Green Jack (10 page)

He opened the
drawstring and glanced inside before tossing it to his current
tag-along Emmett. “Count that.” Saffron’s smile was a snake
unfurling in the sun. Argent tilted his head. “How’d you manage
it?”

“What do you
care?” Saffron asked. “You got your money.” She took a step
forward, a dagger in her hand. “You’ll leave Oona alone now.”

“Will I?” He
caught the pouch of coins when Emmet tossed them back with a
nod.

“Lettuce seeds,
one battery.”

Argent tucked
them safely in his pocket. She smiled. “It’s not smart to anger a
witch, Argent.”

Emmett shifted
nervously. “What? No one said nothing about a witch.”

“If she’s a
witch, shouldn’t I do my duty and alert the Protectorate?” Argent
asked. He also shifted from foot to foot, but it wasn’t nervous.
His hooked his fingers in his pocket. “Numen poisoning is serious
business.”

“You can try,”
Saffron sounded unruffled, even though the thought made her throat
burn. Emmett scraped his palms on his pants. Argent scowled,
scratching through his pocket. Saffron nodded at him. “That itch?”
She said. “The one crawling through your balls? That’s courtesy of
Oona’s cursed payment.”

Emmett made a
small sound, scratching his palms more furiously. Argent hissed.
“Come at her again and they’ll drop right off.” She raised an
eyebrow at Emmett. “Your hands too.”

“You little
bitch,” Argent lunged for her. He smashed at Saffron like she was
the whack-a-mole game at the sideshow. One of his blows caught her
on the shoulder, nearly jarring it from its socket. The edge of her
blade scraped his elbow. Someone leaned out of the bar widow,
shouting encouragement. Someone else threw Mardi Gras beads.

Argent grabbed
Saffron by one of her braids, yanking her off her feet. She fell,
nearly stabbing herself with her own dagger. Argent’s boot slammed
onto her sleeve, pinning her to the ground. He was still scratching
at himself, sweating into his collar. She fumbled for another
dagger but his other boot was on her shin, pressing down savagely.
A bruise exploded along the bone, claiming her breath. Something
cracked in warning. He was going to break her leg. Pain was a
lion’s jaw, snapping together over her shinbone.

Two
Protectorate soldiers on horseback came around the corner, four
more soldiers marching behind them. Metal leaf masks glinted like
knives. People leapt out of their way. “Enough.” Rifles pointed
toward them, the black metal glinting. Argent didn’t move his boot
away, but he stopped pressing down. Saffron wasn’t sure which was
worse: Protectorate soldier or broken leg.

The captain
raked a condescending gaze over them. Saffron felt as if the leaf
mask was painted on her face, as if she could smell the radishes
and beets and potatoes on her hands. The captain’s dark eyes bored
into her. She knew. She knew.

“Him,” she
finally barked, as sweat trickled between Saffron’s shoulder
blades. She jerked her chin at Argent. “Bring him.”

Argent cursed,
stepping off Saffron’s leg. “Man, I didn’t do anything.” He turned,
blades flashing in his hand. The soldiers closed in.

The captain
glanced at Emmet. “That one looks like he wet himself. Leave him”
She nodded at Saffron. “And she’s scrawny.”

“And untagged,”
one of the soldiers said.

“Call it in,”
the captain said. “And catch up.”

They rode away
with Argent swearing and struggling. Saffron waited until the
soldier reached for the radio at his belt before leaping to her
feet. She darted into the crowd, knocking over three girls in
glitter lipstick clearly stoned on Gingerbread. They tumbled into
each other, blocking the soldier, now shouting behind her. Fire
breathers and stilt walkers scrambled out of her way. The
cobblestones were slippery and her leg hurt from Argent’s boot.
Adrenaline pushed her on.

It wasn’t
enough.

She crashed
into cart selling onion pasties and lemonade. She hit the ground
hard.

“There’s always
one,” the Tagger said, right before the dart slammed into Saffron’s
neck.

Chapter
14

Jane

“You’re coming
with us,” Kiri said again. And again. “You’re starting to act
weird. You clearly need a break.”

