by Jamie Davis
She’d always envisioned a desert, with endless sand and arid ground, void of all life. But it was worse than that. There were plants of some sort, but they were wrong. Winnie couldn’t explain it any other way — the plants were just wrong. They weren’t green or in any way lush. The plants, grass, bushes and stunted trees were all sickly shades of mottled browns, peppered in a sickly black. She didn’t know how they could possibly grow, but their disease seemed to reach out with bent twigs like crooked claws to poison the ugly sky.
“Look ahead,” Cricket said. “You’re about to see a real city. New Amsterdam makes Baltimore look like a park by comparison. A talented young lady like you could do well in a place like this.”
“Do they treat chanters any differently here?”
“We chanters get treated like crap everywhere, but here, among all the richest and wealthiest people, there are plenty of opportunities for those willing to help those middlings at the top. They’re always trying to one-up one another. With your special abilities, Cleaver thinks we could crack a new market.”
“I told you, Cricket. I’m not interested in a new boss. Artos is enough for me. Same for Baltimore. I’m not looking for a bigger and better place.”
“I urge you to reserve judgment until you’ve talked to Cleaver. He has a way of convincing people to see things his way.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Winnie stared into the city’s skyline ahead, packed with the tallest buildings she’d ever seen, stretching from one horizon to another. She had always heard that New Amsterdam was the largest city standing, and of course she’d seen it on film and TV. But still, Winnie could never have imagined what that might look like in person.
Plant life changed as they got closer to the city, shedding the withered browns and blacks for the lush green of something growing. They crossed a massive suspension bridge of steel and concrete. Winnie muttered a viewing spell under her breath — something so massive must be supported in some way by magic. As the spell left her lips, she saw the countless strands of woven magic in and around all the steel supports and thin cables holding up the road span. She wished Tris was seeing this with her.
They crossed the bridge and entered canyon-like avenues, walled on either side by buildings screaming into the sky. Winnie ignored her captors’ amused grins and tried to take it all in at once. Streets swarmed with the masses on their way into work.
They drove through the city’s beating heart until they reached a residential area that bordered on the industrial, with apartment buildings and warehouses lining either side with old-world construction. This felt familiar — it must be New Amsterdam’s Enclave.
The car slowed at an industrial park. The driver pulled between a group of warehouses, then stopped at a building with no special markings that Winnie could see. The driver slid the car into park and killed the engine.
“We’re here,” Cricket said.
Dugan and Garraldi opened their doors. Cricket got out and waited for Winnie to exit the vehicle.
“It’s not impressive for a headquarters,” Winnie said. “Have you seen the Mender’s Hall in Downtown Baltimore?”
Cricket gave her a wry smile. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. This is where Cleaver has chosen to lead his empire because this is where he’s most comfortable. Don’t be fooled by the surroundings. Come on. Let’s see if the boss is here.”
Cricket walked towards a door in the unmarked warehouse to their right. One of the others nudged her from behind, and she followed the diminutive mobster into the warehouse. The other three followed.
There were a few cars parked inside the warehouse, all in various stages of disassembly. Cricket led Winnie to an area of offices walled off from the rest of the warehouse, in the far corner of the cavernous space. It was like a small two-story building, built inside another and set against the wall.
Cricket opened the door and gestured for her to enter.
Winnie did, then found herself in some sort of clubroom. A pool table occupied the middle of the room, while the far corner was situated with a seating area, a massive TV, and a trio of sofas and several chairs. There was another door set in a wall with a large multi-paned window of frosted glass across the room.
“Come over here, Winnie.” Cricket walked toward the windowed room. “The boss is in and he’ll want to see you right away.”
Winnie followed Cricket into the other room. Inside, there was a giant metal desk strewn with papers and folders, a few chairs in front of the desk and one larger one behind it, and a large, flat-screen TV. Nothing else.
A tall man with a shaved head stood in front of the TV, his back to them. He was broad-shouldered and muscular. Massive arms bulged from his short-sleeved bowling shirt. He was engrossed in something on the TV and didn’t turn when they entered. He waved to shush them.
“ … There are few reports coming in so far, but it appears that some sort of massive natural disaster has occurred in Boston. We are unable to reach our affiliate station or any local authorities by phone or video conference. National response agencies are rushing resources there to try and get to the bottom of whatever is happening. We’ll have more details as they come. Again, some sort of natural disaster has struck Boston and severed all communication with the city. Stay tuned for details.”
The big man picked up a remote control, muted the audio, then turned around. Blue eyes pierced Winnie. He looked her up and down, then turned to Cricket. “This her?”
“Yeah, boss. She’s the one you wanted. Cleaver Yorke, meet Winnie Durham.”
Winnie didn’t like Cleaver Yorke’s smile as he eyed her again.
“Good. It’s about time.” He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit. We’ve much to discuss. Boston’s been destroyed, and I think you might be the only one who can keep that from happening here.”
