I stick my brush in some paint and splash it on the canvas, not taking much care over it. A familiar chill creeps over my skin, and I look up. Ash is watching me from across the room. His eyes dart away.
“Congratulations on making the squad,” Chris says to me.
“Oh . . . yeah. Thanks.”
“Don’t tell my bro, but I’m glad I didn’t make the squad,” Chris says quietly. “I don’t want to hunt Darks for a living.”
“Same here,” I admit.
“It’s crazy about Ash, isn’t it? Poor guy, that’s gotta suck. Fragging Sen—” He catches himself when he remembers who he’s speaking to. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” I mumble.
I focus on my painting, feeling guilty even though it’s not my fault Ash has been enlisted to the Trackers. A few minutes later, I sigh and inspect my masterpiece. It’s a hideous mess of brown and gray. Oh, well. If Mrs. James asks, I’ll tell her it’s impressionistic.
Ash stands up all of a sudden, drawing my attention. He shrugs off his jacket, exposing the lean muscles of his toned arms. The tiny red pinprick is still visible on his left forearm.
“Looking good,” Chris says, making me jump.
“What?” I ask, my mind still on Ash.
Chris points to my painting. “You’ve got a real eye for it.”
I make a really unladylike snort-laugh sound that grabs everyone’s attention. I cringe, sinking lower in my chair.
“You’re joking, right?” I say to Chris.
“Okay, I admit it’s not the best I’ve ever seen.”
I inspect his painting. It’s not bad; it actually looks a little like Day.
“So,” Chris says, running a hand along his chiseled jaw, “I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything after the museum trip tomorrow, maybe we could hang out or something?”
“Erm . . .” I glance at Ash.
“Or we could go to the Armistice Day celebrations on Saturday?” Chris adds.
Ash continues to paint, seemingly oblivious, although his ear twitches slightly like he’s listening in.
“I’ve got a boyfriend.” The lie falls out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying. “Sebastian, the Head Tracker? He’s really protective of me.” All of which is true, apart from the boyfriend bit.
Ash turns to face me, a dark emotion blazing across his face.
“Too bad,” Chris says.
I turn back to my painting, my heart not in it.
Chris gets up and strides over to Ash, who quickly covers his painting, looking like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. What’s he hiding? Surely his painting can’t be worse than mine. Chris doesn’t seem to notice as they talk quietly, their faces serious. Ash nods and passes something to Chris—a playing card! I think back to the two of hearts playing card in my jacket pocket. Ash must give them out to all his Haze clients. The thought disappoints me slightly; I don’t like being reminded that Ash is a dealer. I’d much prefer to think of him as the boy in the market. I don’t completely hate that version of Ash.
Gregory chucks a piece of scrunched-up paper at me to get my attention.
“What?” I say irritably.
“I’m really excited about our first training session with the squad on Thursday, aren’t you? It’s just a shame we have to share our lesson with that nipper,” he says, looking at Ash.
Anger boils up in me at the use of the word nipper. Weird. I’ve not had an issue with people saying it before. My friends in Centrum used it all the time.
I turn back to my painting, ignoring him. The rest of the lesson passes quickly. I soon give up on my painting, knowing it’s a lost cause, and spend the rest of my time daydreaming about being back at the market in Chantilly Lane, reliving the lingering look between me and Ash. The bell finally rings, and everyone packs up. Ash scrunches his painting into a ball and tosses it into the bin. He pauses by my easel, and my heart tugs in that strange way it does whenever he’s close by.
“How’s Martha doing?” he asks.
“Fine. It’s amazing how quickly she’s recovered; her hand is as good as new.”
He shrugs. “Darklings heal fast. It’s one of our skills.”
What other skills does he have? Heat rises up my neck.
He opens his mouth to say something else, then seems to change his mind and moves on. The door swings shut behind him.
Day takes a tour of the room, inspecting everyone’s pictures of her.
“I look hideous in all of them! Am I really that ugly?”
“No, don’t be silly. We’re just really bad painters,” I reply.
She finds Ash’s balled-up painting in the bin and curiously opens it. Her mouth drops open in surprise.
“Is it really awful?” I say.
She shakes her head and ushers me over, handing me the painting. I expect to see a portrait of Day, but that’s not who he’s painted at all. What’s really there takes my breath away. The painting is alive, the vibrant colors constantly changing as they swirl into each other, so it looks like the portrait is moving. Darklings are gifted artists, able to capture the pure essence of their emotions in the painting. I trace a finger along the contours of the portrait’s face, not recognizing the girl staring back at me. Her eyes shine the brightest blue, and her hair’s like spun gold, tumbling around her shoulders. Then I register who the girl is.
It’s me!
Down the center of my chest is my scar, but it’s not the eyesore I always thought it to be. Somehow it makes me look beautiful, powerful, like I’m a mighty warrior. I sit down, unable to take it all in. Is this how Ash really sees me?
I stare at the portrait, dumbfounded. And I swear, the more I study it, the more the painting seems to throb like the beat of an untamed heart.
