Blackout (Darkness Trilogy) (15 page)

The bartender bends with his hands on his knees to get a better look. His broad frame looks strained as he twists under me. His neck is covered in snake tattoos. A blue tear
has been tattooed beneath one eye.

“Well, I’ll be.” H
e gawks. Standing back up, he roars, “The Frontier is down tonight in the Underground!” Hoots and hollers break out around me, almost as loud as the music. “It’s the Dark Zone versus America! Who here wants to take on a DZ?”

I
nod confidently at surrogate Hazel. She nods back, clearly riveted. I can already imagine myself entering Hazel’s number into my phone at the end of the night. It will feel good, but not as good as winning this fight. I pull my sweatshirt over my fists and lift my gray hood over my head. I’m good to go.

“My turn
!” someone calls.

The voice sounds vaguely familiar and
definitely drunk. I squint to find the Easy behind the words. The crowd is parting as someone makes his way to the front. When he finally reaches the ring, I blink twice: It’s Bing. Bing Troublefield the Fourth. His necktie has been loosened, and his white shirt is wet with sweat. His cheeks flush red as he staggers into the center of the ring and then wobbles in place.

Bing. Here.

But—how? His chest, face, and hands are all exposed. There’s nothing to keep anyone from touching him, just brushing accidentally against his skin.
Two Easy girls in tight short dresses wave to him from the sidelines, and the truth slowly becomes clear. I bring my mouth into a hard line. Of course. He hasn’t been following the rule at all. He’s not wearing his ring either, and I imagine the tracking device hidden under some beaming lamp back wherever the hell he lives. I spit on the ground. I’m not just facing any Easy now. This man has dishonored my family. He has disrespected his privilege and, worst of all, he’s dating
my
girlfriend.

T
he music is back on. I look around and notice the bartender has gone. We’ve started. Bing nods his head back and forth slowly in time with the steady pounding. The flickering lights only let me see him for part of every second. I raise my fists to my chin, already savoring how good this will feel. One quick punch should do it, but I want to make it last. As I plan, Bing reaches lazily into the waistband of his pants and pulls out a small pistol.

My cheeks feel cold.
The crowd gasps, but no one moves. They stand around us, frozen stiff with fear as the music plays steadily on. Now the beat sounds haunting. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry. I try to keep my eyes on the gun, but it keeps disappearing and reappearing as the red light flickers.

“Oops,” Bing say
s, wiggling the weapon around.

I need to act fast. Now.
Instinctively, I swing at the light bulb hanging down above me. My knuckles burn, and I can feel fresh blood as the whole room goes instantly dark. The music stops suddenly, and my ears are ringing. A shrill noise buzzes inside my head, and I push on my temple to make it stop. Still, noise or not, I have an edge now. I drop my hands into fists again and forget about the sound.

“Welcome to the Dark Zone
,” I whisper.

“Stop it!” Bing yells.

Feet shuffle as the crowd scrambles for the exit. Bing is too drunk to navigate his way out without any light. As far as I’m concerned, our fight is not over yet. Not even close. I remember exactly where he was standing and creep behind him. I rip the gun from where his hand was and fumble to put the safety on. Once it sets, I drop the pistol to the floor and kick it aside. Bing’s footsteps stumble in a zigzag path, but I do not move. Sounds reveal everything in the dark. Even with the ringing, I can tell where Bing is just by listening to him stumble. I step toward him and raise my covered fist. This is my moment.

I
punch him exactly the way I wanted.

A
lightbulb behind the bar illuminates the room as Bing falls to the ground. The bartender stands with his hand still on the controlling string. Bing writhes, clutching his jaw, and I feel a strange sense of satisfaction looking at him. I could hurt him more, but I don’t want him to lose consciousness. He deserves to feel pain. The bartender walks over holding a beer, but I wave it away. I want to savor this moment as it is.

Surrogate Hazel is backed against the wall.
Looks like I gave her a night to remember. I exhale a long breath of relief. The rest of the room is almost empty, except for a few Easies hunched and cowering behind the bar top. I take the surrogate’s hand and lead her upstairs. No more risks tonight.

We walk back to the truck
s still waiting for us and slide inside one. We sit in silence and catch our breaths together. Our chests heave slower and slower until we are calm. She reaches a hand toward mine. I swallow my disgust and let her take it. For the rest of the ride, she whispers about Hazel: She believes in God, she likes “junk food” for breakfast, she used to have a drug problem. Blah blah blah.

