Phoenix (2 page)

ASH

WE PUSH OUR WAY
down Bleak Street, which is heaving with bleary-eyed commuters heading to work. Some
of them nod at me as we pass by. Plastered across shop windows, walls and lampposts
are hundreds of Humans for Unity flyers, with slogans like
NO FEAR, NO POWER!
and
ONE COUNTRY UNITED
and
VOTE NO TO ROSE’S LAW!
On all of the posters is an image of me staring moodily off into the distance with
smoke billowing behind me—a phoenix rising from the ashes. Roach shortened my name
from Black Phoenix to Phoenix, thinking it would sound snappier in the promos.

Beetle suddenly cuts across the road and I hurry after him, weaving through the steam-powered
streetcars.

“Aren’t we supposed to be going to the Legion?” I say.

“Yeah, but there’s something going on at the Chimney you need to check out first,”
he says. “It won’t take long.”

We cross Union Street and head toward the factory district called the Chimney, where
most of the city’s poorest citizens, known as Workboots, earn their living. It’s a
bleak place, with noisy Cinderstone refineries belching out toxic smoke into the sky,
contributing to the thick black cloud that permanently lingers over the city.

The only splash of color comes from the giant digital screens on top of the buildings,
which constantly stream the latest news from the government-owned channel, SBN. The
monitors flicker, and an attractive blond presenter, February Fields, appears on all
the screens across the city, smiling down at us with her plumped-up red lips.

“And now an announcement from your government,” she says.

The footage cuts to a picture of an attractive young boy and girl, both blond and
blue eyed. Written below them is the phrase
ONE FAITH, ONE RACE, ONE NATION UNDER HIS MIGHTY
. Rose has been running these commercials for weeks, in the run-up to the referendum
tomorrow. My stomach knots just thinking about it. If we lose the vote, then my people
will be trapped behind the Boundary Wall forever.
No pressure
.

The newsfeed is suddenly interrupted, and my image appears on-screen.

“And now an announcement from your liberators,” a female voice says. It belongs to
Juno Jones, lead reporter at Black City News and one of the highest-ranking members
of Humans for Unity. We’ve distorted her voice so she can’t be recognized.

Recently, the rebels have been running their own promo spots in retaliation to Purian
Rose’s commercials, by hacking into the government feed. The footage is of me walking
through the Darkling ghetto—a run-down, diseased shantytown with filth and sewage
in the streets. Emaciated Darkling children reach out to me, and I pass them bags
of Synth-O-Blood from the Sentry trucks we hijacked last week. The shot changes and
now I’m inside a crowded hospital, where medical supplies are being handed out to
nurses tending to the Wraths—Darklings infected with the deadly C18-Virus. The promo
ends with our slogan:
NO FEAR, NO POWER!

The picture returns to the usual government feed.

“So are you all ready for Natalie’s party tonight?” Beetle asks as he leads me up
a steep hill overlooking one of the Cinderstone factories.

My fingers find the parcel in my jacket pocket again. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I’ve got all the stuff at the barge. I just need to set it up. She’ll love it.”

“Are you sure? It has to be perfect,” I say.

“Stop stressing, mate.”

At the top of the hill, we meet a young, petite black woman with closely cropped hair,
dressed in dull gray overalls like the other factory workers.

“Ash, this is Freya,” Beetle says. “She recently joined us from the Ember Creek branch
of Humans for Unity.”

In the past two months we’ve managed to organize fifteen new factions of Humans for
Unity around the country, increasing our membership to over five thousand, and it’s
growing every day. It’s still a drop in the ocean compared with Purian Rose’s forces,
but it’s a promising start.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Phoenix,” Freya says.

“Likewise. Black City’s a long way from Ember Creek,” I say.

“I wanted to be at the heart of the action.”

“So what’s going on?” I ask.

“I’ve been tracking some suspicious activity in the Cinderstone factories,” Freya
explains. “I first noticed it happening in Ember Creek, and when I told Roach, she
said the same thing was occurring here. So she asked me to investigate.”

I slide a questioning look at Beetle. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

The tips of his ears turn pink. “Roach didn’t want to bother you, bro. She thought
you had enough on your plate with the ballot, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks,” I say. “So what’s this ‘suspicious activity’?”

