Wings (A Black City Novel) (14 page)

The brothers grit their teeth as they pry the panel off the wall, exposing a network of fuses and wires. The camera keeps turning. It’s almost on us.
Come on, come on!
Acelot carefully studies the wires, mutters a prayer and yanks out the blue ones. The camera at the far end of the hall stops moving. He lets out a relieved sigh, then gives a crooked smile.

“I knew they were the right ones,” he says unconvincingly. “That should have knocked out all the cameras in this building.”

“Let’s get going,” I say. We probably only have five minutes, ten tops, before they discover why the cameras are out of action and come looking for us.

We quietly walk down the empty corridors. I peer through the glass doors as we pass by. All the rooms on this floor are high-tech laboratories, with gleaming white floors and stainless-steel furniture. In one lab a huge glass-fronted refrigerator runs down the length of one wall. It contains hundreds of vials filled with a shimmering milky fluid. It reminds me of Golden Haze, except it has a silvery hue to it, rather than gold. There are biohazard signs on each door, along with notices warning people to wear their masks “
AT ALL TIMES!”

“Let’s go up one floor,” Elijah says. “They’re not down here.”

We find the stairwell and go up to the second floor. The rooms up here have solid doors, with just a small viewing window in them. I glance through one of them. The entire back wall is filled with cages crammed with white mice. I shudder. We keep going down the hallway, me leading the way, checking each room as we pass. It’s more of the same—mice, rats, rabbits. Bizarrely, one room is filled with caged trees. I round the corner and immediately freeze.

A startled woman dressed in a white lab coat blinks back at me. A faint crease forms between her groomed brows as the others enter the corridor. Her brown eyes flick from me to Ash, and recognition registers on her face. There’s no time to think. I draw my gun and squeeze the trigger. The bullet hits the woman in the chest. She gazes down at the red stain blossoming on her white coat, then back up at me. Her mouth is still in a surprised O shape as she hits the floor.

“Oh God . . . ,” I gasp, the gun slipping through my fingers. It clatters to the ground. “Oh God . . . oh God . . . oh—” The word gets stuck in my throat as it constricts with panic. I can’t breathe.
I killed her.
I shot an unarmed woman. My eyes snag on the gold band on her left hand. I killed an unarmed, married woman. She had a husband, maybe even children, and I—
oh God, oh God, oh God.
Ash pulls me into his arms, holding me against him.

“You had to do it,” Ash says into my hair. “She would’ve alerted the others.”

I nod faintly, unable to tear my eyes away from the woman. Her brown hair is fanned around her pretty, slim face. She has deep laughter lines by her pale lips, even though she’s probably only in her thirties. She must have smiled a lot.
I had to do it.

Beetle and Elijah hurry over to the woman and grab her body while Ash picks up my gun, thrusting it back into my hand. My skin feels scorched, like it’s holding fire rather than cold steel, and it takes all my strength not to toss it away. Instead, I tuck the gun into my belt.

The boys drag the woman’s body to the nearest room—the one with the caged trees in it—and use her security pass to open the door. We follow them inside and quickly close the door behind us. The room is dimly lit and filled with row upon row of cages, each ten feet square, their walls made from a fine wire mesh. Inside each cage is a fully grown Carrow tree, although there’s something odd about them. Their bark is a silvery-blue color.

“Put her over there,” Acelot says, gesturing to the dark corner behind one of the cages.

Beetle and Elijah haul her body through the forest of caged trees and dump it against the far wall. Her head flops forward, her hair cascading in front of her face. Her lab coat is soaked in blood. I must’ve hit her directly in the heart to cause that much bleeding. Ash takes my hand, and I look up at him. He’s staring at the bloodstain on the woman’s jacket, his black eyes filled with longing.

“This place is creepy,” Acelot says, glancing around the room.

I release Ash’s hand and approach one of the cages. I peer through the wire mesh. There doesn’t appear to be anything inside the enclosure other than the Carrow tree. That’s weird. Why are the Sentry growing trees inside these cages?

