by Anna Day
“Where have they gone?” I finally ask. In canon, the rebels freed the concubines and left the Gems behind—battered and humiliated and unlikely to open another Imp brothel for a very long time.
“The Coliseum,” Ash says. “Thorn told us to take the Gems to the Coliseum.”
I don’t bother asking why, I already know the answer—I’m the clumsy fool of a butterfly who put the idea in Thorn’s head after all. A convulsion grows at the base of my spine threatening to empty my stomach as I remember my earlier words: They deserve to dance on the gallows and know how it feels.
THE COLISEUM. I have to go back to the Coliseum. It’s like the canon’s beckoning, keeping me on track. I just can’t seem to escape those gallows.
The city gates come into view. I see two soldiers drooping in their podiums, bowing to the gallows with blood in their hair. We approach with caution. The closer we get, the more the floodlights sting my eyes.
“They must have looped the security feed,” Ash says.
“Quickly,” I say, grabbing his hand. “We have to stop Thorn from hanging the Gems.”
“Sorry, what? Why would we do that?”
“Do you remember what you said to me in the orchard?”
He looks at me blankly. “Don’t screw the demigod, screw me?”
I smile. “No, you said that only the Gem people can rise up and stop the barbarity against the Imps.”
“I said that? Sounds clever.”
“Well, the whole point of this mission was to show the Gems that they are the ruthless animals, not the Imps. If we simply kill them, they’ll never think of us as humans. They’ll never rise up.”
He studies my face. “You never did fancy the demigod, did you?”
“Hell, yeah! Did you see those abs?”
Ash laughs and kisses me on the lips.
We slip into the Coliseum, using the same wooden door I stumbled from a week or so ago, still dressed in my cosplay outfit, confused and scared. It all looks so different beneath the stark beacons, all peaks and dips, angles and shadows, more like the vision from my mind blend with Baba. And I feel so different, so full of purpose. When I think of the canon, of Rose and Willow running through the sewers, just skulking away to the river, I feel a sense of pride that I chose to help the Imps. Hope starts as a little flower, I think to myself.
In the distance, I see rebels guarding the various entrances. Backs stooped, guns tipped skyward, alert and ready to shoot. At the other end of the Coliseum looms the rickety stage, topped with a broad beam and dangling ropes. The tiny hairs on my body awaken, a ripple of nervousness passing beneath my skin. A line forms before the gallows. I can tell they’re Gems from the breadth of their chests, the length of their legs. The rebels wave their guns, forcing the line to climb awkwardly onto the stage. Imps crawl across the top of the beam like insects.
I’m about to move when a familiar voice pulls me back.
“Wait up.” Nate stands at the door, looking smaller than ever.
I run to him. “You’re supposed to wait with Saskia and Matthew.”
He grins, his face all teeth and dimples. “I gave them the slip—ooh, they’ll be pissed.”
“Jesus, Nate, this is too dangerous.”
“This affects me, too.” He puffs out his chest, trying to seem older.
Ash takes him gently by the shoulders. “You’re a kid. You need to leave.”
Nate shakes his head. “And you haven’t got a clue, Squirrel.” He ducks to one side and breaks into a run, streaming across the Coliseum toward the gallows. We follow, stopping only when we reach the stage. This close, I can make out Darren perching on the beam, checking the lashings one by one. Thorn stands beneath, his forearms tensing as he fastens a series of slipknots.
I shove past the terrified Gems and vault onto the stage. “Thorn, wait.”
He sees me. “You want to help?”
“You can’t hang them,” I say.
“Why the hell not? They hang us every Saturday.”
“And it’s wrong. You know it’s wrong.”
He grabs a nearby Gem and positions him above a trapdoor. The blond hair twinkles in the stark lights. Howard Stoneback—his eyes still glassy from the draught. A gag muffles his words, but I can tell from the whimpering that he’s attempting to plead with me.
Thorn plows his fist into Howard’s ear. “Shut it.” He turns to me. “The condemned Imps are innocent. These Gems are rapists, sadists, some are pedophiles. If you don’t like it, then look away.”
The violence still shocks me. I can’t help but look at Nate—hovering at the base of the stage, face drawn in horror. I should have forced him to leave, carried him kicking and screaming back to Saskia.
