The Song of the Orphans

by Daniel Price

  He flipped his hands in surrender. “I’ve been telling them all week. I’ll be telling them again. All I’m saying now is be patient. We’ve only just come together.”

  He looked up at the highest window of the clock tower and saw a young face looking back at him. At first glance, she looked like the vengeful ghost of Ivy. But no, it was just her baby niece. Still bitter. Still angry.

  Peter turned back to the orphans and sighed. “It’ll just take time.”

  —

  Gemma retreated from the window, her heart pounding. She’d been watching Peter and the breachers from the moment they stepped off the elevator, confident that they wouldn’t see her up here. But the Irish prick had sharp eyes. She’d have to set up a camera system if she wanted to keep tabs on them.

  Five children and a figment watched her gingerly from the other side of the clock chamber. “This is crazy,” the figment growled. “You’ll get us all in trouble.”

  Gemma found it both ironic and irksome that a fluorescent blue tiger was questioning her sanity. The creature was made entirely of light, conjured from the mind of a twelve-year-old lumic. The boy was Harold Herrick. The tiger’s name was Bo.

  “We won’t get in trouble,” she told Harold, a chubby blond in Coke-bottle glasses. “As long as we’re careful—”

  “Why are you talking to him?” Bo asked. “That fat fuck is useless. Talk to me.”

  The other kids bristled as Harold recoiled at his own abuse. The boy had more psychological issues than his family knew what to do with, but he was a prodigy with lumis. He tested so far off the charts that the Mayor had to fudge his test results just to save face for the rest of the guild. Gemma needed Harold, which meant she had to put up with his baffling quirks.

  She grudgingly faced the tiger. “As long as we’re careful, we won’t get caught. I’ve seen the future. I’ve lived it.”

  “How do we know that?” asked Suki Godden. “You may not be as crazy as Harold but you’re sure as hell not stable.”

  Gemma turned to face her. Suki was eleven years old and, like all Goddens, she was achingly pretty. But everyone in the clan knew that her long blond hair was just a wig. Her eyebrows were glue-ons. Suki’s solic-electric powers rendered her completely hairless. The bizarre, incomprehensible nature of her blessing made her the embarrassment of her family. Gemma could certainly relate.

  “You came here, Suki, because you know that I’m a veteran. I fought the Silvers in Terra Vista. I helped kill six Golds in White Plains. I stood with Ivy at Battery Park. And I survived Atropos, unlike your bitch sister.”

  Suki flicked her thumb, throwing crackling blue sparks. She clearly wasn’t offended by Gemma’s harsh words for Jinn. She’d never much liked her either.

  “Calm down,” said Suki. “I’m just asking questions.”

  “What about Rebel?” asked a thin and handsome twelve-year-old. “Can’t he help us?”

  Until Heath came along, Miguel “Squid” Tam was the darkest boy in the village. His caramel skin came from four generations of cross-breeding—an exotic blend of Spanish, Indian, and Chinese DNA. His chronokinetic pedigree, however, was much purer. All of his forebears were tempic.

  Unfortunately for Squid, Victoria Chisholm refused to let him into the esteemed tempics’ guild, as the corrosive black goo that spewed from his fingers bore little relation to tempis. Another misfit. Another black sheep for Gemma’s flock.

  “Forget about Rebel,” she said. “He’s broken. He can’t help anyone.”

  “And what makes you think we’ll do any better?” Squid pressed.

  “Because I learned from his mistakes.” Her face lit up in a confident smile. “And I picked better people.”

  Gemma’s praise drew reluctant grins from the children, none of whom were accustomed to compliments. Naomi Byers listened through her temporal converter, then clapped her hands with excitement. The girl was to swifters what Harold was to lumics—a wunderkind, a chart-breaking oddity. She came into the world at 30x speed, cut from the womb of her dead, rifted mother. That was six months ago.

