• • •
Once inside, the man retreated to a comfortable-looking stuffed chair in the corner to work on something wooden with his knife. Sean plunked himself down to play with what seemed to be a set of polished round rocks, bouncing them off each other at random, and the woman closed the doors behind us.
They’d made a home in what looked like the lobby of some other building. The marble floors were covered with a slapdash assortment of colorful, overlapping rugs, and the large reception area had been divided into rooms by wooden screens. The revolving door opened directly into what I could only assume was the kitchen and dining area, dominated by a huge fireplace built into the floor and a chimney that descended from the ceiling to hover above it. It must have been a gorgeous piece of art and design back when the building was new, but now it only held a small cooking fire. The flames had an odd green edge to them, and my nose detected the acrid smell of chemicals. When I looked closer I saw that the wood they were burning seemed to be pieces of old furniture. I realized with a jolt that they wouldn’t really have access to firewood here in this forest of buildings. They must have been raiding the other ruins—or the rest of the building, which seemed unused—for wood to burn.
The rest of the furniture in the home was an odd mix of ancient-looking pieces, no doubt liberated from the ruins, and rough but solidly made pieces that looked relatively new. Overhead the ceiling was painted with a faded fresco of winged babies and clouds and swirling ribbons, encircled by intricately molded trim.
“I’m Trina,” the woman said as I turned in place, inspecting the odd mix of grandeur and hominess. “And you’ve already met Sean. My husband is Brandon, ignore him. Are you girls hungry?”
I glanced at Tansy, who seemed uneasy, out of place. If even I, who had been raised in a city with buildings like the Institute, felt overwhelmed, she must feel like she’d stepped into another world. And she looked positively naked without her bow at her side.
I smiled at her, trying to look reassuring, and then nodded at Trina. “Extremely,” I answered.
Trina laughed and went to the fireplace, lifting the lid of the pot suspended over the flames. The smell of something delicious and savory wafted toward us, and it was all I could do not to drool.
“I’ll just add some more water, there’ll be plenty for all of us. Come, sit.”
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly as Tansy and I made for the fireplace, beginning to strip off our outer layers. My nose and my fingertips began to burn and itch as they thawed in the warmth of the room. I kept my pack close so that Nix could stay near me. I could hear nothing and knew it was probably on the verge of hibernation, doing its best to stay silent.
As I looked around the room, something shadowy darted from right to left. All I could see was a blur of feet under the screen. I tensed, staring. While I watched, a pair of black eyes appeared around the edge of one of the screens, gleaming.
Trina noticed my sudden shift and smiled. “Relax. That’s just Molly. Don’t mind her, she’s shy.”
There was a faint squeal of protest and a giggle, and the dark eyes vanished again.
Dinner was a stew made of grains and winter vegetables. I was worried about there being meat in it, but Trina assured me that meat was a rare commodity in the city and that they only ate it when they got lucky—and even then, most people didn’t have much of a taste for it. Most of their food came from farms outside the city limits, tended by the whole community. When the harvest was good they all ate like kings all winter, and when it was sparse, they all scraped by somehow together.
Afterward Trina made a weak but fragrant tea out of dried flowers, and we sat by the fire, sipping it. Even Molly emerged for this, bare feet tucked up under her skirt and huge round eyes always watching me and Tansy. She looked no more than four or five years old.
“How many of you are there?” I asked, thinking of row upon row of buildings with shutters that closed as we passed.
“Only about two hundred of us now,” Trina replied.
“And fewer every week,” Brandon added grimly.
Tansy looked up from her tea. “Fewer? Why?”
Brandon leaned back in his chair with a creak. The fabric was worn and faded, and it sagged in the middle where he sat. He shook his head, setting his mug off to one side and retrieving his carving. It seemed to be a rough approximation of a horse, something I’d seen only seen pictures of in my city.
Trina spoke up instead. “It’s not a safe place to be, this city. There are . . . things here. Dark things.”
