Black City (Black City #1)

Black City (Black City #1) Page 25

“Human?” She laughs. “Oh, Ash, you poor thing. You really think you’re one of them.”

“No I don’t. I know I’m not human, but I’m not one of them either!” I say, pointing toward the cave.

I walk away, but Evangeline won’t leave me alone.

“You’ve been around humans too long, Ash. It’s good that you’re here with your own kind. You’ll come around to our way of thinking soon enough,” she says.

“Will you just piss off?”

“Oh temper, temper,” she teases. “You have to toughen up if you want to survive around here. Darklings don’t have time for human emotions.”

“How can you live with them? They’re vile,” I say, my voice choked.

They’re not what I expected at all. They’re nothing like my mom.

Evangeline’s face stiffens. “Sigur’s taken good care of me. He looks after all the twin-bloods.”

“There are more of us here?” My curiosity is piqued.

She takes my hand. A different sort of hunger flares inside me, and my skin feels hot where our hands connect. An image of Natalie pops into my head, and shame crawls through me. Even so, I don’t let go of Evangeline’s hand.

She leads me into a crumbling building, which reeks of decay.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“The hospital,” she says.

We go to a ward on the first floor. Evangeline silently waits by the door as I take in the scene. Rows of metal beds are crammed into the room, and nearly all of them are occupied by Darklings infected with Wrath. Each one is at a different stage of the disease. Some just have yellowed eyes and thinning hair, while others are at the end-stages, just like Mom. The cloying smell of rotting flesh hits my nostrils and bile rises up my throat.

“There used to be one hundred and forty-three of us,” Evangeline explains. “The Wrath spread through the ghetto so quickly; first the Darklings got sick, then the twin-bloods. We hoped they’d be okay, because they’re part human, but . . .” She shakes her head. “There wasn’t much we could do. We’re becoming extinct, Ash.”

My throat chokes up. I knew twin-bloods were rare, but I never realized it was this bad. With no more twin-bloods being born in the USS due to segregation, it’ll just be me and Evangeline left.

“Your mother took good care of us,” Evangeline says. “She nursed the sick ones, despite the risks to herself. I helped out as best I could.”

“Weren’t you worried about getting infected?” I ask.

Evangeline gazes down at the ground. “I already am.”

“You don’t look sick.”

“I have a natural immunity to the effects of the Wrath. We’re not sure why I’m different from the other twin-bloods,” she says. “I’m still a carrier, though, so I can pass it on.”

She doesn’t have to explain that any further. When Darklings mate, they often bite each other and blood share. Evangeline will never be able to do that; not with a Darkling, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. Sigur thinks my blood might be the cure. We got close to finding a vaccine recently with the limited resources we have, then . . .” She shrugs. “We don’t know. The Wrath’s mutated. It’s gotten worse somehow.”

I leave the ward, unable to stand being surrounded by my sick brethren for another moment. We walk through the ghetto, passing burned-out, ruined buildings. Unlike the buildings on my side of the wall, these ones are covered in ivy and white flowers that are abundant with dark blue berries, giving the whole place an otherworldly beauty. Evangeline notices me looking at them.

“Some of the Darklings grew the flowers to make this place a little more bearable to live in,” she says.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

“Since I was eight years old. Sigur found me down an alley on Bleak Street, bleeding to death,” she says. “He brought me back here. He’s a great protector.”

“He let his niece die the other day,” I say.

“He can’t save us all, even though he tries.”

The thought of Jana on the cross with Tom, executed because of their forbidden relationship, reminds me of Natalie. My heart thuds ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom. I want to be with her so much right now. Being here just makes me feel more of an outcast than ever before. It’s clear I’m not like the other Darklings. When I’m with her, I feel like I belong.

Evangeline surprises me by placing a hand over my chest. “How is this possible?”

“I found my Blood Mate,” I say.

She looks surprised.

“You don’t believe me?” I challenge.