Freya points toward the factory at the base of the hill. Everything seems pretty standard
to me—just workers loading trucks with Cinderstone bricks, the slow-burning fuel that’s
used to power factories, trains and streetcars. Then I see them—three men dressed
in dark red clothing emerging from the factory. Each of them is over seven feet tall,
with heavy brows and reflective, silver eyes. Their heads are shaved, except for a
narrow strip of long, fur-like hair down the center of their scalps.

Lupines
.

The only people the Darklings hate as much as the Sentry are the Lupines, since they
sided with the government during the war. The tallest of the Lupines wears a bloodred
leather frock coat and has human teeth woven into his silver hair. He barks some orders
at the other two Lupines, then goes back into the factory while they climb into the
trucks and drive off.

“They’ve been taking all the shipments to the Mountain Wolf State,” Freya says.

“What’s there that requires so much fuel?” I say. “That shipment alone was enough
to power a whole city for a year.”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ve been trying to gain access to the head office, to download
the shipment logs,” Freya says. “It’s not easy, though. They’ve got armed guards securing
the office, but I’m trying.”

“Do your best. Keep me posted,” I reply.

We leave Freya and head back into the city. Pain throbs at my temples, and I massage
them with my fingertips.

“You okay, mate?” Beetle asks as we turn onto City End—the street that runs parallel
to the Boundary Wall, which encloses the Darkling ghetto.

I nod. “Just stressed about tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine.” Beetle checks his watch. “I better head to the barge and get it prepared
for tonight.”

Nerves bubble in my stomach again.

“Don’t worry, mate—she’s going to love it,” he says.

Beetle crosses over the streetcar tracks while I continue down City End, not worrying
too much about running into any Trackers—the Sentry’s elite military group who hunt
and kill rogue Darklings—although I know they’ve been keeping tabs on me. If I turn
around now, I’m sure I’ll see one of their goons darting into an alleyway, acting
like he wasn’t following me. But it’s no big deal; I can shake them off when I need
to.

Since the unrest at my crucifixion, the Sentry government has kept a low profile in
the city. Now isn’t the time for the government to be seen wielding its power—“crushing
the little man,” as Roach puts it—since it would only add fuel to our fire. That’s
something Purian Rose is very concerned about. He told me as much when he paid me
an unexpected visit after I was released from the hospital.

The government is still here, though; it’s just they’re working more covertly now.
I hear rumors of people tied to the rebellion mysteriously disappearing. There’s no
proof the government has been involved, so we can’t do anything about it. But we know.
Yet we continue with our underground meetings and pirate radio shows, all in the hopes
of gathering the support we need for tomorrow. I honestly have no idea how it’s going
to go. All I can do is hope I’ve persuaded enough people to vote against Rose’s Law.

The sound of hooves startles me out of my thoughts. I whip around. Two black horses
canter toward me, their footsteps stirring up the ash on the cobblestones. They’re
pulling a closed-top carriage, which bobs up and down on the uneven road. I flatten
my back against the concrete wall before the vehicle runs me over. It draws to a halt,
and a moment later, the door swings open and Sebastian Eden steps out.

He’s dressed in a new version of the Tracker uniform: a black flat cap with a rose
emblem on the front, a fitted black military coatee, tight black slacks and matching
leather jackboots. With his shaved head, the overall look is more severe than the
stylish red-and-black uniform from a few months ago. Pinned to his chest is a rose-shaped
silver medal, indicating his high rank in the Tracker squad. His green eyes flash
with contempt, an expression that I know is mirrored on my own face. Sebastian used
to be Natalie’s bodyguard and boyfriend, and a couple of months ago, he tried to rape
her. We got into a fight about it, and it was this incident that sparked the riot
that got Gregory Thompson killed and me subsequently arrested and convicted of his
murder.

“Get in,” he orders.

I laugh. “Yeah, like I’m going to do that.”

His upper lip twitches, his eyes flicking toward the vehicle. I catch a glimpse of
a shadowy figure inside, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

“One of my men is standing outside Natalie’s house as we speak,” Sebastian says in
a low voice. “So it’s in your best interest to get into the carriage, nipper.”

“If you lay one finger on her, I swear—”

“What?” A cruel smile plays across his lips. “She’ll be dead before you can reach
her.”

There’s no way to be certain whether Sebastian is telling the truth or not, but I
can’t risk it. I step inside the carriage.

My blood turns to ice when I see who is sitting opposite me.

Purian Rose
.

