Renegade Red

by Lauren Bird Horowitz

  “Owner?” Noa’s concussed mind was moving like molasses.

  The girl snorted. “Please, you’re no Clear. You’re dirty. And besides, I can sense it.” She looked sharply at Noa, as if daring her to lie.

  “You’re … Green,” Noa realized slowly.

  The girl eyed Noa suspiciously. “Duh. Usually I can sense Colors without blowing the lines, but I can’t quite get yours. I’d use juice to read you, but you know…” She glared at the ceiling, where Noa saw red, green, and blue tubes ringing the room, like crown molding. “So just tell me straight, cullie: Why are you in Clear Province?”

  “I … thought it was the old marketplace,” Noa said carefully. If she lied, she knew the Green pixie might sense it in her emotions.

  The girl squinted in disbelief. “Your owner a beater? You got some kind of brain damage? This hasn’t been the marketplace for years. It’s Clear Province now, indentured cullies only.”

  When Noa still looked confused, she exhaled in frustration. “Don’t play all innocent with me. We both know the only way a cullie can get into pretty Clear Town is if they’ve pissed someone off and been pawned to some Clear gob for Channeling. So what’d you do? Use your power? Mix?”

  “You first,” Noa challenged quickly.

  The girl smirked, reminding Noa vividly of Judah. “I made some Clear kid sob like a little baby when he picked on my brother.” She laughed at the memory. “Shoulda seen him quavering. Would’ve been fine but…” She trailed off, sending an evil look at the alarm tubes. “Got nicked.”

  “Your brother too?”

  The girl’s face darkened. She crossed her arms. “What do you care?”

  A sudden wash of sadness overcame Noa, too quick for her to stop it. “My sister … I-I miss her….”

  The girl watched Noa carefully. After a long moment, she spoke, still watching Noa warily: “My little brother was Green too, so we managed to stay together even after Otec Darius wiped out the Homesteads. I’d sneak into his room in the Green Tower, line up with him when we marched. Took care of him, see? Until…” She lifted her chin in defiance. “At least I ran away from the gobs they gave me to. Months ago. Can’t risk going past the Guard line, so I’ve been hiding out in the Province ever since.”

  Noa looked around at the pristine living room. “Nice hideout.”

  The small girl shrugged. “Not hard to watch ’em, figure out what Clear’s around and what’s away. Never stay in one place too long.”

  Noa nodded. “Smart.”

  The girl narrowed her eyes. “Your turn, pixie. Tell me what the hell you’re doing here, nearly getting me nabbed again.”

  Noa bit her lip, not knowing what she should say. “Well,” she began slowly, “first, I’m Noa. You have a name?”

  The girl tensed again, then decided to answer. “Used to be called Marena.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Now I’m just Greenie. Joy Juice. A hit to make them Clears feel good.”

  Noa shivered.

  “You didn’t escape an owner, did you?” Marena accused shrewdly. “That’s why you don’t know any of this stuff.”

  Noa bit her lip. “No, I didn’t. I came…” She hesitated. Marena was shifty, but something in Noa wanted to trust her, though she didn’t know quite why. “From the Tunnels.”

  A strange, awed wonder transformed Marena’s face, temporarily wiping away her scowl. For the first time, the pixie looked every bit a girl of twelve. “You’re Tunnel Fae?” she breathed, as if Noa had named herself a unicorn. “But … but they’re not real….”

  Noa decided to roll with it. “That’s how I got into the Province, from below.”

  Marena seemed to wrestle with herself, with the hope she could not stop from softening her features. Her blue eyes grew vivid, glowing as she leaned in to speak in rapid whispers: “But how do you survive the flushes? How many are there? Are you forming a new Resistance?”

  Something thudded in Noa’s heart. “Wait—a new Resistance?”

  Marena clutched Noa’s hands with dirty, nail-bitten fingers. “When Otec Darius crushed the rebellion, we all believed what he said, that the rebels were all gone, but there were rumors, and here you are….” She caught her breath, eyes wide and shining. “Queen Lorelei, she’s with you, isn’t she? I knew she wasn’t dead. I knew it!”

  Noa’s stomach spiraled; her vision blurred in panic. “Lorelei’s … dead?”

