“What’s in there?” I ask Sebastian.
“The specimens, of course.”
Specimens? I gasp when I glimpse them through the cell windows.
Darklings.
Dozens and dozens of them, crammed like cattle into each tiny cell. I’m too stunned to move at first, horrified by the sight in front of me. As frightened as I am of Darklings, seeing them cramped together like this is still shocking.
In the first cell is a pack of Shu’zin Darklings—the purple-eyed, claw-footed creatures commonly found in the Copper State—shackled to the walls with heavy silver chains. All their hair has been shaved off, so it’s hard to tell which ones are male and which are female. They look back at me with glazed eyes, their expressions blank, like they’re already dead.
Sebastian pulls my arm, urging me on, but I have to see for myself what’s been kept hidden from me all these years. In the second cell, a small colony of Nordin Darklings hang upside down from the ceiling, their silky wings wrapped around their bodies. They’re the rarest of all Darklings, from the now-uninhabited volcanic regions in the Mountain Wolf State, famed for their flame-colored eyes and ice-white hair. They’re the only breed of Darkling with wings, and the one I fear the most. The Wrath that killed my father last year was a Nordin Darkling.
Sebastian taps the window on one of the cell doors, taunting the Darklings inside.
“We found whole families of them hiding in safe houses around the city,” he says. “I don’t know what goes on in their tiny brains. They know it’s against the law to climb over the Boundary Wall, and yet they continue to do it anyway.”
My father must be turning in his grave. He wanted to help the Darklings after he witnessed the horrors of the migration camps in the Barren Lands. He spent the last months of his life secretly working for them, and what did he get in return? A Wrath murdered him.
We carry on walking. I can’t see what’s inside the third cell with a silver marker above the door because the window is closed. Finally, I look into the last cell. A teenage boy sits on the floor, his head hunched over, his back to me. I can’t see his face, but the dark hair and pale skin are familiar. It’s the twin-blood! They found him!
The boy turns his head, sensing me. It’s not the twin-blood boy at all, but an Eloka Darkling—the most common breed found in the majority of states across the country—his face half rotted away from the Wrath. Revulsion crawls through me.
Mother and Dr. Craven, Sebastian’s father, stand beside a gurney in the center of the room, dressed in bloodied surgical scrubs. A Darkling is strapped to the gurney; at least I assume that’s what it is. It’s hard to tell when they get so ravaged by the Wrath, a plague that’s been killing the Darklings. All that remains are bones and teeth, barely concealed beneath a jelly-like membrane.
My chest starts to tighten, and I take a deep breath, worried I’m going to have a panic attack if I don’t get out of here soon. I feel like a fish in a shark tank, surrounded by all these monsters. If I’d known the lab would be filled with Darks, I wouldn’t have come down here.
“Do you know what time it is?” Mother says.
I innocently glance down at the antique wristwatch that used to belong to my father. The bronze casing is tarnished and the numbers are faded, but the unusual ivory watch face still has a beautiful golden sheen to it, like it’s been painted with a shimmering varnish.
“Well?” Mother presses.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“You’re sorry? I had half the guard out looking for you. Do you know how dangerous it is out there? We have a curfew for a reason. What if you got attacked by a Darkling?”
An image of the twin-blood Darkling boy pops into my head. I bite my lip.
“I thought you’d grown out of this silly business of sneaking out at night. I wish I knew what you were thinking sometimes, Natalie,” she says.
Then why don’t you just ask? But she never does. Mother likes to do all my thinking for me. That way I can be the perfect, dutiful daughter she wants. Maybe if she left me alone once in a while, I wouldn’t have this constant, yearning need to escape. Roaming the streets at night is the only time I feel free.
“I’m cutting off your allowance for one month,” Mother says.
“But—”
“That’s final. And no more nighttime jaunts, do you understand, young lady?”
“Yes, Mother.”
The Darkling on the gurney lets out a pitiful moan and turns its yellow eyes on me. They’re eerily empty, and I realize what’s missing: hope. Rattled, I look away, not wanting to feel sorry for this creature, even though a part of me does.
Craven lowers his surgical mask and gives me a toothy smile. He’s tall, like Sebastian, and they have the same green eyes. The only difference is his hair, which is bronze and wiry, while Sebastian’s is blond and wavy. Craven’s the head of the Anti-Darkling Science and Technologies Department, where they make weapons to defend us from the Darks.
“You’ve grown big since I saw you last,” he says.
“It’s been a year. I’m sixteen now.”
“I hope my son took good care of you down in Centrum?” he asks.
“Of course I did,” Sebastian replies.
A jumble of emotions twist in my stomach. At least Sebastian has the decency to look ashamed. He came to live with me, Mother and Polly when we were evacuated to Centrum, and Craven was ordered to stay behind in Black City to continue his work. Sebastian was assigned to me as my personal bodyguard, and it was a great setup until . . . until the thing happened. I hate thinking about it.
“What are you doing with that Darkling?” I ask Craven.
“Testing a new anti-Wrath spray,” he says cheerfully, pointing to an aerosol on his workbench.