  Now Naomi stood five-foot-three, a wild-haired brunette in torn, mismatched clothes. She typed with blurry haste into her wrist keyboard. The lumic projector on her back beamed bright yellow letters above her head:

  WEN DO I GET 2 KILL SOME1?

  The kids around her all shuddered with revulsion. Clearly Naomi was missing more than a brake pedal. Though the Byers had tried their best to raise a civilized girl under mad circumstances, it hadn’t worked. Bug had often said that the savage little freak should be euthanized.

  “Soon,” Gemma promised her. “Patience.”

  Naomi accelerated Gemma’s response for comprehension, then crossed her arms in annoyance. She was a cheetah in a world of snails. Patience was all she knew.

  OK, she typed. S’LONG AS I GET 2 UZE KNIFE.

  Bo narrowed his bright tiger eyes. “That bitch is crazy.”

  “Cut it out,” Gemma snapped. “We get enough shit from the others. Let’s be the team that works together.”

  Squid snorted. “Yeah, and we can all get exiled together.”

  Gemma shook her head. “Even if the worst happens—and it won’t—the elders will never kick us out. We’re kids.”

  “That won’t matter to the Pelletiers,” Suki reminded her. “They’ve killed unborn babies.”

  Gemma took a deep breath. She’d had this conversation more than once today. Each time she failed to convince the others, she jumped back a few minutes and tried a new approach. Now, after fifteen do-overs, she finally had it.

  “I can’t tell you what I have planned for them,” she whispered. “They have ears everywhere. Just trust me when I say that they’ll be my problem, not yours. While you’re off fighting the breachers, I’ll be somewhere else. Fighting them.”

  The others drank her in with awe. Even Bo was thunderstruck. Gemma felt guilty for the lie, but they couldn’t know her real plan. They’d turn against her in a heartbeat.

  “This’ll work,” she assured them. “The breachers will be gone. The world will be saved. And everyone will know that it was the six of us—the outcasts, the disparates—who finished the job that Ivy started.”

  Gemma studied the faces of her teammates. “So can I count on you?”

  One by one, the children nodded. Only one last holdout—a twelve-year-old redhead with a sweet freckled face—remained hunched in uncertainty.

  Gemma looked to him. “Please tell me you’re with us, Dunk. We can’t do this without you.”

  No one who knew Duncan Rall would have ever expected to find him among this odious group. He was a good-natured boy who brought no shame to his family, only sympathy. Dunk had been terminal from the moment he was born, destined for a death that even criminals didn’t deserve. Though he’d managed his curse with remarkable aplomb, he was tired of tongue clucks, tired of pity, tired of being a victim of his own power. Better he should accomplish something with his life before he fell into darkness.

  He walked across the room on thick tempic boots, then studied the Silvers and Golds through the window.

  “Yeah,” he said faintly. “I’m in.”

  He locked his gaze on Jonathan Christie, the only person on Earth who shared his affliction. Shame that the man had to die, but if that’s what it took to save the world, then Dunk was ready. He’d drop each and every one of these breachers to Hell.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  For the thirty-three flying tempics of the clan, the underland was both freedom and oppression. It was the only place on Earth where they could spread their wings and enjoy their natural blessings. But the dome was confining and the view was downright tedious. By now, the aerial map of the village had become scorched onto their retinas: a crosshatch square of sixteen streets, each one paved to the exact same length and capped with a bed of pink and white oleander.
>
  A seventeenth street ruined the symmetry of the grid: a tree-lined cul-de-sac on the southwest corner of town. It had no name, no curb, no developments at all except for six wooden cottages at the end. They flanked the crest in a tight semicircle, each house boasting a slightly different architecture.

  The orphans and Pendergens stood clustered on the cobblestone, surveying their homes with dull poker faces. The cottages had a loose and shoddy look to them, as if they’d been built from a kit with vague instructions or ordered online from a not-so-reputable reseller.

  Jonathan focused on a half-rotted window shutter. “Huh.”

  “The insides are nicer,” Peter assured him.

