“He let his niece die the other day,” I say.
“He can’t save us all, even though he tries.”
The thought of Jana on the cross with Tom, executed because of their forbidden relationship, reminds me of Natalie. My heart thuds ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom. I want to be with her so much right now. Being here just makes me feel more of an outcast than ever before. It’s clear I’m not like the other Darklings. When I’m with her, I feel like I belong.
Evangeline surprises me by placing a hand over my chest. “How is this possible?”
“I found my Blood Mate,” I say.
She looks surprised.
“You don’t believe me?” I challenge.
“I believe you. It’s just there aren’t many Darklings over your side of the wall. I’m surprised you found your Blood Mate among them.”
I wonder if I should tell her that my Blood Mate is a human. I barely know Evangeline, but an instinct deep inside me tells me I can trust her.
“She’s human,” I admit.
Evangeline drops her hand. “The connection only happens between Darklings. She can’t be your Blood Mate.”
“All the evidence proves otherwise.”
“What’s the human’s name, then?” Her voice is hard.
I rub the back of my neck. What am I going to tell her, that my Blood Mate is the Sentry Emissary’s daughter, Natalie Buchanan? I don’t think so.
“Does it matter?” I say instead.
“You can’t be with her. You can’t turn your back on your own kind, Ash.”
“I’m not turning my back on anyone. I’m half human, remember—so why can’t I be with a human girl? Why does everyone say I’m only allowed to have a relationship with a Darkling?”
“Because it’s against the law,” she says.
“That’s not going to stop me from being with her.”
We approach the canal. The Boundary Wall is just a strip on the horizon. Home is so far away.
“I need to go. Can you take me back to the gates?” I say.
She hesitates. “Will you come back? Sigur can arrange it.”
I study Evangeline for a long moment, watching how her inky-black hair ripples like the surface of the oceans. I can’t abandon her. There are so few of our kind left.
“I’ll be back,” I promise.
22
NATALIE
EVERYWHERE IS BLACK: the sky, the earth, the ash drifting all around us—the whole city is mourning for Chris. Even school’s been canceled today, so students could attend his funeral. I tighten the black scarf around my neck, doing my best to block out the bitter cold.
Beetle plucks a cigarette from behind his ear and sparks up. I wouldn’t say things are good between us after the argument on his birthday, but at least he’s civil to me. I check my phone, hoping to see a message from Ash. He didn’t ring me yesterday like I thought he would. I’m curious to know how it went at the Legion on Saturday. There’s nothing.
“Have you heard from Ash?” I ask.
Beetle shakes his head.
We’re standing at the back of the congregation, watching the funeral. Gregory stares blankly at the ebony coffin. He looks shrunken in an oversized black jacket that I vaguely recognize, and then it hits me: it’s Chris’s coat.
Day’s up front with the rest of the mourners, including my mother, who is trying to look forlorn for the press, although her face is so pumped with toxins, I don’t think she’s capable of expressing any emotion other than mild surprise. I can’t understand why she’s taken such an interest in Chris’s death; she paid for the funeral, then insisted on coming with twenty of her closest friends from the media to “pay her respects.” Maybe it’s because he went to my school? I know she’s up to something.
She’s flanked by Sentry guards, and there are more scattered around the cemetery keeping an eye on the proceedings. The upshot of all this added security is I don’t need a personal guard with me today, which is a relief. Sebastian’s still on his “spiritual retreat” in Centrum and isn’t due back until later today, so I’ve got a few hours of relative freedom.
Juno Jones, the red-haired reporter for Black City News, stands nearby, doing a report on the service. She tells her cameraman to film Mother.
“It’s such a tragic loss of a young life,” Mother says to Chris and Gregory’s parents, just loud enough for the journalists to hear. “Rest assured, the government is doing everything in its power to find whoever supplied this tainted Haze and bring them to justice. We suspect Darkling involvement.”
