Black City

by Elizabeth Richards

  She doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if the real reason she’s never been to a sleepover is that she doesn’t have any friends other than me. I open up my bedside cabinet and pull out my makeup kit and secret stash of candy.

  “Well, it’s obligatory that we paint our nails, eat candy and talk about boys,” I say.

  I choose a pretty coral pink nail varnish from my makeup bag and begin painting Day’s nails.

  “Sebastian’s quite attractive,” Day says, getting into the spirit of things.

  “I suppose. We dated for a while, but we split up a few months ago.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “I walked in on him having sex with another girl.”

  “That’s awful!” she says.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter.

  “Why would he sleep with another girl, when he had you?”

  I blush. “Well, I’m a . . . we didn’t . . .”

  “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

  “Day!”

  “Sorry, wasn’t I supposed to ask that?”

  I laugh. “It’s a little blunt. Yes, I’m a virgin, but that was no excuse for him to cheat on me.”

  “No, of course not. He’s a total jerk.”

  She lies against the pillow, blowing on her nails.

  “Are you a virgin?” I ask.

  She blushes furiously. “No.”

  My mouth drops. I didn’t expect that.

  “What was your first time like?” I ask.

  She sighs. “Sort of crap, really. It wasn’t romantic like in the books. It was uncomfortable and squelchy, and neither of us knew what to do. Plus it was super embarrassing being naked in front of Beet—” She cuts herself short, but the damage is already done.

  “You slept with Beetle?” I say.

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “On my fifteenth birthday. It was a complete mess. We thought we were in love. Then his parents were killed, he started hanging out with Ash and doing Haze, and that was it. I wasn’t important to him anymore; all he cared about was getting high and helping out with the ‘Darkling cause.’ I hate Ash Fisher. He took Beetle away from me—he ruined my life.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m so over him.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Maybe not, but what’s the point in loving him anymore? We just can’t agree on anything. You heard us earlier in history class. How can two people who are so opposite to each other ever be happy?”

  “I don’t know,” I say quietly. An image of sparkling black eyes crosses my mind. What is going on with me?

  * * *

  After we eat dinner in my room, I put on an old movie, but we’re both too tired to watch it after such an eventful day and agree to call it a night. I lend Day one of my nightshirts, and we get ready for bed.

  “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce you to my mother,” I say, unrolling my sleeping bag. “She works such long hours . . .”

  “That’s fine. I didn’t agree to stay over tonight so I could meet her; I wanted to hang out with you.”

  I beam. My friends in Centrum only visited when my mother was around. None of them have called me since I came back to Black City.

  “I’m having a fun time. Maybe we could do it again?” I say.

  “I’d like that.” Day climbs into my bed.

  It doesn’t take long for Day to drop off, but I lie awake, tossing and turning in my sleeping bag on the hard floor. I look at the stars through my open window. They glimmer back at me, reminding me of Ash’s eyes. Why do I keep thinking about them? Why am I thinking about him at all? He’s a twin-blood, for His Mighty’s sake. I roll over so I can’t see the stars anymore.

  Truffles pounces off the bed, landing on me.

  “Ouch! You little pest,” I say, picking him up. “You want to go out?”

  He meows in response.

  I get up and open the balcony window as quietly as possible. Truffles slips from my hands and climbs onto the balustrade. I tickle him under his chin and go back to my sleeping bag, leaving the window open to let in some cool air. Within seconds, I’m asleep and dreaming.

  * * *

  I’m inside the cave again. I don’t know why I’m here, but I get a sense I’ve done something very wrong. I’ve stolen something, but what? I have to find it, they want it back. Panicked, I search for the object inside the cave, but it’s empty. There’s nothing here but those sticky, warm, pulsing walls and . . .

  A whimper.

  Fear rises in my throat.

  In the center of the cave is a small child. The child is naked except for the green sheet modestly wrapped around its waist. I can’t see its face. All I see is a shaved head. A boy? Who is he? Somehow, I feel I know him.

  The walls start to contract. I know what’s about to happen. I have to get out of here. I try to move, but my feet are stuck in the spongy earth. The cave starts to close around me. Panic boils over as the walls get closer and closer, until they’re squeezing me. I can’t breathe, I’m being suffocated—

  Screams fill my mind, so loud they’re deafening me. But they’re not my screams. They’re coming from someone else. Somewhere else. Day!

  * * *

  I start awake, fear ripping through me. Day stands on the bed, yelling her lungs out as she points toward an object dangling from the light above me. Something warm and sticky drips on my cheek. I glance up. At first I don’t know what I’m looking at, then I start to make sense of the mangled shape above me: patches of white fur, a paw, an ear.

  Before I scream, I’m able to notice one thing:

  Truffles’s heart is missing.

  12

  NATALIE

  AFTER TRUFFLES’S MURDER a few days ago, Mother decided the best way for me to get over his death was to spend my Saturday shopping with our housemaid Martha and Sebastian. She even gave me thirty coins, since I didn’t have any cash after she cut off my allowance. That’s her answer to everything. Why deal with my feelings when she can just fob me off with money?