The bark on the tree trunk suddenly ripples. I blink.
What?
I tap the wire meshing, and then step back in fright as hundreds of butterflies swarm into the air, surrounding the tree in a cloud of silvery blue. I know some butterfly species eat tree sap, so that must be why there are so many Carrow trees here. The insects remind me of the butterfly medals I saw the Tin Men wearing in Gallium. One word suddenly pops into my head.
Wings.

EDMUND

D
AWN BREAKS ON THE HORIZON
just beyond the mountain, casting a golden hue over the forest so that the leaves look like flames flickering out of the earth. It’s the beginning of a beautiful day, but it’s wasted on the people of Amber Hills.

The village is silent with grief from last night’s violence. All the doors are shut, and the curtains drawn although no one is asleep. I doubt anyone will sleep for days after what happened. The only people up and about are the Guild, plus Patrick, Harriet, Drew and me. We’re congregated in the town square by the wooden cross.

Grandfather quietly consoles Eric Cranfield’s dad—a thin, handsome man, with long red sideburns and neat mustache. His eggshell-blue eyes are puffy and rimmed red from crying all night. His son’s dead body is resting beside Catherine’s in the nave of the church, both swaddled in white cloth.

Next to him are Mr. O’Malley and his children, Harriet and Drew. Like their father, they’re both bright eyed and alert, their blond hair washed, their faces scrubbed. Harriet has a few scratches on her face from the fight last night, but Drew came out unscathed. Patrick is beside them. His face is ashen and drawn, highlighting the dark purple bruise down the right side of his face where I thumped him last night. He’s wearing his hunting outfit: brown leather pants, white shirt and green frock coat. His left hand is thrust into his jacket pocket, and he appears to be clutching something, but I can’t tell what it is. He slides a cold look at me, his eyes glistening. I glance away.

Standing apart from the group is his father, Mr. Langdon. His shoulders are slumped as they carry the burden of his sorrow, and I know how he feels. Just thinking about Catherine makes the air heavy, pressing down on me until I’m certain I’ll crumple under the weight of it. Every time I shut my eyes, all I can see is the look on her face as Grandfather snapped her neck. I dig my fingers into my thighs, focusing on the pain as I try to hold myself together. But no matter how hard I try, the truth keeps pulling at the threads.
I killed my best friend.
It may not have been me who broke her neck, but it may as well have been. My desire, my hunger, my
impurity
led to her death. Not only that, but I made my grandfather a murderer so he could protect me. I destroyed two souls in one night.

Mr. Langdon strolls over to me. “Thank you for joining us on the hunt, Edmund. Catherine—” His voice breaks on her name. “My daughter was very fond of you.”

Guilt twists in my gut. I glance at Grandfather.

“We should go, Father,” Patrick says, sliding another cold look in my direction.

Mr. Langdon turns to Mr. Cranfield. “I promise we’ll bring back Alaric Bane’s head for what his pack did to Eric and my little girl.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Cranfield says hoarsely.

The Guild members say their farewells and return to their homes. Only Mr. Langdon, Patrick, the O’Malley siblings and I will be going into the forest to hunt the Lupines, leaving the others to protect the town.

“Good hunting,” Grandfather says, squeezing my shoulder. It appears to be a reassuring gesture, but I know what it really is: a warning. He wants me to find the Howler girl, Ulrika, and kill her before anyone discovers the truth about what happened to Catherine. Her murder would have been for nothing if we’re caught.

Patrick walks around the group as we check our supplies. We each have enough food and water to last us three days, a rifle, a crossbow and a silver dagger. My fingers fumble as I count out my bullets. Harriet lets out an impatient huff.

“Why does Edmund have to come with us?” she complains to Patrick in a loud whisper. “Can’t we just ditch him at the gate?”

“If the freak wants to get eaten by a Howler, I’m not going to stop him,” Patrick replies.

I don’t say anything, but Mr. Langdon gives me an apologetic look. We pick up our supplies and head to the boundary gates. A thrill of anticipation shivers through me. I’ve never left the town, and now I’m going into the forest to hunt bloodthirsty Howlers, with a group of people who would happily see me dead. I’m starting to wonder if I’m their bait.

