Wings (A Black City Novel)

by Elizabeth Richards

  It appears Lucinda feels the same way, given the fact that she’s curled up in a ball on one of the plush balcony seats, fast asleep, the cool breeze rustling her cropped black hair. Garrick is slumped in one of the other leather chairs, clutching his stomach. Nearby, the adults talk quietly to each other. Occasionally, Sigur glances toward the door, as if expecting Dr. Craven to walk through, but the operation will take a few hours. Beetle is leaning against a gold pillar, smoking a roll-up. Amy and I join him.

  “You’re not going to watch the operation?” he says.

  “I’ve seen enough blood for one day,” I reply, plucking the cigarette from him and taking a puff before giving it back.

  “What are we going to do about Emissary Bradshaw?” Beetle says. “People will notice he’s missing.”

  I glance at Amy.

  “I’ll tell the guards he’s sick, then make a few phone calls and cancel his appointments,” she says. “I was Patrick’s personal assistant, among other things; it won’t seem suspicious that I’m calling them.”

  “That should keep the guards off our backs for a few days,” Beetle says, taking another drag of his cigarette. “So how exactly are we going to get Evangeline and Purian Rose together in the same room?” The question is pitched to everyone on the balcony.

  “How about the Cleansing ceremony?” General Buchanan suggests. A light breeze drifts over the balcony, ruffling his wavy blond hair. “Purian Rose is supposed to be attending the event in Rose Plaza.”

  “The place will be swarming with guards,” Roach says.

  “Patrick was in charge of organizing the security. I can get you the files,” Amy says.

  She heads inside and returns a few minutes later with a portable com-screen, placing it on the table next to Sigur. We all converge around it. On the screen is a map of Rose Plaza, with green, yellow and red lights blinking on it.

  “The green dots on the roofs must be MGTs. Machine gun turrets,” General Buchanan explains when we all look blankly at him. “We had those in Black City to shoot down any Nordins who tried to fly over the wall. Garrick and I can override them.”

  Natalie’s mom points toward the yellow dots. Her black hair has been swept back into a tight bun, highlighting her painfully thin face. “The yellow dots must be where the Sentry guards will be positioned around the plaza. But I suspect there will be a separate squad roaming through the crowd.”

  “If things kick off, we’ll just use the MGTs to take them out,” Garrick says.

  “You can’t go shooting into a crowd of innocent people,” I reply. “Purian Rose might not care about their lives, but I do.”

  General Buchanan nods. “I agree with Ash. We can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, our best bet is to use disguises,” Beetle says. “We’ll blend in with the other citizens. There’s going to be a crapload of people there. The guards can’t keep tabs on everyone.”

  “What about the red dots on the stage?” I say.

  “They’re Purian Rose’s bodyguards,” Amy says.

  “They’re going to be the biggest problem,” I say. “They might recognize us when we’re up on the stage.”

  “It’s risky, mate, but we don’t have many other options,” Beetle says. “All we have to do is get Evangeline to Purian Rose before they stop her.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” I drawl, and he smirks.

  We discuss our plan for the next few hours, working out the details, although the whole time my mind is on Evangeline and the operation. Everything rests on its success.

  “It’s not enough to get Purian Rose to declare a cease-fire; we have to get the country to turn against the Sentry government so they don’t put another one of those assholes in power,” Roach says, glancing at Emissary Buchanan, who ignores the jibe.

  “We’ll tell them about Wings,” I say. “But we’ll need to get the evidence to the news stations. Who can we trust?”

  Emissary Buchanan sighs, relenting. “I have contacts at SBN news. We can trust them.”

  The balcony door slides open, and everyone stops talking. My heart leaps up into my mouth. Natalie and Day step onto the balcony. Their clothes are covered in Evangeline’s blood, their hair glistening with sweat.

  “Well?” I say.

  Natalie gives a small nod. “It seems to have worked, but Yolanda said the next twenty-four hours are crucial. Evangeline could still reject it.”