“This is murder,” I say.
“It’s the price of freedom.” Thorn shoves a rope over Howard’s crown, pushing the knot into the base of his neck. “Half of these Gems are politicians. Do you realize the publicity we’ll get, the stand we’ll make, when their bodies are found hanging from the gallows?” He crushes Howard’s cheeks so that his lips stick out around his gag. “This bastard here is Howard Stoneback. Howard bloody Stoneback.”
The rebels begin to follow suit, pushing the Gems onto trapdoors, fumbling with lengths of cord. Only Ash stands motionless, his hand resting on my shoulder.
I grip Thorn’s hand, the one that encircles a length of rope. “If we behave like animals, they will never think us human.”
“They deserve to dance on the gallows and know how it feels,” Thorn says. “Your own words, Little Flower. If you were a true rebel, you would make them dance.”
A few Gems begin to weep. A puddle of urine stretches across the floor, nudging up against my boots.
Ash steps forward. “What if we could still get the publicity—still make a stand?”
“Go on,” Thorn says.
“We sit them on the stage, nooses around their necks, and then we write across their chests, telling the world of their crimes. Then we alert the Gem media. Even the government couldn’t spin a story like that.”
“That’s brilliant,” I say. “We take the moral high ground.”
Thorn glances from my face to the trapdoors, gouges both hands into his eyes, and makes a strange noise like a balloon deflating. “But they deserve to die. They have to be punished.”
“Look at them,” I say. “Gagged, crying, standing in their own piss. They’ll be humiliated and shunned. It’s worse than death.”
Thorn seems to stroke the noose for a moment. His eyes fill with tears, his beautiful lips press together. I know he’s thinking of Ruth. My heart swells with pity, and the sobs of the Gems sound so very far away. Maybe I would want to hear the snap of the ropes, see the flailing of Gem boots, if she’d been taken from me. I suddenly know how Katie must feel, pitying Thorn.
Very slowly, I unpeel his fingers. “You have to trust me.”
He grips my hand for a moment, searching my face for some unspoken truth. “OK,” he finally whispers.
A siren cuts through the air. So loud I feel it pass through the soles of my feet. I turn to Ash, just in time to see his lips forming the word ambush.
The floodlights cut out, plunging the world into black.
SILENCE. NOTHING BUT darkness and silence. Even the Gems on the gallows seem to hold their breath. From far away, I hear the ocean, a distant roar as it rises and falls, smashing into rocks. The ocean grows louder, angrier. Helicopters.
“FALL BACK!” Thorn roars.
The rebels begin to shout, feet slap the tarmac, gun barrels click into position.
I hear Ash. “We need to get out of here.”
But I stand completely still, my legs jammed in position. There was no ambush in canon. The rebels never even went to the Coliseum. How do the Gems know we’re here?
Helicopters swarm above, pouring shafts of white light into the black, like giant streamers probing the ground. I see fragments of movement as if captured by a strobe. Cables arcing over the Coliseum wal
ls. Rebels retreating, their weapons raised. Figures crawling over the wall like spiders. A helicopter passes directly overhead. The pulse of the blades travels through my skin. All the tiny hairs on my face—even my eyelashes—stretch toward the ground, caught in the downward draft. My nose fills with dust, my ears feel ready to burst, and in the blinding white light, I see the blanched-out faces of the Gems beside me, ropes twisted beneath their chins.
My hand still grips Thorn’s. He pulls me near as if I’m a doll. His normally lavender eyes are almost colorless, his pupils two black pits. “Did you do this?”
I open my mouth to respond, but he leaps from the stage, pulling his gun from his holster in one swift motion. And then he’s gone. The helicopter passes and the world swings back to darkness.
Ash tugs my overalls. “Violet, come on.”
Gunfire erupts and I see a spray of embers in the distance. Beneath the searchlights, more spiders drop into the Coliseum, their helmets glistening like beetle shells. A light moves over us. Ash pulls my arm and we spring from the stage. The earth hurtles toward me, and I see my boots colliding with the black puddle of my shadow. The searchlight flits away.
“Nate!” I reach blindly for him.
