Desya’s phone rang. Curious, Snofrid set the photo aside. She figured not many people would call at 3 a.m. unless it was to share bad news. “Who’s calling, Dez?”
“Ronan…a buddy from work.” Desya answered the phone.
Snofrid threw off her blanket and rose onto her knees. Whatever Ronan was saying, it caused Desya’s face to pale until it matched the whites of his eyes. When he finally hung up, she pitched toward him, asking, “Dez, what is it? Did someone we know get found?”
“No.” He cursed and dialed Lycidius’s number. “It’s worse. For the past couple days, there have been rumors circulating around the precinct about possible blood tests. Ronan just told me they’re not rumors. Tomorrow morning, all the city hospitals are gonna start doing verification blood testing. That means the humans will be able to weed out Inborns with one sample. Reznik’s scheduled to announce it on the morning news.”
Something hot zigzagged through her. She tried to lean back, to brace herself on the armrest, but her hand slipped and her beer bottle shattered on the floorboards. A dark shape flickered nearby. Snofrid snapped her attention to the door and spotted Jazara standing on the washitsu threshold with her stuffed giraffe. The girl’s eyes were glossy with horror. Snofrid felt her fear like an updraft, yet her legs were too rickety to stand—to get up and reassure her.
Now, they had no choice but to run.
The Verification Days
Friday, 7 Days until the Hunt
A wintry darkness settled over the city—the kind that might entice someone to sleep in—but, since 7:00 a.m., the citizens of Hollowstone had been very much awake.
Snofrid was glad to be indoors, off the riotous streets, and away from the mobs of human rights protestors. On her way to get spare gasmask filters from the War Lobby earlier that morning, she’d nearly been struck by a flying rock that had been intended for a S.W.A.T. officer. Now, she sat on a bench in the indoor courtyard, clutching a mug of cold coffee and waiting for a phone call from Lycidius—one that would reveal whether or not they’d be spared from the blood tests.
The Trojan Bunkers and the Alley-out-of-the-Way could only shelter about twenty percent of Hollowstone’s Inborn residents. This had set off a desperate bidding war that would only benefit those Inborns who could pay hundreds of thousands of silvers. Lycidius was presently in the midst of it.
The 7:00 a.m. broadcast, which had first introduced the Verification Days, had created mass hysteria and outrage. Snofrid didn’t know which would be worse: if the Verification Days weren’t cancelled, or if military reinforcement was called in to manage the situation. Every news station was in the midst of a full-throated debate. Some reporters had taken to pelting one another with their water glasses or swearing on live television and insulting the New Global Union. A few thought the blood tests were an excellent idea, effective and direct, while others claimed that it was an idiotic plan thought up by someone ‘dumber than an ostrich’. It’s against our basic human rights to get this blood test, was the general consensus.
“I think it’s an exceptional strategy,” had been one talk-show host’s opinion, a robust man with a strong, jutting chin. “Inborns have been living in our society for decades virtually unchecked. It’s about time new protocols were put into place. We’re not only protecting ourselves here; it’s future generations we need to be concerned about.”
“The Human Rights Code gives citizens the license to deny participation in these blood tests!” a female lawyer had yelled into a weather reporter’s camera. Then a bystander had cut her off, and shouted, “Go to hell, dump truck! The Aegis Act allows anyone who the law deems suspicious to be detained and questioned!”
The interviews left Snofrid feeling paranoid, especially the last one. It had been given by a talk-show host, who had completely lost his composure and had screamed at the camera. “If we let this blood test happen, we’ll have New Global Union citizens all around the world subjected to more tests, all under the guise of exterminating Inborns! What’s really going on here is a crowd control experiment! That’s right, I said a crowd control experiment! Hollowstone citizens are being conditioned by an elitist puppet and his band of goons. First were the Tags, next it’s going to be condensed housing. The guys we put into power are trying to create an environment where we can all be fenced in, spied on, and controlled!”
Despite the pushback, Reznik’s broadcast had continued to replay, ripe with threats and intent. He’d given his address inside the Blue Square—a spacious blue marble stone courtyard in the Bluecoat Headquarters—probably because he’d be assaulted if he left its walls.
