by Julian North
“Thank you, Nythan.”
“Bet you’re glad I hooked that thing up now, huh? Kortilla thought it was a ploy to get her to watch Star Wars.”
“Get me out of BC and I’ll watch whatever silly movie you want.”
“Done!”
Two hours later, the phone rang again.
“Sedan will be out front in twenty minutes. It’s got the Tuck emblem on the door and an Authority-issued emergency travel pass. You can’t miss it. Transmit your Tuck student ID to open the door. Hopefully no one shoots at it.”
“A Tuck car with a special travel pass? How’d you guys manage that?”
“Ask Alexander. He got it done. He didn’t give me the details. In any case, that’s your ride. Not sure when you’ll be able to go back to Bronx City, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if they keep the curfew in effect until after the president’s funeral on Tuesday. You sure you want to come down here?”
I thought about Mateo. He’d gone to ground. I’d never find him, not with the curfew in effect and clangers on the streets. Even if I did, I’d have to trill him to stop. Then what? The boy had a death wish. I needed to stop this. There wasn’t anything I could do for Kortilla and Aba hiding out in the clinic either. Whoever was behind the weapons was in Manhattan. And those guns were almost certainly connected to the killing of all those highborn—including Alexander’s sister. Manhattan was where I could do the most good. I needed to find out what was really going on.
“I’ll take the car.”
Outside the maze, it was as if time had stopped. No one was on the street; there were no cars, no lights except the lonely sun in an empty blue sky; silence reigned over the crisp November morning. If eyes were watching from windows or rooftops, they stayed well hidden. A bluekent drone hovered no more than twenty feet above the street, so still against the azure it looked as if it had been painted there. A clanger sat at the end of the block. It had an ugly black burn mark on the lower part of its armored chassis. I waited for the Tuck vehicle to stop in front of the maze doorway. The bluekent didn’t change position, but I knew the machines were speaking to each other on an Authority communication channel, otherwise the car would’ve been obliterated. I flicked my viser and transmitted my Tuck identification verification to the sedan with its shortband transmitter. The car relayed the information to the Authority’s minions guarding the street. I got a green authorization acknowledgment. The sedan door opened. I hurried into the car, sinking into the deep leather seats with a pang of guilt. I was abandoning my people. Or that’s what anyone who saw me would think.
There was no driver. The sedan simply started moving once its sensors confirmed I was inside. My only company on the streets of BC was the occasional Authority patrol vehicle. The sky belonged to drones; finder beams glided along the car’s exterior, but the flying machines held their fire. I spied a squad of black boots running into one of the low-rise tenements near the Harlem River, weapons ready. I looked away, toward Manhattan. The car stopped at the Washington Bridge.
“Route override. This vehicle has been halted pending clearance to enter Manhattan from the Five Cities Protection Authority. Please stand by.”
The engine cut off. Several armored vehicles with rotating gun turrets were parked across the bridge’s entry ramp. They looked like tanks, except they had massive rubber wheels instead of tracks, and their turrets housed a spray gun array rather than a cannon. A weapon for use against crowds, I realized.
A wolf-faced Authority officer approached the car and asked me to step out. I held out my viser instead. He looked up at me, then back at the data on his wrist several times, his frown deepening. Eventually he grunted, which apparently meant he accepted what he had read. He scanned me for weapons and searched the sedan. His jaw pulsed in frustration when he didn’t find anything.
“You’re cleared to enter Manhattan.” He flicked a finger at his viser, and the sedan’s engine restarted.
The Tuck car carried me across the Harlem River into the world of the highborn. The differences on this crossing were even starker than on a regular day: instead of enforcement drones and darkness there was electricity and commerce. Floating familiars lounged about in the air above their self-satisfied charges. People walked along the pristine sidewalks, talking and laughing. If any of them knew what was happening in BC, they didn’t care. Their concerns were from a different world. BC might as well have been Korea.