“I’m here.” His voice, shrill with terror, finds me above the gunfire. Another flash. His face dives toward me. I pull him from the searchlight into the blanket of darkness. Ash encases my head, pushing me low to avoid the bullets that zip above. Bent double, we begin to run.
We reach the outer wall of the Coliseum and edge toward the wooden door near the Imp-pen. A noise splinters the air, silencing the gunshots and the cries. A noise like no firework I’ve ever heard, screeching through the sky like a comet. I turn, just in time to see a helicopter crashing into the center of the arena. Its searchlight pours across the ground like a ghostly blood pool. The blades still attempt to turn, causing the body to twitch like it still clings to life. Smoke balloons into the sky and a dreadful snapping sound resonates between the Coliseum walls.
Two figures, molded from flames, stagger from the heap. Foot soldiers rush to the wreck, but an explosion pushes them back, tossing them high in the air as though flicked by a giant hand. The blast ripples through me. I turn into the stone wall, shielding my face as best I can.
I glance back to see the remnants of the helicopter illuminating the Coliseum like a bonfire. The air fills with the scent of gas and smoke, and this faint greasy smell I can’t quite place. It smells a bit like pork. Bodies surround the metal shell, forming a perfect circle, some dazed, but some black and red and smoldering. Flesh. I can smell roasting human flesh. Nate grabs at my overalls and a muffled gasp escapes my lips.
“Keep moving,” Ash shouts.
We near the door and the gunfire seems to diminish. One by one, the floodlights sputter back into action. My heart lurches. I can see the devastation clearly now. Scraps of fire mingling with black smudges, which I think may be bodies, lines of smoke reaching toward the sky, the helicopter still smoldering like a giant centerpiece. The Gems we captured have long since vanished, and most of the rebels are now being marched from the Coliseum. The Gems could have killed all the rebels if they’d wanted. A blanket of explosives, a few canisters of gas. They must want them for questioning, or a fresh supply of meat for the Gallows Dance. I start to shake uncontrollably, my stomach contracting and expanding in quick succession.
“Hurry,” Ash says.
I can see that wooden door, we’re so close.
I hear the soldiers approaching. But I don’t look. I can almost taste the air beyond the doors, free from the scent of burning flesh. The thwack of boots on concrete grows louder. “Drop your weapons! Raise your hands!” I grab the handle, but a row of fingers pincer-grip my upper arm and a gun pushes into my back. Any hope of escaping disappears. I look across the Coliseum to see Howard running toward us.
“Her … yes, her!” he shouts. Blood still trickles from his ear where Thorn belted him, and the gag—dampened by spit—encircles his neck. “That’s the dirty little slut who’s behind it all. She drugged us so her barbaric friends could kidnap us.” He pushes his face into mine, I can smell the blood and champagne on his breath. “I will see you dance on the gallows tomorrow, ape.”
It’s the canon, dragging me back, forcing those threads to intertwine. But my death will be pointless unless Willow runs forward and announces his undying love. And there’s no chance of that now he’s got Alice. A fresh wave of panic rushes through me.
The soldiers march us toward the giant electric gates at the far side of the Coliseum—the exit that leads to the Pastures. We pass the remains of the helicopter and the side of my face burns hot and sore. I hear Nate whimper behind me. I want to turn, to tell him everything will be OK—even though I know it won’t—but I can sense the foot soldiers watching me, their weapons trained on the back of my head.
Beyond the exit, I see an army of Gems awaiting us. The outlines of the rebels’ faces stare from helicopters, hovercrafts, and trucks alike. I can’t believe I ever thought of them as extras from my favorite film, just background noise to an epic love story. Their fight for freedom, their quest for justice, now seems so much bigger than the needs of two love-struck teenagers.
We walk farther away from the Coliseum and I get a strange, unsettled feeling in my gut just knowing I’m back in the Pastures. Back in the cotton candy world of the Gems.
A sergeant approaches. Unceremoniously, he snatches my arm. “These three are coming with me.”
The soldiers salute him. He guides us between a cluster of vehicles. I see groups of soldiers, some peeling away their armor, others sipping at cups of hot liquid, steam unfurling into the cold. We approach a grounded hovercraft, slightly removed from the rest of the squadron. It crouches on the pavement, a giant pewter disk. A hatch opens, offering a series of metal steps.