14
ASH
THE MOON IS HIGH above the city as I lie on the roof of Beetle’s barge, arms behind my head. The boat rocks as he climbs onto the roof and sparks up a cigarette. He passes it to me, but the nicotine doesn’t give me the same kick as it did before. Nothing feels as good as the heart beating inside my chest.
“How’s your mom doing?” he asks.
I shut my eyes, forcing out the grief balling up inside me. I don’t want to deal with this right now.
“I wish she’d go back to the Legion,” I say eventually, opening my eyes.
“You don’t mean that, bro.”
“It was selfish of her to come home. All it’s done is upset Dad. What really sucks is she only returned because her boyfriend kicked her out when she got sick.”
“You don’t know that,” he replies.
“Why else would she have come back? Certainly not for me or Dad. She doesn’t give a fragg about us; otherwise, she wouldn’t have left in the first place.” I hand the cigarette to Beetle. “Let’s talk about something else. I’m getting bummed out.”
“I’m thinking of having a small get-together for my birthday,” he says.
“Yeah? Sounds good. Who are you inviting?”
“Well, you.”
“That’s not a gathering. That’s a date.”
Beetle chuckles. “You wish. Maybe I’ll invite Day as well.”
“I thought you two were over.”
He shrugs. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Yeah, he doesn’t need to tell me twice.
“Do you think she’ll come?” he asks quietly.
“Maybe, but why are you wasting your time on her? You can do better.”
“No I can’t, bro. She’s intelligent, loving, and she really pushes my buttons,” he says.
Natalie certainly pushes my buttons. She isn’t afraid to stand up to me, and she’s not like any other Sen
try I know. She helped Tom, even though she put herself at risk. She’s brave and kind.
“Plus, Day’s got these amazing . . .” He cups his hands in front of his chest.
“Well, that changes everything,” I say. “So, are you inviting any other girls?”
My heart speeds up, thinking about Natalie.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he says.
“Cool, whatever.” I try and hide the disappointment in my voice.
Fragg! Why should I care if Natalie’s coming or not? She’s the Emissary’s daughter. Getting involved with her is the worst thing I can do. Her parents were responsible for the deaths of millions of Darklings. But Natalie didn’t kill them. She’s not to blame.
I press a hand over my chest and feel the steady thrum of my heart under my fingertips.
Dad used to tell me everything in life comes with a price, and boy, was he right. I got the thing I desired the most, a heartbeat, but at what cost? I’m indebted to a Sentry girl. That was never part of the agreement. I wish I understood what was going on between us. Does she have feelings for me? Sometimes I think she does. I’ve caught her looking at me a few times, but I can’t be certain. It might just be in my head.
“Oh, before I forget!” Beetle pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket and flattens it against the roof.
It’s the permission slip our parents need to sign to let us go on the museum tour tomorrow. Beetle scrawls his aunt’s signature on his form. I rummage around in my pockets, find my form and pass it to him. He’s better at forging my dad’s signature than I am. I could just ask Dad to sign my form, but I’ve gotten so used to Beetle faking his signature on all my bad school reports, it’s become habit.
“We’ll show our faces for a few minutes, then skip out,” Beetle says.
It’s a risk, playing hooky, but I’d rather have three lashes than spend an entire day at the Black City snoreseum. He passes my slip back to me.
“I could try forging a letter from your dad to get you out of Tracker training, if you’d like. It might be worth a shot,” he offers.
“Somehow I don’t think a pissy letter from my ‘dad’ is going to change their mind.”
He sits up. “So you’re just going to train with them?”
“I don’t have a choice. It’s not worth getting crucified over.”
Beetle grinds the cigarette out on the wood, muttering to himself.
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” I snap.
“Is there anything you’re willing to die for? Humans for Unity are out there every day, risking their lives to free the Darklings, and what are you doing? Nothing!”
I stand up. “Why should I do anything? I’m not a Darkling. I’m not a human. I’m nothing, so why should I care what you do? It’s not my war.”
I leap off the barge onto the canal pathway and head toward the bridge where I first saw Natalie.
“That’s right, run off like always!” Beetle yells after me.
I flip him my middle finger. What does he know about anything?
The air-raid siren wails across the city, letting us know curfew has started. I walk under the canal bridge and run my hand over the rough brick wall, remembering the last time I was here. This is where it all began; this is where my heart came to life.
It has to mean something. There’s only one way to know for sure. I have to ask her.
15
NATALIE
A TWENTY-FOOT STATUE of Purian Rose looms over us in the foyer of the Black City Museum, his wolfish eyes glowering down on us all.
Sebastian whistles, impressed. “One day there will be an even bigger statue of me in this museum.”
I roll my eyes, wishing Sebastian weren’t here with me today, but there’s no way Mother would have allowed me to come on this school trip without my bodyguard. To make things worse, Sebastian’s wearing his Tracker uniform—a bright red military coatee and black trousers, with a gleaming silver sword strapped around his hip—making him stand out like a sore thumb. Everyone stares at me as I approach the base of the statue where my history class is waiting.