Kiri wasn’t
wrong. And the fact was, Jane couldn’t afford to be thought of as
weird. Not with the Program and definitely not with her headaches.
And if her own best friend was pointing it out, it wasn’t a good
sign. “And you’re not wearing that,” Kiri added firmly.

Jane glanced at
the dress she was wearing. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re famous
now. You need to be noticed.”

“I don’t
actually like being noticed,” Jane pointed out.

“I know.” Kiri
shrugged. “Adapt or die, Highgate.”

“You’re so warm
and fuzzy,” she said drily.

“You don’t need
warm and fuzzy, you need fun.” She shoved a beaded dress at Jane.
“Try this one.”

Jane blinked.
“I can tell you right now that I don’t have the boobs for
that.”

“I’ll be the
judge. Put it on.”

Grumbling, Jane
did as she was told. Kiri just tapped her foot unsympathetically.
“Jane, if you fade into the background, no one will root for you in
this disgusting Garden thing. You’ll end up with Asher. Be a rose,
not a weed.”

“Now you sound
like the adverts.”

Jane couldn’t
tell her that viewer votes wouldn’t make a difference. Blood tests
and Directorate genetic plotting for Green Jacks were the only
thing that mattered. Still, if she didn’t let Kiri believe what
everyone else believed she’d be putting her in danger. Kiri was
never one to back down. It might get her killed this time. Because
of Jane.

Jane smoothed
the dress down. It wasn’t the neckline that had her concerned
suddenly, it was the length. “Where’s the skirt?”

“Stop being
such an old lady. You look hot.”

Jane finally
took a closer look at Kiri’s skintight silver leather leggings. Her
matching tank top glowed against her brown skin. “Where are we
going?”

“The Rings,”
Kiri said.

Jane sighed.
“Kiri, the last time you went into the Rings you nearly got
arrested.”

“’Nearly’
doesn’t count.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Let’s see if I can do
better.” She linked arms with Jane. “Now shut up and let’s go have
some fun. Blake and Lee are waiting outside.”

So was her
armed guard but he didn’t say anything. She didn’t recognize this
one; he must be new. He didn’t speak at all, not on the way to the
gates, and not on the train over champagne and candy-coloured
madeleine cakes. They took a private transport to the Rings which
were on fire with lights and music. Kiri dragged them to the
entertainment district, bypassing the shops and restaurants for the
clubs. Line ups snaked down the street and customers were offered
drinks and Gingerbread, entertained by dancers in giant birdcages
hanging over their heads. The Elysians were obvious with their
copper microchipped bracelets and lean faces. The Enclave society
folk were just as obvious, and not just because they had to pay for
their entertainment

Kiri bounded up
to the man at the door. He barely glanced at her. She pushed Jane
at him, along with a handful of Enclave credits. “She’s famous, you
have to let us in.” He glanced at Jane and then, surprisingly, did
just that.

The screens
behind the bar played Garden episodes, the first dates, statistics,
interviews with excited viewers. Jane groaned. Kiri shoved a glass
full of sparkling green liquid at her. “Drink this.”

She sniffed it.
It smelled like limes. “What is it?”

“Medicine.
Bottoms up.” Kiri was on her third. Her next glass was shaped like
a lily and filled with something pink. Jane sipped her drink
cautiously. It was tart and light and made her want to giggle. She
knew she was as trapped as ever, but it seemed to matter less.

Three girls
came to the bar and squeaked at her. “You’re Jane Highgate!”

Jane took
another fortifying sip. Kiri grinned. “Want her autograph?”

Jane shot her a
glare but it was too late, pens and various body parts were being
shoved at her. “I’m not signing that.”

Kiri just
laughed and pulled her onto the dance floor. Jane was full of music
and the taste of sugared limes and for a long perfect moment, she
was just a girl out with her friends. The lights changed colours,
flashing off glass beads and silver embroidery and the faded torn
clothes of Elysians. She recognized the boy from the Blessing Day,
the one with the violent friend with the three black braids.
Killian. His coat was creased and tattered at the cuffs. Jane felt
a brief twinge of guilt but then there was another drink and this
one tasted like sunshine. She kept dancing until she was out of
breath and sweaty and the top of her spine burned.