Tansy and I exchanged glances, and I knew I had been right. Shadow people. I leaned forward, forgetting my tea. “Maybe Tansy and I can help. Tansy’s from a place that’s so good at fighting off the shadow people that they’re afraid to even go near it. And I—” I thought of the shadow child I’d killed and its cry as its fell. “I’ve had a little experience.”
Tansy leaned forward, eager. “She’s being modest. She survived for weeks on her own with a shadow person right on her heels the whole time. Lark’s amazing.”
I felt my cheeks redden. I hoped they’d read it as modesty, and not as shame.
“Shadow people?” Both Trina and Brandon were looking at us, curious.
“Monsters that eat people,” Tansy supplied. “We always just used the word Them where I come from, but Lark’s word for them is pretty accurate. Isn’t that what’s attacking your people?”
They exchanged glances, and Trina nodded slowly. “Maybe. It’s hard to know exactly what they are. They only come at night, when the Star fades. And if anyone ever sees them, they don’t live to tell the tale. They vanish forever. Gone. Taken.”
Eaten, I thought, trying not to shudder. “The Star,” I repeated. “That’s the thing on top of that tower?”
She nodded. “The Star’s how we know when they’re coming. Once the sun sets and the light from the crystal dies, it’s death to be outdoors. Sometimes they break in, though, when they’re too hungry to be turned away by locked doors.”
I followed her gaze toward the door, where I saw rows of barricades ready to be shoved against it. Though the window shutters were closed, I could see glimpses of light through the cracks. Not nighttime yet, but close.
“Don’t worry,” said Trina. I knew she was trying to be comforting, and maybe that confidence was enough to fool her children, but I could hear her fear behind her firm voice. “We’re safe in here. Brandon’s the best woodsmith in the city—nothing’s getting through that door.”
“Tell us about yourselves,” said Brandon, changing the subject.
Tansy answered first, and I settled back against one of the screens, my feet stretched out toward the fire, content to let her tell our story. I slipped one hand inside my pack and felt the cool metal of Nix’s body bump up against my fingers. Sill there, still hiding.
I knew I’d never get used to the way Tansy talked about me, like I was some sort of hero or saint. I never heard her sound anything less than sincere, but I couldn’t understand her faith in me. Maybe to her, and her people, I was some kind of hero. I’d stopped the army of machines from my city from overrunning the Iron Wood and enslaving the Renewables hiding there.
But my city also never would have known where the Iron Wood was if it weren’t for me. And Tansy didn’t know about the child I killed. Didn’t know how all I wanted to do was find my brother and a place to be safe. That when I saw shadows, I didn’t fight—I ran away.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Molly creeping closer to me until a pair of small, warm hands reached for my arm to move it aside. I shifted without thinking, and the little girl crawled into my lap. I froze, glancing up at her parents. Brandon was intent on Tansy’s story, but Trina was watching me and Molly with a smile. I could tell by her faint surprise that this was unusual behavior for her daughter, but that she was happy to see her overcoming her shyness. There probably wasn’t much opportunity in a life as brutal and ruled by fear as this one.
&nb
sp; I was the youngest of my family and never had any little kids around to take care of. Molly was small enough that I had no idea what I was supposed to do with her. Uncomfortable, I shifted my weight, half-hoping the girl would go away if I did. But no. All she did was turn enough so she could crane her head around and look up at me.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered as Tansy continued chattering on. She wrapped her hands around locks of my brown hair, giving a firm tug.
I nodded and let her pull me down so she could whisper in my ear.
“I like your friend.”
Of course. Tansy was the social one, after all. The one with the good stories and the rich voice. I smiled at Molly. “Why don’t you go sit in her lap?”
The girl shook her head, impatient, and tugged at my hair for me to lean down again. “No, your secret friend.”
I looked down and saw that Nix had half-crawled onto my hand, its jeweled eyes visible on this side of the pack only. It gave a tiny, startled buzz and dropped back into darkness.
Molly laughed and leaned back against me.