“Wait here,” the sergeant barks at Ash and Nate.
Strangely, I feel relieved. If word has gotten out that I’m the ringleader, maybe they’ll go easy on the others. The guard nudges me up the steps, the pressure of his gun at the bottom of my spine. I enter the craft, stooping slightly, and see a line of soldiers, their perfect Gem faces staring at me.
And in the pilot’s chair, leaning casually against a control panel like a cockerel in a henhouse, is Willow.
WILLOW?” THE NAME feels alien in my mouth.
He speaks to the guards, his gaze never leaving my face. “You can go now.”
The sergeant leads the foot soldiers from the craft. They move rhythmically—a line of identical clockwork toys. Willow and I stand alone. My ears still buzz from the bullets and I realize I haven’t slept or eaten properly in days. I try to focus on his beautiful face, but it swims in and out of focus, the sharp, metal lines of the hovercraft smudging around him.
“Rose? Are you OK?” His voice reaches me above the fuzz, and for a moment, I forget my other name, my canon name. I open my mouth to reply but only a mess of vowel sounds emerges.
“Here.” He guides me to a metal stool and passes me a cup of something hot. “It’s just tea, it will help with the shock.”
I stare into those copper eyes. I can’t decide whether I want to hug him or smack him. All my emotions kind of muddle together, forming this ugly, amorphous ball in my gut. I’m so glad he isn’t with Alice, and there’s something about his perfectly organized face—the symmetry and order—that makes me feel safe. But I also feel angry. Furious. Not only because he slept with my so-called best friend, but because he knows about the Dupes and yet he does nothing, and he would have let those guards amputate Nate’s hands if Alice the slutbag hadn’t stepped in—how could he be so weak?
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I kind of hoped I could be your knight in shining armor. I came to save you.”
Save me … why does he want to save me? That flicker of hope is back and I begin to think maybe he still has feelings for me. But I order myself to remain composed—he’s disappointed me
before.
“How did you even know I was here?” I say.
“Rose, I know you’re a rebel, and it’s OK, I’m not angry. I was at first, but when Father told me about the Gems’ plans to ambush the rebels tonight, all I cared about was your safety.”
I can’t help but frown. “How do you know I’m a rebel?”
“Alice. The girl from the ball, the one from the market.”
“Oh … her.”
He ignores my tone, but can’t hide the shame in his eyes. “Why did you take off like that? We kissed and then I couldn’t find you again.”
Because you screwed my best mate, manwhore. I force a little smile. “Really? You don’t know?”
He lowers his head so I see his crown for the first time—each caramel strand spirals outward from a single center point. It reminds me of a pinwheel. He sighs. “I made a terrible mistake. It was just the once, but I guess that’s all it took.”
“Yeah, I saw you with her the night I left. It broke my heart.” This is true. Knowing my best friend could betray me like that, but I let Willow believe he did all the breaking—his guilt could work in my favor.
“Rose, I’m so sorry.” He takes my hands and pulls me forward so I can smell the citrus of his soap and the peppermint on his breath. “You see, she told me she worked for the government as some sort of agent, rooting out Imp spies. When she said that you were only getting close to me to spy for the rebels, I was so upset and … It was stupid. I regretted it immediately.”
Alice told Willow I was spying for the rebels? If Willow had blabbed to the Gem authorities, she could have got me killed. I know that’s unlikely, seeing as Willow forgave Rose for being a rebel, but it was one hell of a risk to take. The shock and anger move through me in waves, unsettling the contents of my stomach and robbing me of breath. Could she really be so willing to gamble with my life?
And she never told me that she’d tricked Willow, unsettled him, she’d just let me believe she was better than me. Maybe Alice doesn’t possess some weird voodoo power over men, maybe she just schemes and plots and flashes her tits like Katie said. Well, I can compete with that—though maybe not with her double Ds. I begin to feel stronger, empowered. I fill my lungs with air and touch my neck where my necklace used to sit. “She was sort of telling the truth. I am an Imp rebel. I was supposed to win your trust and uncover the Gems’ secrets, but as soon as I met you, all that changed.”
