by Rebecca Rode
Barber spoke up. “We may yet, I’m afraid. There’s one thing you haven’t considered, Your Honor. Those Firebrands meant to kill you. If they operate under your brother’s command, we all have reason to fear. Our next actions may mean life or death for the entire group.”
“I agree,” Millian said, appearing in the entryway next to Foster. The two looked each other up and down, and Foster’s face turned bright red. Millian gave him a quizzical look before striding inside, then turned to stand in front of the fireplace like an actress on stage. “You know the funny thing? Nobody ever thinks about inviting the scientist.”
I grinned sheepishly. She was right. It hadn’t occurred to me. “We were just discussing how to send a message to the general public without hacking the IM-NET.”
Millian shrugged. “Easy. Interrupt a live broadcast. Reporters travel light since they have to get there in a hurry, so they don’t bring guards with them. Just a producer and a cameraperson or two. If we can persuade a reporter to let us say our piece, we’d have at least a few seconds to get our message out before somebody cuts us off.”
“That’s ridiculous—” Councilwoman Marium began.
“No, wait,” Gram said. “It’s not a bad idea. Every time the arsonists act, reporters rush to the scene. If we prepare a statement and then stake out the firehouse, that could work.”
“Or we send a team to follow a reporter around,” Millian said. “Then we hijack their broadcast and say what we need to say. Legacy, you can write something convincing. Gram can polish it up, and Kole can help deliver it. He’s one of the most recognizable faces among us, and those from the Shadows respect him. Assuming he’s feeling up to it after last night.” She looked around. “He’s okay, right? I saw his building. Or what’s left of it, I guess.”
My lungs stopped functioning. “What?” I squeaked.
“The fire last night. You didn’t hear?”
Dread filled my limbs until I could barely sit up straight. Wind roared in my ears. This couldn’t be happening. “No.” No, no, no.
“Sixteen dead,” the councilwoman said. “They’re still identifying the remains. I’m not familiar with this Kole person. Shall I check the reports?”
I barely heard her. My legs felt weirdly connected to the floor and wouldn’t respond to my commands. My throat and my stomach felt tangled, their positions all wrong, and the room faded in and out.
Had Kole made it out, he would have come straight here. I knew it with everything in me. Something had to be very wrong.
Fire.
Sixteen dead.
Not Kole, not like this. We were supposed to have time . . .
I felt a sob rise up from deep within, felt the torrent reach the surface. I was breaking apart here and now, on a fancy rug in a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar part of town. I wanted my room, my house, my family. I wanted Kole here with me.
And then Millian was there, easing my arm around her shoulder, forcing me to lean into her.
“I’m taking Her Honor to her room,” she called to the others, easing me toward the exit as Foster scrambled to hold the door.
Then she whispered into my ear. “There were a few injured taken to the city hospital. I’ll track him down and bring him home, okay? But first, I’ll end this awful meeting of yours. Don’t worry. I know how to motivate the stuffy ones.” She wrinkled her nose and shoved me toward the stairs.
My legs moved obediently, climbing the steps like I had dozens of times before, taking me to my bedroom in some kind of trance. I’d felt this way once before—the day Dad came to my school and told me about Mom. The day my life shattered, spilling sharp pieces all over me like the broken glass from the transport this morning. My palms still stung from the tiny shards, brilliant and sharp, a constant reminder of pain. Also like Mom.
I collapsed onto my bed and stared at the ceiling for a very long time.
Nine
Kole
I was not my father.
A swift kick to the wall of a brick building sent a stabbing pain through my rib cage. I swore and continued walking, ignoring the lady next to me on the sidewalk as she looked me up and down, taking in the caked-on soot and dirt. Let her stare. Let her wonder about the dirty guy stalking the streets of the Shadows, cursing and kicking things. Maybe she would stay in the rich part of town where she belonged and leave me the fates alone.
