Steel Lily ARC

by Megan Curd

  Steel Lily

  The Periodic Series

  Book One

  Megan Curd

  Raven Key Press, L.L.C.

  ARC VERSION:

  Contents of this version may be altered prior to final publication.

  Not for resale or redistribution

  Books by Megan Curd

  — Bridger Series —

  Bridger

  Traitor

  Protector (Coming Soon)

  — The Guardian Chronicles —

  Forbidden

  — The Periodic Series —

  Steel Lily

  Iron Pendulum (2014)

  Find Megan Curd at www.MeganCurd.com

  Copyright ©2013 by Megan Curd

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Raven Key Press, L.L.C.

  Raven Key Press and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Raven Key Press, L.L.C.

  Cover design by Regina Wamba of Mae I Design and Photography, L.L.C.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may by reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the copyright owner.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ARC Edition June 2013

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Steam hissed, billowing from the brushed steel teapot my mother always used. Within seconds the vapors wrapped around me like wispy tendrils and tickled my arms. The mist left a dewy spider web that sunk into my tattered suede gloves, creating a miniature constellation of droplets. Students stopped what they were doing at their own stations and watched as I waved the evidence of my ability away.

  Do your best, they’d said.

  It’ll help us survive, they’d said.

  But what good did it do to survive, if you were stuck being exhausted and your classmates thought you were a freak because of your “gift”?

  Professor Evans, my Elemental Concepts professor, clapped her hands together and then shook my shoulders excitedly. Her silver bangles clinked and clanked, and her soprano voice trilled through the air. "Excellent, Avery, excellent! I've never had a student embrace their abilities so quickly! You’ll help our society rebuild what the war took from us. Be proud, be proud! Dome Four needs more students like you, ready to keep our steam rations up."

  I glanced at the rest of the class. Their haughty glares and eye rolling made me think they weren’t as impressed. One of the many perks of being in an advanced class. "Showoff,” my desk partner muttered as she wiped the condensation off her goggles. She flicked the water in my direction, and I flinched as it hit me in the eye.

  I frowned. I didn’t want to let the age difference get to me, but it seemed to bother everyone else. Being fifteen in a classroom full of nineteen-year-old, fourth-year Elementalists was like being thrown into a pit of vipers…who hadn’t been fed in forever.

  “I could help you, you know,” I whispered to the girl as Professor Evans turned back to the chalkboard, where theories of element manipulation were scrawled in her flowing script. “You can do this. I can tutor you if you’d like—”

  The girl snorted. “You? Help me? Sorry, I don’t need any contributions from the resident golden child.”

  “You’re going to have to test to see if you can manipulate water soon. Do you want to fail with flying colors? I can help you. Help you give your family a better life,” I said under my breath. “You fail, and you’ll be in government housing living ration to ration. You pass…they give you a home. Food. Opportunities. Let me help you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you have that?”

  I’d said too much. If the rest of the students knew I was taken care of by the government, it would make this daily suck-fest even worse. “Do you want me to help you or not? It’s a simple question.”

  Chase, the brown-haired boy in the row ahead, leaned back. He winked at me as he whispered to the girl. “Hey, she tutored me for a couple afternoons and it really helped.”

  He actually listened when I tutored him! Heat warmed my cheeks as I looked down and bit back a smile. Chase was too gorgeous for his own good, and I’d spent most of our time stumbling through explanations and avoiding eye contact. It was a miracle he’d understood anything I’d said.

  The girl said nothing, but closed her eyes. I shook my head and turned back to my teapot, giving up on helping her.

  And that’s when I felt it.

  Waves of heat hit my face and my eyes watered from the acrid scent of melting metal. My heart sank as I watched what was left of my teapot bubble and hiss. Drops of steel hit the table and solidified like permanent teardrops. Everyone had gone silent and the weight of their stares made me feel like I was three feet tall. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her smirk as I tried to absorb what was in front of me.

  The only physical reminder of my mother since her disappearance hardened into a contorted steel lump before my eyes. A part of my heart hardened along with the bubbling, molten mess.

  I held back the tears and focused on what people called snow, in hopes to cool the mass. I'd never experienced it, but from pictures, it looked gorgeous. I focused on that idea, that scene from the photo I’d seen, and watched the red dissipate from the center of the once molten steel. I quickly broke it off the burner before they adhered together, and stuffed it in my bag.

  But the girl was relentless. “That's for getting my goggles wet. I'm going to have to soak them in tonic for the next three classes so they don't rust. And as you can see, I don’t need your help.”

  I looked at her and shook my head tiredly. “Brass doesn’t rust. It can corrode, but even then you have crappy brass. But you wouldn’t know that, since you spend more time harassing people than listening.”

  The girl shook with anger, sending waves through her black, ruffled skirt. Her face turned a shade of puce. I figured she was trying to think of a comeback, but she looked like a toddler holding his breath after being told no.

