Black City (2 page)

An explosion of pain bursts inside my chest, and I clutch a hand over my lifeless heart. I sense someone behind me and turn.

A girl stands by the entranceway, lit by the headlights of a passing truck. In the fleeting light, I catch a glimpse of cornflower-blue eyes flicking between me and the Hazer writhing on the ground.

Her gaze finally fixes on me.

I fall back, struck down, as the pain in my chest blooms again.

Shivers run through my body, rushing toward a single point in my chest. There’s a spark of electricity and then:

A flutter.

2

NATALIE

“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING,
oka
y? I’m not looking for trouble,” I blurt out, fear spiking in me.

The boy clutches his chest, like he’s in pain. He looks up at me with sparkling black eyes, and my heart stumbles and races to catch up with the beat. He blinks, shakes his head like he’s trying to remember where he is, while my head spins as it dawns on me that I somehow
recognize
him. But how? Even in my panicked state, my brain’s able to process the fact we haven’t met before. I sure as hell would’ve remembered him. I don’t need to see his fangs to know what he is: hair like black fire and glittering eyes are all the evidence I need. A twin-blood Darkling.

I should be running a mile—every instinct is screaming at me to leave, but my feet are glued to the ground, my body paralyzed, as memories I’ve repressed all year flood my mind: a pair of white fangs, my father’s anguished face, blood spraying across the ceiling.

The drugged girl beside him moans, her dark hair falling away from her face. She looks just like my sister, Polly.

“Help me,” she whispers.

I hesitate, uncertain. What if she were my sister? Would I leave Polly here with
him
?

My decision is made for me when a Sentry truck pulls up on the road overhead and the engine cuts out. I dart under the bridge and press my back against the mildewed wall, placing a finger to my lips. A moment later, a door opens and footsteps echo along the road above us. The Darkling boy tenses, glancing up at the sound.

“I’m sure I saw her,” a voice says above us.
Sebastian.

There’s silence for a moment. I shut my eyes and pray he leaves.

A man snorts. “She’s more bloody trouble than she’s worth.” The deep voice sounds like Kurt, one of Sebastian’s troop leaders.

“I suggest you hold your tongue—unless you want me to cut it out?” Sebastian says.

“Sorry, chief,” Kurt says quickly. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Let’s try down Bleak Street,” Sebastian suggests.

They head off on foot. I let out a long sigh, and so does the twin-blood Darkling boy. We warily eye each other for a few seconds. I doubt he’ll attack me when there are Trackers so close by. He’s a twin-blood, not one of those mindless Wraths, so he’d understand the risks to himself if he attempted it. This thought eases my mind a little.

“Thanks,” I say to him.

“No worries, blondie. Any enemy of the Sentry is a friend of mine,” he drawls.

A strange sensation pulls at my heart as I take a step toward him. I pause.
That’s odd.
I take another step. It happens again, a definite tug this time, drawing me closer to him, despite the warning voice inside my head that’s telling me to keep my distance.

I kneel down beside him and the Hazer girl, my black tulle skirt fanning around me.

“What happened?” I say, turning the girl’s head, revealing the two puncture wounds. “Haze?”

He nods.

“She needs to go to the hospital,” I say.

“That’s not going to happen. She knew the risks.”

“She could die.”

He shrugs. “Not my problem. I’m not getting executed for her.”

I glance down at the girl again and anxiously bite my lip, drawing blood. Big mistake. The Darkling boy’s head snaps up, his nostrils flaring, and the air around us sparks with static. His gaze is like a thrilling darkness sliding over my body, cold like winter’s frost, leaving a trail of goose pimples where his eyes have touched me.

The Sight.

It’s a force Darklings use to mark their prey in order to ward off others of their kind. I’ve only been touched by the Sight once before, the night my father died. The Darkling boy slowly surveys me, his eyes drifting to the shiny red scar cutting across my skin over my heart, visible beneath the fine lace of my corset. I hurriedly cover the scar with my hand, and he drops his gaze, breaking the spell.

Footsteps approach the bridge, and my stomach leaps into my throat. Sebastian and Kurt have returned.

“Let’s get back to headquarters,” Sebastian says to Kurt as he climbs into the truck. “Natalie’s probably gone home.”

“She better have,” Kurt mutters. “The Emissary will have my head if her daughter gets chomped by a rogue Darkling. Bloody nippers, I don’t know how they keep getting over the wall.”

The Darkling boy’s eyes narrow. “You’re the Emissary’s daughter?”

Fear tiptoes down my spine. I gulp, realizing the danger I’m in.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I say.

“Too late for that, blondie.” The corners of his mouth curl up to reveal his fangs.

I hurriedly edge away from him. My back slams into the cold stone wall. I’m trapped.

The Hazer girl groans.

“I think she’s going to be okay. There’s no need for anyone else to get involved,” I say, panic rising in my voice.

We eye each other steadily, waiting to see what’s going to happen next. There are only two options: he lets me go and trusts I won’t report him. Or he kills me.

My heart bangs against my chest. I hold my breath, waiting.

He snarls. “Tell anyone about me, and you’re dead.”

He gets to his feet, and in a flash, he’s gone.

3

ASH

THE BLACK COBBLED STREETS
are deathly quiet as I head home, but that’s normal at this time of night. You’d have to be suicidal or insane to be out here after curfew. I’m still deciding which one I am.