What a bizarre child. Way too observant for someone her age. But then, I’d always been quiet, too. Unusual, out of place. Bemused, I put my arms around her.
The atmosphere inside was so congenial and warm that I began to grow drowsy, and I forgot it was only afternoon, not night. But eventually Brandon stood, setting aside his carving and stretching.
“Time for lock-up,” he announced. When I looked, I saw that the light coming through the cracks was almost invisible now, no brighter than the firelight inside.
Tansy and I helped move all the barricades into place, taking over from Trina, who usually helped her husband secure the building. The huge wooden structures were far too heavy for one person—I was surprised they were even able to do it normally with just two. How afraid they must be, I realized, feeling a little sick. I wished there was something I could do to help them.
Brandon checked and double-checked all the shutters and then sent the children off to bed. I expected Trina to go tuck them in, but it was Brandon’s voice I heard murmuring to the children from the room on the other side of the screen from the fire. The warmest room, no doubt.
Trina smiled at us as she finished wiping the bowls and mugs clean. “I’m afraid we don’t have beds for you girls, but it sounds like you’re used to sleeping on the ground.”
I found myself smiling back. “A dry, clean floor next to a real fire is far more than we were expecting,” I promised. “But it’s only just dusk now, isn’t it?”
Trina nodded, her smile fading a little. “We usually try to sleep after lock-up. It’s just easier that way, rather than lying awake in the dark, listening for every sound. The truth is that if they come for us, we’ll hear it. Nothing can get through that barrier without making a racket. It’s easier for the children, too. No child should have to grow up knowing that the monsters they dream of in the night are real.”
My heart constricted. Suddenly the Institute’s methods didn’t seem quite so monstrous. After all, what would I give to feel safe again every day, to know nothing could get me, that my family could sleep safely? How much would I sacrifice?
My own safety? My life?
My freedom?
CHAPTER 4
After Trina and Brandon had gone to bed, I stayed awake, pacing. As the fire died down the air had grown cooler, but I could still feel sweat pooling in the small of my back.
I’d been given the opportunity to provide my own people with that kind of safety, and I’d run away. Of course, I wasn’t a real Renewable—but at the time, the Institute had fooled me into thinking I was. I believed I had that choice, and I chose to abandon my people. Did it matter that the Institute had planned all along for me to run, so they could follow me? I still made a decision.
I wished I knew what had prompted Basil to abandon his task. All I knew was that Basil had volunteered to try to find the Iron Wood, and that at some point in his journey, he’d destroyed his pixie and vanished. Had he made the same choice I did?
I didn’t know whether that made me feel better or worse. A glint at one of the shutters caught my eye, and I backtracked a pace, putting my eye to the crack. I could just see the Star, dim enough now that I could make out its shape. It truly was like a star, or a snowflake—jagged and uneven crystal spires radiating out from its glowing heart. Though the street outside lay in shadow, the Star was high enough up that it was still catching the last remnants of the sunlight.
The buildings in this city were so destroyed that it was hard to believe only time had worn them down. Some distance down the street, one of the structures was so reduced to rubble that I couldn’t even tell what it had once been. With a jolt, I realized that this city must have been attacked during the wars. That some power-hungry Renewable had targeted it for unknown reasons.
I wondered if that Renewable had created the Star, fading in the dying light. As I watched, the light dimmed, like magic in a dying machine’s crystal heart. Then it winked out, leaving the city in darkness.
“Can’t sleep?” It was barely more than a whisper. I turned. Tansy was sitting by the fire, arms curled around her knees. Nix was nearby, on the other side of the fireplace, wings half-extended as if soaking up the warmth.
I wondered how long they’d been watching me pace. I moved away from the window and joined them, sitting in the empty space between them.
“Just thinking,” I whispered back, conscious of the fact that only wooden screens separated the bedrooms from the kitchen where we were.
“I wish we could do something for them,” Tansy said with a sigh.
I found my gaze going to the shutters again. “Why do you suppose the shadow people only come at night?”
Tansy shrugged. “Easier to get people alone? The upper hand when it comes to hunting?”