I’m really thinking about Star.
I wish she were here because I desperately want to tell her everything that just happened. God knows I can’t tell the surrogate. She—whoever she really is—doesn’t understand what that fight meant to me. She couldn’t begin to comprehend the way I look at Easies or what it felt like to find a dark place in the middle of this blinding city. Star would understand. Star knows me like no one else in the world, and she would just instantly get it. Exactly the way I wanted someone to get it. She would hold my aching fist, tell me I’m warm, and she’d probably feel bad for Bing, but she wouldn’t say it out loud. Because she loves me. And I love her. I love her so much.

The car slows to a stop. I stretch my legs as
the surrogate takes my phone. I almost try to grab it back before I realize what she’s doing. Her nails tap the surface deftly to enter a ten-digit number. The car door opens. Handing me my phone, she pushes me outside and I flail my arms as I fall to land on both of my feet.

“Phoenix!”

“Phoenix!”

“Phoenix, did you kiss her?”

My heart is racing. I stare at my phone. Her number. I got Hazel Smith’s phone number. I’m not surprised, but actually getting it feels so much better than I thought it would. I laugh out loud. All the pressure of the night that was still inside me comes out again, making my cheeks flush and my breathing pick up. I’m excited as I stride with long steps across the carpet and smile to every last one of the photographers. I wave like a madman, and they eat it up. They click their cameras at lightning speed, and I twirl once for the crowd.

G
oddammit, I’m going to win.

*

I push against the door to my suite. It won’t open, and I remember it’s barricaded. I try to press through it, leaning my whole body weight against the elaborately carved white door, but still it won’t budge. Just hours ago, a little hiccup like this could’ve sent me through the roof, but I’m not frustrated at all. I’m still riding the high of my first date. I knock twice, feeling looser than usual with a bit of success in my system. 

“Who is it?” Tinder yells.

“It’s Flora,” I reply in a falsetto.

“Shut up, Phoenix,” he says.
Furniture slides against the floor as he clears a path. Tinder opens the door a crack and sticks his head in between. In a rush of energy, I shove the door with both of my palms, and it swings open until it bangs against the wall. Tinder shuts it immediately, locks it, and starts to move the barricade back.

“Did you get it?” he asks, not meeting my eyes.

“Yeah,” I say. “Did you?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?” I ask.

Three more knocks tap against the door.

“Who is it?” Tinder yells.

“It’s Flora,” Elektra jokes.

She giggles, and I laugh out loud, a real raucous laugh. Tinder looks at me like he wants me to stop laughing, but I can’t help it. Tinder starts pulling the chairs away, and I unlock the door. Elektra swings it open with a single finger. She stands beside surrogate Wesley, and suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore. He’s smiling.

I know the whole thing with Star and him was a misunderstanding, but
I size him up anyway. See the threat he might have been. We look each other in the eye, and I stare him down. At least he’s not taller than I am. He wears a light-pink collared shirt buttoned up to his neck. His neck is a little bit too long, and his torso is, too. There’s a lanky quality to him that makes him look just a smidge too nice. Guys like this don’t end up in the Underground—but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fight him.

Elektra is smiling too, more innocently and sweetly than I have ever seen her.
Her lips are paler than usual, just a very modest pink now. She rests her hands gently in the small of her back and looks up at him, batting her long black lashes.

“Here we are,” she
says, biting her lower lip. “Would you like to see my room?”

“That would be wonderful,” s
urrogate Wesley answers politely.

Clearly, she’s getting a phone number.

Tinder sighs and shakes his head as they walk past us toward her room. We shut the door and push the furniture back. One yellow armchair at a time.

Star wasn’t interested in Wesley, I remind myself. She doesn’t think he has a “nice smile,” or a nice anything else. I’m just being paranoi
d. The farther away surrogate Wesley gets now, the more I settle back into my good mood. I exhale a long breath and let the tension melt off my shoulders.

Tinder and I
are quiet during the high-pitched screeches of wooden legs sliding against tile. I still want to know how he did on his date, but I can’t ask him with all of this noise. When we’re finished, we stand and take a moment to appreciate our work. He’s panting slightly, and I wait for him to catch his breath.

“What were you saying?” I ask
him. “You said, ‘Not exactly’?”

“
The surrogate gave me the first three digits,” Tinder says in a low tone, sounding embarrassed. He lets his head droop. “It means I did kind of well, but she wasn’t sure I’d be a good fit for Flora.”

