Burn this City: A Dystopian Novel

by Brenda Poppy

  Burn chuckled. “No, there’s no one else,” she said quickly. She faltered, unsure of how to explain.

  Kaz jumped in, supplying another possibility. “Then you have plans? Another evening with your various friends talking about the world and going out to vague places in search of fun?”

  Now he was mocking her. It wasn’t going to rile her. “Nope,” she responded. “No plans.”

  “Then I fail to see the problem,” Kaz said resolutely, as if making a point.

  “It’s General Cross,” Burn finally blurted out. “I can’t go because of Cross.”

  Kaz thought for a second. “Ah,” he began sagely, as if he finally understood the situation. “I get it. You’re in love with my boss. That is a problem.”

  At that, Burn let out a loud guffaw. That was not what she had expected and was, in fact, so far from the truth that it was absolutely absurd. She laughed freely, letting herself ride the waves as the humorous thought kept popping back into her head.

  After her mirth subsided and she was able to catch her breath, she shook her head and stated, “No, not in love. Definitely not in love. Rather the opposite, I’m afraid.”

  “Phew,” Kaz said, miming the motion of wiping his brow. “Well that’s a relief. Because you’re right; that would have been a problem. But you hating him? Now that’s completely fine. It’s understandable, actually.” He leaned closer to Burn, whispering loudly in her ear. “In fact, most people who have met him secretly hate him. We’re thinking of forming a club.”

  Burn smirked but didn’t let his levity sidetrack her. She needed to make her point. He needed to know what he would be walking into if she was at his side tomorrow.

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit more than that. The feeling is mutual. He detests me. Just like he detested my father. Showing up with me might not be the smartest idea, especially if you intend to further your career on the force.”

  Kaz considered her for a beat, weighing her words. Burn was briefly afraid that he would heed her warning, that he would decide she was not worth the trouble and uninvite her. But her worries were for nothing.

  “I think, dear lady, that you might be worth the risk,” he declared gallantly. “So, will you come?”

  So much could go wrong. It could all end up in fire and bloodshed. But there was a chance – a very small chance – that she could pull it off, that she could avoid Cross’ detection, learn what they were planning, and get out of there alive. It would be risky, perhaps the riskiest thing she’d ever done. But it could also be wonderful. Wonderful for the cause, that is, not for herself.

  Burn bobbed her head in a small nod of consent, and Kaz’s face lit up. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, employing the old cliché. “If this all goes pear-shaped, you only have yourself to blame.” Maybe adding on more clichés would drive the point home.

  Kaz was too ecstatic to notice. She had said yes and that was all that mattered to him. Burn shook her head, an unusual feeling creeping into her stomach. She couldn’t put a name to it, but it was something between excitement and pure dread.

  “I’ll pick you up here tomorrow night at about 7?” Kaz asked, his mind already captivated by the upcoming festivities.

  “Fine,” Burn said, mesmerized by his enthusiasm. It was contagious, like a single drop of brilliant color released in a colorless pool. You couldn’t help but be affected, changed.

  “Then, dear lady, I bid you adieu.” He bowed, continuing his exaggerated gentility, and turned back the way they had come. Burn watched him weave his way through the crowd until he disappeared out of sight.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Sometime later, Burn let herself inside. She still couldn’t believe what she’d agreed to, and her head was swimming with visions of how the night could progress.

  Lost in thought as she was, it was a bit of surprise when Scar popped up from behind a pile of clutter and demanded to know where she’d been.

  Fifteen minutes later, with Scar caught up on the events of the day, the two sisters sat on the living room floor, pondering the situation. Burn was focused on the specifics of the event – how she would avoid Cross, how she would sneak away, how she would discover what the Peace Force was up to. But Scar’s thoughts had gone in a different direction entirely.

  “You know you’re going to need a dress,” Scar stated matter-of-factly. Burn stared at her, open-mouthed. She hadn’t even thought of that – and was frankly surprised that Scar had.