I chewed at my lower lip, troubled. “That crystal—the Star—it’s strange. Dorian said that this city once conducted experiments concerned with restoring magic to the wilderness. Do you think maybe the beacon wards them off, somehow, when it’s lit?”
Nix’s wings fluttered, a tiny sound in the stillness. I knew it wanted to comment, but we couldn’t take a five-year-old’s delight as a sign that the family wouldn’t mind Nix’s presence.
“Maybe,” Tansy said, slowly. “But who put it there? Surely not these people.”
She didn’t need to say it, but I knew what she meant. These people were hovering on the brink of survival, living harvest to harvest. And none of them, as far as I could tell, had a shred of magic beyond what sustained them. How could any of them have had the resources to erect such a structure?
I was about to answer when I saw a flicker of a shadow under one of the screens. When a tiny form emerged from behind it, hovering in the darkness just beyond the edge of the firelight, I straightened.
“Molly?” I whispered. “Can’t you sleep?”
She didn’t answer, swaying slightly side to side, her nightgown swishing softly against the tops of her feet. Tansy glanced over, then grinned at me, returning to her study of the flames.
“Why don’t you come sit with us? You can play with my secret friend if you want.”
She took a step forward, just the edges of her toes crossing the ring of firelight. I could see only the faintest outline of her face, her wispy hair, the flash of firelight in her eyes. Why didn’t she come?
My mouth went dry. I don’t know how I knew—it had nothing to do with my abilities, my sensitivities. She made no telling sound, no movement; even the swish of her nightgown had stopped. The steady gleam of her eyes was fixed on my face.
But I knew.
“Tansy,” I whispered, not taking my gaze from the figure in the shadows. Slowly, I reached for the strap of my pack to bring it closer.
I heard Tansy shift, straightening, recognizing the urgency in my voice if not the reason for it.
The girl heard it too. Like a predator scents its prey’s fear, she knew. She to
ok another step forward, and I saw the dark grey tracery of veins on her tiny foot. Her teeth gleamed in the firelight, even and white except for a gap where she’d lost a baby tooth.
Shadow.
And then all I saw was teeth and dead, grey skin and desperate, hungry white eyes. She was on me faster than I could register movement, the pain of her fingernails scratching at my skin jolting me into action. I struggled, the shadow girl’s screaming and snarling mingling with Tansy’s shouts of confusion and Nix’s furious buzzing. I heard other howls rising, the scrape of footsteps, the crackle of hungry voices.
The little girl’s nails dug into the fleshy parts of my shoulders, clinging to me with unnatural strength, her teeth snapping inches from my nose. A string of saliva ran from her lips to my face. I held her away with one hand pressed against her throat—she didn’t even notice, as though she didn’t need to breathe. With my other hand I groped for Oren’s knife, the one I’d kept hidden in my pack.
Not again. The words flashed through my mind, bright, searing. Not again. I can’t kill another child.
My strength was giving out. Her teeth caught my earlobe and tore, sending pain like burning needles scattering down my neck and across my face. I heard a scream, not even recognizing the sound as my own voice until I had to gasp for air and the sound ended.
I struck out with the blunt handle of the knife and felt it connect with a dull thud, sending her reeling back with a piercing howl of pain and confusion. I lurched to my feet, a wave of dizziness rushing through me as I swung my pack onto my back. Droplets of blood scattered across the floor as I stumbled, colliding with something warm. I shrieked, only to feel fingers wind through mine and hold tight.
Tansy.
“Tansy—we’ve got to—”
She hauled me backward toward the door. “My bow’s outside,” she gasped. One of her eyes was half-shut and streaming tears, and her other arm hung oddly. Before us was the family, silhouetted by the fire behind them, pacing and watching us, looking for their moment. The pale bandage around Sean’s knee looked strange and out of place, surrounded by the sickly grey flesh of a shadow person. None of them—not even Molly, who had regained her balance—looked like they’d be slowed down by the meager injuries we’d managed to inflict.
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