Mrs. Thompson grasps my mother’s hands, thanking her, and Mother’s red-painted lips waver slightly, disgusted at being touched by a lowly Workboot.
“I hope we have your support for Rose’s Law,” Mother continues. “Keeping the Darklings permanently segregated is the first step toward a totally Haze-free society.”
Mr. and Mrs. Thompson both nod enthusiastically, and I glower at my mother. So that’s the reason she’s here? To rally support for Rose’s Law. What sort of person does that at a boy’s funeral?
Gregory snatches a look at my mother, and I can see he’s thinking the same thing. Now isn’t the time or place for Mother’s political games; people are grieving.
“What’s going on with you and Day?” I ask Beetle when she glances over at us.
He shrugs. “She’s still punishing me for choosing Haze over her. I don’t think she’s ever going to forgive me.”
“Maybe now that she knows Ash didn’t get you hooked on Haze, she’ll be a little nicer to him?” I say.
“I wouldn’t count on it. She’s stubborn.”
I look at Day and feel a pang of sadness. There’s so much I want to talk to her about. I miss my friend.
I check my phone again. Still no message from Ash.
Close by, Juno Jones starts talking quietly to the camera. “I’m here at the funeral of high school student Chris Thompson, the latest victim of Golden Haze, a deadly new strain of the drug being sold on the streets,” she says, walking a little closer to the congregation. “Chris Thompson is the sixth teenager to die of the drug in the space of two weeks, sparking fear and concern in the city. Anyone with information about the source of Golden Haze is being urged to report it to the Sentry guard.”
Chris is the sixth victim? I knew Linus and his friend died from it, but I didn’t know there had been others. Beetle looks alarmed too.
“If the Darklings are blamed for all those deaths, people are bound to vote for Rose’s Law,” he says. “Then who knows what’s going to happen to Ash—they’ll probably force him to live in the ghetto with the other Darklings. They’re already making him wear that ID bracelet.”
My heart freezes. They can’t take Ash away from me.
“We need to find out who really created the Golden Haze. I can’t let my mother blame the Darklings,” I say. “That guy Linus must’ve got it from somewhere.”
“That would’ve been his boss, Mr. Tubs,” Beetle explains.
“Okay, we’ll start there and do some investigating. Do you know where I can find him?” I ask.
Beetle’s eyebrows shoot so far up his forehead, I think they’re going to fly off. “You don’t want to mess with him, my friend. He’s dangerous.”
“We’ll take Ash for protection. We have to do something,” I say.
Beetle scratches his head, messing up his already scruffy hair. “I can’t go. I owe Mr. Tubs some money. Like, a lot of money . . .”
I let out an irritated sound. “Fine, Ash and I will go on our own.”
Of course, I’ll have to actually speak to Ash first. I check my phone again. Nothing.
“Well, if you go, let me know what you find out. We’re all going to the Park tonight for an un
official remembrance party for Chris. Meet me at the white mansion. Do you know it?” Beetle asks.
My heart clenches. “Yes, I know it.”
The wind stirs, and a familiar tugging sensation pulls at my chest. Ash is lurking in the church ruins. Relief washes through me. I check to be sure no one is looking before sneaking off to join him.
The roof has collapsed, and the sky peeps through the bones of wooden rafters. Several crows are perched on them, their beady black eyes watching me intently as I carefully navigate the rubble.
We sit down on a pile of stones in the corner of the ruins, hidden from view. I study Ash’s profile, which is set like marble, so cold and emotionless apart from the little furrow between his brows, giving him away.
“You didn’t call. I was worried,” I say.
He turns to look at me, his eyes dark and haunted. His mouth twitches as if he wants to tell me something. Instead he rests his head on my shoulder. He smells amazing, like the earth after rain. We stay like this for a few minutes, not speaking.
“How was the Legion?” I ask.
“Natalie, I did something terrible . . .”
“What? You can tell me.”