My sedan joined the procession of dark vehicles heading toward Eighty-Ninth Street to deposit their precious cargo in front of the school. The sheer number of vehicles had caused traffic to back up onto Park Avenue. On the other side of the car’s tinted windows, richies in navy Tuck skins streamed past me on the sidewalks, hair glimmering, mechanical protectors in tow. A few of the younger ones had human escorts as well—almost invariably a female with skin several shades darker than their own.
“The upcoming street is currently restricted to human-operated vehicles only. Would you like to exit?”
“Jack yes I would like to exit.”
The door clicked open and I stepped onto the Manhattan sidewalk. The passing students looked at me, their faces curious and quizzical. Most people at Tuck knew me by now. I was the token BC girl, the freak. No one spoke to me—they just watched. I joined the flow of traffic headed toward school. I was a mess compared to the expertly coifed beauty around me, but that wasn’t anything new.
A familiar face caught up to me. “The city champion gets a car now?” Anise asked, her words tinged with sarcasm. “Nice dress.”
I clicked into my old teammate routine without thinking. “Yours is coming. Congratulations again on winning the two hundred, by the way.”
Anise gave a modest shrug, running a hand through her thick mane of chestnut waves. Her hair reflected the sunlight as if diamonds had been sprinkled on top. Maybe they had. This was Tuck. “It’s just a few blocks for me. I guess no one bothered.”
I remembered that Anise probably did have access to a private car and driver, if she wanted.
“Maybe you’ll get something better for winning at the State Championships,” I said.
Anise frowned, her eyes narrowed. “You heard about Alexander’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“You were at the funeral. He took you, of course. That explains the dress.” She sounded hurt. “Black isn’t your color.”
“It was just a few people who were there,” I said quickly. “He wanted it over with. With her condition, there wasn’t much point in dwelling on things.”
“And then, after you went home, the school sent that sedan for you because the trains from Bronx City are shut down?”
“Something like that. And it’s more than the trains that are shut down. There’s no power in Bronx City. It’s been diverted to Manhattan. There are drones shooting people in the streets.” I felt my face flush with emotion. I didn’t mention that my brother had fired the first shot.
“I understand it’s personal for you, Daniela. Just remember, we Titan-Winds aren’t ideological. We’re survivors.” I gave her a cold stare. Anise met it without rancor or embarrassment. She wasn’t one to apologize for who she was. “Personally, I’m glad you’re going to be at practice. I looked for Alexander, and you, after the track meet… where did you go?”
I sighed, remembering that night: the guns, the explosions, the black boots. I also thought about Alexander. He valued his privacy, although I knew he trusted Anise. “It’s Alexander’s story to tell, I think.” Anise’s lips twitched with annoyance. I kept walking.
We turned on Eighty-Ninth Street, into the circus of predestined wealth and power that formed on weekdays in front of Tuck. I shook my head at the miasma of talent and ignorance, of beauty and ugliness, contrasting it with what was going on around my old public school. I am part of this, I thought, my shoulders heavy.
Anise and I waded through the crowd toward the great stone lion sentries at the Tuck entryway. The back of my head tingled. I turned to find Alissa’s dark almond ey
es upon me, wary. She was flanked by two other girls I recognized, but to whom I had never spoken. One of them was Karolina Ness, a platinum-haired waif from someplace in Europe. The other young woman was a highborn—Dion Byne-Hall. She was a runt for a highborn, standing no more than a couple of inches above Alissa’s diminutive frame. I was surprised to see Alissa with any highborn, but I really had no idea what was going on with her these days. We’d spoken just once since the night that we’d broken in to Rose-Hart and I’d discovered her betrayal. Alissa’s mind had overcome the mental blocks of my trill a few days afterward. She had waited for me outside of school after track practice. She didn’t apologize for lying to me, for using me, or for almost getting me killed. Instead, she had simply declared, “I did what I had to do.” I replied with the same words, and we hadn’t spoken since. As for Lara, she had withdrawn from Tuck a few days after we’d rescued Kortilla. No one had seen or heard from her since. I avoided Alissa’s gaze.