“That’s harsh,” I say. I reach out and grab Tinder’s bony shoulder to comfort him, but he shakes it off. We
hear Elektra giggling all the way from her bedroom, and then the low voice of her surrogate.

“I’m gonna call it a night,” I tell Tinder. He nods, but something is wrong. I realize that he doesn’t want to go back to his room. It’s closer to Elektra’s, and he’ll proba
bly hear them all night. “Hey, do you want to sleep in the extra room tonight? The one right next to mine? You’ll rest easier, I think.”

“That
room is bad luck.” Tinder shakes his head firmly no.

“Well, how about mine then
?” I ask. “We can switch for the night.”

He pauses. “Okay,” he agrees. “Thanks.”

“Get some sleep,” I say, pointing my finger at him. He smiles a little bit, and we part for the night. As I walk away, I think again about texting Hazel and decide to wait. The player version of me wouldn’t be eager to text her. The surrogate only started to like me when I was arguing with her. No, the real Hazel won’t fall for someone nice and considerate. I’ll ignore her for now. Tomorrow, I’ll bait my next trap.

I enter Tinder’s room and smile to myself. A row of open books lies on the blue carpet in front of his messy bed. He must have pulled them off the bookshelves along his wall. Funny, the only thing I thought when I saw those books was how fast they would burn.
Elektra giggles in the room next door. I sigh and turn out the light, too tired to undress before falling into bed. My body relaxes on top of the deliciously soft comforter. The stress of the evening slowly melts off my shoulders. My phone buzzes with a new message. Half-asleep, I check it.

Elektra: surrogate is leaving soon, can u fix the barricade behind him?

Elektra: thanks cutie

I roll over and plan to respond. Sure, I can
fix the barricade, Elektra. I close my eyes and focus for a moment on the pillow cradling my head. With every exhale, I sink deeper into the feathers, and before I can do anything else, I fall asleep. In my dreams, I hear my phone buzz twice once more.

Footsteps wake me. Without opening my eyes, I listen. The slow sounds approach from the hallway as someone walks heel-toe, heel-toe. I roll over half-asleep and try to figure out if it’s Elektra or if it’s Tinder.

I used to
do something like this in Dark DC. At night, without light to see my parents, I’d identify them by sound. Burn moved with heavy, creaking steps. He never liked to be alone, so whenever he was, he muttered to himself. He’d mumble things he had to do, part of a song, or just nonsense to clog the silence. Aura moved with a slight shuffle. She dragged the balls of her feet when she walked. It used to bother me when I was younger because I always worried she was going to trip.

The footsteps outside now are too slow to be Elektra’s, but far too heavy to be Tinder’s. My eyes flutter open. The footsteps can’t belong t
o surrogate Wesley either. He wouldn’t be coming toward us. He would be leaving. Whoever’s walking toward me is a large person trying to make the least amount of noise possible. I gulp, and fear chills my spine. There’s a stranger in my suite. As quietly as possible, I turn over in my bed and reach for Magic between my mattress and nightstand. It’s gone.

But o
f course it’s not here. I’m in Tinder’s room.

I sit straight up, and m
y heart drums faster in a growing panic. I went to bed in far too good a mood last night, and I didn’t consider nighttime threats. Goddammit, I didn’t consider anything. I didn’t bring a weapon, and I didn’t fix the goddamn barricade. I wipe my face with one hand to wake up.

The f
ootsteps outside draw steadily nearer. They’re getting louder as they approach. I bolt toward my door and slow down to twist the knob a hair’s width at a time. When it’s fully turned, I pull slowly and peer through the crack. Light shines distantly in the foyer, shrouding a lone man in shadow. His profile looks entirely dark. I can’t see a single feature—no eyes, no mouth, nothing—just blackness. The shape of a shotgun hangs from his hand, and I gasp. He jerks his head in my direction, and now I recognize the wide shoulders and thick arms. Blaze. Blaze is in my suite.

I slam
the door. Lock it now. Squaring my shoulders against the base of my bed, I shove it toward the door as fast as I can. My whole body strains, heaving, until I hear the reassuring thud of wood hitting wood. A new barricade. I stand as the door start to rattle, and I sense my rapid-fire breaths coming even quicker now. A bullet sails suddenly through the door and headboard to shatter the window behind me. Instinctively, I drop to my knees. A shard of glass cuts me across the back.