He studies me with cold, gray eyes. Unable to help myself, I shudder. There’s something
deeply disturbing about his face, which looks all stretched and waxy. The carriage
lists slightly to one side as Sebastian takes the seat next to the driver. Rose taps
the roof of the carriage, and the vehicle begins to move. I try to rein in my panic.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Not even a hello?” he says, amused.

“Hello,” I say. “What do you want?”

He runs his tongue over his top teeth and studies me for a long moment. I fidget in
my seat, waiting for him to speak.

“I’ve been keeping a close eye on you, Mr. Fisher,” Rose finally says. “I must confess
I admire your tenacity. It’s an admirable quality to keep trying so hard when there’s
no hope of success.”

“Um,
thanks
?” I say. “But I’m guessing you didn’t come all this way to tell me that. So what
do you want?”

“Always to the point, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of my many ‘admirable qualities,’” I retort.

He leans forward, and I crush my back into the purple velvet seat.

“What I
want,
Mr. Fisher, is for you to vote in favor of Rose’s Law tomorrow,” he says.

I laugh. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not really one for humor.”

“No kidding,” I mutter. “Why on earth would I do that?”

He smiles. “You might remember, the last time we met, I promised to break you down,
piece by piece?”

“I vaguely recall something along those lines.”

“Well, it’s time I acted on that promise,” he says. “If you don’t vote yes tomorrow,
then I’m going to take Miss Buchanan.”

My heart stops.

“And let me be clear,” he continues. “I won’t kill her straight away. Instead, my
guards will slice bits off her,
piece by piece,
until she’s begging for death. Do you understand?”

I nod faintly. “Don’t hurt her,” I whisper.

“Now, that depends entirely on you.” He gives me a cold smile. “So, what’s it to be?”

His ultimatum lingers in the space between us.

Natalie or my people?

I look down at my feet.

Her life in exchange for their freedom?

“Think it over, Mr. Fisher,” he says. “I have faith you’ll do the right thing.”

He taps the carriage roof again, and the vehicle shudders to a halt. He opens the
door for me, and I step out, the cold air rushing against my skin.

“Good day,” he says, then as an afterthought: “And wish Miss Buchanan a very happy
birthday from me. Make sure it’s not her last.”

ASH

PURIAN ROSE’S THREAT
rings in my ears as the carriage rides away. As soon as the vehicle rounds the corner,
I slump down on the curb, my whole body shaking with adrenaline.

“What I want, Mr. Fisher, is for you to vote in favor of Rose’s Law tomorrow.”

Can I honestly go through with this?

He’ll torture Natalie.
I can’t let him do that.

But how can I betray my people? I know my vote alone doesn’t have the power to stop
these segregation laws from passing, but people
are
expecting me to lead the way. If I vote in favor of Rose’s Law, what sort of message
does that send? Why should the humans put their necks on the line for the Darklings
when the rebellion’s poster boy won’t even do it? We’ll lose the vote, and Purian
Rose will have defeated us without even raising a gun.

I consider telling Roach what happened, but immediately scrap that idea. I’m certain
she’d advise me to vote against Rose’s Law, despite the risks to Natalie. The rebellion
is the only thing that matters to her; she’d sacrifice her own nephew, Beetle, if
she thought it was necessary. I admire her dedication to the cause, but not her willingness
to allow people to die for it.

I don’t know how long I sit on the curb, but when I eventually stand up, my legs feel
numb. I find a pay phone and call Natalie.

“Hello,” she says on the other end of the line.

I shut my eyes, relieved to hear her voice. “Hey.”

“Everything okay?” she says distractedly as Day and her younger brother, MJ, have
an argument in the background.

I can’t dump this on her now; it’s her birthday.

“Ash?”

“Everything’s fine,” I say. “Look, I bumped into Sebastian a few minutes ago. There
might be a Sentry guard outside your house, so keep an eye out.”

“Yeah, we saw one hanging around earlier, but he’s gone now.”

I press my forehead against the phone booth. So Sebastian wasn’t lying.

“What did he want?” Natalie asks.

“To wish us good luck for tomorrow,” I say.

Natalie laughs. “Sure he did. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll see you later.”

I hang up and head to the Legion to find out what this “incident” was that Roach needed
to tell me about, my footsteps leaden, still undecided about what I’m going to do
tomorrow.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I’m staring at the empty storeroom that was once stocked to
the ceiling with military-grade guns and ammunition, which Humans for Unity had stolen
from the Sentry. Seems like the government decided to take them back.