  Before Marena could answer, a strange, low crackling sounded from the foyer. Noa and Marena turned as one to see the surface of the townhouse entrance wavering like a desert mirage.

  “They’re back!” Maren hissed, yanking Noa to her feet. Noa swayed, head still throbbing from her bruise.

  Marena quickly surveyed the room and pulled Noa toward what appeared to be a closet. Noa stumbled after her to crouch in the dark compartment, and Marena yanked the closet door as close to closing as she dared. Noa just glimpsed the townhouse entrance dematerializing to reveal a well-groomed man holding a raggedy teenage boy by the shoulder. The last thing Noa saw was that the boy’s eyes were glassy but open wide—then the closet door shut him out, and blue light filtered in through the cracks.

  “Approved,” the man’s voice said in the living room, and the blue light—which Noa realized had been coming from the tube alarms—dimmed away.

  Lighter, quicker footsteps entered the living room. “You can just use the doorknob, Cyrus,” a female voice said, followed by the closing of the door.

  “We have him, so I’ll use him,” the man—Cyrus—replied sharply. “I sure as hell don’t keep this cullie for his filth.”

  Beside Noa, Marena began running her hands carefully against the wall and closet door. Noa squinted in the dark, realizing that this ‘closet’ was unlike any closet she’d ever seen. Instead of housing shelves or a coat rack, it had two chained cuffs bolted to the floor.

  Noa touched one with her finger, shivering.

  “Welcome home, cullie,” Marena breathed in Noa’s ear, still searching intently with her fingertips.

  “Yes.” Evidently having found what she was searching for, Marena pressed her face against the very bottom of the wall, beckoning Noa to do the same beside her. There were two small, irregular, hand-worn holes—little makeshift windows—hidden near the floor. Noa didn’t want to think of how long a “cullie” had spent shackled here, patiently making these secret, tiny openings.

  Or why Marena had known to look for such a thing.

  Marena and Noa pressed their faces to the wall, cheeks touching, hair intertwining, and looked out into the living room.

  Cyrus was now seated on the couch. The ‘cullie’ boy he had Channeled was slumped in a heap on the floor. The female—a well-coiffed woman with shining strawberry-blond hair—was looking through a purse nearby, swathed in an immaculate white wrap dress made of layers and layers of fluttering fabric.

  Cyrus kicked the lump of Blue Fae boy her way.

  “Something to eat, will you?” he said. “I need to make an Astral call. Where’s the Red?”

  The woman took the dirty, drooling Blue teen with distaste. “We need a new one. The old one was so weak I sent her to Review. Half the time her Astral calls flickered out, and she couldn’t Suggest a thing to a dog, let alone another Fae.”

  Cyrus slapped his hands on his thighs. “Amarine! You can’t just keep throwing out the cullies! They aren’t cheap!”

  “Why should we have to deal with incompetence? Are you or are you not on the Otec’s new Commission?” Amarine snapped. She disappeared from view for a moment, then returned, holding what looked like a stone. She grasped the teenage boy’s shoulder. Noa thought she saw him shudder in his stupor—and the stone transfigured into a bowl of some kind of nuts and grains. Amarine fairly hurled the bowl at Cyrus, who, Noa now assumed, must be her husband.

  Cyrus caught Amar
ine’s hand, held it roughly. “We’re not supposed to talk of that,” he hissed. “The Otec won’t hesitate to send us to Review if we’re not discreet. No one can know.” Amarine tried to pull away, but her husband held her fast. “I mean it. I’ve seen the weapon, and none of us stands a chance. Clear or not.” He sneered into her eyes. “Tell me you understand.”

  Amarine nodded painfully. “I wish you could just tell me—”

  Cyrus vehemently shook her so hard she squealed, but Noa thought she saw fear within his movement. “It came from somewhere else, and it cannot be contained. That’s all you need know.”

  Noa’s heart pounded; she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

  Sasha.

  Marena slapped a hand over Noa’s mouth, frantic; Noa realized she’d murmured the name aloud. Her whole body seized in fear, but after a terrifying moment, Marena eased a little in relief.

  Too soon.

  “Put the Blue away, will you?” Cyrus told Amarine, and footsteps headed directly toward their hiding place. Noa turned to Marena, and it was like she could read her mind:

  Crap.

