Shadowlark (10 page)

“Told you, told you.” It was the woman from the jewelry stall, her thin lips stretched in a broad, smug smile. “Smugglers. Unregistered. Maybe even Renewables, you don’t know. And they got a pixie.”

Flanking her were two people wearing the uniform of the Eagles: dark grey pants and shirts under vests made of a dark, smoldering red-orange fabric. Their bearing as government enforcers was unmistakable. The taller of the two could’ve very well been Caesar himself, standing there in the moment he betrayed me to the Institute.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the shorter one, handing the woman something that flashed briefly in the light.

The taller one, the one who reminded me eerily of my oldest brother, reached out for me. Oren snarled, causing the officer to release my shoulder and turn, hand creeping toward something holstered at his waist.

“You, come with us immediately. And bring that monstrosity.”

For a wild moment of panic, I thought he knew Oren’s secret. But then I followed the cop’s gaze and realized that his narrowed eyes were resting on Nix. The pixie. The contraband.

Oren caught my eye, and I shook my head sharply. Fighting wasn’t going to get us out of this. His jaw clenched as he looked away, jerking his shoulder out of the grip of the taller uniformed officer. He moved forward, though, as the uniformed man directed. The crowd parted in front of the officers like a stream around a boulder. People ran to avoid even brushing their sleeves against theirs. I shivered.

It was my fault Oren was in this position. And in it for the second time in as many days. I should have gotten him to the surface before turning back for Tansy—why break him out of our cell only to lead him straight into the arms of our captors?
Why free him in the Iron Wood, if only to live a life as a monster?

Nix flew in close, pressing itself against my neck as the two officers escorted us out of the stall and made their way toward the huge, crescent-shaped building at the far end of the courtyard. My first thought was that it was frightened, but the ever-present calm in its voice when it spoke reminded me that it was a machine.

Machines don’t feel.

“We have a few moments in which to devise a plan. I will hear no matter how softly you speak.”

“You have to run.” I breathed the words.

“And leave you?”

My mouth felt dry, like I’d been chewing on cotton. “Altruism, Nix?”

“I require proximity to you in order to remain functional.”
There was no punctuating flutter of its wings to simulate tone or emotion.

“You heard that woman. They’re going to scrub you, whatever that means. For all we know, it means they’ll take you apart, like she did to that courier pigeon. I think first and foremost you require all your parts to remain functional.”

“Quiet,” snapped the officer at my elbow, directing a glare down his nose at me. On a larger man, his build would have been imposing—but he was only a little taller than me, and instead he just looked stocky. He had thick, meaty hands that made my arm ache as he gave it a jerk.

Nix gave an irritated little buzz of its wings, and I had to fight a weary smile. Kris had programmed it well—all protectiveness and simulated outrage on my behalf.

The machine didn’t reply right away, but I knew it was considering what I’d said. Tucked so close to me, the whirring and clicking of its mechanisms sounded like explosions. I could feel it thinking where its body pressed against the hollow below my ear.

Finally, it pulled away from my neck.
“Very well.”
And without further warning, it launched itself from my shoulder, shifted forms in midair, and sped straight upward.

“Hey!” My captor dropped my arm, fumbling for a pouch at his waist. I was as dumbfounded as he was, staggering back. He retrieved something from a pocket and threw it after Nix. My dazzled eyes struggled to follow it as it unfolded into a flat, winglike blade, wobbled once as if orienting itself, and then sped after the pixie. The second officer followed suit, and for a while I could just make out the two knifelike flyers in pursuit of what was now only a copper gleam.

I shielded my eyes with both hands against the dazzling rainbow sky, but in seconds I’d lost all sign of them. The sky was filled with machines, and though my eyes strained for some telltale sign of Nix, it was like the pixie—and its pursuers—had simply melted into the sky.

“Summon it back this instant,” a voice snarled.

I blinked, staggering back, refocusing my eyes on the man beside me.“How?” I glanced from him to the machinefilled air above us. “It does whatever it wants; I don’t control it.”

The man’s eyes bulged, his heavy hands coming down on my shoulders and giving me a shake that rattled my teeth. “Bad enough you brought a pixie in, but it’s
rogue
?”

“Hey.” Oren’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the man’s bluster like a knife. “Don’t touch her.”

The officer rolled his eyes toward Oren. He was standing an arm’s length away from us. The taller officer who was supposed to be in charge of him was still scanning the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of Nix and the flying blades. Oren’s expression was blank, but I knew him well enough to recognize the fury in his ice-blue eyes.

“You’re not in a position to make demands, Outsider,” said the short man, his hand drifting toward that holster on his belt. “Keep moving, or I’ll do more than grab her shoulder.”

Where I was standing, I couldn’t see the man’s expression. But he leaned close enough that I felt hot breath on my ear, and he must have done something to demonstrate what he meant by “do more,” because Oren gave an inarticulate growl and lunged for him.

The taller man whirled, cursing, but Oren was already beyond his reach. Oren slammed into my captor, whose hand tore away from my shoulder as the collision drove him down into the ground. He grunted painfully at the impact, gasping for breath.

Oren pinned him there with a knee against his chest and slammed the heel of his hand into the man’s face. Something cracked wetly, and blood spattered the dusty ground. Dimly, through the rushing in my ears, I heard a scream—the crowd had gathered around us at a safe distance, surrounding us in a ring of staring, horrified faces.