  “Can I see her?” Elijah asks.

  Natalie nods. “She’s conscious.”

  Elijah leaves the balcony and Natalie turns to me, a mischievous look in her eye.

  “Someone has a crush,” she says.

  A knot of jealousy twists in my gut at the thought of Elijah and Evangeline together, but I force it aside, knowing it’s stupid to feel jealous. I have no claim over Evangeline. Besides, I’d rather Elijah focus his attention on her than on Natalie.

  The rest of us head inside. I follow Natalie to our bedroom and slump down on the bed while she takes a quick shower. I close my eyes for what seems like a second, but when I open them, it’s dark outside. Natalie isn’t in the room.

  I rub the sleep out of my eyes, then go in search of her. I find her in the library with her parents. It’s an oval room, the walls covered floor to ceiling with books. General Buchanan is by the open window, smoking a cigarette, and Natalie and her mom are sitting in the red leather chairs beside the white marble fireplace. On a table between them is Polly’s file, the photographs scattered across the mahogany table. Natalie turns, sensing me. She waves me over, and I take a seat beside her.

  “It didn’t really sink in earlier, with everything that was going on. But Polly was like Purian Rose, right?” Natalie says to her mom. “She had some Darkling and Lupine in her?”

  Emissary Buchanan nods faintly. Flames dance in her pale blue eyes from the fire roaring in the hearth. “We realized it at the first ultrasound. Dr. Craven couldn’t find a heartbeat, and I thought . . .” She sighs sadly. “But then he spotted her fangs.”

  “What?” Natalie splutters.

  “They develop in utero in the first few weeks after conception,” Emissary Buchanan explains. “It was apparent then that she wasn’t normal.”

  I wince at the word. Normal. Natalie’s father stares out the window, one hand thrust in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette.

  “Craven ran some more tests after she was born and confirmed what she was,” Emissary Buchanan continues. “Thankfully, because she was predominantly human, we could pass her off as one of us, with a few moderations.”

  “Moderations?” Natalie asks.

  “You neutered her,” I say.

  Emissary Buchanan nods. “She wore veneers. No one suspected a thing. Lots of Sentry girls have cosmetic dental work done at a young age.”

  “Did Polly know what she was?” Natalie asks.

  “She didn’t know she was different until you were born,” Emissary Buchanan says. “She thought every little girl didn’t have a heartbeat and craved blood. But then you came along and she realized there was something wrong with her. Your father and I explained to her what she was, and who her real father was, but that she had to keep it a secret.”

  “So she always knew?” Natalie sinks back in her chair, her blond curls framing her face. “What about her heart? Surely someone noticed she didn’t have a heartbeat.”

  “You didn’t,” Emissary Buchanan says.

  Natalie flushes a little.

  “People generally don’t go around checking each other’s pulses, Natalie. Why would they? Besides, she looked human,” Emissary Buchanan says.

  “And we made sure Craven did all her medical examinations, so he could fake the results,” General Buchanan says from across the room. “No one suspected a thing.”

  “Did Purian Rose know she was his daughter?” Natalie says.

&
nbsp; “I told him she was Jonathan’s,” Emissary Buchanan replies.

  Over by the window, General Buchanan’s expression hardens. He takes a drag of his cigarette. Smoke spills out of his lips in a long, twisting ribbon.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what she was?” Natalie says. “Why didn’t she?”

  “She was afraid you wouldn’t accept her,” Emissary Buchanan says.

  Natalie flinches. “Why? She was my sister! I loved her.”

  “I know,” Emissary Buchanan says. “I tried to make Polly feel part of the family. I doted on her, lavished her with gifts and affection. I did everything I could to make her feel special, beautiful, accepted, but she never did. She always felt like an outcast.”

  “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you make people like her live inside walled ghettos,” I mutter.

  Emissary Buchanan’s thin lips pinch together.

  “How can you justify what you did to my people, when your own daughter was one of us?” I say, anger boiling up inside me.