I hurry home, knowing it’s unlikely I’ll encounter any more trouble tonight but not wanting to push my luck. The soot-encrusted Cinderstone houses on either side of me smolder in the dark, still burning after last year’s air raids that destroyed the city.

I can’t resist running my fingers through the soft ash coating the walls of the houses, staining my skin black.
Black.
That’s the color of my world here: black streets, black buildings, black skies. Black everything. I’ve almost forgotten what color looks like.

A memory of the Sentry girl’s blue eyes flashes across my mind, and my chest tightens. What happened back under the bridge? I swear I felt my heart . . . what? Stir? I laugh. The idea’s so stupid; my heart’s never moved a millimeter in my whole life. It just sits lifelessly inside my chest. It must’ve just been the bad blood from that Hazer girl. That can mess you right up.
Yeah, that must’ve been it.
I can’t allow myself to hope.

Above me, digital screens the size of billboards dominate the rooftops, looking out of place against the Gothic architecture of the centuries-old buildings. The screens broadcast continual footage from SBN, a government-owned network. It only shows propagandist messages, advertisements and news stories promoting the Sentry government.

A female voice booms out from the monitors. “And now a message from your government.”

A pair of penetrating silver eyes appears on the screens.

I recognize them immediately. They belong to Purian Rose—the spiritual leader and head of the United Sentry States. A message rolls along the bottom of the screen:
His Mighty sees all sinners.

Chills run through my body, and I quicken my pace. I instinctively head down City End and stop dead in my tracks. Why do I always end up here, even when I don’t mean to? I stare up at the Boundary Wall, a stone wall over thirty feet high, covered with posters of Purian Rose urging citizens to vote for Rose’s Law. The wall divides the city in two, segregating the humans from the Darklings. It would take you over a day to walk around the entire circumference of the wall, which encloses the Darkling ghetto known as the Legion, the largest of its kind anywhere in the United Sentry States. Every city in the USS’s nine megastates has walled ghettos just like this one, keeping the humans and Darklings apart.

Behind the Boundary Wall is a second, smaller wall covered in spikes and barbed wire, and beyond that . . .
my family.
All my Darkling relatives live over there: my aunts, uncles, cousins. I turn away, not wanting to deal with this tonight, and take the longer route home to the Rise, the district in the northernmost part of the city where the poorest residents live.

There are five superdistricts in Black City: the Rise, the Park, the Chimney, the Legion and the Hub, where the Emissary’s headquarters are located. There are nine Emissaries in total, one for each of the country’s nine megastates, and our Emissary is the
worst.
It sucks she’s back in the city; things were so much better when she was evacuated to Centrum during the air raids last year.

I duck under the flimsy wire fence that surrounds the Rise. The fence is a rather halfhearted attempt to keep out any Wraths that have escaped over the Boundary Wall. They’re feral Darklings infected with the deadly C18-Virus, and they roam the streets hunting those foolish enough to still be outside after curfew. Idiots like me.

I sneak through the sleepy cobble streets, dimly lit by cast iron oil lamps, following my usual path home. The Rise earned its name because of the hundreds of high-rise apartment blocks that dominate the city borough. The Sentry government had to erect some tenements quickly after Black City was bombed, and they’ve never bothered to come back to finish the job. Several of the buildings are already falling down, threatening to topple at the slightest touch. Six months ago, one of the buildings collapsed and killed over a hundred people. It didn’t even make SBN news. No one gives a fragg about us.

I approach two derelict high-rises, which lean against each other like sleeping giants. Nestled in the crevice between them is an old church, its gray stone walls strangled by ivy, the bell tower leaning slightly.
Home.
Outside the church are a dozen apple trees, bursting with deep red fruit, which Mom planted to make the graveyard look less gloomy. Mrs. Birt’s ginger tabby cat sits on a nearby headstone and hisses at me as I pass. I growl back, and it scrams.

I take another pace, then pause. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I peer into the gloom, in search of movement, but see nothing.
Huh.
I must be imagining things. I reach the front door and scowl. Fresh graffiti is sprayed over the dark wood, just two words painted in large red letters:
RACE TRAITOR
. The letters are smudged where Dad’s tried to scrub the words away. I sigh and go inside.

Dad’s sitting in one of the church pews, waiting for me. He seems to have aged another year since I left the house this morning. His thick brown hair has gotten grayer around the temples, his beard more disheveled, his blue eyes duller. It’s difficult to believe he’s the same man who used to make Mom giggle like a schoolgirl just by smiling at her.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

“Out,” I say.

“Where’s your coat?”

“Lost it,” I say, which isn’t technically true. I know exactly where it is: under the Hazer girl’s head. Maybe I’ll swing by tomorrow and see if she left it. I loved that jacket, got it off a Darkling Legion Liberation Front freedom fighter during the war, just before he got captured by a Tracker.

I walk past Dad toward the pokey room at the back of the church. Propped against the padlocked door leading down to the crypt is a rusty old camp bed where Dad sometimes sleeps when he’s not down in there, which isn’t very often. I don’t think he’s seen daylight in weeks, not since
she
came back. I turn my back to the crypt door, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to think about what’s behind it.

The rest of the room is taken up with a small table and a few kitchen appliances. The room’s filthy, with grime on the walls and dirty dishes piled high on every surface. On the floor are several crates filled with tinned food; donations from the locals to hand out on our next charity run. Around the kitchen table are three chairs: one for Dad, one for me, and one chair that hasn’t been occupied in eight years. Slung over the back of it is a Lupine-fur coat, which Dad gave to Mom on their wedding day.