Zenn was wrong about me. Dad hadn’t concerned himself—No, wait. Not Dad. That term meant things I never got as a child. It meant playing catch in the backyard. It meant bedtime stories and tousling a kid’s hair, asking how school was. It meant secret kisses between parents in the kitchen when they thought they were alone. It meant lectures and encouragement and caring.
My sperm-donor father was none of those things, and he’d only ever had two goals: power and alcohol. His Firebrand “meetings” offered heavy doses of both. Some of my earliest memories involved Dad with his friends, piles of forgotten playing cards scattered across the table; heavy belching, drunken laughter, and loud banging as a chair flew across the room or somebody collapsed and began to snore. He surrounded himself with people like him, both frustrated at their lack of progress but also determined to keep things precisely as they stood—because there, he had power. There, he ruled over his household and friends in his anger.
He lived at the bottom of a well, preferring the darkness of solidarity to the possibility of light and solitude.
It was that darkness I grew up in, a weed finding light reflected off several other surfaces, absorbing what remained when everyone else got what they needed. It was that darkness that had bred in me a hatred for everything light and unattainable and different and Hawking. I sat at my father’s feet, listening to him swear oaths he would never fulfill and call for assassinations that would never come to pass.
Except now, plenty of people were dying, most of them better off than we ever were. My father would have been happy to see it.
I wasn’t that way anymore. Legacy Hawking had become my redemption, my perspective, my enlightenment. But what did that matter if the world around me stayed exactly the same? At least the original Firebrands dared to dream, to reach higher and demand better. I’d switched sides and abandoned everything my family and I ever stood for. Some part of me, deep down, still hoped Dane and Alex would succeed in reinstating the Rating System and keep Legacy from the throne. Then we could be together in peace. No titles. No expectations. Just us.
I didn’t belong in the Hawking mansion, and everyone knew it.
I reached an intersection and waited for the train to race by, blinking ash from my eyes. Time for a shower, but where? My old room at Dane’s wasn’t an option. I didn’t dare visit Legacy at her home, especially now that every Firebrand in the city would be looking for me. I took a deep breath and winced at the pain in my chest, a new horror rising within. I’d marched into Firebrands HQ without a weapon and managed to escape.
What was I thinking?
All I remembered of my sprint across town at dawn was blind anger searching for a place to land. Wanting revenge more than life itself. Then there was the fear on Zenn’s face as my fist connected, my roar as I tried to intimidate him, my finger on the trigger. The body on the floor. It was a scene I’d witnessed many times as a child but always at the hands of my father, never my own.
“I killed him to save Mom,” I muttered as I followed the uneven sidewalk of the Shadows. Something deep inside released at the words, something that had spent far too long curled up like a weeping child, awaiting escape. My father killed to keep his power. Dane killed to earn his own. I had killed as a defense, a mercy. It wasn’t the same thing.
But today’s killing—what had that been?
A train rattled in the distance, speeding past our undesirable neighborhood. The next stop would be at least two kilometers away, on the edge of the suburbs. I had no intention of climbing aboard, not after what I’d just done. Every Firebrand in the city would be looking for me now.
“I’m not a bad person,” I told the train, the lie echoing in the empty air. Good people didn’t attack and threaten people they cared about. Good people wrapped a sheet around a stranger’s waist to help them down a building just before they perished. Good people didn’t put others at risk while they slept in their beds, oblivious.
Fates. All those people in my building.
I wanted Dane to take the blame so I didn’t have to carry it any longer. But Zenn made a good point. The Firebrands cleared their buildings of occupants before striking the match. What if this hadn’t been Dane at all? What if that Chadd guy had been the bigger threat all along? He could have been trying to rid the world of me to gain easier access to her. Or he could have returned, assumed Legacy was still inside, and tried to remove her for good. Worry spiked inside me. Time to warn her.
