Black Moon

by Weatherly, L. A.

  I gave a bitter laugh. “Wonderful.”

  “Too bad,” she sighed. “At least if he was lousy in bed…”

  “Anything but. Unfortunately.” I scraped my hair back. “It just…it felt so right. I don’t understand how I could have felt that way unless he did too.”

  “I don’t know.” From Vera’s doubtful expression, it was eminently possible.

  I miss him all the time – every minute. I barely managed not to say it. Holy hell, how much had I had?

  I made a face, irritated with myself. Forget Ingo. I was here to have a good time. “I’m going to go dance some more,” I said.

  Before Vera could respond, I pushed my chair back and stood up. Harlan was just returning with more beers.

  As he put them down, warning sirens split the air.

  I sucked in a breath, taking a pointless step backwards as I stared at the ceiling. Vera jumped up, her eyes wide.

  “Oh no,” she gasped.

  The lights came on as the music stopped mid-bar. Suddenly the air throbbed with urgency. The musicians hastily started packing up. All around us, people were grabbing their things and rushing for the door.

  Harlan shoved the beers onto the table, slopping them in his hurry. Then he snatched a glass back up and gulped most of it down at once.

  “Come on,” he said, reaching for Vera. He took my arm too, and we wrestled our way from the club, Harlan using his broad shoulders for leverage.

  Outside, we paused briefly with the crowd streaming around us, watching the spotlights sweep overhead. I could hear the heavy approaching drone of bombers. Lights started going off all over the city, patches of buildings going dark.

  “Not again,” I muttered as I frantically searched the sky. “How many bombers does she have?”

  “Too many. Damn it,” said Harlan. We were at least five miles from the base.

  “We’re off anyway, remember?” said Vera. But her face was tight with the same frustration. You couldn’t be a fighter pilot and not want to get up there when you heard that noise.

  The whine of an incoming bomb. Fear spiked. As we ran for the nearest shelter, I staggered, paying now for my dancing, and Harlan put his arm around me, helping me along.

  Air raid wardens wearing miners’ hats had appeared. “This way!” called one, beckoning people to the stairway for the 72nd Street subway station.

  Just as we reached it, the world pitched sideways and I screamed, slamming against the wrought-iron railing. A drugstore a few buildings down erupted in a burst of brick and glass. Panting, I ducked my head as rubble pattered around us. Shouts filled the night.

  “Medic! Medic!”

  “Someone’s hurt!”

  “Hang on, sir! We’ll get someone there as soon as—”

  Another incoming whine. A hand gripped my arm. “Come on!” said Harlan, and then he was hustling both Vera and me down the stairs, practically carrying us.

  Down, down. The lights were on once we got below ground, though they were fizzing and flickering, giving the scene a nightmarish, slow-motion quality as the streams of people running down the stairs with us went in and out of view.

  Finally we reached the lowest platform. I sank thankfully onto the cool tiled floor. Harlan and Vera sat next to me. The small space was crowded with people, some in their nightclothes. A little boy wearing a bathrobe clutched a stuffed tiger. Above, the bombs still distantly rumbled.

  Vera pressed against Harlan. “Must be nice to be so big and strong,” she said shakily.

  “Not big and strong enough,” he said, scowling upwards towards the invisible bombers.

  Suddenly I noticed a cut on Vera’s cheek. “Are you okay?” I asked, leaning over Harlan and touching her arm.

  “I…” She pressed a hand to her face and gave an uncertain laugh at her reddened fingers. “Fine. I think. Oh, I hate Kay Pierce. I hate her so much.” There was a reedy note to her voice – Vera, who was as unflappable as they came.

  Harlan drew out a handkerchief and dabbed at her wound, his large hand gentle. “Hey, you’re all right, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re all right.”

  He seemed unnerved himself suddenly. He pulled her onto his lap and held her close, burying his head against her neck. He whispered something and she nodded, her eyes shut tightly.