The great doors of Tuck opened for me, and I walked past the usual security detachment, into the musty halls of historic privilege. The portraits on the walls were familiar now, although no more welcoming.
“I need to go downstairs to the lockers to change,” I told Anise. “Catch up with you later?”
“I’ll walk down with you.”
I went to the locker room to shower and change into a Tuck skin, while Anise headed to the track. She wasn’t going there to run. She was looking for Alexander. I’d never pressed him about his past with Anise, and neither of them had ever offered any details. It wasn’t any of my business. But something itched at me anyway.
After I had cleaned and dressed myself, I walked back out to the track. Alexander and Anise were still there, talking on the line of the outermost lane. Anise’s brows were furrowed with uncharacteristic distress. Alexander merely looked tired, his shoulders hanging low. It was an unnatural pose for him, even after a tough run.
I approached slowly, my footsteps echoing off the high ceilings of the underground chamber. Anise beckoned to me with a wave, as if she had been waiting for me to join them this whole time.
“Alexander told me what happened at the Championship.”
I shot a glance at Alexander. The flicker in his eyes told me what I needed to know: Anise knew about the attempt on Alexander’s life, but nothing else. Alexander wasn’t so foolish as to share the rest, whatever his relationship with Anise.
“And yet here I am, still in one piece,” Alexander declared.
“You need more security than a familiar,” Anise said. “They killed Galena. They’ll try again to get you.”
“The school is secure. The Authority is on every corner. But I think I’m safe now in any case.”
“Why is that?” Anise asked.
“The president is dead. Galena Aris-Putch is dead. The Harris-Strong sisters. Ryan Sype-Rosen. All Traditionalists—all massive vote holders. All gone. Whoever was behind this, I think they’ve succeeded. No sense in taking any more risks.”
The names meant nothing to me. They were all highborn. I didn’t care what Orderist faction they backed. Except for one thing.
“Nythan said all the aced highborn supported President Ryan-Hayes, right?” I said.
Alexander looked confused. “Aced?”
“Professional kill,” I explained.
“Then, yes, the ‘aced’ were all part of the Traditionalist faction, which generally supports President Ryan-Hayes and his policies. The original Orderists.”
“But you aren’t one of them, Alexander. Your father was the president’s rival. So why were you and Kris targeted? What do you have in common with the dead?”
Anise’s wary eyes locked onto me. “What’s your theory?”
“You two are highborn. This is your world, not mine. But they killed Kristolan for a reason. Until you know why they came for you, Alexander, you shouldn’t assume they are done. At home, the gangs say, ‘never give the dead a chance to shoot back.’” My eyes met his. “You need a third eye.”
Alexander frowned. He didn’t look scared. He should have been. I was. Even Anise looked anxious.
“We all better get to class,” Alexander said, looking at his viser.
Anise had Chemistry on the second floor, while my Literature class was on the ground level. When she left us, I asked, “How did you and Nythan manage to get a car that could travel in and out of Bronx City?”
“The new headmaster did it.”
My eyes bulged. “The illustrious Mr. Frost-Bell helped me?”
“As a former senator, he has the connections to make something like that happen.”
“Yes, but why would he? He has nothing but contempt for nopes, and I’m the worst of all. He made that clear.”
“Despite what you may think of him, or he of you, the headmaster is a Tuck alumni. He has been on the Board for a decade. He is part of this community. We are supposed to look out for one another.”
I shook my head. “That’s jack. He practically spit in my face the day Coach Nessmier introduced the team to him. ‘The girl who needs an incentive package to go to Tuck’ was the only thing he said to me. Frost-Bell wouldn’t lift a finger to help me. He wants me gone.”
“He does not approve of incentives like yours—Havelock bent the rules for his own ends. But Headmaster Frost-Bell is an honorable person, if not necessarily an easy one. We are actually related in a way.”
I blinked. “Huh? How come you never mentioned that before.”
Alexander’s eyes darted about before finding me. “It is not relevant. Mr. Frost-Bell wants to make sure you will be attending the late president’s funeral tomorrow.”