Ash is resting against the sculpture. He’s so striking in contrast to everyone else—tall, pale and darkly beautiful. He raises his sparkling eyes and studies me for a fraction too long, making my body temperature rise by a hundred degrees.
Since I saw his painting of me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Does he really think I’m beautiful? Now that there’s the possibility he might, I’ve found myself fantasizing about what it would be like if it weren’t illegal for us to date. Would we be together? I can’t believe I’m even considering it! He’s a twin-blood and yet . . .
Sebastian catches me staring at Ash. His jaw clenches.
“Please don’t make a scene,” I say to him.
“Don’t give me a reason to,” he replies.
I bite my lip. He can’t possibly know what I was thinking about Ash. Could he? No. I’m being paranoid.
I walk over to Day. Nearby, Chris and Gregory are having a heated discussion under their breaths.
“I’ll tell Mom and Dad on you one of these days,” Gregory snips in his whiny voice.
“No you won’t. You love me too much, bro,” Chris replies, ruffling his brother’s limp hair.
Gregory slaps Chris’s hand away. “I’m just looking out for you. Do you really want to be a Hazer for the rest of your life?”
Chris shrugs, his face hardening. “My life, my business.”
Sebastian goes over to Mr. Lewis to talk about my security procedures, giving me a brief moment alone with Day.
She nudges me, pointing toward someone in the foyer. “Hey, isn’t that the Hazer who was being interrogated at your house the other week?”
Sure enough, it’s the purple-haired guy we bumped into outside the interrogation rooms. He’s with a skinny tattooed girl and a tough-looking guy. They’re tipping over trash cans and harassing visitors as they walk through the door. A security guard yells at them, and they stalk down one of the corridors leading to the main exhibition, laughing like hyenas. We’re not the only ones to have noticed the purple-haired boy—Ash has seen him too, and he’s furious.
“What’s Linus doing here?” I overhear Beetle saying to Ash.
“Guess he’s forgotten whose turf this is,” Ash replies.
“Should we go speak to them?”
Ash considers this, then shakes his head. “Not here. Later.”
Beetle nods.
Chris casually strolls over to Ash, hands thrust into his pockets. Gregory watches his brother, his eyes burning with fury.
“Hey, you still on for our appointment on Thursday?” Chris asks.
Ash groans. “No, sorry. It’s Beetle’s birthday. We’re doing a thing. Can we arrange it for Friday?”
A hint of desperation enters Chris’s voice. “I really wanted it on Thursday; my parents are out that night.”
Ash shrugs. “Sorry, mate. You understand?”
“Thanks for nothing,” Chris mutters as he leaves.
Beetle nervously rakes a hand through his tangled brown hair. Ash nudges him.
“Ask her,” he whispers.
“Do you want to come to my birthday party?” Beetle blurts out to Day.
“What?” Day stammers.
“Forget it, nothing, don’t worry,” he says.
“Were you being serious?”
He nods, not looking at her. “It just won’t be the same without you there.”
She thinks about it for a moment. “All right. I’ll come, on the condition there are no drugs—”
“There won’t be, I promise. I’m getting clean,” he says.
“And Ash isn’t there,
” she continues.
“He’s my best friend. He’s coming,” Beetle challenges her. “You can’t keep avoiding me just because you don’t like Ash. I don’t like your friend, but I’d be willing to hang out with her.”
“I’m so honored,” I mutter.
“Please come,” Beetle says to her.
Day sighs. “Only if Natalie comes too.”
Beetle nods.
“That’s enough out of you kids! Get a move on—I haven’t got all day,” Mr. Lewis scolds as he leads us through the ticket office and into the exhibitions.
“Ladies first,” Beetle says to Day, letting her through the turnstile.
She rolls her eyes, but a slight smile plays across her lips. Beetle goes next. At the exact same time, Ash and I move to the turnstile and clumsily bump arms, sending electric shocks shivering right down to my fingertips. Ash inhales sharply, like he felt them too. There’s an awkward moment, then Ash steps back.
“After you,” he says softly.
As Ash follows me through the turnstile, a dark thrill caresses my body, and I know he’s watching me. Sebastian catches up with me a moment later and takes my hand, dragging me away from Ash.
“I don’t want you anywhere near that nipper, all right?” he says to me.
My heart skips a beat. Maybe I wasn’t being paranoid earlier. Does Sebastian suspect I have feelings for Ash? “Fine,” I snap back.
Day hurries after us.
The first room we’re dragged around is a new exhibition on Purian Rose. I occasionally scribble down a few notes, in case Mr. Lewis tests us on it later.
“Isn’t it fascinating?” Sebastian says as we walk past the waxworks of Purian Rose.
The exhibit charts his meteoric rise to power, from his early days as an unassuming government official, to his inauguration as president, right through to the present day, where he is the head of church and state. Somehow in the middle of that, he managed to find the time to write the Book of Creation and start a war against the Darklings. That waxwork frightens me the most, as he’s standing on top of a pile of dead Darklings, the victor in the “war against corruption.”