  I swallowed and turned my head, gripping my elbows. Some of the air raid volunteers were passing around sandwiches, hot coffee. I wondered if they kept the coffee ready at all times, or if they made it specially as soon as they heard the sirens. No, dear, I can’t go to the shelter just yet – the coffee hasn’t brewed.

  I was going crazy. I managed a smile and accepted a cup. It was strong, surprisingly good. I sipped it from the tin cup slowly, then sighed and leaned against the tiled wall, listening to the rumble of the bombs.

  Pierce had taken us by surprise this time, all right – she didn’t usually attack twice in one day.

  I flinched as the lights went out. Everyone gasped. As the darkness pressed down, the floor rumbled with an explosion from above and the little boy started to cry.

  A moment later the lights flickered and came on again. I released an unsteady breath and gazed down into the blackness of the subway tunnel. And despite myself, I remembered those weeks spent exploring the ancient network with Ingo.

  Where was he now? At the Grand, or up in the air?

  I hugged myself. Up above, the bombs kept falling.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Miss?”

  Someone was shaking my shoulder. I blinked. A blanket had been draped over me at some point and I clutched drowsily at it.

  One of the wardens was there, holding a flashlight. “The all-clear siren just went,” he said. “You can go home now.”

  I nodded. I sat up stiffly and stretched. Harlan and Vera were asleep too and I nudged them.

  “Hey,” I said. “It’s over.”

  Ten minutes later, we were making our way up the stairs with the others – a long, trudging line of us in creased clothes. The coffee-and-sandwich ladies carried empty urns.

  An odd normality had descended back over everything. It wasn’t the first air raid everyone had been through – I suspected it wouldn’t be the last. People talked in undertones of prosaic things. I heard a woman fretting that her dishes had been unwashed when the sirens began.

  “We still have a day off, don’t we?” said Vera drowsily. She carried her heels in one hand.

  Harlan nodded, his thick hair tousled. “Breakfast somewhere,” he said. “Then sleep. My room.”

  Officially, pilots weren’t supposed to share unless they were married. Unofficially, Vera was in Harlan’s room every night, or he was in hers. I started to say something, then my eyes widened – a familiar dark head was a little way ahead of us, moving upwards.

  What was he doing here?

  “Listen, I’ll see you both back at the base,” I said, frowning. I started to jog up the stairs. “Thanks for the night out,” I flung over my shoulder.

  “Hal!” I called as I caught up with my brother. He turned, his eyes widening. For a second he looked older than usual, so that I thought fleetingly that I’d accosted a stranger.

  Then he smiled tiredly. “Hey, Sis.”

  We fell into step together. He was wearing nice trousers – a sports jacket.

  “What are you doing here?” I said in confusion. “I thought you were back on base.”

  He shrugged. “Had the night off.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “Dancing.”

  “Dancing? Since when?”

  The tips of his ears were reddening. “I like dancing,” he said defensively.

  “I didn’t even know you could.”

  “It’s not exactly difficult.”

  “And anyway, dancing with who? You mean you were in a club?” We’d just emerged into the grey light of pre-dawn. I stopped short, the questions fading as we took in the street.

  Several buildings had taken hits. Bricks
and broken glass were everywhere. A film of dust lay over the parked autos. The dull scrape of concrete against concrete came as workers cleared the debris.

  “Shit,” whispered Hal. “You think she was trying for the water tower over on Peterson?”

  “Maybe,” I said grimly. “Or maybe she’s just trying to flatten morale.”

  I felt shaken. We started walking again, making our way down the rubble-lined street. Remembering the shouts for medics the night before, I stopped the first warden we saw.

  “Was anyone hurt?” I asked urgently.

  “Yes, a few injuries – no deaths though. Lucky, given the state of this.” He nodded at the street, distracted but kind. “Don’t you worry, miss – our pilots are the best. They’ll keep protecting this island, no matter what.”

