Uncertainty passes quickly over Ash’s face.
“They all flew to the moon,” he says.
I exhale.
“Very amusing, Mr. Fisher.” Mr. Lewis turns on the light. “Being that the first anniversary of Armistice Day is coming up a week from Saturday, I want you all to write an essay on the Blood Riots and the events leading up to disarmament. Oh, and before I forget, I need you all to get your parents to sign these permission slips for our class trip to the Black City Museum.” He taps a pile of papers on his desk.
There are a few groans from around the room. We open our books and read in silence for ten minutes, although I can’t take in any of the words. I’m still rattled by what just happened. Beetle’s doodling on his notebook, the words one city united repeatedly scrawled across his work. He peers up at me with unfriendly eyes.
“I take it you don’t support Rose’s Law, then?” I say.
He snorts. “Course not, it’s—”
“Leave it,” Ash growls under his breath.
“No, I won’t leave it. I’m not afraid of telling it like it is,” Beetle replies.
“Here we go again.” Day rolls her eyes.
“The Boundary Wall needs to come down. End of story,” Beetle says.
“I agree, but it should be negotiated through political discourse, not through threats and terrorism, which seem to be Humans for Unity’s way of dealing with things,” Day replies.
The tips of Beetle’s ears turn pink. “You’re so naive, Day. Things won’t change unless we force the government’s hand.”
“I disagree,” she says stiffly. “The best way to influence a government is from the inside. When I’m an Emissary—”
“Oh, please. That’s not going to happen. They’d never let a Workboot onto the Fast-Track program,” Beetle replies.
Day looks at me, and I give her a weak smile. Gregory Thompson turns his attention to us, listening in.
“Purian Rose won’t let the wall come down,” Ash says quietly. “He’s fought too hard to keep us all segregated.”
“He won’t have much choice if we all rise up and vote against him,” Beetle continues.
“Don’t you get it? Rose always gets his way. You’re wasting your time if you think he’s ever going to allow that to happen,” Ash replies.
“Bringing the wall down won’t benefit anyone. Who wants those nippers back, roaming our streets?” Gregory chimes in with his whiny voice.
“It might benefit me,” Ash snaps, silencing Gregory. “I’d like to see my family. But I don’t suppose that matters to the Sentry government?” He aims the last part at me.
Hostility simmers between us as we turn our attention back to our books. We continue reading in silence. The quiet is broken by Ash banging his pen against the table. Tap tap tap, tap tap tap.
“Will you stop that?” I pretend to be irritated to get him back for earlier.
Ash continues to tap his pen, deliberately this time. Two can play at that game. I roll another mint around my mouth, clanging it against my teeth.
Ash slams his pen against the desk. It rolls off the side and both of us lean down to retrieve it at the same time. Our heads bump. Sharp pain shoots through my head and, bizarrely, my chest as well. Ash gasps and flinches, almost falling off his seat as he clamps a hand over his chest, which rises and falls rapidly like he’s struggling to breathe. He staggers to his feet and rushes out the fire exit.
“What’s up with him? He’s being more of a freak than normal,” Day says.
“Heartburn,” Beetle mutters, getting up to go check on him.
I rub the bump on my forehead and stare at the empty space where Ash had just been. It didn’t look like heartburn to me.
10
ASH
I STUMBLE OUT the fire exit into the town square, my feet slipping on the uneven ground. I don’t get more than ten feet before my legs buckle beneath me and I crash to the floor, panting, trembling as a terrible heat blazes through my body, melting the ice in my blood. What’s happening to me? My stomach turns over, my veins explode with pain. I dig my nails into the cobbles, trying to cling to reality as my body violently shakes. It’s like my insides are being turned inside out.
Shivers of electricity shoot through my fingers and toes, rushing up my limbs to a single point: my heart. There’s an excruciating explosion of pain in my chest, and my body jerks, almost snapping my spine like a wishbone. All I can think is I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying. I let out a desperate howl, and then the pain evaporates as swiftly as it came.
