Wings (Black City #3)

Wings (Black City #3) Page 38

I pick up the disc, my stomach clenching. It’s a vital part of our plan that this video be shown during the Cleansing ceremony tomorrow. Emissary Buchanan takes it from me.

“Are you certain you can trust your contact at SBN news?” I say. “We need them to override the live television feed so that the whole country sees it at the same time.”

“Have a little faith in me, Mr. Fisher. This isn’t my first rodeo,” she replies.

I smile a little. It’s hard to trust a woman who tortured me and then tried to frame me for Chris Thompson’s death from Golden Haze, but now’s a good time to start. I return to Natalie and stay by her side all day, wanting to take advantage of every second we have together. I idly play with the ends of her blond hair; she keeps her hand in my back pocket. Neither of us says it, but we both know this could be our last day together. I suddenly pull Natalie into my arms, catching her off guard, and kiss her. I don’t care that there are other people in the living room with us. A few people lift their eyes, but nobody says anything. She grips my shirt, holding me close to her, letting the kiss linger, before we eventually break apart. Her hand slides into my back pocket again.

The apartment door opens and Elijah enters the room with Evangeline. They’ve been down in the hospital level all night. We kept an eye on the security cameras to make sure no one entered the operating room while they slept, but we needn’t have worried. Patrick owned this whole building, so apart from the Sentry guards that were down at the main entrance—they’re currently tied up in a supply room—there’s no one else here.

Evangeline is shaky and pale, but otherwise appears okay. Her inky-black hair has been washed and brushed, and she’s wearing a pretty blue bustle dress, with a low neckline, revealing her surgery scar. It looks gruesome, the flesh raw and red and held together with metal staples. Elijah’s got his arm protectively around her waist and keeps fussing over her, making sure she’s comfortable as she sits down, giving her extra pillows. Natalie glances at me, her eyebrow raised. I shrug slightly.

Dr. Craven checks Evangeline’s vitals while Elijah sits cross-legged by her feet. His tail very lightly brushes against her legs, rubbing his scent on her, claiming her as his. I scrunch my nose up at the smell, but Evangeline doesn’t seem to mind it.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her.

“Sore,” she admits. “But I think I’ll be okay for tomorrow. Elijah’s been letting me drink his blood; it’s really helping with the healing process.”

My fangs pulse, thinking about how his blood tasted when I drank from him in the Barren Lands: sweet, delicious, intoxicating. He catches my eye and a smirk tugs at his lips, reading my mind.

“Don’t get any ideas, Darkling,” he says.

“In your dreams, catboy,” I reply, grinning.

As the hours slowly melt away, the tension in the group mounts. Laughter fades and the conversation diminishes, until everyone is communicating with just nods and shakes of the head. By the evening we’re all silently sitting around the fireplace, frightened, anxious. Day is on Beetle’s lap, seemingly reading a book, although she hasn’t turned a page in more than an hour. Evangeline is curled up on the sofa with Elijah. He runs his fingers up and down her bare arm. Natalie’s parents hold hands, and Roach quietly strokes Amy’s hair.

The others are out on the balcony, drinking Sanguis wine as they watch the city below them. The seconds tick away on the clock above the mantel, counting down our last moments together. Natalie sits on my lap, her head pressed against my chest, listening to my heart.

Sleep doesn’t come to any of us that night; we’re all too pumped full of adrenaline to drift off. Besides, I’m not sure I want to sleep anyway. These could be my last moments on earth with my family, my friends. I don’t want to waste them.

Beetle catches my eye and gives a faint nod of the head. I can’t believe how far we’ve come. Just a few months ago we were a pair of goofballs hanging out on his barge in Black City, smoking, drinking and talking halfheartedly about revolution. Now here we are in a penthouse apartment in Centrum, just hours away from facing Purian Rose, the fate of the nation in our hands. I never thought I’d say this, but I sort of miss school. I miss the teachers, the students. I miss being a kid. And tomorrow I’m probably going to die. The thought terrifies me. My arms tighten around Natalie.