  “What the…,” Cyrus cried as the power alarm in the living room began to scream and pulse, flashing red.

  Marena grabbed Noa’s arm; Amarine’s footsteps had paused, distracted, and Noa understood immediately. She nodded once as Marena slammed the door backward from inside, and as one, they leapt out together.

  Amarine screamed at the sudden girl-bullets; Cyrus jumped up from the couch, portly face thunderous and red.

  “Runaway cullies!” he snarled, coming at them around the coffee table. “Amarine, stop them!”

  Amarine shrieked hysterically, quite undone, frozen between them and the front door. Marena took one look at Cyrus’s approaching hulk and yanked Noa right at her. The flashing Red alarms were suddenly joined by screeching Green alarms as Amarine crumpled to the floor, sobbing and shaking with overwhelming fear.

  Cyrus was faster than he looked, already at their backs. His fingers brushed their backs just as, in perfect synchronicity, Noa and Marena jumped over the cowering, crying Amarine.

  “Dammit, Amarine!” Cyrus screamed as he tumbled over his wife’s sobbing body. Amarine cried out in pain; Noa turned and saw Cyrus stumbling up, savagely kicking her aside. But he was moving absurdly slowly, face contorted, as he fought through the cloud of fear that now engulfed him too.

  Looking backward, Noa slipped on the smooth foyer floor—realizing only now it was made of marble—and slid into the entry banister headfirst. Marena scrabbled to pull Noa to her feet, but she was too small, and the room was spinning. Noa slipped again, this time on something wet and red. She touched her forehead: her bandage was gone, wound gushing.

  “Come on!” Marena cried, face twisted with the effort of both pulling Noa and maintaining the cloud of fear behind them. “I can’t hold them off!”

  “You’ll have to do better than this, Greenie!” Cyrus grunted, but gaining speed. “I conquered my fear long ago!”

  Adrenaline shot through Noa’s veins. Her vision snapped into focus, and she stumbled up, hand pressed into her wound. Marena was frozen toward Cyrus, panting with magical exertion, so Noa grabbed her with her free hand and pulled her at the door. Behind them, Cyrus yelled in triumph just as Noa reached for the doorknob—

  —which disappeared right under her hand, along with the door itself.

  Noa and Marena collided heavily with the wall. They turned to face Cyrus, world still reverberating.

  Cyrus was grimacing, hand pressed firmly to his Blue boy. The Blue alarms had joined the cacophony, but Cyrus lolled toward them, unhurried.

  “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you,” he growled.

  “We’re not afraid of Review,” Marena spat. Noa tried to echo her defiance, failing miserably.

  Cyrus laughed harshly. “We shall see.”

  Noa’s eyes flew wildly around the room, landing on the window over Cyrus’s shoulder. She squeezed Marena’s hand hard, hoping it would communicate what she couldn’t say aloud, then in a sudden burst, let Marena go and sprinted straight at Cyrus. His face twisted in confusion as she bowled right into him, plowing him away from the Blue boy.

  “The window!” Noa screamed to Marena.

  Marena didn’t hesitate. Noa latched herself, amoeba-like, onto Cyrus, struggling to keep him pinned. She’d learned the technique from Sasha, whose smaller size never prevented her from achieving some heroic moments in every fight.

  Marena sprinted across the room, onto the coffee table, and jumped over the couch right at the window—but her mass wasn’t big enough to break it. It bounced her backward like a rag doll and spiderwebbed with cracks. Noa screamed as Marena’s little body slammed hard into the back of the couch, then oozed limply to the floor.

  “Marena!” Noa cried, just as Cyrus swerved his body sideways to kick her in the stomach. She fell backward, her wind knocked out, and he clambered over to her. She wheezed and choked, unable even to scream as he raised his palm, fingers splayed—

  “You’re mine,” he hissed, slamming his hand directly onto Noa’s heart.

  The air crackled and exploded; Noa’s veins sizzled like she’d been electrocuted. She heard herself scream, and for a moment everything turned white. Then her vision blurrily returned: Cyrus’s face above hers twisting into focus, his hand still on her heart, pressing, pressing, pressing—

  So she pushed back.

  Cyrus stuttered in confusion as Noa pushed herself upward, threw him off. He stared at his palm, unable to understand.