“I believe you. It’s just there aren’t many Darklings over your side of the wall. I’m surprised you found your Blood Mate among them.”

I wonder if I should tell her that my Blood Mate is a human. I barely know Evangeline, but an instinct deep inside me tells me I can trust her.

“She’s human,” I admit.

Evangeline drops her hand. “The connection only happens between Darklings. She can’t be your Blood Mate.”

“All the evidence proves otherwise.”

“What’s the human’s name, then?” Her voice is hard.

I rub the back of my neck. What am I going to tell her, that my Blood Mate is the Sentry Emissary’s daughter, Natalie Buchanan? I don’t think so.

“Does it matter?” I say instead.

“You can’t be with her. You can’t turn your back on your own kind, Ash.”

“I’m not turning my back on anyone. I’m half human, remember—so why can’t I be with a human girl? Why does everyone say I’m only allowed to have a relationship with a Darkling?”

“Because it’s against the law,” she says.

“That’s not going to stop me from being with her.”

We approach the canal. The Boundary Wall is just a strip on the horizon. Home is so far away.

“I need to go. Can you take me back to the gates?” I say.

She hesitates. “Will you come back? Sigur can arrange it.”

I study Evangeline for a long moment, watching how her inky-black hair ripples like the surface of the oceans. I can’t abandon her. There are so few of our kind left.

“I’ll be back,” I promise.

22

NATALIE

EVERYWHERE IS BLACK: the sky, the earth, the ash drifting all around us—the whole city is mourning for Chris. Even school’s been canceled today, so students could attend his funeral. I tighten the black scarf around my neck, doing my best to block out the bitter cold.

Beetle plucks a cigarette from behind his ear and sparks up. I wouldn’t say things are good between us after the argument on his birthday, but at least he’s civil to me. I check my phone, hoping to see a message from Ash. He didn’t ring me yesterday like I thought he would. I’m curious to know how it went at the Legion on Saturday. There’s nothing.

“Have you heard from Ash?” I ask.

Beetle shakes his head.

We’re standing at the back of the congregation, watching the funeral. Gregory stares blankly at the ebony coffin. He looks shrunken in an oversized black jacket that I vaguely recognize, and then it hits me: it’s Chris’s coat.

Day’s up front with the rest of the mourners, including my mother, who is trying to look forlorn for the press, although her face is so pumped with toxins, I don’t think she’s capable of expressing any emotion other than mild surprise. I can’t understand why she’s taken such an interest in Chris’s death; she paid for the funeral, then insisted on coming with twenty of her closest friends from the media to “pay her respects.” Maybe it’s because he went to my school? I know she’s up to something.

She’s flanked by Sentry guards, and there are more scattered around the cemetery keeping an eye on the proceedings. The upshot of all this added security is I don’t need a personal guard with me today, which is a relief. Sebastian’s still on his “spiritual retreat” in Centrum and isn’t due back until later today, so I’ve got a few hours of relative freedom.

Juno Jones, the red-haired reporter for Black City News, stands nearby, doing a report on the service. She tells her cameraman to film Mother.

“It’s such a tragic loss of a young life,” Mother says to Chris and Gregory’s parents, just loud enough for the journalists to hear. “Rest assured, the government is doing everything in its power to find whoever supplied this tainted Haze and bring them to justice. We suspect Darkling involvement.”

Mrs. Thompson grasps my mother’s hands, thanking her, and Mother’s red-painted lips waver slightly, disgusted at being touched by a lowly Workboot.

“I hope we have your support for Rose’s Law,” Mother continues. “Keeping the Darklings permanently segregated is the first step toward a totally Haze-free society.”

Mr. and Mrs. Thompson both nod enthusiastically, and I glower at my mother. So that’s the reason she’s here? To rally support for Rose’s Law. What sort of person does that at a boy’s funeral?