  “But I don’t even own a dress,” said Burn, mentally going through the few items in her closet. All of them were older, mostly patched, and not at all what anyone would call high fashion. And, of course, not one of them was a dress. Dresses weren’t practical, and Burn had imbued practicality into every aspect of her life.

  She looked to Scar, hoping she had a suggestion. “Well, I don’t have a dress either,” Scar responded, shrugging her shoulders. “I just know that you need one – and fast. Especially since the ball is tomorrow.”

  Burn tilted her head back, leaning it against Scar’s robot for support, and stared at the ceiling. This whole spy thing was a lot more work than she had anticipated. And it hadn’t even started yet. As adept as she was at gathering secrets, she had rarely gone undercover in order to gather them.

  Instead of a life or death mission to infiltrate a military compound, she thought, what if she regarded the whole thing as a play? She would need to find a costume, get into character, and naturally slot herself into the story like she belonged, like she had always been there. She would need to adopt not only new clothes, but a new version of herself, one who felt at home in the top tiers, among the decision-makers and the elite. Among the people she had targeted and hated and plotted to bring down. That was going to require one hell of a dress.

  While Burn contemplated her new role, Scarlett’s mind was apparently on a separate track. “You take care of the dress, and I’ll handle the accessories,” she stated, scribbling furiously in one of her many notebooks.

  Burn scoffed, a knee-jerk reaction. Scarlett had never accessorized anything in her life. The thought of her picking out jewelry and purses verged on the ridiculous. But, then again, Burn had learned long ago not to question her older sister. So she shut her mouth and nodded. This was going to be interesting.

  Half an hour later, as Burn tended to her affairs – or, rather, blackmailed other people for theirs – Scar silently entered her room, dropped a list on the table, and walked out. This was a common habit of her sister’s. She would get an idea into her head for a new project, set to work meticulously listing everything she would need down to the smallest screw, then send Burn out to gather it all.

  The contents of this particular note did make Burn raise an eyebrow, though. Unlike Scar’s typical demands, which usually read like a parts inventory of a small vehicle, this one seemed more like the shopping list of a typical Kasis housewife. Fabric, thread, needles, a pair of stockings, a plain silver chain. These were things normal women bought, women who cooked casseroles and patched up holey socks and made sure the children had new school clothes. Scar and Burn were not such women.

  The last few things on the list, however, were more Scar’s style. Computerized chips, sensors, switches, and gages, paired with scrap metal and casing components. It was everything Scar needed to build her own brand of microelectronic masterpieces. She was creating an accessory artillery, Burn realized as she reread the list, a wearable set of devices and gadgets perfectly suited to the undercover role she was undertaking. She was simultaneously anxious and elated.

  Now the only problem would be finding it all. Scar had long since trained her on where to find the best chips and parts, showing her how to recognize fakes on peddler carts and dig through scrap heaps for buried treasure. That part of the list was simple, just a matter of getting the best deal or finding her way through the detritus mills without cutting herself too badly on the sharp metal waste.

  It was the rest of the list th
at was giving Burn trouble. Jewelry? Fabric? Burn racked her brain trying to remember the location of shops and stalls that sold such domestic wares. She was at a loss. She needed help.

  ✽✽✽

  As the evening wore on, Burn made her way down an unfamiliar street. Her arms were already laden with several bags of electrical components and spare parts, everything Scar had listed apart from the actual accessories. She’d had great luck at the scrap heaps – although not so much luck with the haggling peddlers. But, after some terse negotiations, she had managed to check off all the items without too much financial strain.

  Burn stopped outside of a colorful red door, decorated with flowers and vines in a familiar pattern. She checked her tab to make sure she was in the right place, despite the fact that she knew she was. She had never been here before, but it felt cheery and welcoming, like a beckoning oasis on the otherwise dim lane.

  She knocked on the door in three successive raps, then waited. After a moment, she heard a click that sounded like a peep hole opening before the red door swung open. Symphandra stood in the soft yellow light, a smile beaming from her unmasked face.