Reality pinched
her. The top of her spine prickled again, burning into her head.
She stumbled, waving off Kiri’s look of concern. She eased through
the crowd, pressing herself against the wall to steady herself. Too
many people looked her way. Not now. Not here.

Her head
throbbed and tingled and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
A pink moon, a field of crocuses.

The boy form
the Blessing Day was walking in her direction, heading for the bar.
The lights flashed off his copper bracelet.
The pink moon, red
dust on broken roof shingles. A building on fire.

The dancers
moved around her, further disorienting her. She focused on Killian
again. A building on fire, the girl with the three braids.

The omens were
for him. The building on fire flashed again until her eyes teared
up, feeling the heat. She pushed through the dancers, grabbing his
elbow. He tensed, turning sharply. Caution turned to surprise. “Do
you remember me?” She asked.

When he nodded,
she pulled him down closer so no one would hear them, even as she
yelled over the music. “Your friend with the braids,” she said.
“She’s in a building on fire, something to do with a tattoo. The
fire’s good though.”

When Killian
grabbed her shoulders, Jane’s guard knocked him back. “It’s okay, I
know him,” Jane said.

“You know this
Core rat?” he asked dubiously.

“He was
thanking me for the Blessing Day omens,” she replied smoothly.
Killian inclined his head and darted away.

“He’s cute,”
Kiri said, draping her arm over Jane’s shoulder. “Too bad he’s not
in the Wheel.”

“We should head
back,” Lee joined them. “Blake is outside throwing up.”

Kiri wrinkled
her nose. “Ew.”

Jane was
surprised at how late it was when they found him clinging to a
lamppost and grinning idiotically. The Rings pulsed with artificial
daylight but it was the middle of the night and Jane felt a little
bit like she was floating. “Admit it,” Kiri said as they piled onto
their transport parked at the edge of the main entrance to the
Rings. “I’m a genius.”

The explosion
sent Jane flying out of the transport before she could answer.

Chapter
15

Saffron

Saffron woke up
in a medical chair with her right arm strapped down. For a long
horrible moment, everything was white. And then, more horrible
still, she could see everything: the tagging centre with its rows
of chairs with leather restraints, the banks of tubes filled with
blood in the refrigerator unit, Taggers standing under posters
about “Doing your duty to the Directorate!”. Music played, some
kind of recording of Woodwives chanting.

She kept her
eyes half-closed as she tried to assess the situation around the
pounding of her head. There were flashes of light outside, like
fire. It was dark though, so she’d been out for a couple of hours
at least. By the sounds of the voices, something serious was
happening. She could only hope it had nothing to do with her. She
needed to create some kind of misdirection.

The buzz of a
tattoo needle wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

She jerked,
yanking at the straps until she wrenched the muscles in her back.
Her other arm was free but her fingers worked slowly, as if they
belonged to someone else. “Easy,” the Tagger said, sounding as
clinical as she looked.

She wore a
white lab coat instead of the usual Tagger military-hunter gear.
She was stern and old enough that her hair was more white than
brown. Even so, in her current condition, Saffron didn’t think she
could take her. It was lowering and infuriating. “I’m just prepping
the needles. And if you don’t stop squirming you’ll be stuck with
an ugly tattoo. Is that what you want?”

Saffron barked
out an involuntary and incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding?”

“She’s ready to
be tagged, Peter,” the woman called out to a man inputting data
into a tablet. He wore the usual uniform, the right arm bracer with
a cut-away opening over his Directorate mark.

“We’re waiting
on the blood analysis. Saffron Foxfire, age 20, Core resident.”

“I’m not sick,
I’m pissed right the hell off.” She did feel queasy, no doubt from
the sedative. “I don’t have numen poisoning, for Jack’s sake. Don’t
you think if I did, I’d have blasted all your asses to the Badlands
by now?”

“That’s not
precisely how it works,” Peter sighed. “And why are you Core people
always so rude? This is a simple process. If you have nothing to
hide, you have nothing to fear. There’s no need to make it
unpleasant.”

Saffron had
never wanted to stab someone in the face more in her entire life.
And that was saying something.