  Chase chimed in before I could say anything. “That was a really bitchy thing to do, Erin.”

  The girl looked down her too-long nose and gave him a death stare. “I don’t remember anyone asking your opinion, Traditional. You’re here because your parents have sway, not because you’ll be of any use when you graduate.”

  Anger licked through me like a wildfire. My fist stung as it connected with the cold metal desk between us, the echoing thunk bringing all eyes to me. “If you put any effort into learning your trade, you’d be providing steam already! Why not quit wasting your time making other people miserable and do something productive? Have you not looked outside? Our world is barely hanging on! Do you want to live in this Dome for the rest of your life?”

  Professor Evans’s heels clicked to a halt in front of our desk. “Girls! We’re on the same team!”

  “No, we’re not.” My voice shook as I tried to keep from shouting.

  The horn blasted overhead, signaling that the class was over. No one moved for a moment, but then like dominos falling, chairs began to scrape across the cement floor and students headed for the door. Erin stood with the dignity of a disgraced queen and squared her shoulders, making sure to knock into me as she passed. From the look she gave me, I was sure she’d just as soon step over my burning body in an alleyway than help me.

  So much for
trying to help someone.

  I reached inside my bag to feel the warm metal against my fingertips. The scratch of a worn, wooden frame brushed the back of my hand as I grasped what was left of the teapot. I pulled out the picture and stared at the faces as they swam before me, the back of my throat burning as I swallowed back unspent tears.

  Mom and Dad and me. Happy.

  I closed my eyes and wished that I wasn’t alone. No, not alone. I had my best friend, Alice.

  I just wished I knew why my parents had disappeared.

  No one explained a thing that day. I was thrown into an orphanage, left to beg.

  That was when I was seven.

  The government found out about my ability when I was ten, and since then I’d been under their “care,” which meant I didn’t go anywhere without someone knowing.

  Well, that’s what they thought, anyway.

  Today was Alice’s birthday, and I’d be damned if I didn’t sneak out to LaFayette Market and get her a gift before returning home to Wutherford Tower.

  I swept the traitorous tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand and glanced around the empty room. I weaved through the mess of metal chairs and desks as I ran into them on my way to the door. Next class was across the Dome in twenty minutes.

  I didn’t want to go. I needed to get to Alice’s. Needed to see a friendly face.

  The narrow grey hallways in this building reminded me of a prison. The energy saving lights flickered off and on, far past their replacement date. A water leak somewhere dripped and echoed off the walls, joining with my footsteps. It felt like a death march.

  Another class with more vipers.

  Another day to donate steam.

  Rinse and repeat.

  I longed to escape from this place.

  I rounded the corner and the bay came into view, overflowing with people waiting to board the airbus. Old lights overhead cast everyone in an eerie glow as they moved and swayed like the ocean tide. Overhead speakers blared warnings and orders. Due to a steam shortage, the Dome’s oxygen filtration system has been shut off for the day. Please utilize your government-provided oxygen masks while traveling outside, the ancient speaker system repeated in a low, garbled tone. Half the words were indecipherable, but we’d all heard the instructions enough times to know what we needed to do.

  Cogs and gears to the right of the transport bay door hummed as they waited to be activated and people milled about, trying not to step on one another. I squeezed myself into a corner and searched my bag for my oxygen mask.

  The woman beside me was staring my direction, her little boy holding onto her leg. I pulled my jacket tighter and looked at the floor, but she cocked her head to the side to watch me. I knew what question was coming, and counted the three beats before she posed it. “Are your eyes real?”

  I got that question all the time. After a while, I started making up unlikely stories to keep it interesting. “No, I was simply bored one afternoon and decided to color one green. It seems that permanent marker really is permanent.”

  Both the woman and the little boy’s mouths dropped open. The little boy whipped around to face his mother. “Mommy, can I try that when we get home?”

  Before I had the chance to reply, the crowd went silent and began to part like the Red Sea, revealing a woman dressed in the Polatzi garb. Her black cape rippled behind her as she strode forward, and the hooked beak of her mask glinted in the yellow light. Without a word, she pressed a button on the wall and a holographic sign flickered above us.

  Please don your masks.

  Our group moved in unison as we followed orders. My lightweight, white mask drew the attention of the others as I positioned it on. Stupid Elite Government issue — they had the best of everything. The scent of latex and cleaning solution filled my nostrils as the mask kicked on with a hiss, and the polarized lenses tinted everything in a darker hue. The temperature, date, and my current heart rate scrolled across the right lens, ending with a Thank you for your service to our Dome.

  Thank you, my foot. Service? More like indentured servant.

  The gears groaned like an overworked mule as they opened the door. A short hallway emerged from behind the rising steel. A rusted, round hatch stood at the end with a massive seal lock that was emblazoned with warnings in red, the paint crusting away from the corroding door. We filed in and waited for the task force woman to push her way to the front.

