Wings (A Black City Novel) (33 page)

ASH

S
ILENCE.

That’s the first thing I notice when I wake up. A deafening stillness that trickles through my veins, where my blood once rushed with life. The blood is still there, but now it’s just a stagnant soup for the
Trypanosoma vampirum
to thrive in. I can almost feel them squirming about inside me. I’d forgotten what it felt like; they’ve been dormant for months. My heavy lids struggle to open, my lashes tangled together like the ivy that once crept over the church where Dad and I lived. Light pierces my sensitive eyes and I immediately close them again, groaning.

My head feels foggy and it hurts like hell, like I’ve got a killer Haze Headache, but it’s nothing compared with the searing pain in my chest. I lift a sluggish arm—How long have I been asleep? All my muscles feel weak—and press my hand against my bare chest. Beneath my fingers are the rough edges of metal stitches holding together pink, puckered skin, and below that . . . nothing. Just deep, endless emptiness.

Natalie!
I bolt upright in bed, nearly passing out from the sudden burst of pain. Gah! It feels like I’ve been cracked open like an egg and scooped out, but I realize that’s pretty much what happened. Blood trickles out of my stitches as I gingerly climb out of bed. My bare feet touch the cold floor. I’m in a bedroom, although I’m not sure whose. It’s sparse, with white walls, marble floors and a double bed covered in white sheets.

I’m wearing only black pajama pants, so I grab the blanket and drape it over my shoulders, then head to the door. My hand hovers over the handle, unwilling to turn it, suddenly gripped with fear. What if I was too late? What if Natalie died? As soon as I step over that threshold, I’ll know. But if she’s dead, I don’t
want
to know.

I consider going back to bed, so I can hold off finding out the truth for a little while longer, but that’s all I would be doing: delaying the inevitable. Natalie is either dead or alive. No amount of time is going to change that, so I might as well find out now. I turn the handle.

The corridor is empty. My eyes instinctively drift toward two bloodstains on the carpet. One belongs to Natalie. The other belongs to Sebastian. I’d been dreaming about him. In my nightmare, he was sitting in a rocking chair, laughing manically as he metamorphosed from a human into a wolf, then back to a human again. I rip my eyes away from the bloodstains.

I hear Beetle’s and Day’s voices coming from the room at the end of the hallway. I tentatively pad toward the white door and place a shaking hand on the doorknob. I shut my eyes.
Do it.
I enter the room. Beetle is standing by the balcony at the far end of the bedroom. He’s holding a black-and-white kitten, which playfully paws at his top.

Elijah and Evangeline are standing beside him. Elijah has his arm casually looped around Evangeline’s waist. She warily eyes the kitten in Beetle’s hands. Day is perched on the end of the double bed, wearing a simple teal dress, her silky black hair tied into a long braid. She’s got a new pair of glasses—these have fine metal rims—although they still stubbornly slide down her long nose. Next to her is her younger brother, MJ. He’s twelve years old, with dark skin, chocolate-brown eyes and thick black hair. His gray shirt is ill fitted because of his hunched back—MJ was born with a condition that causes curvature of the spine.

He looks up and beams at me. “Ash!”

“Hey, squirt,” I say, my voice croaky from lack of use.

“Ash?” a soft voice says to my right. I glance toward the bed. Natalie is lying on top of the blankets. She looks very tired and pale, her blond curls hanging in loose waves around her heart-shaped face, but she’s alive. She’s alive!

I rush over to her, ignoring the pain in my aching body, and gently pull her into my arms. I kiss her softly, tentatively, not just because I’m worried I’ll hurt her, but because I’m afraid she’ll push me away. We no longer share a Blood Mate connection; there’s nothing binding her to me. She may not want me anymore. As if reading my thoughts, Natalie’s fingers twist through my hair and she draws me closer. All my doubt vanishes as I sink into the kiss, and for a moment, just a fraction of a second, I swear I feel a heartbeat echoing inside me.

Natalie pulls away, biting her lip. She’s crying. I cup her face in my hands and gently rub her tears away with my thumbs.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she says.

“Me?” I say, confused.

“You’ve been unconscious for nearly two weeks,” Beetle says.