My skin starts to prickle as golden rays of sunlight spill into the room, slowly lifting away the shadows of night. Sigur and the others come in from the balcony. Everyone sits up, alert, our minds already focused on the day ahead. On the digital screen, a blond and bubbly February Fields is already reporting on the day’s events. The ceremony is due to start in two hours’ time, so thousands of Pilgrims are already streaming into the city, heading toward Rose Plaza. Aerial footage shows the crammed streets and avenues, a sea of rolling white, interspersed with pops of color where citizens have opted to wear their normal clothes instead of the white Pilgrim robes.

“Pilgrims from across the state have been flocking to Centrum all night to take part in today’s historic event,” February says. The footage cuts to the Golden Citadel, where Purian Rose is standing on the balcony, staring down at the thousands of Pilgrims already congregated in the plaza. “In two hours’ time, Purian Rose will address the nation before holding the first televised Cleansing ceremony, here, in Rose Plaza . . .”

I turn down the volume, my nerves on edge.

General Buchanan and Garrick grab their guns. Emissary Buchanan shakes Garrick’s hand, and then hugs her husband. He tenderly kisses her.

“See you soon,” he whispers, smoothing down her hair where he’s mussed it up.

She nods, her hand brushing against his. “I . . .” She can’t say the words.

“I know,” he says. “Me too.”

Natalie climbs off my lap and rushes over to her dad, flinging her arms around his neck. He holds her close, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“Take care, Dad,” Natalie says.

“You too, Talie,” he replies, kissing the top of her head. “Love you.”

He gives his family a lingering look before he heads out of the apartment with Garrick. The door shuts behind them. Now it’s our turn. We go to our rooms and get ready.

I have a lengthy shower, the hot water beating off my back, trying to scorch away my nerves. It doesn’t work. I turn off the water and wrap a towel around my waist and enter the bedroom. Natalie sits on our bed, wearing a simple white vest and underwear as she injects herself with her Wrath medication. Venom floods my fangs at the sight of her bare legs and the curve of her breasts. Natalie catches me looking and laughs.

“Ash, we haven’t got time,” she says.

“I know,” I say, kissing her shoulder, forcing down my frustration. Gah!

She tugs at my towel as I walk by, and it slips off my hips.

“Natalie, we haven’t got time,” I tease.

She laughs but it quickly dies on her lips. We’re both trying to pretend everything is normal, but I’m nervous as hell. We get dressed in similar outfits, which we found in the wardrobes around the apartment: black pants, gray tops and black hooded tailcoats with bright orange lining—Patrick liked the finer things in life. Natalie spins her hair up into a bun and pulls up her hood. I lower mine over my head, checking my reflection. Shadows cut across my eyes, disguising their distinctive glimmer, and as long as I keep my mouth closed, no one should see my fangs. I’m used to blending in and acting human; I’ve been doing it all my life.

We go back to the living room where the others are waiting. Evangeline, Beetle and Roach are dressed similarly to us, although under her tailcoat Roach is wearing a cerulean-blue top—the color of the rebellion. I can’t help but grin. She smiles back at me.

“Okay, we ready to go?” Roach says, checking the fake rose tattoo on the side of her shaved head in a nearby mirror.

No. “Yup,” I say.

Beetle grabs Day and dips her, kissing her hard. When he breaks the kiss, they’re both breathless and flushed. Beetle gently cups her face with his hands.

“Take care, babe, okay?” he whispers.

She kisses him again. “You too.”

Elijah takes Evangeline’s hand and draws her to the side of the room. He whispers something to her and she blushes, biting her lip. Her eyes flick up and hold his gaze for a long moment. I look away. It’s not my business. Sigur strolls over to me.

“I will see you soon, son,” he says. “Good luck.”

Lucinda hovers behind him. She gives a faint nod of her head. I get the sense she’s not one for good-byes. Natalie quietly says farewell to her mom, before hugging Day.

“Just hit the button on your watch if you need me,” Day says.

Natalie wipes the tears from her eyes before taking my hand. The five of us—me, Natalie, Evangeline, Beetle and Roach—go out into the hallway, and Beetle calls the elevator. The doors ping open a moment later. Natalie’s hand tightens around mine.

“No fear,” she whispers to me.

We step into the elevator.

33.

NATALIE

THE NEWS REPORTS didn’t do the crowds justice, as we find when we push and shove our way down Catherine Street, toward Rose Plaza. The noise is unreal—people chanting, praying, talking. Some are excited, but many others are sour-faced and grumbling about having to come in the first place. I keep peering up at the rooftops of the giltstone buildings, wondering if I’ll spot my father or Garrick. I pray they’re safe, and that they’ve managed to take control of the manned MGTs around the city square. Otherwise we’ll be gunned down before Evangeline can touch Purian Rose.