“All civilians, regardless of their station, will report to one of the fifty-eight Hollowstone Hospitals within the next five days,” he’d stated. “Blood will be drawn directly from the vein, meaning all prepared samples will be denied. Failure to comply with this order will result in incarceration. Any civilian caught trying to bribe hospital employees and any employees caught accepting bribes will be sent to the Terminus Max Penitentiary to await justice.”
Snofrid rose and dumped her coffee into a patch of azalea flowers. She was unable to stomach the predicament Inborns were in. Maybe she was too used to getting her way, because she felt like there was a way out of the situation for everyone. She just hadn’t thought of it yet. Since the first broadcast, over a hundred Inborns had been caught, their abilities failing against the technology of humans. Despite Reznik’s warnings, both drifters and medical staff had been rounded up for peddling blood and accepting bribes. These would either die by firing squad or be locked up in Terminus Max—the largest submarine prison on the west coast. The Inborns were slated for Minos—a death camp in western Oregon—by the week’s end.
Snofrid felt crushed at the realization that Minos was no longer just a vague threat but a real fate for most of her kind. Those who squatted in the woods would fall victim to the hydrocop units. Those who took their chances in the city would be found.
The safest place seemed to be Gehenna. The Warden had forbade entrance to the hydrocop units and, as far as she knew, the Chancellor hadn’t attempted to force his hand. The reason for this was quite simple: Gehenna’s informal economy was a modern wonder. Although untaxed, rife with illegal trade, and administrated by a shadow government, Gehenna’s sweatshops grossed more than four-hundred million silvers annually. Clearly, someone was making stacks for letting Gehenna be. But the irony of her kind fleeing to Gehenna for refuge turned her stomach. Most of them probably wouldn’t survive, beginning with those who didn’t understand that nothing came free, not even a patch of dirt by the base-head shacks.
“I’m heading to the precinct now,” Desya said, poking his head into the courtyard. His bluecoat uniform was ironed to the cuffs and his combat boots shone like latex. “Did you get all the emergency codes?”
Snofrid wiggled her phone. “Yes, Lycidius filled me in.”
“Okay…uh…Babbage assigned me to check Tags in Westerbridge, so I probably won’t be back until late. Also, Jazara’s housemother called and wants her back at the orphanage. But if Lycidius gets us spots at the Alley, I’ll pick her up and bring her over.”
Snofrid wrapped her sweater tighter, hating the idea of Jazara leaving their sight. She was ten. Not to mention, one slipup and she’d be shot without question. “What if the orphanage children go in for blood testing today?”
“They won’t, Sno. The orphanage is in Warburton. It’s the last borough on the verification schedule—sometimes it’s better to be poor.” He adjusted his duty belt, growing tentative. “Are you gonna be fine staying home by yourself?”
“Yes,” she assured. “If anything happens, I know how to get out.”
“Okay…uh…just keep your phone on. If anything does go wrong, I’ll send you the emergency codes and we’ll meet up at my old tree fort.”
She remembered the fort. It was built in the forest under Quintree Quay. “If I do need to leave, what do you need me to bring?”
He pointed
at the genkan. “I stocked my jeep with supplies; there are two bags of canned food in there. Load them on Cid’s Steelrunner and meet us.”
“All right.” She hugged him, pressing her face to his shirt, like a child. “Be careful, Dez.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “You too, Sno.”
Teeth chattering, Snofrid scanned the shady forest looking closely for Coyote among the shadow and dark. Branches laden with ice dipped to the ground; beyond them, fog washed out the distant pines.
“Hello?” she called.
A man peeled from a fir tree. Instead of being startled, she felt calm; she was thirteen minutes late and had expected Coyote to have left. With his bo staff and unforgiving glower, he looked like his usual self, except his blond hair was pulled into a topknot.
“I couldn’t help being late,” she explained, hastening toward him. “The city is rioting; I was barely able to make it here.”
“This meeting is a courtesy to you,” he reminded. “If you’re late again, the courtesy will end.”
“I’ll be on time from now on.”
“I’ll trust your word when you start keeping it.” He slid his staff under one arm. “Let’s go. We need to make up for lost time.”