“What?” I say, flabbergasted.

“You nearly died, Ash,” Natalie says quietly. “The
Trypanosoma vampirum
in your blood didn’t immediately kick in, because they’d been dormant for so long. You weren’t getting any oxygen to your organs.”

“Dr. Craven had to give you a transfusion of Evangeline’s blood,” Day adds.

I glance at Evangeline and give her a grateful smile.

“You were brain dead for a few minutes,” Beetle says. “Of course, nobody noticed any difference at first . . .”

“Hey!” I say, and everybody laughs.

“Then there was the
other
thing,” Beetle says. “You might want to look in the mirror.”

I wander over to the mirror and look at my reflection. It takes a moment to realize that the boy I’m staring at is me. Black hair. Gaunt face. Pale lips. Silver eyes.

Silver.

“You got infected with the retrovirus when you bit Sebastian,” Natalie says. “Thankfully, you didn’t have a bad reaction to it, like he did.”

I study my reflection, trying to get used to my new look, the new me. I turn to Natalie.

“Were you infected too, when I gave you my heart?”

“The Wrath in my system killed the retrovirus before it could do anything,” she says. “I guess I got lucky.”

I smirk and she laughs, realizing the irony of that statement.

“So you’re still sick?” I ask quietly.

She nods. “But I’ve been taking my medication.” She points to the black syringe case on her nightstand. “Dr. Craven is optimistic I’ll be better in a few months.”

The black-and-white kitten wriggles out of Beetle’s grasp and bounds onto Natalie’s bed.

“Who’s this?” I say.

“Mittens,” Natalie replies. “My parents got her for me to replace . . . erm . . .
you know.
”

Day narrows her eyes at Evangeline, who flushes slightly. I reach out a hand to pet the new kitten, but it hisses, giving me the stink-eye. Natalie giggles.

“We should probably give Ash and Natalie some alone time,” Day says, standing up. “I’m sure they have plenty of catching up to do.” She starts walking to the door with Beetle and MJ, then sharply turns and rushes over to me, flinging her arms around my neck. I grunt with pain, but let her hold on to me. “Thanks for saving Nat. You’re a good guy, Ash Fisher.”

I grin as she pulls away and hurries out of the room.

“Roach and Sigur need to see you as soon as you’re up to it,” Beetle says. “There’s a lot of business to attend to.”

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Can you tell them I’m still unconscious?”

Beetle smirks. “Sure thing, bro.” He leaves the room.

Elijah pads over to the doorway. He leans against the door frame while Evangeline sits down on the edge of the bed. Natalie holds Mittens close to her chest.

“How are you?” I ask Evangeline.

“There’s good days and bad. I miss Edmund terribly, but then I remember it wasn’t real.” She sighs. “It hurt losing my heartbeat again, but not as much as I thought it would.” Her glittering black eyes flitter toward Elijah, and he smiles. “I can live without it.”

Evangeline stands up and kisses my forehead, then plants a soft kiss on Natalie’s cheek. She walks over to Elijah and takes his hand. They leave the room, shutting the door behind them. Natalie and I are alone. Mittens leaps off the bed and paces over to the balcony.

“I could use some fresh air,” Natalie says.

I help her to her feet and shrug off the blanket around my shoulders, placing it around Natalie’s, exposing the scar that zigzags down my chest.

“Is it terrible?” she whispers, and I know she isn’t referring to my scar, but the emptiness that lies beneath.

“No.” I place my hand over her chest, feeling the thrum of my heart beating inside her. “I will always be a part of you. That’s pretty amazing, if you ask me.”

She beams up at me, and I quickly kiss her.

“I don’t know what to get you for our anniversary now,” I say. “How do I top giving you my heart?”

She giggles. “I like candy.”

I grin. “Candy it is.”

We head outside. The air is cool and crisp, giving me goose bumps, but I like it. It reminds me of being in my bedroom in the Ivy Church. Grief grips me and I suck in a ragged breath, thinking about my dad. Natalie takes my hand and gazes up at me. I smile softly.