My feet slowed as I passed the old church, now a NORA museum. I hadn’t gone in since the transformation. I preferred to remember it as it once stood—rows of hard benches, a wide aisle, architecture that seemed to extend into the sky itself. Mom and I would sit in the back row so we could escape the moment services ended. I couldn’t remember a thing about those, but I recalled the large stained-glass window depicting a forest with perfect clarity. Not much remained of it now.
I craned my head, looking up at it. The museum had covered the bottom half with plywood and left the rest. All that remained were the tops of the tall trees and a blue sky, the tiny figures of people beneath them lost forever to history. I couldn’t even remember who they were.
As a child, I’d tried to re-create the window with paper. It was painstaking work, requiring multiple colors and an old pair of scissors that didn’t fit my hand and kept coming apart. I imagined the artist painting and cutting the glass, then carefully placing it. Nobody would have shouted at him for ruining that glass. He’d taken pieces of something mediocre and created something beautiful.
I felt like a random assortment of glass pieces right about now. Pieces of my father, my mother, Dane, Zenn, the Shadows, my job, and a hundred other things. I would be the one to turn ugly to beautiful. Me, the artist of my own life.
It sounded nice except for one problem—I’d never been good at art.
In the distance, a familiar figure stepped into the street and began to cross it.
I gaped, realized I was gaping, and ducked around the corner, breathing hard. Then I forced myself to chuckle. I saw enemies everywhere these days. My imagination was running wild after such a traumatic night and long morning. That couldn’t possibly have been my prime suspect. I needed some food, a shower, pain meds, and a soft place to land for a few hours before my brain would function properly.
I put too much weight against the building, placing pressure on my rib cage. I gasped and gritted my teeth.
Okay, and maybe an ice pack or two.
When I’d finished convincing myself, I peered around the corner once again and blinked a few times. The man who looked like Chadd strode toward a brunette standing outside a worn-down transport repair shop now, a hat pulled low over his face. His bad posture and slender form looked strikingly familiar, but hundreds of guys could fit that description. The woman looked to be my mother’s age or slightly younger. She looked familiar, too, but I couldn’t place her.
I hesitated, wishing I’d grabbed that Firebrand stunner at HQ instead of throwing it. But I had to know—for Legacy’s sake, if not my own.
The hard part would be approaching unseen. Walking across the road would leave me exposed, and the last thing I wanted was for him to see his handiwork in my ruined clothes and ash-filled hair.
A transport approached from down the road and slowed, preparing to turn into the body shop. The solution hit me a second before I moved, sprinting toward the side of the vehicle. I knocked on the window. With a single word, the passenger ordered his transport to halt and warily lowered his window.
“They’re, uh . . .” I glanced at the open garage bay. “They’re cleaning up a mess inside. Big explosion earlier, lots of debris. I’ll take your vehicle around back. You wait inside.”
His mouth curled in disgust as he looked me over. Only then did I realize how clean and new this transport was.
“Were you in the middle of it?” he asked, his tone disapproving.
I forced a chuckle. “Yeah, it was pretty bad. I’m fine, though.”
“Better clean it when you’re done, then,” the man muttered, unfastening his harness. I pulled the door open for him like I’d seen Travers do a dozen times. He slid out and strode toward the customer entrance without another word, shaking his head.
The second he looked away, I jumped inside. I couldn’t believe it had actually worked. The old me, the Firebrand me, would have demanded he hand over the vehicle.
“Bay two,” I ordered the transport—two bays away from the talking couple, just far enough they wouldn’t suspect anything, but hopefully close enough to overhear. The transport pulled in and idled, awaiting my next command. The garage smelled of battery acid, old rubber, and melted cheese. It had to be lunchtime. That explained the empty bays and the Chadd guy’s timing for this little meeting.
I moved to hit the power button, then thought better of it. If this went bad, I’d need a quick escape. Keeping my head ducked below the window, I leaned closer to hear.