  “You can’t Channel me,” Noa whispered with a smirk that would have made Judah proud. She reared back and kneed Cyrus in the groin with everything she had. As he crumpled, gasping, Noa ran over to the window, wiping away blood that was seeping into her eye. She grabbed a cushion from the couch and, turning her face away, elbowed it through the cracked window, which finally gave way in shards.

  Noa bent to Marena and, taking a page from Marena’s own pragmatic playbook, shook the pixie as hard as she could until Marena’s blue eyes fluttered open. Then Noa yanked Marena to her feet, grabbed her hand and met her eyes.

  Together, they leapt through the jagged window.

  • • •

  Knives of glass rained absurdly musically against the sidewalk where Noa and Marena landed. They shoved themselves to their feet, and Noa got her first real look at what Judah and Callum had hoped was a crumbling ruin: a sprawling, gleaming cloister of immaculate streets and shining townhouses, each more ostentatious than the last. And everywhere, everywhere, were Clears bedecked in silks and robes, glittering in shades of ivories and ice.

  And they were staring at Noa and Marena—bloodied, filthy, dressed in rags.

  “Run,” Marena breathed. They took off, hurtling past the startled residents as Cyrus screamed, “Runaways!” somewhere behind them.

  “Follow me!” Marena ordered Noa, darting around a corner and speeding down the next street. Noa skidded behind her, trying to match her pixie agility. Aurora’s Light had already healed Marena’s body, a benefit Noa’s mortal body didn’t share.

  “Crap!” Marena cried as a squad of white-and-silver uniforms flooded the street in front of them. Noa recognized them instantly: the Guard, who took prisoners to Review.

  Marena yanked Noa sideways toward one of the townhouses, this one adorned with swirling ridges of ice-like stone. Without hesitation, Marena bounded onto the home’s facade and began to claw up the ridges toward the roof—but the ridges were too shallow, too slick for Noa’s mortal hands—

  “Come on!” Marena screamed down as Noa scrabbled against the wall. Noa could hear the regiment of Guards getting closer, their boots pounding on the ground.

  Noa looked around desperately, realizing now how stupid this plan of hers had been, how ill-equipped she was, how she would never see
Sasha again—

  Sasha.

  “Noa!” Marena screamed.

  But suddenly Noa wasn’t seeing Marena, she was seeing Sasha—the way she sometimes saw Isla, there but not there, smiling with a secret. Sasha darted around the corner of the townhouse, eyes lit with mischief, beckoning Noa to follow.

  Sasha led Noa to the side of the townhouse, the narrow alleyway between it and its differently styled neighbor. Noa watched as Sasha jumped in between the houses, little limbs spread like a starfish, one hand and foot on each side wall. She then crab-scurried upward, twinkling down at Noa, wanting her sister to come and play.

  Noa could hear the shouts of Guards now, almost upon her. Without pausing to doubt herself, she jumped up into the crevice, splaying her hands and feet to crawl up after her starfish sister. She reached the roof just as the patrol descended on the front yard of the ice-house, and Marena’s hand was there to pull her up and onto the steep, slippery steeple of the ice-house roof.

  “What now?” Noa panted, her arms like jelly as she and Marena crouched against the slick grade of the roof, both breathing hard.

  The Guards’ chatter below rose up loud and clear: “Bring in the Blues!”

  A series of grappling hooks flew over Noa and Marena’s heads and slid back to catch within the ridges of the ice.

  “They won’t wait for Blues to Channel; they’re gonna scale the wall,” Marena said. “Confuse the climbers so we can run!”

  “What?”

  “Confuse them! Come on!”

  “No, you don’t understand—” Noa stuttered.

  Marena huffed in frustration, but there was no time to argue. She pulled Noa to her feet and dragged her along as she ran up the steepled grade—then down, before Noa could protest.

  “Jump!” Marena cried as they thundered, half-running and half-sliding to the edge. With no time and no choice, Noa leapt with Marena at the last possible second, sailing with her over the alley into the neighboring roof’s grade.

  There was no way Noa could keep her feet; she clattered against the roof—this one made in slick tiles of pressed flowers, not ridges of ice—and fell backward, falling right off the edge—