He presses his face against my neck. “I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be a Darkling. I’m not a monster, I’m not!”
What did they do to him?
“I don’t know what happened, but one thing I’m sure of is you’re a good person. You’re not a monster.” I press my hand against his heart. “I can feel it.”
Ash pulls me toward him, and his lips find mine. The kiss is delicate and uncertain. My fingers twist through his hair, and I draw him closer, my body craving him more than oxygen. I moan with pleasure as he sinks deeper into the kiss, his lips opening, his tongue running across mine. Fireworks explode inside me, pop, pop, pop!
He pulls away. “This isn’t right. Not here.” He looks over my shoulder at the funeral.
I tell Ash my plan about visiting Mr. Tubs.
“We can snoop around and get some of the Golden Haze,” I say. “If we work out what it’s been blended with, then maybe we can trace it back to the original source. Whatever that gold stuff is, it can’t be that commonplace.”
Ash looks at me uncertainly.
“We have to at least try. I don’t want my mother pinning this on the Darklings.” I lace my fingers through his. “I can’t lose you, Ash.”
He nods. “Okay, it sounds like a plan.”
“When should we go?” I ask.
Ash stands up, a new determination in his eyes. “Let’s go now.”
23
ASH
THE SIGN ABOVE Mr. Tubs’s pawnshop hangs from a single screw, threatening to fall down at any second. I hold the door open for Natalie. We step inside the shop, which is brimming with tacky bric-a-brac like jewelry, weapons, hats, instruments, electrical equipment—basically anything someone could exchange for a few coins. It’s hard to navigate through the piles of knickknacks. Mr. Tubs is nowhere in sight.
Fragg! I have to get my hands on that Golden Haze. It’s our only hope of working out who’s really responsible for Chris’s and Linus’s deaths. For the first time, I’m starting to worry about Rose’s Law being passed. I hadn’t fully considered the implications before. I could be forced to live in the Legion with those creatures. I’d never see Natalie again.
“I just had a thought. Won’t Mr. Tubs find it odd that you’re here?” Natalie asks me.
“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” I say, although the only plan I have is to get out of this shop without a stake through my heart. I squeeze her hand reassuringly, and she relaxes. We approach the glass counter at the front of the shop and ring the bell. A moment later, a short, tubby man from the Eastern territory emerges from the back room. An unlit cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth. He instantly recognizes me.
I raise my hands as he reaches under the counter for a weapon.
“I brought you a client. Call it a peace offering,” I say.
Natalie gives a nervous smile.
“Go on,” Mr. Tubs says, his interest piqued.
“A Tracker took my poison sacs. I can’t deal anymore,” I say, the lies spilling off my tongue. “Now Linus is dead, I figured you’d need a new guy, and I’ve got a bunch of clients lined up for you.”
My pulse races as I wait for him to respond. He moves his hand from under the counter.
“I think about it,” he says.
I exhale.
Mr. Tubs turns his attention to Natalie.
“So what does a pretty thing like you want?” His rheumy eyes drift toward Natalie’s chest, and my fangs tingle, wanting to bite him.
“Well, I’ve got this big party coming up, you see,” she says in a rush. “And I wanted to make it a really fun party.”
“Tell me, pretty girl, how much ‘fun’ you want?”
“A lot. Around fifty mils?” Natalie says.
“You got money?” he asks.
Her cheeks turn pink. “Er, no.” She turns to me, whispering, “My mother cut off my allowance the night I met you. Do you have any?”
Ha! As if. I shake my head. We really should’ve worked out these details, but I just assumed Natalie would have the money.
“You waste my time!” Mr. Tubs says, his round face getting red.
“No, wait.” Natalie takes off her antique watch. “I’d like to pawn this. It’s worth a lot.”
I grab her wrist before she can pass the watch over. “You can’t sell that; it was your dad’s.”
“We don’t have a choice,” she whispers back. “Besides, I know he’d understand why I did it.”