I lie on the ground, sweat dripping down my face, my chest heaving, as my fingers press against the blazing-hot skin covering my rib cage and feel something that’s not meant to be there:
A slow, steady heartbeat.
I let out a startled cry, somewhere between joy and terror. Footsteps slap against the cobbled street, and I loll my head to one side to see Beetle’s bashed-up boots next to me. He grips my shirt and drags me out of the direct sunlight before hauling me up into a sitting position.
“You all right, bro?” he asks.
I shut my eyes and just listen to the rhythmic thrum of my heart. My heart . . . I can’t believe it’s really beating! After a whole lifetime of silence, it’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard. For the first time in my existence, I feel truly alive and not like a zombie walking around with a reanimated body.
Beetle squeezes my shoulder, bringing me back to reality.
“What happened?” he asks.
I take his hand and press it against my chest.
“Whoa!” He takes his hand back. “How?” he finally says.
“I don’t know. I think . . .” I shake my head. “You’re going to think this is nuts.”
“Tell me.”
“I think Natalie did it.” I tell him about our first meeting under the bridge, how I thought my heart had fluttered. “And when we bumped heads just now, my heart started beating. It can’t be a coincidence.”
Beetle scratches his head, like he’s trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “But how did touching Natalie actually kick-start your heart? Is the girl electric or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you ever heard of a twin-blood’s heart activating like that before?” he asks.
“No.”
“Do you think it’s permanent?”
“Fragg, why all the questions? Can’t you just be happy for me?” A sudden terror grips me. What if this is only temporary? I’ve wanted a heartbeat my whole life. All I’ve ever wanted was to be normal, to fit in, to be left alone. That’s impossible when you’re the only boy in the city with no heartbeat; it tends to single you out. I don’t want to go back to being a freak.
My thoughts are cut off midstream when the town square erupts to life. A platoon of Sentry guards marches into the square, followed by hundreds of citizens. Many of the laborers are still dressed in their regulation gray work uniforms, as if they’ve just dropped what they’ve been doing to come here. Nearby, a group of ladies in long bustle dresses cool themselves with lace fans, gossiping excitedly with each other as their husbands ignore them. A moment later, the library doors burst open, and our history class rushes out of the building to join everyone else in the square.
Natalie exits the library with Day, Gregory and Chris. She looks in my direction, and my heart hammers against my rib cage so hard, I think it’s going to burst out of my chest—ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom! If there was any doubt my newfound heartbeat wasn’t somehow connected to Natalie, that’s just cleared it.
“What’s going on?” Beetle asks.
I tear my eyes from Natalie. “I don’t know. Let’s get a better look.”
He helps me to my feet, and we push our way through the crowd toward the stage. People shove and jostle against one another as they try to get closer to the three crosses by the Boundary Wall. A reverend douses the crosses with acacia solution, and Sentry guards hastily erect a platform in front of them. A group of guys with shaved heads goad the Legion guards on the wall.
“Hey, isn’t that your aunt Roach?” I point to a woman with wild dreadlocks down to her waist and a thin, freckled face, standing by the stage.
We go over to her, and she briefly hugs Beetle. It’s like a mosh pit around us, with everyone pushing each other to get a better view. The Sentry guards throw a few punches, trying to keep people in order.
“Why’s everyone here?” Beetle asks.
“It’s Tom Shreve—they’ve found him,” Roach says, referring to Beetle’s friend who went missing a few weeks back.
All the blood drains out of Beetle’s face.
Ba-boom! My heart suddenly clenches, and somehow I know it’s because Natalie’s nearby. I turn and see her being led in our direction by Gregory.
“Come on, I want to get a better view!” Gregory says.
They head closer to the stage, and Natalie’s arm brushes against mine as she walks by. Darts of electricity shoot through my biceps, and I instinctively grip my arm, trying to push the pain away. Weirdly, Natalie mirrors the action with her own arm, like she felt it too. She furrows her brow, a questioning look in her eyes.