Gregory snatches a look at my mother, and I can see he’s thinking the same thing. Now isn’t the time or place for Mother’s political games; people are grieving.

“What’s going on with you and Day?” I ask Beetle when she glances over at us.

He shrugs. “She’s still punishing me for choosing Haze over her. I don’t think she’s ever going to forgive me.”

“Maybe now that she knows Ash didn’t get you hooked on Haze, she’ll be a little nicer to him?” I say.

“I wouldn’t count on it. She’s stubborn.”

I look at Day and feel a pang of sadness. There’s so much I want to talk to her about. I miss my friend.

I check my phone again. Still no message from Ash.

Close by, Juno Jones starts talking quietly to the camera. “I’m here at the funeral of high school student Chris Thompson, the latest victim of Golden Haze, a deadly new strain of the drug being sold on the streets,” she says, walking a little closer to the congregation. “Chris Thompson is the sixth teenager to die of the drug in the space of two weeks, sparking fear and concern in the city. Anyone with information about the source of Golden Haze is being urged to report it to the Sentry guard.”

Chris is the sixth victim? I knew Linus and his friend died from it, but I didn’t know there had been others. Beetle looks alarmed too.

“If the Darklings are blamed for all those deaths, people are bound to vote for Rose’s Law,” he says. “Then who knows what’s going to happen to Ash—they’ll probably force him to live in the ghetto with the other Darklings. They’re already making him wear that ID bracelet.”

My heart freezes. They can’t take Ash away from me.

“We need to find out who really created the Golden Haze. I can’t let my mother blame the Darklings,” I say. “That guy Linus must’ve got it from somewhere.”

“That would’ve been his boss, Mr. Tubs,” Beetle explains.

“Okay, we’ll start there and do some investigating. Do you know where I can find him?” I ask.

Beetle’s eyebrows shoot so far up his forehead, I think they’re going to fly off. “You don’t want to mess with him, my friend. He’s dangerous.”

“We’ll take Ash for protection. We have to do something,” I say.

Beetle scratches his head, messing up his already scruffy hair. “I can’t go. I owe Mr. Tubs some money. Like, a lot of money . . .”

I let out an irritated sound. “Fine, Ash and I will go on our own.”

Of course, I’ll have to actually speak to Ash first. I check my phone again. Nothing.

“Well, if you go, let me know what you find out. We’re all going to the Park tonight for an unofficial remembrance party for Chris. Meet me at the white mansion. Do you know it?” Beetle asks.

My heart clenches. “Yes, I know it.”

The wind stirs, and a familiar tugging sensation pulls at my chest. Ash is lurking in the church ruins. Relief washes through me. I check to be sure no one is looking before sneaking off to join him.

The roof has collapsed, and the sky peeps through the bones of wooden rafters. Several crows are perched on them, their beady black eyes watching me intently as I carefully navigate the rubble.

We sit down on a pile of stones in the corner of the ruins, hidden from view. I study Ash’s profile, which is set like marble, so cold and emotionless apart from the little furrow between his brows, giving him away.

“You didn’t call. I was worried,” I say.

He turns to look at me, his eyes dark and haunted. His mouth twitches as if he wants to tell me something. Instead he rests his head on my shoulder. He smells amazing, like the earth after rain. We stay like this for a few minutes, not speaking.

“How was the Legion?” I ask.

“Natalie, I did something terrible . . .”

“What? You can tell me.”

He presses his face against my neck. “I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be a Darkling. I’m not a monster, I’m not!”

What did they do to him?

“I don’t know what happened, but one thing I’m sure of is you’re a good person. You’re not a monster.” I press my hand against his heart. “I can feel it.”

Ash pulls me toward him, and his lips find mine. The kiss is delicate and uncertain. My fingers twist through his hair, and I draw him closer, my body craving him more than oxygen. I moan with pleasure as he sinks deeper into the kiss, his lips opening, his tongue running across mine. Fireworks explode inside me, pop, pop, pop!