Patrick unlocks the heavy iron gates and we step into the forest. Dawn turns to night as darkness descends over us. Only a few rays of dappled sunlight manage to penetrate the treetops, casting long black shadows across the mossy earth, which dance every time the cool wind stirs the Carrow leaves. The place is unquestionably creepy. I let out a short, nervous breath when something dark flashes between the trees. Harriet laughs.

“Relax, it’s just a deer. The Howlers live up on the Claw,” she says, gesturing toward the volcano, Mount Alba. “The most dangerous thing down here is Drew.”

He chuckles, throwing his dagger at a nearby tree, pinning a squirrel to it. I grimace as he yanks the blade out of the dead rodent and tosses it to me.

“They taste good. Like chicken,” he says.

I shove the bleeding animal carcass into my bag, trying to ignore my aching thirst at the scent of the blood. I don’t like to drink animal blood, as it’s very sour, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m going to get hungry after three days hiking in the woods.

Mr. Langdon stays by my side while the others trek on ahead, expertly navigating through the ferns and overgrown vegetation. He’s trying to be kind by staying with me, but it’s the last thing I need. I have to find Ulrika and silence her. My hand tightens around the hilt of my dagger.

“Where exactly is the Lupine village?” I ask too loudly, making an animal scurry into the undergrowth. Patrick throws me an impatient look over his shoulder.

“We don’t know,” Mr. Langdon replies. “Somewhere up on the Claw. Watch it!”

Mr. Langdon shoves me, and I fall to the forest floor with a heavy thud. Harriet and Drew laugh. Mr. Langdon points toward a wire snare on the ground, partially hidden beneath some dead leaves. I notice the other end of the wire is tied to a branch about twelve feet overhead.

“Spring trap,” he says. “If you’d stepped on it, you’d be hanging upside down from that tree by now.”

Patrick walks over to us and helps me to my feet in an uncharacteristically friendly gesture. “The Lupines have snares all over the forest to trap deer, so watch where you put your feet, moron.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, glancing up at the branch above us. “Seems a bit extreme, hanging a deer several meters off the ground.”

Patrick shrugs. “It keeps the catch away from other predators.”

I look at the snare again, shuddering slightly. If I were out here on my own, I’d be a dead man. The Lupines’ main food source might be venison, but they will take the occasional human—as proved over the past six weeks—especially if that human is stupid enough to walk straight into their traps.

Harriet and Drew smirk at me before turning their backs, and continue hiking through the forest. I sigh, dusting myself off, and follow them. A cold wind rustles the leaves, which make a strange whispering sound as the breeze passes over them. I pluck one of the orange leaves off a tree, noticing a damaged white cocoon on it. Inside is a half-formed Night Whisper, its body deformed like mine.

Mr. Langdon takes the leaf from me and turns it over. On the underside are some very thin, tubelike veins. It strikes me that I’ve never properly inspected the leaves of a Carrow tree before, even though we have them in our garden.

“That’s what causes the trees to talk,” he explains, pointing to the tubes. “The wind blows through them, making that whispering noise.” He lets go of the leaf and it flutters to the moist ground. “Your mother used to love the sound of the trees when we came out here.”

My eyes widen. “You came into the forest with my mom?”

He nods, and we keep following the trail marked out for us by Patrick and the others. They’re a hundred feet ahead of us, so they can’t hear our conversation.

“Cassie and I used to sneak out here after your grandfather went to bed,” he says. I remember Catherine telling me her dad and my mom used to date as teens, so I can imagine what they were getting up to.
Gross.
“She loved it out here. She found life in Amber Hills stifling, trapped within those stone walls, but out here there was freedom and adventure.” He sighs, looking at me. “I never shared her enthusiasm for coming into the forest, though. Back in those days, this place was crawling with Darklings.”

A shiver trickles down my spine as he holds my gaze. I look away, terrified he’ll see through me and discover the secret lurking in the silent space where my heart should be beating.

“Those were dangerous times, Edmund. Your mother wasn’t afraid, though.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t think the Darklings were demons. Cassie wasn’t a follower of the faith.”