She looks at me with determination, and I let her wrist go. I’m not going to boss her around; she can make up her own mind about things.
“Put a ten-day hold on it,” I say to Mr. Tubs. “I’ll work off the debt.”
Natalie gives me a grateful smile, then hands the watch to Mr. Tubs, who inspects it with curiosity.
“Nice piece you got here. Watch face made from Bastet ivory, that very rare. I give you two phials of Golden Haze for it.”
“I’ll take it,” she says.
“Follow me,” he says.
He leads us into the backroom and down a flight of narrow stairs into the basement. Natalie gasps and grips my hand. The floor is writhing with humans, all lost in an ecstasy of Haze, kissing each other and pulling off their clothes, unaware or simply not caring that they have an audience. Languishing on several tatty sofas is a group of Darklings, who must’ve snuck over the Boundary Wall to visit the den. Darklings can get high by drinking the blood of a human who has taken Haze, and many think it’s worth the risk of climbing over the wall to get a fix and some fresh blood. I try not to drink too much from my clients when I’m giving them a hit of Haze for this very reason; it’s easy to get addicted.
They roll their dull eyes on me, the sparkle long gone from them. One Darkling has strange bite marks all over his face and neck, as if he’s been attacked by an animal. Beside him are twin Darkling girls, both with a shock of white hair and gleaming orange eyes. Nordins. They have nubby stumps sticking out of their shoulder blades where their wings used to be. They’re all feeding on a human—a woman in her thirties, her skeletal body ravaged by Haze. Her eyes are shut, and she looks blissful. My stomach churns as I picture the boy we feasted on at Sigur’s place. They probably picked him up from here.
Mr. Tubs steps over the humans sprawled on the ground and goes into his tiny office at the back of the room. We follow. The room consists of an old desk covered in paperwork, a nudie calendar, a filthy fridge and several small TV screens showing CCTV footage of the Haze den. There’s a bookshelf beside them filled with digital disks, wit
h dates scrawled over them; I’m guessing these are recordings of the CCTV footage.
He notices me looking at them. “It for insurance. You report me to authorities, I have proof you come here too, and we both go to jail.”
It’s twisted, but it makes sense. He opens the filthy refrigerator at the back of the room. He takes out two green-capped phials of Golden Haze, just like the one Linus had, and hands them to Natalie.
“Listen, this very important,” Mr. Tubs says to Natalie. “You take just a drop, okay? No more. It much stronger than regular Haze. Some kids, they didn’t listen and they—” He waves a hand dismissively. “It their own fault.”
My fangs throb again. He must be referring to Linus and Chris. So that’s the deal with Golden Haze? It’s fine in small enough doses, but take too much, and it’ll kill you? That’s one heck of a risky game to play. How much is too much?
She pretends to inspect the venom before passing a phial to me. I pop the lid and sniff the liquid. My nostrils flare. It’s Haze all right, although whatever it’s been blended with smells rank.
“Do you know what the gold stuff is?” Natalie asks Mr. Tubs. Way to be subtle. “I hear it’s meant to give you the best-ever high with no Haze Headache afterward.”
Mr. Tubs gives a yellow-toothed grin. “That a secret ingredient.”
“Are you sure you can’t tell me? I mean, if it’s not safe—” she says.
Mr. Tubs seizes the Golden Haze. “You don’t like, you go elsewhere.”
“No, no!” Natalie takes the Golden Haze and grabs my arm. “Let’s go.”
We exit his office and go back into the main den.
“Sorry, I totally messed that up,” Natalie says.
“We got the drug. At least that’s a start,” I reply.
“Ash?” a familiar voice calls from the gloom.
A girl walks out of the shadows into the red light, her midnight-blue hair flowing down to her waist. Evangeline. Something stirs inside me at the sight of her, and I quickly force the feeling aside. In Evangeline’s hands are several blood bags. A thunderous look crosses her face when she sees Natalie.
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