A hush falls over the square as a tall Darkling in long purple robes and a gold face mask appears at the top of the Boundary Wall. Sigur Marwick. The one thing I hate more than the Sentry is him. He’s followed by a girl in a blue hooded robe, her face shrouded in shadows so all you can see of her is the sparkle of black eyes.
An excited whisper spreads through the town square as three people, their heads covered in sacks, are led onto the platform in front of the crosses, followed by the tall, blond-haired Tracker who was with Natalie on her first day at school.
“This is awesome. I can’t believe they’re actually going to crucify someone,” Gregory says to Natalie. “I’ve always wanted to see one; I heard they happen all the time in the Plantation State. Isn’t this exciting?”
She looks at him in horror. “No, it’s revolting. Someone should stop it.”
Day lightly touches Natalie’s arm. “You okay? You look pale.”
“I can’t stand seeing people get hurt, not after watching my father die,” she says.
The Sentry guards line up the prisoners below the crosses. My blood turns to ice, looking at the chilling sight. How can something so seemingly innocuous—a plain wooden cross—strike so much fear in me? It’s not what it is, but what it represents. Pain. Suffering. Death. I can’t think of a worse way to die. The prisoner’s hoods are removed. One of the prisoners is a boy wearing horn-rimmed glasses. Tom. Beetle wails and rushes forward, but his aunt holds him back.
“Don’t do anything,” Roach urges in his ear.
The second prisoner is an elderly man who looks a lot like the boy. He’s sobbing, begging for mercy. I stare in horror at the third prisoner. She’s a teenage girl wearing a yellow dress, with long white hair and eyes as orange as the setting sun. A Nordin! She must’ve snuck over the wall.
The Tracker tears off the girl’s dress and exposes her naked body to the crowd. The Legion guards howl. A pair of iridescent wings unfolds behind her, spanning eight feet in length. They flutter, catching the light and creating small rainbows around her. The crowd oohs like they’re watching a fireworks display.
The blond-haired Tracker snaps back the Nordin’s head and removes her fangs with a pair of pliers. She lets out an unearthly howl, and I flinch. Neutered. The final humiliation for any Darkling. He throws her teeth into the crowd. A dozen people scrabble for the souvenirs. I cover my mouth, my fangs throbbing just at the thought of being neutered. I’m surprised to see Natalie is doing the exact same gesture as me. She lowers her hand, a puzzled expression on her face again.
The Tracker draws his sword and, with two swift movements, cleaves off the Nordin girl’s wings. She screeches as dark blood spills down her body. He picks up the wings and tosses them into the air. They spin like blades over the crowd, and people frantically reach for them. They’ll fetch a fortune on the black market. Many cultures believe Darkling wings have aphrodisiac properties, but because their governments are more tolerant toward Darklings and have granted them civil rights, they have to illegally import them from the United Sentry States. The girl’s wings will soon be ground down to make love potions for rich humans.
“We have to help Tom,” Beetle says to me and Roach.
Roach discreetly takes a small envelope from her pocket. She shakes out a red capsule into my upturned hand. Natalie slides a look at us, then turns her attention back to the stage, but I get the impression she’s listening to our conversation.
“Cyanide,” Roach explains. “We hoped to slip it to Tom before he got taken up on the stage, but there wasn’t time.”
“What about Tom’s granddad and the Darkling girl?” I ask, wondering why there’s only one pill.
“We didn’t know Frank had been captured, and cyanide doesn’t work on Darklings,” Roach explains.
I glance at the stage. If we’re going to help Tom, we have to act fast; he’s being undressed and nailed to the cross, surrounded by a group of armed Sentry guards. It’s going to be hard reaching him. We’ve only got one shot at this.
Roach clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Ash, you’re fast, you should do it. You’re our best chance.”
“What if I get caught?” I say.
“Come on, bro, you have to help,” Beetle urges.