  “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’ve lived in worse places. I’m just confused. I mean you’re a Marvin Gardens kind of people, and these are all—”

  “Baltic,” Zack said.

  Jonathan nodded at Peter. “We’re just wondering why any of you would live here when you have all those mansions up above.”

  Liam smiled softly. “No one chooses to live here. They’re redemption houses.”

  “They’re what?”

  “Halfway homes,” Peter clarified. “For our troublemakers.”

  That surprised Theo. “I thought you kicked out the troublemakers.”

  “Very rarely. We prefer to work with them, figure out what’s making them angry.”

  Mia studied the villas suspiciously. “The Mayor said we have five houses. There are six.”

  Peter pointed to the rightmost cottage. “That one’s occupied.”

  “By who?”

  “No one you know,” Peter said. “You don’t have to worry about her. She’s a good kid at heart—”

  Liam cut him off with a sharp, bitter laugh.

  “—and she’ll keep to herself,” Peter finished.

  He gripped his son’s shoulder, then took a sweeping glance at the others. “All right. Pick a house, pick your housemates, and then get real comfortable.”

  Peter looked up at the illusive clouds. “This isn’t temporary.”

  —

  They spent the rest of the day settling into their new homes. To everyone’s relief, Peter had been right. The cottages were much nicer on the inside. The walls and floors were all polished mahogany, with furniture that could have been lifted from a five-star ski resort. The amenities and appliances were brand-spanking-new, and every house was well stocked with fresh food and linens. It seemed even the troublemakers lived well here in Gotham Country. Hannah still felt compelled to check for traps and hidden cameras.

  She rejoined her sister in their new living room and tested the feel of the sofa cushions. “I hate to admit it, but I could get real comfortable here.”

  Amanda rummaged through the drawers of a cedar credenza. “I don’t like it.”

  “Too small?”

  “Too separate. I don’t like us all living under different roofs.”

  David stepped out of the cozy second bedroom, his eyes flitting anxiously between the Givens. “You sure you’re okay with me staying here?”

  “Of course we are,” Hannah said.

  In choosing their homes, the group had split along predictable lines—Peter and Liam, Jonathan and Heath, Zack and Theo. The sisters were hurt but hardly shocked when Mia opted to live with the Silver men. She had a low tolerance for Amanda and Hannah’s microsquabbles, and her brother-heavy upbringing made her more comfortable with guys.

  The real surprise was David. Everyone had expected him to claim the final cottage for himself and then bask in his newfound privacy. Yet he meekly asked Amanda and Hannah if he could live with them, at least until he felt more settled.

  David took a furtive peek out the window before joining Hannah on the sofa. “I’m not a fan of this split-living arrangement. It makes us more vulnerable.”

  Amanda pointed at him. “See? That’s exactly why I don’t like it.”

  “We should probably set up a night watch,” David suggested. “If the Gothams attack us, it’ll be—”

  “Jesus.”

  Hannah rose to her feet. David and Amanda watched her as she hurried to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Amanda asked her.

  “To check on Heath.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you two are this freaked out, then he must be climbing the walls.”

  “Hannah—”

  She closed the door behind her. David slouched in his seat, brooding. “She can’t possibly fault us for being nervous.”

  “She doesn’t,” Amanda said. “She just has her own way of coping.”

  Amanda watched through the window as Hannah dashed across the cul-de-sac. “She’s been sneaking kisses with Jonathan all week. She thinks I don’t know.”

  “We all know,” David said.

  “She saw what the Pelletiers did to Zack. What the hell is she thinking?”

  David shrugged from the couch. “No idea. I just know I’m staying out of it. Every time I meddle, I only make things worse.”

  Amanda stared down at her wringing hands. “I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you.”

  “Do you think Hannah will listen to you?”

  She grimly shook her head. “It’d only push her away.”

  Amanda hunkered down in an easy chair and grew a small tempic tree out of her hand. “I’d like to think that there’s a timeline out there where we make all the right decisions. Where we save the world, beat our enemies, and live happily ever after with the people we want to be with.”