  I nodded, aware of Hal’s sudden, privately amused glance at me. “Thank you,” I said. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

  “I don’t think her plan to destroy morale is exactly working,” Hal said as we continued down the street.

  He was right: people looked tired, but were going to work as usual. A bookstore had taken a blast – hardcover volumes lay all over the sidewalk. Passers-by were picking them up and neatly stacking them back inside the front window.

  Pride stirred in me. For the first time, I realized how deeply I’d put down roots in New Manhattan. You couldn’t keep these people down, not for long. Kay Pierce hadn’t been able to do it with her executions, and she couldn’t do it with her bombings either.

  Hal and I turned onto Ridgemont, where we could catch a bus. Suddenly the buildings all looked normal, as if nothing had happened.

  I glanced at my brother. “So you didn’t answer my questions,” I said after a pause.

  “I was hoping you’d forget about them. Ma.”

  “No such luck. Were you in a club? And who did you go with?”

  He looked exasperated. “Yes, I was in a club. And I was out on a date, all right? If you must know.”

  My lips lifted in a surprised smile. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Was it your first date?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He rolled his eyes and jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Will you just drop it, already, for Pete’s sake?”

  I halted in my tracks, suddenly spotting something. Before Hal could stop me, I tugged his shirt collar down. A fading hickey was on his neck. He jerked away. “Hey! Get off.”

  “Halcyon…Vancour!” I gasped. I grinned. “Do I need to give you a lecture about always using a proph?” It would be rich coming from me, but I didn’t tell him that.

  His cheeks were blazing now. “Oh, holy hell, please don’t.”

  “Are you going to tell me who it is?” Something in his expression made me add, “He? She?”

  Hal rubbed the back of his neck. “He.” His eyebrows drew together as he glanced at me. “Do you mind?”

  I slowly shook my head. “No. Of course not.” I was surprised but not shocked. On some level, maybe I’d already known.

  We reached the bus stop. After a pause, I nudged him. “So who is he?”

  “A pilot.”

  A memory stirred: the pilot I’d talked to earlier. He’d said he had plans he wanted to keep. “That friend of yours from England?”

  My brother gave me a startled glance. “Yeah, Percy. How’d you know?”

  “I met him earlier; he came over and said hello. He’s good-looking,” I added. “How long have you two…?”

  Hal gazed up the street as if longing for the bus. “About a week,” he said grudgingly. Then he looked at me and hesitated. “I really like him, Amity. I can talk to him – you know?”

  “Talking’s good. I bet getting the hickey was nice too.”

  “You are such a jerk.” But he snorted out a laugh. He leaned against the side of the bus stop and looked down, playing with his cuffs. “I’ve liked him since I first met him,” he admitted finally. “Doing his straps up was…kind of embarrassing.”

  I stifled my grin. “I bet.” Doing a pilot’s straps meant a lot of contact near the groin region. “So how old is he?”

  “Eighteen. Barely.”

  “So he’s more than two years older.”

  “Good for you – you can subtract sixteen from eighteen.”

  “You’re not sixteen yet.”

  “Almost.”

  The bus’s high, curved lines loomed into view then. We showed our WU passes as we climbed on board – as staff we got free travel around the city.

  Hal and I took a seat. “So where’s Percy now?” I asked as the bus started down the street with a lurch.

  “On base. He had an early call. I stayed out with some friends a little longer – then the sirens went.”

  Thinking of the wildness of Carl’s Roadhouse, I grimaced slightly. “Okay…I have to do the Ma bit now.”

  Hal slapped his hat against his hand. “You already have been, for crying out loud.”

  “Look, I haven’t asked you this before, but…you’re not even sixteen. Are you drinking?”

  For the first time, real anger flickered across Hal’s face as he studied me. “I’ve been doing a man’s job, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed, and you didn’t answer the question.”

  “Yes, I have a drink sometimes. Back off, Amity. You did a lot worse at my age, so don’t pull the ‘it’s illegal’ crap.”