  “Come in, come in,” she beckoned, stepping aside to let her through. Burn did as she was told, crossing the threshold into the warm interior.

  The inside of Symphandra’s house was unlike any home she had previously been in. It was a riot of color – hanging on the walls, covering every surface, even resting on the floor under her feet. There were soft blankets, half-finished leather projects, clothes draped on bright couches, and walls drenched in the brightest hues.

  It wasn’t neat or organized, but it was a festival for the senses. The home even smelled like it looked: bright and exotic, with wafts of citrus and spice.

  The house itself was narrow, with a small living space on the right and a dining area on the left that led off into the kitchen. Beyond the living room lay a single closed door, likely the home’s only bedroom. But instead of feeling cramped, the space felt enveloping, like a pair of soft arms welcoming you into its embrace. It felt like Symphandra and exuded the same vivid liveliness.

  As Burn took in her surroundings, Symphandra offered her some tea, which she gladly accepted. She settled herself on one of the soft living room sofas, this one a bright red color verging on orange. Burn wondered to herself where Symphandra had found such eccentric furnishings. Kasis wasn’t ablaze with colorful goods or accessories, although Burn supposed she just didn’t know where to look. Maybe somewhere there was a different kind of scrap heap where, instead of wires and gears, you could dig through drapery and cushions. The thought made her smile.

  After a few minutes, Symphandra returned with the tea. It was a sweet-smelling brew that mimicked the scent of the house, with spicy notes that bit at her nose and tickled her taste buds as she sipped.

  “Thanks for helping me,” Burn said in between sips of her tea. “My sister and I aren’t…well, we’ve never put much thought into what we wear.” She looked down into her cup, as if it held the words she was looking for. “I guess that’s kind of something a mother teaches her daughters. But ours was…she didn’t get the chance. So Scar and I ended up dressing like our father instead.” Burn laughed and Symphandra laughed along with her.

  “So, tell me what you need,” Symphandra said, inviting Burn to explain more. All Burn had told her so far was that she needed a dress, something glamorous. It was unquestionably out of character for her, so Symphandra was naturally curious.

  But before explaining further, Burn paused and asked, “Can you keep a secret? Because I need this to stay between us and not reach the Lunaria.”

  Symphandra nodded, even more curious than before. “Of course,” she replied. “Whatever you need.”

  Burn hoped she was telling the truth. “I have a plan. A very risky plan. One that Hale would shut down in a heartbeat. But it’s the only way to find out more about what the Peace Force is up to.” She took a breath, preparing herself. “I’m attending the Peace Force ball.”

  Symphandra was suitably stunned. Whatever she had expected Burn to say, it clearly wasn’t that. “But how?” she asked, confused. “Are you planning to sneak in? I mean, you’re not really on friendly terms with most of the force. Especially Cross.” She spat the general’s name out like a curse.

  “Not exactly.” She wasn’t sure how to explain this part, but she started in anyway. “I do have one friend on the inside. He’s a new friend. A very new friend. And yesterday he asked me to the ball. Which was kind of perfect since my first plan crashed and burned.”

  Symphandra didn’t comment on the way Burn smiled when she talked about her “friend,” although she clearly noticed. “Hale wouldn’t approve of that, either,” was all she said on the matter.

  “Right,” she continued, getting down to business. “Well, we have our work cut out for us.” She eyed Burn and her shabby clothes. Burn would have taken offence if the statement wasn’t, in fact, completely warranted.

  Symphandra led Burn back into her bedroom, which was also adorned in colorful fabrics and soft cushions, with a small, fluffy bed situated along the wall. Burn took a seat as Symphandra began rifling through her closet.

  Burn was more than a little doubtful that anything in there would fit her. Symphandra was taller than she was, as well as more…heavily endowed. Burn glanced at her own flat chest, suddenly self-conscious and afraid she would look like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

  Symphandra clearly harbored none of the same fears because she emerged from the closet with an armful of garments, each as colorful as the next. She handed the top few to Burn, then directed her to the attached bathroom to change.