  “I bet it was a member of Humans for Unity,” Sebastian says as we walk down Bleak Street toward the station. “It’s the kind of despicable thing they’d do.”

  I sigh, tired of having the same discussion with him. Yesterday he was certain it was the Legion Liberation Front. The day before that, he thought it might be some psycho stalker. I had a few of those when we were living in Centrum; it just comes with the territory when you’re the Emissary’s daughter. None of the options makes me feel any better about the fact that a cat murderer broke into my bedroom. How did they even get in, when my room’s on the top floor?

  “But why kill Truffles? He was just an innocent kitty. Why did they have to rip his heart out?” I say.

  “They were probably sending your mother a message, letting her know what could happen if she doesn’t listen to their demands and bring down the Boundary Wall,” Sebastian replies. “Just be grateful it was your cat and not you.”

  I can’t get the image of Truffles’s twisted, battered body out of my head. All that blood, just like the night Father died . . . My chest starts to tighten with panic. I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Martha gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I’m grateful for the small act of kindness.

  The city streets are buzzing with activity. The boundary negotiations started today between Mother and the Darkling ambassador, Sigur Marwick, so protesters have swarmed into the city, either to support the government or to rally against them. If Humans for Unity really did kill my cat, all they’ve done is shoot themselves in the foot. Mother doesn’t respond to threats. If anything, it strengthens her resolve.

  Footage of the opening of boundary negotiations
is being broadcast on the giant screens on the rooftops around us. The news report shows Humans for Unity protesting outside the Boundary Gates as my mother is greeted by Sigur. They both enter the Legion ghetto.

  A female voice booms out of the screens. “And now a message from your government.”

  The story cuts to a still picture of Tom Shreve and Jana Marwick, their charred bodies bound to the crosses. All the citizens stop and gaze up at the screen. Text scrolls below the image: To sin with a Darkling is to sin against His Mighty.

  I shiver.

  The steam-powered streetcar pulls up at the Bleak Street station, and we hop on. It’s crammed with commuters, and we barely manage to squeeze on, pushing through the jungle of bodies to find somewhere to stand. I regret wearing Ash’s heavy coat, but I don’t own many Workboot clothes, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself as we trade for supplies in the market. Thankfully, I managed to persuade Sebastian to wear his civilian clothes, so it will be easier for us to blend in.

  The tram slowly rattles through the city, spewing white clouds of steam into the air. Every few minutes, we pass an armed checkpoint or a Sentry tank rumbling down a road, and I lose count of the number of Sentry guards patrolling the streets. Civilians hurry past them, heads bowed, and scurry inside as quickly as they can. Down one alley I see the burned-out shell of a Sentry truck and several smashed windows. Violence is already spreading through the city, and it’s only the first day of negotiations. It’s like the war never ended.

  “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Let’s go back to HQ,” Sebastian says.

  “No. I really need to get out of that house,” I reply. “I keep seeing Truffles’s little body all ripped apart . . .”

  Sebastian lets out an impatient sound. “Fine.”

  “Hey! What’s that nipper doing on here?” an elderly man calls out when he spots Martha beside me. Everyone turns. One woman in a black taffeta bustle dress screeches dramatically, and her husband comforts her.

  “She belongs to me,” I say, pointing to Martha’s ID bracelet.

  “She has no right to travel the steams with us, little girl,” he says.

  Sebastian points a finger at him. “Don’t talk to her like that, old man. Do you know who she—”

  I shake my head at Sebastian, silencing him. We’re meant to be incognito.

  “Let’s walk. I could use the exercise,” I say.

  We get off at the next stop and walk the final mile to Chantilly Lane Market, the oldest and largest marketplace in the city, taking it slow, as Martha’s clawed feet struggle with the cobbled sidewalks.

  Chantilly Lane Market is brimming with life. Music spills out of the nearby taverns, and all around me, colorful flags flutter in the wind, announcing what each stall trades: fish, meat, vegetables, medicine, weapons, clothes, and accessories.

  Ladies dressed in garish corseted gowns gossip with each other as they trade at the stalls, taking care that their long skirts don’t drag through the dirt. They smile at a troop of Sentry guards as they march by.

  A small crowd has gathered around a man standing on a crate. He’s got a shaved head and a rose tattoo on his face—the symbol of the Purity. He raises his hands in the air, like he’s praying to His Mighty.

  “And we shall rid the Darkling plague from His Mighty’s green earth, for they are demons sent to tempt us with their opiates and their bodies and their sinful ways. But they are Damned creatures! And anyone who lies with a Darkling is Damned as well, cursed to spend eternity in the burning depths of hell.”

  The people in the crowd all murmur, “So sayeth His Mighty.”

  Sebastian listens, enraptured.

  “Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe this crap,” I whisper to him.

  “I’ve been reading the Book of Creation, and it actually makes a lot of sense to me.”

  Sebastian continues to listen to the preacher, occasionally chiming in with “So sayeth His Mighty” with the rest of the crowd.

  A shiver runs down my spine at the sight. I thought Sebastian was too smart to be suckered into the Purity faith.

  I tug on his arm. “I didn’t come here to listen to some preacher. I want to go shopping and cheer myself up. That’s why we’re here.”