  “Hal—”

  His voice was low. “I could die any day and you know it. No one cares that I’m fifteen when I’m out there working on the planes and dodging bombs. Are you seriously going to tell me that I can’t go out and have a few beers with my friends?”

  The bus stopped. Some people got off; others got on. We trundled away from the kerb again.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Hal looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Okay what?”

  “Okay. You’re right.”

  He smiled slightly, looking down at his hands.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  The bus travelled through Timmons Square. In the pale dawn, the famous theatre district looked slightly seedy, like the aftermath of a drunken party. I started to say something else, then noticed Hal’s expression. He was gazing down at Dwight’s silver ring, his fist tight.

  “What?” I said.

  His voice was stilted. “You know, um…when I went and called Collie on the wireless…I know that was really bad judgement.”

  I went still. He looked up, his eyes pained. “I think maybe I felt like you did when you shot Gunnison,” he said roughly. “I never understood it before, how you always said it was like a dream. But I just…lost it. I didn’t care. It was like I was outside of myself, watching.”

  He sighed. “Anyway…I know it was a stupid thing to do. And that Dwight…what happened to Dwight…” He faltered. “You told me it wasn’t my fault,” he said finally. “But we both know it wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”

  I hesitated. “Were you and Dwight…?”

  “No,” said Hal softly, playing with the ring. “But he knew about me. We talked a few times.”

  After a pause, I said, “Listen, Mac always thought you were one of the steadiest kids he ever met – you know that, right? He’d never have let you work for the Resistance otherwise.”

  Hal looked quickly at me, his face vulnerable. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And you’re right; you’re doing a man’s job now. Doing it well.” Dad would be proud, I wanted to say, except that mentioning Dad that way was still too hard for us both.

  Hal exhaled and let his hand fall from the ring. “Thanks.”

  A few blocks passed. Skirting Centre Park, Kay Pierce’s abandoned palace came into view, now the headquarters for World United.

  Hal said, “I heard back from Ma.”

  I glanced at him – then realized he meant in response to the letter he’d written about Dad.

  Apprehension touched me. “What did she
say?”

  “Here, see for yourself.”

  He dug a hand into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a letter. I recognized Ma’s curly handwriting. The mail service was still irregular. The phone service was even worse; you could only make calls within New Manhattan.

  I stalled for a second, studying the envelope: Halcyon Vancour, c/o World United, Free Zone New Manhattan.

  Then I lifted the flap and pulled out thin sheets of paper.

  Dear Hal,

  It was so good to hear from you and know that you’re safe and well, and of course I was as thrilled as the rest of the world about the liberation of New Manhattan. I still can’t help worrying about you, we hear about those terrible bombings, but I know you’re a sensible young man and of course your sister is there too, which eases my mind greatly.

  I’m very sorry not to have responded to you sooner. I started to so many times, but was uncertain whether a letter would reach you in your previous circumstances and there were things I didn’t want to commit to paper if that were the case. I must say that I still feel somewhat the same, even though New Manhattan is Free again.

  My darling Halcyon, I think that for now I will just say to you that your father was a good man, but flawed. As we all are. I loved him very much and never stopped, no matter what he did. When I see you in person again, I will try to explain more. In my mind, he was never completely to blame.

  Please write again and tell me all about what you’re doing. Amity says in her letters that you’re a very good fitter and that the pilots depend on them…

  It went on from there. I stared at the third paragraph. In my mind, he was never completely to blame. What exactly was Ma talking about? Dad throwing the civil war fight? His affair with Madeline? Both, neither?

  Hal gazed out the bus window, his chin on his fist. “So that clears everything up just dandy, huh?” he said gloomily.

  I made a face and refolded the letter, curious despite myself as to what Ma could have to say…and hating the flutter of hope that came with the wondering. I wished that Hal had never mentioned any of it to her.

  “Yeah. Crystal,” I said finally.