“I don’t see why we have to go to this stupid event,” I hear a woman mutter to her friend. They’re both dressed in elaborate black gowns with voluminous tulle skirts, just like the dress I wore when I first met Ash, under the canal bridge in Black City. “I’m not one of those Pilgrim freaks. I don’t even follow the faith.”

“Shh! Do you want to end up in the Tenth?” her friend says, glancing about with anxious brown eyes. “It doesn’t matter that we don’t follow the Purity—I doubt half the people here do either—we just have to pretend to go along with it, okay? So just suck it up; it’ll be over in an hour.”

I’m tempted to warn them that it’s a trap, that Purian Rose intends to infect them all with a retrovirus, but I can’t risk revealing myself. Not now, not when we’re so close to finishing this. I look at Ash. Most of his face is concealed by his hood, but I can see the determined set of his mouth. His fingers are laced through mine, making sure I stay close to him as we’re jostled by the people around us. Day and Beetle are to my left, and Evangeline and Roach are to Ash’s right. Evangeline seems nervous, and her hand keeps touching her chest. Oh God, please let this work.

Digital screens on all the buildings show a live feed of Rose Plaza. People are already lining up into rows in front of the giant stage. Guilt weighs heavily in my stomach at the thought of all those people who are going to take the Wings before we can stop them. Ash peers up at the screens, then quickens his pace, obviously thinking the same thing.

My heart trembles as we enter Rose Plaza. At the head of the enormous city square is the Golden Citadel, a palatial-looking church where Purian Rose lives. The domed roof reflects the sunlight so it glitters, casting a warm light over everyone standing in the square below. I used to feel amazed when I saw the Golden Citadel, but now it just makes me shudder. To our right is the Fracture—a skyscraper in the shape of a shard of glass—where the government headquarters are located. I scan the rooftops of the other buildings. I can just about make out the black dots of the MGTs. I don’t see anyone near them. Relief floods through me; my father and Garrick were successful in taking out the guards manning the weapons.

Hundreds of Sentry guards patrol the city square, getting people lined up in rows in front of the stage. They’re carrying guns or swords, but they all look weary. It’s too early in the morning for them to muster up any enthusiasm. It’s just turned eight o’clock—the ceremony is about to start.

Set up on the stage is a long bench, and fifty white bowls. Based on everything I know about the ceremony, we’re meant to walk up to the stage, then kneel in front of the white bowls, which are filled with Wings, and drink from them. Purian Rose will then mark our foreheads with water—the mark of Purity. That’s the moment he’ll touch Evangeline and ideally his heart will activate.

Around the square, digital screens set into the buildings show the live footage. It’s strange seeing everyone in the plaza up on the screen as well. I tug at my hood, keeping it lowered as a camera pans past us.

“Get into rows,” a bored Sentry guard calls out. People start to form into long rows, one behind the other. We push through the crowds, getting as close as we can, but we’re still about twenty rows back.

“We need to get nearer the front,” Ash says.

“Leave it to us,” Beetle replies, grinning.

We follow him as he snakes through the crowd, leading us toward the first row, ignoring the outraged cries from the Pilgrims who have been patiently waiting there probably since yesterday, given the bags under their eyes. He and Roach head down the line, deliberately standing near a few of the Sentry guards.

“Hey! She’s trying to push in!” Beetle says loudly, pointing a finger at Roach. The guards turn, drawn by his shouts.

“I was not!” Roach says.

“You were; I saw you!” Beetle shoves her, hard, and she falls against some of the people waiting in the front row. They all crash to the ground. The Sentry guards rush over to Beetle and Roach and drag them away. Everyone’s attention is on them, giving Ash, Evangeline and me the opportunity to merge into the front row, undetected by the Sentry guards. The people around us get to their feet and dust themselves off. If they’ve noticed we’ve snuck into the line, they don’t say anything, clearly not wanting any more trouble. I’m on Ash’s left, and Evangeline is to his right. Ash looks at the stage, his face hard. I take his hand and he glances at me, his expression softening for a moment.