  The first dress was green and gauzy, a flowing thing that felt soft and feminine going over her head. Once on, however, she appeared to be drowning in the fabric. Symphandra no doubt looked like a goddess in it, but she looked like she had stumbled into a tent and had walked out with it around her neck.

  The next dress was equally unsuccessful. A tight red number, she couldn’t even figure out how to get the complicated dress over her head, so she gave up. A lacey purple gown, an orange backless dress, and a pink thing covered in tulle all met with similar fates. Soon, Burn felt like every color in the rainbow had betrayed her. But Symphandra was tireless, pulling dress after dress from a seemingly bottomless closet for Burn to try on and discard.

  Eventually, near the bottom of the pile, Symphandra pulled out a midnight blue gown bordering on black, handing it over for Burn to try. The material felt like water in her hands, a slippery cool fabric that felt wonderful against her skin. She pulled it over her head, hoping that this was the one, but she was once again disappointed. It was too big, made for someone with more chest and more leg. But it was beautiful.

  She went out and showed Symphandra anyway, then turned back to try on another dress, but Symphandra stopped her. She turned Burn to face her, then considered the dress for a moment before going to work. She tugged at the laces crisscrossing the sides of the dress, tightening the fabric to a silhouette more similar to Burn’s. Then she started in on the hem, pinning it along the ground so it sat even with her feet. Next she turned her attention to Burn’s hair, twisting the short mane at the base of her neck and pinning it in place.

  Symphandra stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “I think that might just work,” she mused thoughtfully. With a light hand, she turned Burn to face the mirror on the opposite wall.

  What Burn saw made her gasp. The gown had gone from too big to fitted, hugging the small curves of her body and dropping elegantly down. At first glance she had assumed that the dress was a solid blue, but she’d been wrong. Within the blue there were twists and twirls of a deeper blue that shimmered when she moved, like the night sky had transposed itself onto her body.

  Along the sides were elegant laces, pulled tight, but through the gaps you could see hints of a soft black fabric, adding another level of darkness to the night sky. Small strips of fabric
that were not quite sleeves attached at the bust and rested on the tops of her arms, just below her shoulders. The pulling and pinning had done its job and the dress now accentuated Burn’s delicate figure, pushing up her small breasts and emphasizing her narrow hips. The whole dress cascaded down to the floor, with a delicate knee-height slit on the right side that added a sensual element to the graceful gown.

  “It’s beautiful,” Burn said, feeling that the word was inadequate but unable to come up with something better. Even her hair looked elegant, twisted back in a style she’d never worn before with loose wisps encircling her face. She twirled back and forth slightly, feeling the dress waft softly across her legs and watching as the fabric shimmered.

  “It’s perfect,” Symphandra replied, pleased with herself. “Just give me a few minutes to hem it.”

  Burn reluctantly took the dress off, careful not to stick herself on the pinned hem. Once again back in her normal clothes, she felt too plain somehow, like she was hiding behind the neutral colors and baggy fabric. She shook off the feeling and returned to the living room, where Symphandra was already at work shortening the garment to Burn’s measurements.

  “Did you make all of those clothes?” Burn asked, watching her friend’s skilled fingers glide over the fabric as the sewing machine did its job.

  “Yeah,” she replied nonchalantly. “I got tired of blending in. I wanted to stand out.”

  “Well, you certainly do. Stand out, that is,” Burn clarified. Symphandra smiled as she worked, pleased.

  “Most Kasians like to blend in,” Symphandra mused. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I make clothes and masks that help them do that. But I always try to add a little beauty to everything I make, something that goes beyond functionality. It makes me feel like I’m covering the city in small works of art, at least for a time.”

  It was a beautiful way to look at the world. Burn’s mind couldn’t help returning to the flowers and vines covering her goggles and the matching ones on Symphandra’s corset. They were little bits of life in a dead city.