“What?”
I touch the circular pendant around my neck—a symbol of our faith. My mom wasn’t a believer? But she was the minister’s daughter; how could she not have faith? I frown. I’ve heard a lot of terrible rumors about my mom this week: that she was crazy, that she hanged herself and now this? I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but the fact that she wasn’t a believer . . . well, I’m
disappointed.
My religion has given me so much strength; it’s kept me on a true path all these years. I think about Catherine and the sweet taste of her blood on my tongue, and my grip tightens around the pendant.
I won’t ever do that again.

“I couldn’t marry a girl who didn’t have faith, so we parted ways,” Mr. Langdon says.

Ah. So that’s how he ended up with Mrs. Langdon? She
was
his second choice.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

Mr. Langdon shrugs. “Sarah has been a good wife to me, and we have . . .
had
 . . . two beautiful children.” A sob escapes his lips, taking me by surprise.

I turn away, unable to stand looking at his grief when I’m the cause of it. Patrick snatches a look over his shoulder and notices his father crying. Patrick and the O’Malley siblings race over to us, their feet crashing through the undergrowth.

“What the hell did you say?” Patrick yells at me.

“Nothing!” I reply.

Patrick throws me a hate-filled look before slinging an arm around his father’s waist to support him as we continue our hike through the forest toward the Claw. It’s much farther away than I realized, and by lunchtime we’re still a few miles away from the mountain. I don’t mind. The trees, which I once found sinister, now seem beautiful in their dark, unique way. My feet easily navigate the uneven ground, barely snapping a twig. Soon I’m walking ahead of the others. I look back and catch Harriet watching me with grudging admiration.

Somewhere to my right I can hear the roar of a waterfall. I check my canteen. It’s empty. I follow the sound of the rushing water until I find a natural pool nestled among the foliage. I’m about to dip my canteen into the water when I catch a whiff of rotten eggs. I scrunch up my nose. It seems to be coming from the pool.

Drew ambles toward me and pinches his nose. “Geez, Edmund, was that you?”

I flush. “It’s the water.”

Drew smirks. “Sure.”

“I think sulfuric gas is leaking into it,” I murmur.

“Don’t stress about it; the volcano’s been dormant for centuries,” Drew says.

“Why don’t we rest for a while?” Mr. Langdon says, sitting down on the ground.

I don’t object. My feet are aching and I’m exhausted from the hike. The others sit down beside the pool while Patrick collects some wood and starts a fire. Harriet cooks some tins of beans over the flames, and everyone heartily tucks into their lunch. I poke my beans around the tin, pretending to eat them. When no one’s looking, I toss the food into the nearby foliage.

I pat my stomach, acting like I’m full. Patrick narrows his eyes at me, and doubt starts to niggle at my insides like an itch I can’t scratch. Does he suspect what I am? He knows I wear dentures; has he worked out why?

“I’m going to grab an hour’s shut-eye, if that’s all right,” Drew says.

“I’ll keep watch,” I say.

Harriet snorts, but Mr. Langdon gives me a sleepy smile. “Thank you, Edmund.”

“Try not to let anyone get killed this time, okay?” Harriet replies, referring to Mrs. Hope.

I glower at her. Patrick sits down and leans against a tree while the others lie down on the ground beside the fire, using their bags as a pillow. I take a pew on a rock near the waterfall and check my rifle to make sure it’s loaded. Patrick silently watches me as the others sleep.

“Your grandfather said a Lupine killed Catherine,” Patrick says.

My grip tightens around the gun. I look up, trying not to let my panic show.

“That’s what he told me too,” I reply.

“So you weren’t there when it happened?”

Yes.
“No.”

He narrows his eyes. “Then where were you?”

I swallow. “At home. I ran home the moment the fighting broke out. I was scared.”

Patrick tilts his head, judging whether to believe me or not. “The funny thing is, I spoke to the funeral director this morning and he told me the
weirdest
thing. Apparently, there were bite marks on Catherine’s neck.”

I clench my hands to stop them from shaking. “The Howler must have done that.”