Blaze peer
s through the round hole with one eye. I stare back at him for a moment and sense his determination. He is not about to give up. When he steps back, I jump up in a panic and leap onto the narrow ledge outside the broken window. The ledge continues for a short foot on either side of the window frame. I teeter on one of the sides, and my heart pounds so hard that I worry it might rock me off into the street.

Yellow
headlights pass thirty-three floors below me. I try to steady myself. Breathe. I feel impossibly small staring at the hundreds of beaming towers, and no one in any of those windows is looking back at me. I’m invisible to them. Ignored. The way I’ve lived my whole life is now the way I’m going to die. I hear Blaze battering the door to splinters, and Star’s face flashes through my mind. Star. I pull out my phone and thumb to
Profiles
. She needs to know how much I love her, that I am thinking of her now. Shakily, I update:

PHOENIX

Just now:
I love you, Star. I am always and forever yours.

Mattress springs compress and release, and I can tell Blaze has made it into my room. I listen as he steps off my bed and stalks the rest of my room, flipping over a chair. It’s only a matter of time before he finds me. A lone tear runs down my cheek, and in the howling icy winds, it freezes to my face. Star, I miss you. Coming here was supposed to bring us together. I am so sorry, Starlight, all I wanted was you. All I ever wanted was you. It’s more clear than it’s ever been, I never really wanted anyone or anything else. Not even power. When I craved electricity, what I really desired was the ability to make you happy. So I could keep her safe. Keep her warm. Help her little brother.

“St
ar…” I whisper into the night.

Two gun
shots startle me. I jolt violently in surprise and nearly fall off the ledge. Bending backward, I steady myself as Blaze cries out in agony. A thump hits the carpet floor. A second softer thump follows.

Silence settles
. Awful waiting ensues. I’m helpless in the uncertainty, stuck waiting with pricked ears for some sign of what just happened. Slowly, carefully, I sidestep to look back inside. The lights are on now. Two DZs lie on the ground in widening dark stains, Blaze and another player who was going for Hazel. Elektra stands behind them in the hallway, her face stony. Tinder jogs to a stop next to her carrying Magic. When he sees the bodies, he gasps and turns away like he’s about to heave.

I look
back at the unmoving DZs. They face each other, guns in hand, and it’s clear they shot one another to death. I wonder why the second DZ was here until the cold realization overwhelms me. I shiver as it runs through my mind, but there’s only one explanation that fits. They both came to my room to kill me.

The front door
to our suite slams, and Tinder yelps. He might be crying—I can’t quite tell—and he looks deeply shaken. A crew of Easies in white bodysuits lumber toward us. They wear clear shields as masks over their faces. We step aside as they start to clean the carpet and lift the bodies onto stretchers. One member of the crew removes Blaze’s golden ring, then the other boy’s. He scans each ring with a pocket-size metal device. I suspect those rings had a role in summoning this crew in the first place.

“I told you to check the barricade,” Elektra
rebukes.

“
I fell asleep,” I say.

“What happened to the barricade?” Tinder asks
, his voice cracking.

“Surrogate Wesley had to
move it to leave,” Elektra says, pulling her phone out of the front pocket of her silk robe. After a moment, her eyes widen slightly and her lips part. I do a double take; her expression is subtle, but it’s an extremely unusual one for Elektra to wear. She’s anticipated almost everything since we got here, but now, she is surprised.

“What
is it?” Tinder asks nervously.

Elektra
raises her stare to glare at me. The edge of her jaw looks especially sharp. She holds the screen of her phone up for both of us to see my profile. It shows the update I made about Star. I check it on my own phone to delete it, but it already has 4,050 Adds. Regret seizes my chest as I read:

PHOENIX

5 mins ago:
I love you, Star. I am always and forever yours.

See Earlier
Adds.

USER
21099: OMG WHAT

USER 00821
: Ya right

USER 72109
: Attaboy Phoenix. Be true to you

“You know Star?” Tinder asks, confused.

“We’re both from Dark
DC, of course I know her,” I say, thinking quickly. I clear my throat and try to look earnest. “Love her? I don’t know. Someone just tried to shoot me. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

The cleaning crew
files around us to leave. We three fall silent and, for the moment, I’m free from interrogation. I try to breathe. Tinder will believe anything, I tell myself, and Elektra doesn’t want to hurt me. We’re on each other’s team. They won’t try to get Star and me disqualified, they need me—but I’m not sure.