“. . . Firebrands never make guarantees like that,” the woman was saying. “We’re in the middle of a war, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Your idea of war is very different from ours.”
I straightened and then remembered to duck again. I knew that voice. It had to be Chadd, or whatever his real name was.
The woman snorted. “Your kind can’t think past their next meal, much less into tomorrow and beyond. You’ll have to trust that we know what we’re doing.”
“With all due respect, if that were true, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
I strained to hear, but their conversation stopped. I willed them to continue. All I knew was that neither seemed happy about the prospect of working with the other. If the woman was a Firebrand, who was Chadd? What role did he play in this so-called war? Was she the person behind the fire last night?
The Firebrand’s head appeared at the window. A sinister smile crept across her face.
Every curse word I’d ever learned escape my lips. “Transport, hospital! Emergency speed.” It was the only destination that overrode a vehicle’s programming and speed protocols.
“I heard what you did this morning, Kole,” she called as the transport whipped backward. “We’ll find you and take our revenge. As for your rich little girlfriend, you’d better pray Dane kills her quickly.”
My vehicle plunged toward the street. All the while, the Firebrand’s laughter followed me. I expected the clang of stun shots as well, but there was nothing—because she didn’t have one or because she wanted me to escape? No sign of Chadd either. I swore again.
You’d better pray Dane kills her quickly.
They wanted Legacy—not to kidnap her and take full control of the country but to kill her outright. I had to warn her right away.
Then I would never leave her side again.
Ten
Kole
Over an hour later, I reached Legacy’s safe house and crept around to the back. I’d ditched the transport a few miles away and taken the long route, making a few extra rounds of the neighborhood to ensure no one followed. Once the hidden and disguised guards cleared me, I approached the door. Exhaustion took its toll now. I could barely lift my arm to knock.
The assistant who answered took in my appearance with wide eyes, then led me straight to Legacy’s grandmother, who sat in her favorite chair. When I approached, she sat up so quickly I thought she’d fall right out of it. “Well, now. You’ve looked better.”
I hid a little surprise of my own. I’d never seen the woman without her blankets, but here she sat, her trousers hanging loose over skeletal legs, her blouse not quite hiding her bony, narrow sho
ulders.
Gram lifted her blanket from the floor and threw it over her lap with a scowl. “It isn’t polite to stare.”
“It isn’t polite to lie about your health either.” I sat down on the sofa across from her, staying at the edge so I didn’t get soot on the fabric, and eyed her blanket. “Cold, huh?”
A hint of color reached her pale cheeks. “Sometimes it’s the cold. Other times . . .”
I understood what she wouldn’t say. She didn’t want Legacy to see the truth. “Are you sick?”
“Not sick, just old. Not a state I enjoy, if I’m being honest. All the excitement has made my brain think I’m still sixteen and having adventures.”
“You wouldn’t call this an adventure, would you?”
“An adventure is what you call it when it’s all over. Right now, the people I love most are in danger and the future is uncertain. Appearances are all I can offer right now.” She stroked her blanket, speaking softly. “The time for truth will come later.”
I nodded. In her own way, Treena Hawking still held the country together. Legacy needed her, so Gram made sure she was there. If her health declined further, though . . . I felt sick at the thought. Losing Gram would destroy Legacy.
Gram sniffed and grimaced. “Speaking of appearances, there’s a shower upstairs. I’ll send some clean clothes up. Then we’ll have a chat.”
I looked around. “First, I have to tell Legacy something. Is she here?”
“Finally sleeping. I will not have her woken up, even for you. Shame you didn’t think to check in with her after the fire. She’s been through enough uncertainty without thinking her boyfriend is dead.”
I groaned. Yet another stupid decision of the many I’d made today. “I have to tell her. She needs to know how sorry I am.”
“When she wakes up. That girl thinks she can survive on two hours of sleep a night, but it’s bound to catch up with her. Meanwhile, we’ll have our chat—after you get cleaned up.”