Shadowlark

by Meagan Spooner

  Machines don’t feel.

  “We have a few moments in which to devise a plan. I will hear no matter how softly you speak.”

  “You have to run.” I breathed the words.

  “And leave you?”

  My mouth felt dry, like I’d been chewing on cotton. “Altruism, Nix?”

  “I require proximity to you in order to remain functional.” There was no punctuating flutter of its wings to simulate tone or emotion.

  “You heard that woman. They’re going to scrub you, whatever that means. For all we know, it means they’ll take you apart, like she did to that courier pigeon. I think first and foremost you require all your parts to remain functional.”

  “Quiet,” snapped the officer at my elbow, directing a glare down his nose at me. On a larger man, his build would have been imposing—but he was only a little taller than me, and instead he just looked stocky. He had thick, meaty hands that made my arm ache as he gave it a jerk.

  Nix gave an irritated little buzz of its wings, and I had to fight a weary smile. Kris had programmed it well—all protectiveness and simulated outrage on my behalf.

  The machine didn’t reply right away, but I knew it was considering what I’d said. Tucked so close to me, the whirring and clicking of its mechanisms sounded like explosions. I could feel it thinking where its body pressed against the hollow below my ear.

  Finally, it pulled away from my neck. “Very well.” And without further warning, it launched itself from my shoulder, shifted forms in midair, and sped straight upward.

  “Hey!” My captor dropped my arm, fumbling for a pouch at his waist. I was as dumbfounded as he was, staggering back. He retrieved something from a pocket and threw it after Nix. My dazzled eyes struggled to follow it as it unfolded into a flat, winglike blade, wobbled once as if orienting itself, and then sped after the pixie. The second officer followed suit, and for a while I could just make out the two knifelike flyers in pursuit of what was now only a copper gleam.

  I shielded my eyes with both hands against the dazzling rainbow sky, but in seconds I’d lost all sign of them. The sky was filled with machines, and though my eyes strained for some telltale sign of Nix, it was like the pixie—and its pursuers—had simply melted into the sky.

  “Summon it back this instant,” a voice snarled.

  I blinked, staggering back, refocusing my eyes on the man beside me.“How?” I glanced from him to the machinefilled air above us. “It does whatever it wants; I don’t control it.”

  The man’s eyes bulged, his heavy hands coming down on my shoulders and giving me a shake that rattled my teeth. “Bad enough you brought a pixie in, but it’s rogue?”

  “Hey.” Oren’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the man’s bluster like a knife. “Don’t touch her.”

  The officer rolled his eyes toward Oren. He was standing an arm’s length away from us. The taller officer who was supposed to be in charge of him was still scanning the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of Nix and the flying blades. Oren’s expression was blank, but I knew him well enough to recognize the fury in his ice-blue eyes.

  “You’re not in a position to make demands, Outsider,” said the short man, his hand drifting toward that holster on his belt. “Keep moving, or I’ll do more than grab her shoulder.”

  Where I was standing, I couldn’t see the man’s expression. But he leaned close enough that I felt hot breath on my ear, and he must have done something to demonstrate what he meant by “do more,” because Oren gave an inarticulate growl and lunged for him.

  The taller man whirled, cursing, but Oren was already beyond his reach. Oren slammed into my captor, whose hand tore away from my shoulder as the collision drove him down into the ground. He grunted painfully at the impact, gasping for breath.

  Oren pinned him there with a knee against his chest and slammed the heel of his hand into the man’s face. Something cracked wetly, and blood spattered the dusty ground. Dimly, through the rushing in my ears, I heard a scream—the crowd had gathered around us at a safe distance, surrounding us in a ring of staring, horrified faces.

  “Stop—Oren, stop!” I tried to grab at his arm, pull him away, but he shook me off.

  I caught a glimpse of his face, transformed—violence was what he knew, how he coped. He was a creature of the wind and the sky and the rain, and each moment he stayed underground was a torment. It was all written on his face and in the strangely elegant lines of his body as he transformed the man’s face into something unrecognizable.

  “You’re going to kill him!” I started toward him again, but somehow a tiny movement in the background caught my eye instead.

  The taller of the two officers had drawn one of those curved machines they called talons out of a holster at his waist and was sighting down the length of it at Oren. I didn’t have to know what it did to recognize it as a weapon.

  I shouted something unintelligible—time slowed to a trickle. The air suddenly split, rent in two by a torrent of magic. My knees buckled as my body tried to remember which way was up. On the other side of Oren I saw someone in the crowd reel back with a scream and fall, twitching for a horribly long moment before lying still.

  I wrenched my gaze back to the officer with the weapon and saw him lining up another shot. I saw his finger tightening on the trigger as though each movement was an individual picture flashing before my eyes. My second sight snapped into focus, outlining everyone with a faint halo of golden light. They weren’t Renewables—the only magic here was the barest needed to keep them alive.

  But it was enough for me.

  Time rushed back in with a roar, sweeping me up and shoving me at Oren, who was still pounding on the prone form of the officer. I threw myself at him with all my strength, colliding with him and rolling him off of the bloodied man. I grabbed at the officer’s face, ignoring the hot, sticky flow of blood, and yanked at the magic I could feel flickering inside him.