  David watched solemnly as her tree bloomed branches and leaves. “Could still happen.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I don’t expect to grow old on this world.”

  The tempic tree wilted. Amanda vanquished it with a sigh. God gave her the power to break things, but not the power to fix them. She couldn’t be with Zack, she couldn’t help Theo, she couldn’t heal the rift between Mia and David. And she couldn’t prevent her sister from making the same mistake she did.

  But she could do something about these goddamned Gothams.

  “The night watch is a good idea,” she said. “I also think you should get to know the Mayor. Have some coffee. Meet his daughter. I’ll try to become friendly with Victoria Chisholm, as unpleasant as she seems.”

  “What’s your reasoning?” David asked.

  “If we’re going to live with these people, we need to understand them. I don’t want to wait for Peter to explain things. And if trouble’s coming, I want to see it early. No more surprises. No more mistakes.”

  David smiled approvingly. “You’ve come a long way from the woman I met in San Diego.”

  “Not really,” she said. “You just met me on a bad day.”

  Amanda stood up and stared out the window again. In the afternoon light, the houses didn’t look so bad. They just needed a few touch-ups. Maybe a fresh coat of paint. Who knew? If the stars aligned and the Gothams played nice, she might finally be able to relax here. She might even like it.

  —

  While a gray and cloudy dusk fell over Quarter Hill, the residents of the underland got a much nicer sunset. The sky above the village turned a luminous shade of red, as clear and warm as a Wyoming summer. Mia didn’t know if there was some kind of machine projecting all this fakery, or if the lumics were merely working in shifts. She made a note to ask Liam the next time she saw him.

  She sat up in bed with a creaky yawn, then scanned her new environment. Her wood-paneled bedroom was tiny, even smaller than her glorified closet in Brooklyn. But this one had a cozy elegance to it, plus a goose-down mattress that was the most comfortable thing she’d ever slept on.

  Mia walked across the room, paper scraps crunching under her feet. As always, her cat nap had brought a downpour of messages from the future,
along with the usual scattered patches of ash. More and more of her notes were combusting upon delivery, and she still didn’t know why. If this kept up, she’d need a fireproof blanket.

  To her surprise, the cottage was silent. No footsteps, no lumivision, no jocular chatter. She checked Zack and Theo’s bedroom, then the oversize living room. Empty. They must have left to have dinner with that freaky augur woman. Mia could only hope that Theo—

  “I said no!”

  The sound had come from a neighbor’s yard, a shrill and angry voice that Mia didn’t recognize. She crept onto the backyard patio and peeked around the corner. Two houses away, a teenage blonde in a tank top and shorts was flailing in rage at a large, bearded man. Mia could barely hear him, though it was clear from his gestures that he was trying to calm her down.

  “I swear to God I’m gonna slit my wrists if you don’t fly the hell off!”

  “Carrie—”

  “Just leave me alone, Daddy! Go!”

  Flustered, the father glanced around. Mia ducked out of view. By the time she dared to look again, he’d pulled off his sweatshirt and sprouted large wings of aeris from his back. He launched into the air with a jiggly leap.

  The daughter noticed Mia gawking at him. She crossed her arms with sullen gloom. “Hey.”

  Mia blinked at her, red-faced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “It’s all right. I’m sorry you had to see my dad’s fat belly.”

  The girl tilted her head and studied Mia with intrigue. “Wow. I thought you breachers would be all scarred and angry-looking, but you’re like . . . huh.”

  She crossed the empty yard between them, her ponytail swinging with each step. She was a small and skinny thing, barely an inch taller than Mia. She couldn’t have been a day over fourteen.

  The girl stopped at the edge of the patio and shined a wide, cheery smile. “Hi. I’m Carrie Bloom, scourge of the thermics and all-around nutbird. What’s your kit, cat?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your name.”

  “Oh. I’m Mia. Mia Farisi.”

  “Mia Farisi. I like that. It has a real chime to it.”