It has the words GO AWAY WRATH SPRAY! written on it in blocky red letters. Another spray? They seem to release a new one every month. I guess it’s a lucrative market; everyone is terrified of being attacked by a Wrath. It’s a dreadful way to die.
“It’s just a prototype, but it’s very effective. Watch.” Craven picks up the aerosol and sprays a foul-smelling gas over the Darkling on the gurney. The creature instantly writhes in terrible pain.
Sebastian covers his nose from the rotten scent, while I put a hand over my mouth to mask my shock. This isn’t science, it’s torture.
“Wonderful work, Craven,” Mother says.
I’ve seen enough.
“Can I please go?” I ask Mother.
“Don’t be so sensitive. It’s just an animal,” Mother snaps. “You need to toughen up if you’re going to work here.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“You’ve been accepted to the Fast-Track Science program,” Craven says. “After you complete this year at school, you’ll be my new intern. I thought you’d want to see where you’ll be working for the next five years of your life. I promise I won’t be a complete slave driver.”
“Congratulations,” Sebastian says.
My shoulders slump, thinking this must be some sort of joke. “I applied for the Political program.”
“I didn’t think a political career was right for you,” Mother says.
“So you changed my application without even consulting me?”
“I know what’s best for you. Not all of us are cut out to be politicians, Natalie,” Mother says.
“But—”
“Don’t be ungrateful. Very few people get on the Fast-Track, and Craven pulled a lot of strings to get you on the Science program.”
Why didn’t Mother “pull a few strings” to get me on the Political program like I wanted? The money and career prospects are so much better; not to mention, all my friends back in Centrum signed up for it. I don’t want to be the only one
not doing it. It’s so embarrassing, especially since my mother is the Emissary.
“Cheer up, pumpkin. Working with me won’t be so bad,” Craven says.
I somehow doubt that. There’s no way I want to be involved in his “science experiments.” This must be evident on my face, because Mother lets out a tired, exasperated sigh—a sound I’m all too familiar with. My whole life has been one long disappointment to her. I’m sick of it.
So Mother wants me to toughen up? Fine! I make my expression as cold and steely as possible, determined to act like I’m not bothered by what’s happening around me, when all I really want to do is run away.
Craven turns his attention back to the Darkling on the gurney. The creature lolls its head in my direction again, and my eyes are drawn to its chest, where two hearts pulse rhythmically underneath its transparent skin. One heart is considerably smaller than the other, but beats much faster.
Craven notices me looking.
“The bigger heart is the primary heart. And this is the dual heart,” he says, pointing to the smaller one. “Typically they don’t beat, but we have seen some instances, like this one, where it has activated, although we’re not sure how or why. It’s fascinating really, almost as intriguing as twin-blood physiology. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on one of them. A living creature with no heartbeat—”
Sebastian yawns loudly. He hates talking science.
Craven mutters under his breath as he picks up a syringe and sticks the needle in the Darkling’s arm. Gooey blood quickly fills the green-capped phial, and the Darkling lets out a pitiful howl, spraying spittle everywhere. Some of it lands on my face, and I hurriedly wipe it off.
“I’m not going to catch the Wrath now, am I?” I panic, thinking about the contaminated gunk that was just on my face.
“No, pumpkin.” Craven chuckles. “So far the virus has only affected Darklings, twin-bloods, and a few isolated wild dogs, but they have to be bitten or drink infected blood to contract it.”
I don’t like the way he says “so far,” like there’s a chance it’ll spread to humans.
He puts the blood sample on the sideboard, beside a row of sharp wooden stakes.
“So are you ready for your big day tomorrow?” he says.
I can’t believe he wants to talk about school, here of all places. Then I remind myself I’m supposed to act like this doesn’t bother me.
“Do I have to go? Why can’t I just be homeschooled?” I say.
“Because Purian Rose demanded you go to the city school,” Mother says, and a chill runs through me at the mention of his name.
“Why?” I ask.
A knowing look passes between Mother and Sebastian.
“Because Purian Rose said so. Those are his orders, so you’ll do as you’re told,” Mother says.
“I’ll have nothing in common with the other kids. They’re all Workboots. They’ll hate me,” I say.
There’s always been a tension between the proletarian class, known as Workboots because of the ugly leather ankle boots they all wear, and the Sentry—the ruling class. Only Sentries can work for the administration, which is why it’s called the Sentry government; it’s just a way to remind the Workboots of their place in society.
“It’s not fair. I liked my Sentry school filled with my Sentry friends,” I continue.
“Just do as you’re told, Natalie,” Mother snaps. “I don’t want you making Purian Rose angry; you know what he’s like. Do you want to put your sister at risk again?”
“No,” I whisper, a thrill of fear rising in my throat.
Sebastian throws me a sympathetic look. He knows all about what happened to Polly. I confided in him when we were dating, and Mother told Craven, since he’s the closest thing to a friend she has in Black City.
“Do you want me to stay with Natalie, make sure she gets settled in?” Sebastian asks.
“No! Mother, please. I don’t need a bodyguard when I’m in school. It’s perfectly safe,” I say.
Ever since Polly got hurt, Mother’s made sure I’ve had a bodyguard watching my every move. It’s so smothering.