  “She wasn’t one of you,” Emissary Buchanan says harshly. “Polly was mostly human. She was a good girl; she posed no threat to anyone, unlike the Darklings.”

  I ball my hands up into fists and Natalie shakes her head in disgust.

  “How could you let Purian Rose torture her the night they came for Father?” Natalie says. “She must have been heartbroken that you chose me over her and allowed her own father to do that to her.”

  “I picked Polly because she was physically stronger than you, Natalie,” Emissary Buchanan says. “Those wounds would have killed you. I explained this to her afterward, and she understood. She forgave me.”

  Natalie blinks rapidly. “You didn’t deserve her forgiveness. You should have told me what she was. I could have been there for her, but you never gave me the chance.”

  Natalie gets up and leaves the room. I follow her, shutting the door behind me, blocking out the sound of Emissary Buchanan’s sobs. We go to the balcony. At night the city has a different sort of beauty, like jewels glittering under dark waters. On the digital screens across the city SBN news continues to run reports of the upcoming Cleansing ceremony. Pilgrims have already started to enter the city from all over the state, wanting to be blessed by Purian Rose himself. From up here I can see the outline of Rose Plaza in the distance. In a little over a day, we’ll be there for the Cleansing ceremony. Nerves bubble inside me, but I push them down. I draw Natalie into my arms, and she buries her face in my chest.

  “I never knew what Polly was going through,” Natalie says, her voice muffled. “All those years I was jealous of her, wishing I had her life, wishing I could be her. I didn’t know how much she was hurting. Can you imagine what it must have been like for her, to be tortured by her father and betrayed by her mother? No wonder her mind was never the same after that.” I hold her close as she cries, running my hand down her back. “How could Polly forgive my mother after what she did to her?”

  “I didn’t know Polly for long, but I could tell she had a good heart,” I murmur. “She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who could hold a grudge against someone.”

  “She wasn’t,” Natalie admits. “Polly tried to see the best in people; she thought everyone deserved a second chance. She was a better person than me.” Natalie pulls away, wiping her eyes. “I’m going to apologize to my mother.”

  “Do you mind if I check on Evangeline?” I ask.

  Natalie shrugs a little. “I don’t mind.”

  I kiss her forehead and then go down to the hospital where Evangeline is recuperating. The ward is quiet and all the lights are off, except for the one above Evangeline’s bed. She looks very pale but otherwise happy. A half-empty glass of Synth-O-Blood sits on her dresser. It shouldn’t take long for her to recover from the surgery, which is lucky since we don’t have much time; we need her up and walking about in—I check the clock hanging on the wall—fragg, thirty-six hours! She’s wearing a pale green hospital gown, which is open at the front, although bandages are wrapped around her chest, preserving her modesty. Elijah is with her. They’re chatting with each other, laughing. Occasionally she touches his arm. His cheeks flush, his smile widens.

  “Hey,” I say, and they turn to look at me. “I just wanted to check how you were.”

  She shrugs. “It feels like someone’s stuffed me with a pound of potatoes. Ash, do you think this is going to work?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  “You’re not scared?” she says.

  I give a lopsided grin. “Nah. Purian Rose is the one who needs to be afraid, not us.”

  She bites her lip. “Do you think my new heart might activate when I touch Rose?” She looks hopefully at me. “Dr. Craven wasn’t certain, because it’s a Lupine heart, but Lucinda said Theora felt a spark in her chest when they touched, so . . .”

  “Yeah, it’s possible,” I say, smiling reassuringly. I know how much she’s longed for a heartbeat. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

  I head to the elevator and jab the button a few times. There’s a ping as the elevator arrives, and I enter. The walls are covered in sheets of gilded metal, warping my reflection so I’m just a dark shadow among a sea of gold. I sink down onto the floor and bury my head in my hands. I lied to Evangeline when I said I wasn’t scared. I’m terrified.

  31.