“Stop—Oren,
stop!
” I tried to grab at his arm, pull him away, but he shook me off.

I caught a glimpse of his face, transformed—violence was what he knew, how he coped. He was a creature of the wind and the sky and the rain, and each moment he stayed underground was a torment. It was all written on his face and in the strangely elegant lines of his body as he transformed the man’s face into something unrecognizable.

“You’re going to
kill
him!” I started toward him again, but somehow a tiny movement in the background caught my eye instead.

The taller of the two officers had drawn one of those curved machines they called talons out of a holster at his waist and was sighting down the length of it at Oren. I didn’t have to know what it did to recognize it as a weapon.

I shouted something unintelligible—time slowed to a trickle. The air suddenly split, rent in two by a torrent of magic. My knees buckled as my body tried to remember which way was up. On the other side of Oren I saw someone in the crowd reel back with a scream and fall, twitching for a horribly long moment before lying still.

I wrenched my gaze back to the officer with the weapon and saw him lining up another shot. I saw his finger tightening on the trigger as though each movement was an individual picture flashing before my eyes. My second sight snapped into focus, outlining everyone with a faint halo of golden light. They weren’t Renewables—the only magic here was the barest needed to keep them alive.

But it was enough for me.

Time rushed back in with a roar, sweeping me up and shoving me at Oren, who was still pounding on the prone form of the officer. I threw myself at him with all my strength, colliding with him and rolling him off of the bloodied man. I grabbed at the officer’s face, ignoring the hot, sticky flow of blood, and yanked at the magic I could feel flickering inside him.

The shadowy pit inside me leaped up, snapping at the energy, gleeful. This was no gentle, careful bloodletting the way I’d used Tansy’s power in the cell—I tore the man’s magic away so fast that my dazzled eyes could see the ragged edges of it flapping around the gaping black hole I’d left in his soul.

I curled my body around Oren, who was still thrashing, trying to shake me loose, but I wrapped the man’s power around us both like a blanket, like a shield. I heard the air tear apart again, and this time something hot and metallic swept over us, rolling off the blanket like beads of water on a hot pan.

Oren stopped struggling, though I could feel his chest heaving for breath. My cheek was pressed against it, my arms gripping tight around his body. I braced myself, trying to hold the ragged clumps of stolen power together for another attack. My head spun, my vision blurring—I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“What the
hell
is going on here?”

A voice boomed across the courtyard, resonant enough that it penetrated even the muffling blanket of magic I held around us.

“Holster your weapon, you idiot!” The voice snapped with fury. “Firing in a crowd like this; you could have hit—”

Holding the shield together was an agony. I hadn’t had the time to absorb the man’s magic properly, and the hungry pit within me was sucking at the shields, trying to digest them. My body was on fire, and I could no longer hear what was going on beyond the screaming of my heartbeat and the frantic echo of Oren’s. But there was no third blast, and after a few interminable moments I gave in, letting the darkness consume everything I’d taken.

• • •

It seemed I lay there for hours, but in reality I think only a few seconds passed before a hand touched my shoulder. I gasped for a breath, lifting my head. A new face swam into focus above mine—a middle-aged man, balding, familiar somehow.

He threw himself down at the side of the motionless man, bending over him. I saw him check for breath, his cheek close to the man’s lips. He pressed his mouth to the bloodstained lips, and I saw the uniformed chest rise and fall as the balding man tried to breathe for him. After a few breaths he stopped and thumped the injured man on the chest, over his heart. I’d never seen anything like it before—in my city, when someone stopped breathing, they were just dead.

Finally, he jerked upright. “He’s breathing,” he gasped. I felt my own breath falter with relief. I hadn’t killed him.

The taller officer was staring, mumbling something, his weapon dangling from one hand.

“You call a medic,” the balding man snapped, getting to his feet and then reaching for my wrist to haul me upright. “I’ll take them from here.”

The tall man said something else—I couldn’t hear properly, as though something had exploded right by my ear.

“No, he isn’t dead,” the man in charge said, his tone frosty. “But if you don’t get him to a medic, he will be. And make sure they take a look at the unlucky bastard you just shot.”

The middle-aged man ushered me and Oren along, sending the crowd scattering back away from us with muffled cries and gasps. “Quick now,” he said, his resonant voice pitched low.

I looked up at him, trying to force my eyes to work properly. I knew I’d seen him before. I glanced over my shoulder, at the still form lying within the ring of silent onlookers. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. Our unlikely rescuer had implied that he was still alive, but I knew how quickly and ruthlessly I’d acted.

All I could see, over and over again, was the gaping black hole I’d left there when I ripped the life force from him.

I stumbled, too shattered to keep up the pace this man was demanding from us.

“Not yet. The Eagles will be watching. Keep moving— fall apart later.”

He managed to get us out of the courtyard, but I couldn’t tell where we were headed. When we stopped we were in some kind of alley, a space between two rusting metal buildings. Oren dropped to his knees when the man let him go. Mine buckled, but the man kept hold of me, pushing me against the alley wall to keep me upright.

His face swam into focus, and suddenly I realized how I knew him. He had changed clothes—though he didn’t wear the badge with the bird on it, he was dressed like they were, in charcoal grey and smoldering red-orange. But I recognized him anyway—he was the man from before, the one who’d caught my eye after the boy was taken away as a Renewable. The man in the brilliant blue coat.

“I know what you are,” he said, his face not far from mine. “And we need you.”