  Sebastian looks at me impatiently, then back at the preacher. I can tell he wants to stay.

  “Can Martha and I at least go? We’ll just be over there.” I point to some nearby clothes stalls.

  He hesitates.

  “No one will recognize me dressed like this. I’m perfectly safe. Please?” I touch his arm.

  He looks down at my hand where I’m touching him. Hope sparkles in his green eyes, and in that moment, I hate myself for stooping to such low, manipulative measures. It’s something my mother would do.

  “As long as you stay with Martha, and don’t wander off too far . . . ,” he says.

  “Great, see you later!” I say, before he can change his mind.

  We wander over to the stalls closest to Sebastian. Outside all of them are mannequins modeling the “Latest Fashions, All the Way from Centrum!”—although really they’re just hideous knock-offs. I doubt anyone here has ever been to Centrum, as it’s two states away and you have to cross the Barren Lands to get there. I’ve only been through the Barren Lands twice in my life, once when we moved to Centrum and the second time when we left. It’s a wild, desolate place, with scorched red earth as far as the eye can see. I don’t know how people can live there, it’s so deadly.

  Martha waits patiently as I try on a few outfits, eventually settling on a pair of tight knee-length trousers, some cheap scarves, and a gaudy Gypsy dress covered in tiny coins.

  “We should probably go back to Sebastian, dear,” Martha says after I’ve paid for the clothes.

  “I want to get my friend a satchel,” I say, thinking about Day carrying all those books.

  “That stall’s in the center of the market,” Martha replies.

  Sebastian’s still entranced by the preacher. I doubt he’ll notice if we’re gone for a few more minutes.

  “We’ll be quick,” I say.

  The light dims as we navigate the narrow alleys, walking deeper into the market. The bag stall is nestled between a bookstall and a metal shack with a wooden sign hanging over its doorway, reading MOLLIE MCGEE’S TAVERN. The place stinks of Shine—the cheap alcohol that most Workboots drink. I inspect a few of the satchels, trying to decide which one Day might like.

  A few people look in our direction and whisper to each other.

  “We really should leave,” Martha says anxiously.

  “I’m almost done,” I say, selecting a tan leather bag from the pile.

  At that moment, the door to Mollie McGee’s bursts open and three rough-looking men stagger out, drunk on Shine. They all have the black and red rose Purity symbol tattooed on the side of their faces. One of them spots Martha and points her out to the other men.

  “Rogue!” he calls out.

  “She’s not a rogue. She belongs to me,” I say, but they’re not listening.

  One of the men grabs a metal rod from a nearby ironmonger and twirls it in his hand as he walks toward us, a sinister grin on his face.

  Oh, heck! I grab Martha’s hand, and we dart down one of the alleyways as the drunken men lumber after us. I drag her into a jewelry stall and hold my breath as the men near us. Why did I go so far away from Sebastian? It was stupid of me.

  The stall owner, an overweight middle-aged woman wearing gaudy makeup, tries to shoo us out of her shop.

  “I want no trouble here,” she says.

  “I’ll buy something expensive if you hide us,” I whisper back.

  This satisfies her, and she ushers us farther into the stall.

  “He
re, nipper, nipper, nipper. Come out wherever you are,” the man with the rod says.

  He bangs the metal poles holding up the stalls, making a terrible clanging noise, trying to scare us out. We shrink deeper into the shadows, and the men walk by, not seeing us. We wait in the stall for a few minutes, until I’m certain the men are gone.

  I buy an overpriced gold ring, as promised, and leave.

  “Are you all right?” I say to Martha when we’re outside.

  “I’m fine, dear. It happens all the time.”

  “Really? I had no idea,” I say, stunned.

  “We should find Sebastian before those men come back,” Martha says.

  We head through the maze of alleyways, getting turned around a few times until I’m not certain where we are. As we approach a butcher’s stall, I stop dead. Between the waving flags, I catch a glimpse of pale skin, rippling black hair and sparkling black eyes. My heart yanks. Ash.

  He looks up, sensing me watching him.

  “What are you doing here? Aren’t the designer stores in Centrum more your scene?” he says as we approach him.

  “How would you know what my scene is? You know nothing about me,” I reply.

  “I know enough,” he says, glancing at the ID bracelet around Martha’s wrist.

  She covers it with her clawed hand, like she’s ashamed.

  I furrow my brow. Is Martha embarrassed to be working for me?

  “Do you know the way out of here, dear? We’ve got terribly lost,” she asks him.

  His expression softens. “I’ll walk you out after I’ve got my blood.”

  I curl my lip at the sight of the butcher’s stall. Pig carcasses, strings of sausages and legs of lamb hang from hooks above the counter, all swarming with flies. The ruddy-cheeked butcher swats at them with a bloodied rag. They disperse for a second, then return.

  Ash places a copper coin on the counter of the butcher’s stall. “One bag of Synth-O-Blood.”

  The butcher chuckles. “Not for that price, sonny. It’s two coppers a bag now, or hadn’t you heard? The government’s started putting taxes on Synth-O-Blood. Can I do you a deal on some pig’s blood?”