CHAPTER 13
This wasn’t what Winnie had expected from her forced meeting with this man. She stared at the New Amsterdam Sable trade kingpin, her mouth open for a what seemed like a full minute before she could make any words. Cleaver didn’t wait.
“You are the key. Everything I’ve heard suggests that you’re the one who tipped the scales and set this all off.” He circled around, sat on the front edge of the desk, and leaned over Winnie until she could smell the stale stench of tobacco. “I want to know how you did it. How did you beat the Harvester when so many others died?”
Winnie’s thoughts tumbled. How could Cleaver know about that, or about Project X at all? Few people had been there, and fewer had lived. She knew most of them personally and couldn’t believe that a single one had said a word. She’d told Artos most of what had happened. He’d also spoken with Tris and Cait, so he probably had a reasonably full picture of what had occurred. But it seemed unlikely that he would have passed that information to Cleaver Yorke, especially given what she knew about his attempt to claim the Sable trade in Baltimore.
“You tell me, if you know so much about it. I was unconscious. My friends had to all but carry me out of that place.”
She held Cleaver’s gaze for a long moment, until he slapped his hand on the metal desktop. The loud smacking made Winnie jump.
Cleaver grinned, then stood and crossed behind the desk, talking as if to himself, or with himself. “That’s true, it matches what I’ve heard. How could she remember? The girl could be lying, trying to hide her ability … have you considered that? Yeah, but people who do that don’t last in my organization.”
The big man stopped and looked Winnie’s way again.
“Don’t mess with me, girl. I don’t like being lied to. I take it personally.” He wagged a finger at her. “You might not remember the end, but you were there for the beginning. I understand the machine’s basics: it should’ve stripped your magic. But it seems to have released what it had collected back into your body instead.” Cleaver eyed her, his head cocked to one side, an eyebrow raised in question. He wanted an answer, and he
r racing heart said he’d know if she lied.
“I woke up strapped to the machine. It was agony. I couldn’t stand it. Then it did something that made me snap.” Winnie stopped and looked up at him, feeling like an ant in her seat.
Cleaver nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“I don’t know how it happened. I was trying to resist but then I felt it. The machine was … killing my baby, taking its magic and life, then turning both to dust. It was like one minute a candle flame was lit, and then it was gone with a puff. I didn’t want to live, and I was done with the all the pain, so I tried to speed things up. If it wanted all of my magic, then I was prepared to give it. So I opened up and let it have everything.”
She remembered the moment, pushing and pushing to send more of her personal flow into the machine.
“Then it stopped pulling and started pushing back, I guess. Next thing I knew, all the magic was coming back at me, faster than I could handle it.” Winnie looked at the floor, shaking her head. “That’s it, Mr. Yorke. That’s all I can remember, I swear.”
She kept her eyes on the floor. Cleaver’s feet turned and Winnie heard him circle back around his desk. There was a creak as he settled his bulky frame into the chair and leaned back. This was the first time she’d confessed everything that had happened inside the machine. Artos had only inquired about the Harvester’s destruction.
A deep, rumbling chuckle came from across the desk, and then, “She’s the one, Cricket, the girl from the prophecy, just like I said. That’s why Artos has been keeping her to himself.”
“You said it, boss. Seems strange from this wisp of a girl, though.”
“Nonsense. You’re the one always saying that big things come in small packages.”
Winnie listened to the men, trying to piece things together.
Artos had plans in which he thought she had a part. That was why he’d sent her after the Harvester. A prophecy would have sounded like a stretch a few weeks ago, but she’d seen that forest glade after the machine’s explosion; she’d met the lady by the lake. It wasn’t a dream or her imagination. Something had happened when all that magic snapped back through her, and Cleaver wanted what Winnie now had, even if she didn’t know what it was.
“I want you to come and work for me.” Cleaver pointed to the silenced news reports about Boston on the TV. “Now that I’ve seen what’s happening to this side of the world, I need you to fight for me against what’s coming, here in New Amsterdam.”
Something finally clicked. She looked up at Cleaver as it hit her. “You have the sight. You can see into the future. That’s how you hold on to all this power. That’s how you beat the Red Legs in New Amsterdam.”
Leaning against the door, Cricket said, “I told you she was smart, boss.”
Cleaver nodded, smiling at Winnie. “Yeah, I have the sight. I can see some things that are going to happen and sometimes make adjustments to smaller events before they do. But I’ve seen things coming that I have no control over. And that makes you the only way to survive what’s coming.”
“What’s coming?”
Something changed in his eyes. Cleaver went from imposing to almost … apprehensive. He looked at Cricket, then back at Winnie. “It’s the end of the world.”
Winnie puffed nervous laughter at the gangster’s ridiculous claim, then saw his stone-cold face and looked over her shoulder at Cricket and his matching expression.
Even if Yorke had the gift of foresight, it was a rare quality, unreliable and limited to events directly related to the individual seer. He would hardly be able to see the apocalypse.