Snofrid hurried in his wake, keeping watch for hydrocops. As they crested a steep ravine, her phone rang. She made a quick reach for it and reduced the volume. The caller ID read: Lycidius Heidrun.
“Who is calling?” Coyote demanded.
“Someone I live with. I need to take it.”
“Make it brief.”
“I will.” She held the phone to her ear. “What’s happening?”
“I got us in,” Lycidius said. His voice sounded distant among the clamor of working machinery. “But there’s a problem. Before all this, everyone thought you were a Trojan, Snofrid. To get you in, I had to tell them you’re a halfbreed.”
She shrank down instinctively.
“Snofrid?”
She pawed at her scarf, loosening it, telling herself that this had always been inevitable. When people were backed into a corner, their inmost secrets usually came tumbling out. “What about Jazara?”
“They know she is a halfbreed, too. Her skin color makes it impossible to hide.”
Snofrid cut her voice to a whisper. “So, they’re just giving two halfbreeds spots that pure-blooded Inborns could’ve had?”
“No, I had to pay a little more.”
“How much more?”
Coyote seized Snofrid’s arm suddenly and she almost dropped her phone. “Stay still,” he ordered.
“Why?”
Ignoring her, he hunkered down and drew a gilded case from his pocket.
“Lycidius,” she murmured. “Thank you. Let’s talk when you get back.”
“All right, I’ll be home around noon. Make sure you pack, we’re leaving tonight.”
“I will.” After pocketing her phone, Coyote lit up a cigarette and she balked in disbelief. “You needed a smoke break?”
“I don’t smoke tobacco; it’s unhealthy.” He took a drag and then waved the cherry over a stretch of mud. A fiery orange cord ignited near her boots. “Laser wire. It lights up with just the right amount of heat.”
She counted herself impressed. “How did you spot it?”
“It buzzes.”
“Really? I can’t hear anything.” Snapping twigs drew her attention to a narrow glade ahead. Coyote motioned for her to follow. Hopping over the wire, she followed him into a cluster of pine trees.
“It’s probably just a beast,” she whispered.
“It is,” he said, crouching behind the trunk. “But it doesn’t know we’re here and it needs to stay that way.”
Snofrid once more swept their surroundings; her eyes stopped on a craggy boulder, roughly four meters high, beside a mutated birch tree. A long-horned tail flicked from the boulder and she caught her breath. The massive rock heaved, limbs breaking from its silhouette; it was the largest beast she’d ever seen. She ducked behind the tree.
The beast shifted and she watched as it stripped the flesh from a mule deer carcass. Standing on four rippling legs, it had a prominent muscular hump to support its giant head, which was heavy with a pair of thick horns on its brow. A leathery, black tongue slipped between its jaws as it lapped blood from the deer’s splayed ribcage. Greyish-black scales overlapped all the way to its clawed feet, and a crest of shiny spikes ran from its skull to its tail. She recognized the spikes as a characteristic of a dunespike, an apex predator.
The beast flung its head skyward, startling Snofrid. Coyote clamped down hard on her wrist, prompting her to be silent. Trapped, she watched the creature’s bones snap like carrots and fold into new shapes. The creature snarled as it changed, furiously swishing its tail. Suddenly, it reared up on its hind legs. Snofrid recognized her error: this creature wasn’t a beast. Its scales receded, exposing the pale flesh of a scarred ribcage. Its teeth pulled back and a man’s head pushed through the jowls, heaving for air. His face glistened with blood and fluid, like he was being birthed. She recognized him by his burnt black hair and clear green eyes.
Hadrian stepped free of his beast form. His towering, naked body was still slick with blood, flesh and saliva. She looked away, her cheeks warm. The mighty soul she’d seen in him was still there, animating his every gesture. He wasn’t an embittered soldier, sanded down by war; he was the sole existing offspring of the Unloved God—a warrior whose blade had severed nations.
Coyote kept a steady watch, his fingers latched onto his bo staff. His caution was wise: Skinwalkers were hardly conscious in their second forms; instead of reason, they relied more on the instinct of their beast.