  EDMUND

  Centrum, Dominion State

  Today

  I STEP ONTO THE BALCONY of the Golden Citadel, which overlooks Rose Plaza, and rest my gloved hands on the balustrade. All around me the city of Centrum glints in the moonlight, the towering skyscrapers the perfect combination of beauty and power. Down in the square below, a large platform has been erected in preparation for the public ceremony, happening the day after tomorrow. Everything is falling into place. Thirty years of preparation is finally about to pay off. I should be happy. But for some reason, I feel empty.

  A sudden cold wind blasts over the balcony, sending a chill down my neck. I sense someone beside me, and turn. Standing a few meters away is Theora. She’s wearing a primrose-yellow dress and hunting jacket—the very outfit she wore the night my father murdered her. Her snowy-white mane stirs in the breeze. A few strands of hair fall into her silver eyes.

  “Hello, Edmund,” she says.

  I exhale, grief ripping through me. I know she can’t really be here—it seems I’ve started hearing voices in my head, like Patrick claimed my mother used to do—but seeing her makes all those memories come rushing back. She looks over the balustrade at the Cleansing pool in the square below.

  “Are you really going to go ahead with this, Edmund?” she says.

  I place my gloved hand next to hers. Every part of me aches to touch her, but I know it’s impossible. She’s just a figment of my mind.

  “I’m doing all of this for you,” I say.

  “Is this really what you think I’d want?” she replies.

  “It’s what I want. You and Grandfather were the only people who accepted me for what I truly am.” I sigh. “I miss you.”

  A sad smile flitters over her lips. “So this is your solution? To make everyone like us?”

  “If we’re all the same, then there will be peace at last,” I say.

  “You’re wrong, Edmund.” Theora turns her face up to look at the moon. The iridescent light makes her pale skin glow. “Do you remember when I took you to the Lupine temple on Mount Alba?”

  “I think about it every night,” I whisper.

  “You asked me how I could be so kind to you, after what your father did to my parents,” she says. “Do you recall what I said?”

  “You can’t judge an entire species by the actions of one man.”

  “And what else?”

  I briefly shut my eyes. “It’s easy to hate. The true test of our hearts is to forgive.�
��

  “Precisely,” Theora says, turning to me, her silver eyes sparkling. “Forgiveness is the only way you will ever find peace, Edmund.”

  “That will never happen,” I say bitterly. “You need a heart to forgive, and Icarus took that from me the night he murdered you.”

  “Your Excellency?” a worried voice says behind me.

  I turn to see my servant Forsyth standing by the doorway. He’s dressed in long white Pilgrim robes. His head is shaved, and he has a red rose tattoo above his left ear, like all my faithful followers. He studies me with anxious, newly silver eyes.

  “Sebastian Eden is here, as you requested,” he says.

  I glance toward Theora, but she’s gone.

  “Thank you, Forsyth,” I say, moving away from the gold balustrade. I have nothing to fear about Forsyth repeating what he just saw. He’s devoted to me.

  “I have other news, Your Excellency,” Forsyth says as we walk back inside the building. “The bodies of the Lupine woman Ulrika and her cousin Kieran have been brought to Centrum, as instructed. What would you like me to do with them?”

  I run my tongue over my top teeth, feeling the rough edges of my veneers. I was furious when I found out they’d been shot, particularly Ulrika. She was like a sister to Theora.

  “Have them cremated at the next full moon,” I say as we enter my office.

  My grandfather would have hated this room, with its lavish furnishings, marble floors and gilt walls. Patrick thought it gave the right air of authority, but I’m not so sure. I miss the whitewashed walls of the church I grew up in. The boy Sebastian is standing by the large fireplace, looking at the photographs on the mantelpiece. He’s dressed in a gray uniform, his head cleanly shaven, like Forsyth’s. He spins around when he hears me approach, and bows.

  “Your Excellency,” Sebastian says. There’s a long gash down the side of his cheek, which I presume he got during the siege on the rebel compound. It seeps when he talks. Disgusting.