“Don’t laugh at me, little girl,” Cleaver growled from somewhere low in his throat. “I’ve done my research. I couldn’t make sense of what I saw in my visions, so I looked back to accounts of the European destruction. I found former chanter refugees here in New Amsterdam, talked to them about what they saw and remembered from their youth overseas. It was already happening here, and it started spiraling out of control after you destroyed the Harvester two weeks ago.”
“I didn’t do that.” Winnie pointed to the TV. “I had nothing to do with what happened in Boston.”
“I know. It was the machine. But you’re still the key. Somehow, you are the answer that keeps that — ” he jabbed his own finger at the TV “ — from happening everywhere.”
“I don’t want to insult you, Mr. Yorke, but I don’t know how to stop what happened to Boston. I only found out about it after I got here.”
Cleaver sighed and grumbled under his breath. He cocked his head to one side again and looked at her, examining her face and expression. She met his gaze, as hard as that was to do. After a moment, he nodded.
“I believe you. But that will change, and I want you here when it does, because you’re going to keep this city and the people in it from falling into a giant sink hole.”
“I’m not the one you want.” Winnie didn’t believe it, knowing there was something she was supposed to do, somewhere down the road. But if she was going to save any city from destruction, it had to be Baltimore first.
“Look, kid. I’m offering you a great gig. Work for me. You’ll stretch your skills. Together, we can figure out how to stop these dust storms and keep the cities from falling apart. Then you can write your own ticket.”
“But I don’t want to work for you, Mr. Yorke. I mean no offense, but I have a mother to care for and friends I’m committed to helping in Baltimore. I can’t drop everything to move here. Not now.”
“I don’t think you realize how desperate this situation is. Boston is gone. There were more than a million people in that city, and according to early reports, less than one in ten survived the night. That will happen to every city on the East Coast before working its way inland all the way to the west.”
“I’m not working for you, Mr. Yorke. I’m not the girl you’re looking for.”
His eyes narrowed and Winnie was certain he caught the lie at the end. He might be right about her, but she didn’t know how to help and longed to go home. She held her stare. If she was right, Cleaver wouldn’t hurt her because he might need her help in the future.
He scowled, then spoke to Cricket. “Drop her somewhere downtown. She can find her own way to the station.”
“What about her gear?”
“Keep it. Leave her a few dollars to catch a train. Keep the rest to pay for my trouble trying to be nice.” Cleaver turned to Winnie. “And I was nice. Much nicer than you’ll find me next time we meet. Remember that. I’m not known as a gentleman and won’t befoul my image on your behalf.”
Cleaver turned his back on Winnie, picked up the remote, and cranked the TV’s volume.
Cricket tugged on Winnie’s arm until she stood and followed him out of the office, then outside.
“Downtown is that way.” Cricket pointed. “Start walking now and you might make it to the station in time to catch the last train south.”
“Cleaver said to drop me downtown. Doesn’t that mean to drive me?”
“It might. Feel free to go back in and ask Cleaver for clarification. I’ll wait here.”
Winnie turned, stalked past Cricket, and started down the alley between the warehouses, trying to remember the route they’d taken to get here. She couldn’t even remember if it was left or right, but wouldn’t give Cricket the satisfaction of begging for directions. She knew he was watching.
Winnie squared her shoulders, walked the rest of the way to the main street in front of the warehouses, then turned right and walked out of sight, alone in New Amsterdam.
CHAPTER 14
Even with the skyscrapers in plain sight, Winnie was no closer than she had been when she’d started walking downtown an hour before. She hadn’t even reached the edge of the New Amsterdam Enclave. This city was a lot larger than Baltimore and laid out on a flat island, so distances were difficult to judge. She thought of hailing a cab, but she barely had enough for a ticket home. For what had to be the hundredth time this morning, W
innie cursed Cleaver Yorke.
She’d been afraid of what would happen when his men picked her up. The ride into New Amsterdam had been full of random, scary thoughts about what could happen. She’d never imagined that he’d let her go and force her to find her own way home. Winnie walked, eyeing the downtown skyline and trying to gauge the distance again.
Someone grabbed her and yanked her into the alley.
She tried to scream, but a hand was clamped over Winnie’s mouth. She struggled against the iron grip, trying to bite the hand on her mouth and digging her fingernails into the bare arm across her chest. Neither stopped the attack.
Winnie was let go. She spun around to face her assailant.
She was about to scream and throw a wild punch at the person’s head when recognition swept her.
“Danny?” Winnie embraced her assailant, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What are you … ? How did you … ? Where … ?”
Winnie had too many questions and didn’t know which to ask first. She was thrilled to see him. At first, she had thought he was probably dead, killed in retribution for her destruction of the Harvester. Then, when nobody turned up, she had desperately tried to find him. Now here he was, without any announcement, holding her close, in New Amsterdam of all places.
Winnie buried her face against his chest, surrendering to her sobs.
“Shhh … ” Danny soothed her, his hand stroking her hair, tracing her cheek and jawline.
She leaned her head back and the two of them shared a deep, desperate kiss. It was a homecoming, something she’d dreamed of doing again. After a long moment, the wonder passed and she broke the embrace.