  The shadowy pit inside me leaped up, snapping at the energy, gleeful. This was no gentle, careful bloodletting the way I’d used Tansy’s power in the cell—I tore the man’s magic away so fast that my dazzled eyes could see the ragged edges of it flapping around the gaping black hole I’d left in his soul.

  I curled my body around Oren, who was still thrashing, trying to shake me loose, but I wrapped the man’s power around us both like a blanket, like a shield. I heard the air tear apart again, and this time something hot and metallic swept over us, rolling off the blanket like beads of water on a hot pan.

  Oren stopped struggling, though I could feel his chest heaving for breath. My cheek was pressed against it, my arms gripping tight around his body. I braced myself, trying to hold the ragged clumps of stolen power together for another attack. My head spun, my vision blurring—I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  A voice boomed across the courtyard, resonant enough that it penetrated even the muffling blanket of magic I held around us.

  “Holster your weapon, you idiot!” The voice snapped with fury. “Firing in a crowd like this; you could have hit—”

  Holding the shield together was an agony. I hadn’t had the time to absorb the man’s magic properly, and the hungry pit within me was sucking at the shields, trying to digest them. My body was on fire, and I could no longer hear what was going on beyond the screaming of my heartbeat and the frantic echo of Oren’s. But there was no third blast, and after a few interminable moments I gave in, letting the darkness consume everything I’d taken.

  • • •

  It seemed I lay there for hours, but in reality I think only a few seconds passed before a hand touched my shoulder. I gasped for a breath, lifting my head. A new face swam into focus above mine—a middle-aged man, balding, familiar somehow.

  He threw himself down at the side of the motionless man, bending over him. I saw him check for breath, his cheek close to the man’s lips. He pressed his mouth to the bloodstained lips, and I saw the uniformed
chest rise and fall as the balding man tried to breathe for him. After a few breaths he stopped and thumped the injured man on the chest, over his heart. I’d never seen anything like it before—in my city, when someone stopped breathing, they were just dead.

  Finally, he jerked upright. “He’s breathing,” he gasped. I felt my own breath falter with relief. I hadn’t killed him.

  The taller officer was staring, mumbling something, his weapon dangling from one hand.

  “You call a medic,” the balding man snapped, getting to his feet and then reaching for my wrist to haul me upright. “I’ll take them from here.”

  The tall man said something else—I couldn’t hear properly, as though something had exploded right by my ear.

  “No, he isn’t dead,” the man in charge said, his tone frosty. “But if you don’t get him to a medic, he will be. And make sure they take a look at the unlucky bastard you just shot.”

  The middle-aged man ushered me and Oren along, sending the crowd scattering back away from us with muffled cries and gasps. “Quick now,” he said, his resonant voice pitched low.

  I looked up at him, trying to force my eyes to work properly. I knew I’d seen him before. I glanced over my shoulder, at the still form lying within the ring of silent onlookers. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. Our unlikely rescuer had implied that he was still alive, but I knew how quickly and ruthlessly I’d acted.

  All I could see, over and over again, was the gaping black hole I’d left there when I ripped the life force from him.

  I stumbled, too shattered to keep up the pace this man was demanding from us.

  “Not yet. The Eagles will be watching. Keep moving— fall apart later.”

  He managed to get us out of the courtyard, but I couldn’t tell where we were headed. When we stopped we were in some kind of alley, a space between two rusting metal buildings. Oren dropped to his knees when the man let him go. Mine buckled, but the man kept hold of me, pushing me against the alley wall to keep me upright.

  His face swam into focus, and suddenly I realized how I knew him. He had changed clothes—though he didn’t wear the badge with the bird on it, he was dressed like they were, in charcoal grey and smoldering red-orange. But I recognized him anyway—he was the man from before, the one who’d caught my eye after the boy was taken away as a Renewable. The man in the brilliant blue coat.

  “I know what you are,” he said, his face not far from mine. “And we need you.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The man refused to answer any of my questions, pulling us back out of the alley again and marching us through the square towards the Central Processing building. When I glanced at Oren, he was moving along blank-eyed. The knuckles of his right hand were bleeding, the blood sliding down his fingertips and spattering the ground every time he took a step. He didn’t return my gaze.

  There was no sign of Nix. Every time I heard the buzz of wings or the click of a mechanism turning over, my heart leaped. But it was always a courier pigeon on its way to deliver a message, or occasionally one of those bladelike flying machines the officers had worn.

  We stumbled up the steps, as if he was leading us into CeePo itself. But then he let go of my arm and nodded to one of the officers standing guard outside the massive copper doors.

  “Just taking these prisoners around the back, to interrogation.”

  The guard nodded, and then we were moving again, this time following the arc of the building, marching in a giant parabola. When we reached the end of the crescent, however, instead of continuing around behind the building, he pulled us off to the side. We headed behind a huge metal support for a building above, something that must have once been a giant walker leg. There, concealed in the shadows, was a door.

  It was barely visible, made of the same rusting metal as the wall, so that it melted into the background. It was only when I learned close that I realized the rust was painted on. It was so skillfully done that it looked three-dimensional, indistinguishable from its surroundings.

