.

“No, thank you. We don’t want you getting into any trouble, not for us,” Michael Senior says, when what he really means is “we don’t want
your
charity.”

“Michael,” Sumrina whispers, glancing at their son.

He takes a deep breath, then resignedly nods. “Thank you, Miss Buchanan. That would be very generous of you, if it wouldn’t get you into any trouble.”

“It won’t.”

“Thank you,” Day says quietly. “Most people treat MJ like he’s some sort of freak. But he’s not—he’s just special.”

“I have a sister, Polly, and . . .” My voice cracks a little; it’s always so tough talking about her. “She got hurt, and now she’s not very well, and people can be really mean to her, so I know what it’s like to have people be cruel to the person you love.”

“Then you understand?” Day says, smiling a little.

I nod. “We have to protect them.”

Michael Senior studies me with curiosity.

“Did you know Dayani’s applied for the Fast-Track Political program?” Sumrina says to me, trying to lighten the mood.

“She mentioned something about that,” I say.

“We’re so proud of her. To think one day our little girl will be an Emissary living in Centrum!” she says.

“I haven’t even been accepted yet, Mama,” Day says.

Sumrina waves a hand. “A technicality. There’s no one smarter or better qualified than you, sweetie.”

Michael Senior wipes his spectacles, then puts them back on. “This country will be a better place with a Workboot for an Emissary. It’s time we had someone who understands the needs of the working man.”

“Not now, Michael,” Sumrina snaps.

There’s a knock at the front door, and a moment later it opens, bringing in a gust of icy air that makes the fire flicker in the hearth. My heart smashes against my chest as Ash Fisher walks into the room, followed by an older man dressed in a gray preacher’s smock, who I presume is his father. They’re both carrying crates of food.

The atmosphere in the kitchen drops by a few degrees when Ash spots me sitting at the table. Surprise registers on his face.

He’s changed out of his school uniform and is now wearing dark trousers, leather work boots and a fitted black shirt that accentuates every inch of his powerful, muscular frame. He looks at me,
into
me, like he can see every secret I have, every rush of my blood. My pulse races with fear and a much more disturbing, unexpected emotion:
desire.

I turn away, horrified at my body’s reaction to him. It’s sick and irrational. He’s a
Darkling,
a predator that would gladly rip my throat out, given the slightest provocation. Then why are my cheeks burning so red?

I’m just hot from the fire, that’s all.

“Ash!” MJ beams.

“Hey, MJ. I swear you’ve shot up another inch since I last saw you,” Ash replies, ignoring the frosty look from Day. “You’ll be almost as tall as me one day.”

MJ laughs at this. I doubt anyone will be as tall as Ash. He has to hunch over to stop his head from hitting the low ceiling as he walks over to Michael, passing him a crate of canned goods. It all seems so absurd. Ash is a Darkling, not to mention a Haze dealer. He’s a monster.

If that’s true, then why is Ash giving Day’s family all that food?
my father’s gentle voice whispers inside my head.
Is that the action of a monster?

A Darkling murdered you!
I angrily silence him.

Great, now I’m having arguments with my own imagination. That’s how much Ash Fisher’s unsettling me.

“Thanks, Ash,” Michael says, inspecting the tinned food. “Look, Sumrina, peaches. Not had them in a while.”

Sumrina takes the food, casting an anxious look in my direction, like
I’m
the person she’s most afraid of in this room, not Ash.

Day barely conceals her contempt for Ash as she helps her mother put the tins away. I don’t blame her: if he’d got someone I cared about hooked on Haze, I’d hate him too. Haze is one of the worst drugs out there; it’s so addictive and destroys lives.

He slides another look in my direction, and the air between us crackles with tension.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Ash? Like under the canal bridge?” Day says abruptly, referring to the place where he meets his clients.

Ash’s lips tighten into a thin line.

“Well, it was lovely seeing you, Minister Fisher, Ash. I’m sure you’ve got plenty more homes to visit before curfew, so we won’t keep you waiting,” Sumrina says, rushing them out the door as fast as possible.

Minister Fisher glances at me, and his mouth twitches. He knows who I am.

“You’re right, we should go. I hope to see you at my service on Sunday,” he says, ushering Ash outside.

“That was rude. The Fishers are our friends,” Michael says to his wife the instant she shuts the door.

A glimmer of fear crosses Sumrina’s brown eyes.
She’s really afraid of me.
I never thought of myself as threatening before, but when I think about it, I
am
the Emissary’s daughter. I can get her family into a lot of trouble for mingling with “race traitors” if I want to, and crush any hope of Day getting onto the Fast-Track program.

Michael Senior watches me from the corner of the room. He’s not scared of me; he’s not ashamed of the fact he’s friends with the Fishers or frightened to voice his opinions on the Sentry. In many ways, he reminds me a lot of my father.

The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, and I’m having such a nice time, I don’t notice the night sky rolling in. The wail of the air-raid siren, signaling the start of curfew, surprises us all. I leap up, panicked. Mother’s going to kill me!

“I have to go. Thanks for a lovely evening,” I say.

“I’ll walk you home,” Michael Senior says, going to the cupboard to get a can of anti-Wrath spray, which every family owns, no matter how poor they are.

Day follows me to the door. “See you at school tomorrow?”

“I’ll speak to Mother about inviting you over for dinner sometime,” I say, remembering the deal we made earlier.

“That’s okay. I didn’t really expect you to do that.”

“I want to,” I say, and it’s true.

I’m hoping Day and I can be good friends. I have a small spark of hope that maybe my life in Black City won’t be so awful after all.

9

NATALIE

THE NEXT DAY
at school isn’t as nerve-racking as the first, mainly thanks to Day. She walks me to all my classes, even though she then has to run to get to her own lessons on time, which is no mean feat with so many books to carry. I don’t know how she does it. It really reminds me of my first-ever day at school, and how Polly took care of me. The recollection makes me smile, and I make a mental note to buy Day a satchel the next time I go to the market.

The bell for lunch period rings. I shrug on Ash’s jacket, which I’ve decided to keep because I actually like the way it looks on me—plus I guess I like how irritated he gets when he sees it—and follow the other students out into the corridors. I check my antique wristwatch as students jostle and bustle against me. I’m supposed to meet Day in a few minutes by the cafeteria. I think I remember where it is.

A boy from my homeroom, Chris Thompson, smiles warmly at me as we pass in the corridor, a cute dimple forming in his right cheek. Color floods
my
cheeks, just like last night when I saw Ash Fisher at Day’s house. My skin tingles at the memory. I rub my arms, forcing the sensation away. I don’t want to remember the attraction I felt toward Ash, no matter how fleeting it was.

I manage to find the cafeteria, where Day’s already waiting for me.

“I need to take my medicine before I eat,” I say to her, then add in a lower voice, “I’ve got the drugs for MJ, but I don’t want to give them to you here. I’ll get in trouble if anyone catches me with them.”