“He can drop me off in the mornings and pick me up every afternoon,” I offer quickly. “Please. I don’t want to be the only student with a bodyguard. It’ll make me more of a target, if anything.”
Mother considers this. She looks at Sebastian. “Make sure you bring her straight there and back each day, no dillydallying.”
“Yes, Emissary.”
“I’ll call the Headmaster and arrange for one of the girls to keep her company,” Mother replies.
“I don’t need a rent-a-friend,” I say.
Mother slaps me with a silencing look.
The creature on the gurney beside me stirs, and I force myself to ignore it.
Mother notices the Darkling boy’s coat still slung over my arm. “Where did you get that?”
“I traded for it,” I say quickly. “I thought I’d wear it to school, so I can fit in with the rest of the kids.” Actually, that’s not a bad idea!
“No daughter of mine is wearing Workboot clothes.”
“It’s going to be hard enough fitting in as it is. I need to look like them,” I say.
She opens her mouth to protest.
“Oh, before I forget!” Craven says a little too brightly as he takes a lab pass and a bottle of pills from a drawer and tosses them to me. “There’s enough medication there to last you for the month. And I’ve had your lab pass activated; feel free to pop down whenever you want and I can show you the ropes. Welcome to the team.”
I turn the bottle of heart medication over in my hand. I can’t stand having to be so reliant on these tiny white pills. Just one more thing controlling my life.
The Darkling on the gurney suddenly wails in pain, making the other Darklings in the cells around us howl in unison. Craven picks up a wooden stake from the sideboard and plunges it twice into the creature’s chest, penetrating its two hearts. It thrashes for a few seconds, spraying blood and spittle everywhere, before collapsing lifeless onto the gurney.
“Was it really necessary to kill it when I was standing so close?” Sebastian complains, wiping Darkling gunk off his red jacket.
“It was the humane thing to do. It was in pain,” Craven replies. “The acacia wood kills them instantly. Better this than to die of the Wrath.”
He glances at Mother, who returns a frosty look.
Craven opens a metal drawer, pulls out a pale green surgical sheet and covers the Darkling’s dead body with it. Blood soaks through the material, reminding me of my father’s blood seeping through his clothes . . .
I have to get out of here right now.
I rush upstairs to Polly’s room. She’s the only person I want to be around these days. She’s sitting in a plain wooden chair in front of the windows, staring at the drawn curtains, her hands folded in her lap. She doesn’t acknowledge me, but I don’t expect her to—she barely speaks since the night Father died. The doctors say it’s post-traumatic stress. Sometimes she’s totally lucid, and it’s like I’ve got my old sister back, but most of the time she’s trapped inside her own mind, not talking to anyone for days—sometimes weeks—on end.
Our housemaid, Martha, has already unpacked her clothes and belongings, not that my sister has much need for clothes, since she spends all day in her bathrobe and slippers. All around the room are pictures of Polly: photographs of her at ballet recitals and school plays; paparazzi shots taken of her at glitzy events; posed black-and-white portraits by the famous artist Kendra, which Mother paid through the teeth for. She’s so exquisitely beautiful in all of them. It was always her dream to be a big-shot actress in Centrum, and now that’s never going to happen. I don’t know how she can stand having the photos all aroun
d her, reminding her of what she’s lost.
Sebastian’s in some of the photos. They were in the same year at school, and he was infatuated with her, the way I was obsessed with him. When she turned him down, he opted for second best: me. Not that I cared at the time, I was just thrilled that such a good-looking older boy would want to date me. I know I’m nothing in comparison to Polly. She’s tall, with silky straight black hair and gorgeous silvery gray eyes, while I’m short, blue-eyed and have wild curly blond hair like my father’s. You’d barely think we were related.
I place the twin-blood boy’s green jacket on the floor by Polly’s feet and open the curtains. The starlight illuminates her face, highlighting the patchwork of scars across her skin. One side of her face is almost unrecognizable, the shredded flesh contorting her once-beautiful features. It’s weird, though. I hardly register the scars anymore; she still looks like my big sister to me.
Polly’s silver eyes drift to the green jacket on the floor.
“I found it. Well, I didn’t exactly find it.” I tell her about meeting the twin-blood boy in the underpass. “It was insane—he could’ve killed me. If Mother found out, or Purian Rose . . .”
She glances up at me.
“I won’t do anything silly like that again, I promise. I won’t risk anyone hurting you.”
She grips my wrist and pulls me close, the sudden movement surprising me. Her expression is intense.
“Don’t be afraid to do what’s right. Don’t let Father’s death be for nothing.”
She releases me, and her eyes glaze over, lost in that dream world of hers again. Sometimes I envy her; it must be nice not having to live in this reality. I kiss her forehead, pick up the jacket and head to my bedroom, her words ringing around my head. Don’t be afraid to do what’s right. How can she still think that after everything that happened to her and Father? She was always braver than me.
I enter my room and kick aside the unopened cardboard boxes that clutter the plush white carpet. The balcony windows have been left open all day, and it’s wintry cold in here, but that’s how I like it. I drop the dark green jacket beside my pillow and chuck my pills into my battered satchel.
Black City Page 3