A gust of wind stirs the ash clouds overhead, and for a brief moment I catch a glimpse of cornflower-blue skies peeping between the gray. I hold Natalie closer to me as Mittens leaps about the balcony, chasing the flakes of ash as they dance and twirl on the breeze.

The street below us is buzzing with activity. Trucks roll down the roads, and coalition workers dressed in cerulean-blue jumpsuits mill about the sidewalks, cleaning up the debris. They’ve already started to rebuild the city. Instinctively I look toward the Boundary Wall.

Natalie follows my gaze. “The government wanted to bring it down, but I asked them to wait until you’d woken up. I thought you’d want to be there when it happened.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Bringing down the ghetto wall in Black City is vitally important to me. This is the city that first stood up to Purian Rose; this is where the rebellion began; so this is where the first wall
has
to be torn down, and I want to be there to see it. It’s what I’ve been fighting for. And when the Boundary Wall is demolished, I’m going to make sure they tear down each and every other ghetto wall in the country. Natalie leans her head against my shoulder.

“There’s been some resistance from some of the states,” she says quietly. “It’s going to take a long time before this country is united.”

“I know,” I say, staring across the smoldering city. “But I’m ready for it.”

It’s not going to be easy. There may be more blood spilled, perhaps even another war, but there will never be a return to the old ways. Our enemies know what they’re up against now. Something that cannot die. Something more dangerous than any weapon. Something like me. I stand up and reach out my hand to Natalie.

“Let’s go bring down that wall,” I say.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s such a bittersweet feeling to reach the end of a series. Ash and Natalie have been in my life since 2009, when one summer evening Ash’s character burst into my head: a vision in tight jeans, a black shirt and a green military jacket, a cigarette dangling between his lips. That night, my dual heart was awakened and I have been lost to them since. But while I’m sad to say good-bye, it’s with a warm heart, knowing they got their happily ever after. It was a little touch-and-go there for a while . . .

One of the greatest parts of this journey has got to be all the amazing people I’ve gotten to know in the YA community over the past few years. They’re the most welcoming, enthusiastic and supportive bunch of people you’re ever likely to meet. I’d like to do a special shout-out to the Apocalypsies, The League of Extraordinary Writers, Damaris (Good Choice Reading), Casey (Dark Readers), Nikki (Fiction Freak), Kate (The Bookaholic Blurbs), Christina (Ensconced in YA), Stacee (Adventures of a Book Junkie), Kristie and Julia (Lost In Ever After), Lívia (Nem harap a . . .), Ryan (Empire of Books), Brad (Book YA Review), and to my guys and gals in the Philippines! The Book Owls say hello! And big squishy hugs to everyone I haven’t mentioned, but who I hope know how much I adore and appreciate them.

Of course, I can’t talk about the YA community without mentioning my partners in crime, Jessica Spotswood and Paula Stokes. Thank you for your funny and sanity-saving e-mails, and for your friendship over the years. You guys are the best.

I am eternally grateful to Amelia Vincent for our long chats over coffee (and your awesome Photoshop skills), and to my critique partner, Tracy Buchanan, for your wise words of advice and friendship. I love you both.

My heartfelt thanks also go to:

The team at Penguin, especially Stacey Barney for your unwavering support, hard work and amazing editorial advice, and Jessica Shoffel, for organizing the kick-ass Breathless Reads tour. I’ll be talking about that for years to come!

My awesome agent, Ayesha Pande, for always being there for me and for your kind words of encouragement, and my film agent, Rich Green, for getting us across the finish line.

Mum and Pops, for your belief in me. I couldn’t ask for greater parents.

My husband, Rob, for your endless love.

And finally, a special thank-you to you, my readers, for joining me on this journey. It was a fragging awesome ride!

ELIZABETH RICHARDS
is an award-winning journalist who spent her early career reviewing video games before making the bold (or crazy) move into travel writing, despite suffering from terrible travel sickness.

In her spare time, she ran a successful lifestyle website aimed at teenage girls. She won the Jane Hayward Young Journalist of the Year award for her feature on girls in the games industry, and was named Editor’s Choice in the industry trade magazine
MCV.

Elizabeth lives in Buckinghamshire, England, with her husband.

www.officialelizabethrichards.com