Looking over my shoulder,
I see the crew has removed every sign of the murders except for two eerie stains in the rug. As the last crew member leaves, I turn slowly back to face Elektra and Tinder in uneasy silence. Elektra’s eyes fixate on me like two dark spotlights, severe and unblinking. Tinder just looks confused. He scratches his head, further messing up his hair still unkempt from sleep. I swallow painfully and find it even harder to breathe. My lungs feel an inch deep.

“
You don’t know if you love her or not?” Tinder asks.

“
No—I mean, I don’t love her,” I say.

“Are you sure?” Tinder asks.

“I’m positive.”

Tinder nods
faintly like he believes my lie. The more he nods, the more convinced he appears to be. For the first time, I’m grateful he’s so goddamn naïve. I sigh with relief and look at him the way I would look at a brother. Thank you, Tinder. He pulls on the soft navy tie wrapped around the middle of his long robe, cinching it tight in a gesture that signals he has reached a conclusion. To him, I am telling the truth.

Elektra
is different. She continues to glare at me with a stare so intense she might be looking right through me. Unlike Tinder, her hair is still perfectly coiffed and stick straight. As if she never went to bed at all, and she is as awake and alert as ever. My relief fades as we gaze at each other. Her harshness tells me that she doesn’t believe me, and I swallow hard from nervousness. Then, before I even see her reaching, she snatches my phone with lightning quickness out of my hand.

“Hey!” I cry.

She ignores me and types furiously on my phone. I try to grab the device back—twice—but each time she pulls it effortlessly out of reach. She doesn’t stop typing for one second. When she’s finished, she throws the phone back toward me, and I catch it spastically. A new update displays on screen.

PHOENIX

Just now:
jealous yet, hazel?

Sweet release washes over me. So Elektra isn’t going to use this secret against me after all—at least, not yet. This update covers my tracks. Hell, it even makes me look good. I want to hug Elektra to thank her, but she isn’t wearing enough to get that close. Her pink robe is too thin and the front hangs open just a little too low.

“
Now come with me, Phoenix,” Elektra commands.

“
Sure, where to?” I ask.

“My room,” Elektra says.
“You’re going to spend the rest of the night with me.”

“
What
?” I demand.

She waves her hand to shut me up.
“If anyone else comes for you, you’ll need my help to fight them off,” she says, grabbing my arm with one hand and Magic from Tinder’s grasp with the other. She pulls me toward her room, leaving Tinder standing awkwardly by himself. This doesn’t feel right, but I can’t find a logical reason to resist. And she did just save my ass by typing that update. I gulp. It’s just one night, after all.

Her lavende
r room is neat as a pin. Everything is stacked or lined in perfect rows: books, tomorrow’s clothes, paper notes. Elektra shuts the door noiselessly and then sinks slowly into her bed. She beckons me to lie on the other side of the purple sheets. I sigh. I don’t want to be here. She slips under her covers and closes her eyes. I sit down reluctantly and decide that I’ll leave as soon as she falls asleep. Just like I would slip away from Star’s side without waking Mrs. Windsong or Wick. I won’t be able to stay here all night.

“If you try to leave,” she says, “I’ll wake up.”

I grimace.

“And then we’ll try sleeping again with my arms around you,” she says.

“Jesus, Elektra.”

It’s hot in here. I pull my sweatshirt over my head and throw it against the wall.
It falls to lie crumpled on the floor, the only sign of human life in the whole room. Before Elektra can see my bare chest and get the wrong idea, I lie down on the bed as far away from her as I can. I’m so close to the edge that I almost fall off. Elektra breathes so softly that when I close my eyes, it sounds as if I’m completely alone.

“Should we barricade your door?” I whisper.

“Don’t worry,” she says sleepily.

“Should we at least
close
the door?” I ask.

“
Shh,” she says. “You’re with a Shadow now, baby.”

It takes me
a long time to fall asleep. Every time I get close, the image of waking up intertwined with Elektra flashes through my mind. For a moment, I see my arms wrapped around her legs, or my nose breathing in the scent of her hair, or something else equally awful. As if that’s not enough, a few times, I think I hear footsteps in the hallway and freeze with fear that another player has come to kill me. Elektra kicks me hard to get me to settle down, and eventually I convince myself that she won’t let anything happen to me.

U
neasily, I let myself drift to sleep.

*

Elektra’s door creaks open. I don’t know how long it’s been, but the room is still dark. It’s still the middle of the night. I stand up instantly with my heart pounding in my ears. A shadowy silhouette waits on the threshold.