  Our rescuer leaned against it, spreading his palm against the surface for a few moments. My skin tingled, and I realized I could feel a slight stirring of magic. It was tiny, so deftly and quietly done that I would’ve missed it had I not been standing a few feet away. But this close, it was unmistakable.

  A Renewable.

  Before I had time to process what that meant, there was a solid clunk somewhere inside the door and the slow, steady clanking of a mechanism turning over inside. Part of the rustpainted exterior slid aside, revealing a long dark slot into which the man inserted his arm, feeling around inside the door.

  Then all at once the door swung inward, so abruptly that the balding man staggered. Standing on the other side was a young woman crowned with a wild halo of curly blonde hair. Her eyes went from the man to Oren and his battle scars— and then fell on me, where they stayed, widening. As if I was the shock and not Oren, who was dripping blood and staring all around with fierce, wary eyes.

  “You got her,” she said, letting out a long sigh. “Damage?”

  “Bystander,” the man replied. “Not one of ours. And they brought down an Eagle, don’t know if he’s going to make it. I’m meant to be taking them to the cells under CeePo.”

  She nodded. She had a youthful face and a sweet voice, but something about the way she stood made me think she was older than she appeared. She kept watching me for a few moments, her gaze troubled. Then she turned back toward the man.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Just a second.” The man turned toward us, glancing first at Oren and then turning to me. “Olivia’s going to take you from here on in. Try not to kill anyone, okay? We’re trying to help you.”

  “But—I don’t understand.” My head was still spinning, my eyesight sparking with magic. For some reason the man looked as though he was surrounded by pinpoints of gold and violet light, even though a second ago he’d looked completely normal. The aftereffects of the magic I stole and used, I realized. The effect was dizzying, but I held myself upright, refusing to lose control around people I didn’t know.

  “We’ll explain later. Just trust us for a little while.”

  His face was so earnest, his eyes so piercing, and yet I felt the bottom dropping out of my stomach. How many times had I been asked to trust someone over the past months? I felt my muscles tensing, my mouth going dry. And then a hand touched mine, a tingle of magic thrumming between us.

  For once, Oren was the one keeping me grounded.

  The man was watching me, waiting for my response. I nodded, and he breathed out in a rush, as if he’d been holding his breath. He straightened and started backing up, putting some distance between him and the hidden doorway.

  “Okay, Vee. Make it count this time. Just don’t break my nose again.”

  The blonde girl laughed and flexed her hand—which I noticed, suddenly, was wrapped up in strips of tape. “I’ll do my best.” She followed him, stretching and flexing her fingers.

  “Confidence-inspiring,” he muttered and then closed his mouth, dropping his shoulders.

  Without further warning, Olivia bounced up onto the balls of her feet, leaned back, and then threw her whole shoulder forward into a punch that knocked the man flat before he could utter another word.

  I lurched back into Oren, who cursed, staggering as well. But we were in a corner formed by the wall and the old walker leg, and the blonde girl was between us and escape. My mind just quit, going absolutely blank. There’d been too much running, too much thinking—now it was like it had just given up.

  The blonde girl advanced on us, shaking out her fist, wrinkling her nose. “Guess it’s better to be me than him, but goddamn, that hurts.” She must have seen my face. The chagrined, amused smile vanished, her brows drawing inward, lips pursing in concern. “Oh, hell, Wesley didn’t tell you guys anything, did he?”

  It didn’t look like she was about to turn her fists on us. I tried to speak, but my dry throat made the words come ou
t in a croak. “Not so much.”

  Olivia sighed, rolling her eyes. The expression seemed bizarrely out of place on her angelic features, like it had been painted on a doll’s face. “Of course he’d leave it all on me. Asshole.” She ran her hand through her hair, setting the curls to disarray.

  “Well, for starters, I’m Olivia. And you two just fought your way free from one of the Eagles’ deployment officers.” She inclined her head toward the prone form of the man she’d called Wesley. “When they find him, he’ll wake up and tell them all about it. But you’ll be long gone.”

  I stared at her. She’d hit him hard enough to knock him out—and all for show?

  Olivia winked. “Welcome to the resistance.”

  • • •

  The door in the wall led to a walkway that was half tunnel, half disused alley. At times I could see narrow snatches of the rainbow sky overhead, between the tall buildings on either side. Others, we had to stoop to fit through ventilation chambers and crawl spaces. We went up ladders and down staircases, and on one occasion climbed down a crumbling brick wall, using spots where the mortar had fallen away as handholds.

  It seemed that earlier in the city’s history these were occupied buildings. But the other buildings had been built right on top of the old, half-crushing some, leaving others empty and abandoned, forming a strange undercity.

  Cities under cities under cities—I thought of the people above, of Trina and Brandon and their children. They had no idea what existed beneath their feet.

  It was like being in the tunnels under my home city again. Basil would have loved this. For the first time since the little girl had turned into a shadow, I felt as though I was able to take a deep breath. Sometimes it seemed as though the world was made of walls—I just hoped I’d come out on the right side of this one.