In the glade, Hadrian scrubbed the blood from his face and released his Swoegar from his spine: a shell of thick black armor swam across his body, clicking into place around his wrists, toes and neck. He held his left palm over the beast carcass. The flesh, bones and blood were sucked into his Halo until nothing remained.
“Let’s go,” Coyote got to his feet. “He won’t attack us in his original form.”
A ruckus of laughter was echoing from the refectory as they entered the Spyderweb. Snofrid peeked through the archway. Five Dracuslayers were hunched over a holographic tablet computer on the table, belting out laughter and conversing in the harsh, guttural Hematic language, Gostronoth.
Coyote stopped at her shoulder, unclasping the fur mantle from his pauldron. “They’re betting on whether they think you’ll get hit or not,” he said.
“Hit?”
“Killed by the the welx.”
She lost interest in the racket. “I’m guessing you put your hand in that.”
“Both hands. But I didn’t bet that you’d get hit. I bet you’d wet your dress.”
“How witty,” she said. “I’ll make sure I don’t drink liquids on the day of the hunt, then.”
A trace of irritation skipped across his expression. “Stay here,” he ordered, “and wait for the Commander.” Coyote climbed the spiral staircase, wrapping the mantle around his fist, and disappeared into the dark upper levels.
Hadrian descended the staircase after him, his iron boots clacking on the stone steps. Her toes flexed inside her sneakers. From his childhood photo in the Demented Book, she’d recognized him as the boy Lycidius had spoken to over video chats when they were younger. Lycidius had entrusted plenty of information about her to Hadrian, meaning that Hadrian had known Lycidius was her Shadow since he’d learned her name.
A metallic aroma permeated the air as he advanced, radiated by the dunespike innards that still coated his skin and Swoegar. “Because of the Verification Days, you’ll be boarding in the Spyderweb until the hunt,” he called. “The matter is non-negotiable.”
She protested, “I’m staying in the Alley-out-of-the-Way. Keep me here and my family will go looking for me in the riots. Their deaths weren’t part of our deal.”
Hadrian lingered on the landing, considering her with his alligator eyes. “One problem an
d you’ll be bunking downstairs with Hessia,” he warned.
“There will be no problems,” Snofrid assured.
He scraped back the sticky hair from his face. “I have an offer. In exchange for a phone call, I want you to forfeit your credit for the hunt. Your name will be wiped from this mission; in effect, no one in the Empyrean City, or anywhere else, will know that you participated.”
Snofrid’s cheeks blanched. “You mean you’re going to take away any chance I have of being recognized by Lord Drakkar?”
“That would be one consequence of the trade.”
She quaked, even before agreeing, because Hadrian’s eyes brandished their usual dogged menace, as if he wanted to punish her. And he’d damn-well succeeded. Hadrian was the reason she hadn’t been able to secure a pardon from Lord Drakkar for being a halfbreed when she’d agreed to be bait, yet there had always been a chance of being recognized if the hunt proved victorious. By agreeing to Hadrian’s exchange, she’d be foregoing this chance. She’d fade back into obscurity. Into non-existence.
“Why this trade?” she insisted, jabbing her fingernails into her palms. “You don’t want me to get recognition because I’m a halfbreed?”
“I’m doing a comrade a favor,” he replied vaguely.
“I thought you didn’t please people.”
“This person I do please.”
Snofrid did not care. All she cared about was freedom, and receiving honor for the hunt was freedom. But then so was getting Atlas to deal with Lucian. She fought to admit that even if her pride suffered, the injury to her family could be worse without Atlas’s help. “I’ll do the exchange,” she decided.
Satisfied, Hadrian strode to the center of the courtyard and stomped on a stone. The floor shifted and broke apart, the stones spiraling downward into a winding staircase. “Follow after me,” he ordered.
Snofrid obeyed. At the foot of the steps, she found herself in a crescent-shaped room with ethereal walls; she couldn’t guess how far she stood from them. It was dim and drafty, like someone had left a window open in the dead of a winter night. Light beamed from a row of rectangular holographic screens that hugged the crescent wall. They cast blue blushes on the marble floor around glass computer desks whose electric innards glowed frosty blue. Three Dracuslayers were at work in the far corner, interfacing with the holograms and talking into headsets.
Hatred Day Page 24