  She punched a crimson button and turned to us, pulling her beaked mask up just enough to reveal her rosy lips. “We’ve got a schedule to keep. Let’s go!”

  She pulled her mask back into place and unlocked the seal, then pushed the door open. I squinted, trying to adjust to the glare of the red sun reflected off the Dome’s glass. Heat forced itself upon us in waves, and sweat began to trickle down my back.

  Light filtered through the thick glass overhead. Millions of water droplets trickled down the sides, with gutters along the steel casing in an effort to contain the rust damage.

  Ironic that the very steam that kept us alive slowly ate away the metal that protected us.

  Ironic that the place that kept us safe from the outside world was also the place my parents had gone missing.

  They called this place Dome Four, but it was actually a series of monolithic windows held together by steel beams. The large panes reminded me of a stained glass window I’d once seen in a church. Only these weren’t made of pretty colored glass; the toxic atmosphere outside had colored them a permanent grey, subduing the world in a dull, overcast aura.

  The way I’d felt since my parents disappeared.

  My chest constricted at the thought. No, no time to think about them today. I’ve got to stay focused.

  Stagnant air made the space feel claustrophobic. Rays from the harsh glare of the sun bounced off the dome’s rippled glass, and tall, thin shadows slanted across the dome as afternoon gave way to twilight. The smell of rust was thicker than usual; construction crews must have been reinforcing the beams that held the dome aloft.

  Droplets of water hit my head, and I looked up. Oxygen purifiers hummed high above. Those machines were the only things keeping the air clean enough to breathe since World War III decimated our atmosphere.

  I stopped short of the hovering airbus and looked out over the Dome. To the west, Wutherford Tower’s lights were bright and steady, a reminder that only the rich and well connected had the means to keep their homes powered around the clock. That left the rest of the population literally in the dark once the sun set. I hated it. The war had polarized everything and everyone; there were a Traditionals: someone who was normal by all accounts and expendable, and Elites; the government, the rich, or an Elementalist.

  Elites were pampered…rich. Traditionals were lucky to survive. I hated being considered Elite.

  Caved in rooftops and rebar extending from the tops of buildings stretched out as far as the eye could see…all the way to the edge of the Dome, where the condemned housing sat. Beyond that laid a wasteland even worse than the one in this modified fish bowl.

  The thought of what might lay beyond the boundaries—what desecrated, ruined mess our world might be in—caused me to shiver, even in this overbearing humidity. Sweat dripped off my brow and stung my eyes. The mass of people pushed into me, spurring me onward. There was no time to daydream of what might be outside our Dome.

  There was no time to dream of anything.

  Dreaming was reserved for those who weren’t struggling to survive, and we lost that luxury long ago.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Ten minutes later, the airbus jerked to a stop on the tarmac of our destination, and the doors whirred open. We were in the capital, at the only building that Traditionals were permitted to visit and my “home”: Wutherford Tower.

  Thick plumes of dark smoke billowed out of the dual stacks at the top of the tower, slowly dissipating into the already toxic air. The steel millers must have been hard at work today. I tugged at the straps of my oxygen m
ask, thankful for it.

  Wutherford Tower was an oxymoron at it’s finest: the highs and lows of society constantly intermingling and colliding with one another. Steel millers and Elites tried their hardest to avoid running into one another, as if the other carried a contagious disease.

  Trash dipped and floated in the wind from the hovering airbus, whipping them into a frenzy before falling to the ground like crude snow. The smoke stacks loomed over us and blocked out the sun. Its rays split on either side of the monstrous building and made the entire structure look like a giant shadow. The temperature dropped noticeably in the shade and I welcomed the break in the relentless heat.

  I ducked between people and entered the massive foyer as the warning tone for the next class reverberated off the steel beams inside the tower. The crowd dissipated into one of three hallways available from the loading dock as the bay door shut off the natural light from outside. I put my mask back in my bag and headed for the hallway to the right.

  Students bustled between rooms, yelling out directions to one another as they carried cogs and beakers. The smell of formaldehyde stung my nose as I passed a room full of hissing Bunsen burners. A mangy stray cat darted between people, nearly tripping an older man who had his nose buried in a wrinkled, water-stained papers. Life in Wutherford Tower was loud and busy.

  As I neared my classroom at the end of the hallway, I saw Erin standing outside the room, arms crossed and still wearing a look like there was a pile of dung under her nose. I sighed, and in that instant decided Histories of America was not on my to-do list today.

  The tide of people pushed against my back, surging toward their destinations without pause. I pressed myself against the cold concrete wall and went against the traffic until I reached the stairwell.

  Ten flights of stairs stood between extreme stupidity and me.

  The Polatzi swarmed down on the main roads, like hawks circling weaker prey. They rarely bothered Elites, but Traditionals were fair game. I dug in my satchel for the crocheted beanie Alice made me a couple weeks prior. It would be perfect to hide my flaming red hair — a dead giveaway for me, since I hadn’t met anyone with a head of locks like mine.