“Yeah, right.” It had to be a joke. But I forgot I was talking to Alexander.
“President Ryan-Hayes was an alumnus of this school. We are all Tuck. We are all expected to attend. ‘Expected’ in this situation means required.”
I nearly choked at the hypocrisy. President or not, that corpse wore the boot that had been pressed to my throat for a lifetime. “You’re all loco.”
Alexander sighed. “I assured him you would attend.”
My tone turned dangerous. “Did you?”
“It seemed a fair gesture, given he was helping to get you out of the war zone. I also put my house at the school’s disposal for hosting the next Alumni Fundraising Gala.”
I scoffed. “So, it’s about money, of course.” I said it too loud. We were outside of Lit class, and a few students gave me sharp looks—even more appalled than usual.
Alexander looked at me, his eyes weary. I regretted my words.
“Not everything the people at this school do is for ill, nor are all of them out to get you. Sometimes we help each other because we are all a part of Tuck and its ideals. At least that is what I try to do.”
My face burned. I wanted to answer, but the words didn’t come to me. I just stared dumbly. My viser warned me that Mr. Lynder would enter the classroom in moments. I scuttled to my seat like a coward.
Chapter 9
Classes came and went, all of it too normal to be comfortable given what had happened, and was still happening, back home. At the day’s end, I hurried out of Chemistry, fingers flicking at my viser as I made my way downstairs for track practice. Tuck’s closed network had no external newsfeed. They wanted us focused on our studies. The only exception was the legally mandated Authority alert feed for official pronouncements—like curfews. I searched the channel for any indication of what might be happening in BC, but the black boots had gone silent. Not good. If they had no victories to report, they reported nothing. That meant people were still fighting, and dying.
I glided down the stairs to the basement for track practice, my mind focused on everything except where I was going. A sharp chill made me stop and look up. Circles of dire red stared at me.
“I heard you were quick,” Arik said, his voice a rolling drum of contempt. “But you should be careful as well.” Alexander’s half-brother was a senior—his extra years show
ed in his bulk.
I took an involuntary step back, cursing myself as I did. I’d barely seen Arik since he arrived at Tuck two months ago. Landrew had used his influence to keep Arik and his mother at a distance, but now Landrew was gone, and Virginia Timber-Night was the rising power in Manhattan. Arik had never spoken to me—not since that night at Alexander’s house. But he knew me, and I knew him.
Now wasn’t the time for a fight. I knew I should just go around him. He might be trying to steal Alexander’s company, he might be starving the clinic of the money we needed, but I couldn’t fix that here, on the staircase. That’s what I told myself, at least.
“Loitering in the darkness, Arik?”
He showed me a row of glittering teeth, his mouth stretched like a hungry shark. He exuded a predator’s condescension. “You’d best cause no trouble, girl. I hear the headmaster has it in for you. Careful, or you’ll end up back where you belong.”
A fire flared somewhere inside me. “And where is that?”
Noisy footsteps pounded on the stairs above me—other students on their way down. Arik leaned toward me. “With the rest of the BC trash. Or what’s left of them once the Authority is through with their cleaning work.”
I locked my jaw as two of my teammates came up behind me.
“Let’s go, Daniela. We’re going to be late.” It was Anise. Harris Bane-Livoff was walking beside her.
Anise smiled at Arik, a look of genuine warmth. “We’re working on her rough edges.” Her appeasing tone made me sick. Arik nodded politely, seemingly mollified for the moment. Anise hadn’t been kidding—the Titan-Wind family didn’t take sides. Her arm wrapped around mine, pulling me along. I let her.
“My best regards to your mommy,” I said to Arik as we walked past him. I didn’t need to see his face to know it had erupted in anger again.
“What was the point in that?” Anise asked sharply as soon as we were in the locker room. “Even if you think he’s your enemy, there is no reason to provoke him. Learn to play the game, Daniela.” She rolled her eyes at me as if I were a child. “Believe it or not, Daniela, I’m your teammate and I’m trying to help you.”