“They cleared us out during the night,” Roach says beside me.

She’s wearing a man’s gray shirt tucked into black pants, and scuffed work boots.
Her dreadlocks, which have been newly dyed blue, hang down to her trim waist. Next
to her is one of the Darkling ministers, Logan. She’s more handsome than beautiful,
with startling lilac eyes and rippling black hair. She glances at me with her usual
mixture of irritation and guilt. Logan was one of the three judges, known as the Quorum
of Three, who oversaw my trial two months ago and sentenced me to death. Something
like that tends to strain a working relationship.

“How did the Sentry get into the ghetto undetected?” I say.

Logan and Roach share a knowing look.

“What?” I say.

“We believe it was an inside job,” Logan replies.

“Fragg,” I mutter.

“Suspicious timing, don’t you think?” Roach says. “The public vote is tomorrow and
suddenly all our weapons go missing.”

I rake a hand through my hair. How in the hell are we going to run a rebellion without
any weapons? I suspect Purian Rose was somehow behind the theft. He must’ve had a
spy working for him inside the Legion this whole time. The timing is too neat to be
a coincidence.

“Does Sigur know about this?”

“He is speaking with the other ministers now,” Logan replies.

“There’s going to be an inquest,” Roach adds. “But for now, we need to watch our backs.
I’m going to kill those traitorous bastards when I get my hands on them!”

We leave the empty storeroom, and Logan closes the door.

“Do we have
any
weapons?” I ask as we walk down the corridor.

“I’ve told the lieutenants to gather what they can,” Roach says. “But we haven’t had
much response so far—just some rifles and enough parts to cobble together some bombs.”

“We’re totally screwed, aren’t we?” I say grimly.

“It doesn’t look great,” she admits. “Look, let’s keep this on a need-to-know basis
for now. For morale, you know?”

I nod. With the ballot tomorrow, the last thing our supporters need to hear is that
we have no means to defend ourselves if we lose the vote and the Sentry come for us.
Purian Rose’s threat flashes through my head again. What am I going to do?

The door to Sigur’s office opens and Juno Jones pops her head out. Her fiery red hair
has been pulled back into a slick ponytail, and her pale blue eyes are rimmed with
Cinderstone powder. She’s wearing a pair of indecently tight black leather pants and
a white corset blouse with a ruffled collar.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she says, bundling me into the office. “I need you
to shoot some promos for tomorrow.”

Roach and Logan smirk at me as Juno shuts the door.

* * *

“From the top,” Juno says an hour later.

We’ve been recording two speeches to run after tomorrow’s ballot—one a rousing victory
speech if things go well, and a second speech if things don’t. They both feel like
losing speeches to me, knowing that whatever I choose tomorrow, someone important
to me is going to suffer. The question is
who
?

I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable, although I’m unbearably hot in my battered
Legion Liberation Front jacket. The coat’s been dyed black to match the rest of my
uniform, which was carefully put together by the rebel leaders to create the character
of Phoenix. The LLF jacket represents the Darkling rebellion, while the black slacks
and boots are from my old Tracker uniform. Now, instead of hunting Darklings, I’m
“hunting down freedom,” according to one of our slogans anyway.

Our cameraman and technician, Stuart—a gangly man with spiky brown hair—fiddles about
with the sound levels while Juno’s younger sister, Amy, hurries over to me to redo
my makeup. This is another thing putting me in a bad mood. They’ve painted a band
of Cinderstone powder down the bridge of my nose and around my eyes, so I look more
“phoenixy,” in Juno’s words. She thought it would make me easier to identify when
we do the crowd shots. In fairness to Amy, she’s done a good job, but I still hate
it.

She blushes as she dabs more Cinderstone powder onto my face, her fingers light and
warm. She’s a year younger than me, and I vaguely remember seeing her around school—when
we used to attend it. We haven’t been in months, since joining the rebellion. But
our parents tutor us whenever they can so we don’t fall too far behind in our education.
Amy looks like Juno, with the same auburn hair and pale, freckled skin. On her wrist
is a tattoo of a burning black flower, dubbed the Cinder Rose, which has become the
symbol of the rebellion. Beetle came up with the design. The color represents Black
City, while the burning rose signifies our destruction of the Sentry government . . .
or something. I sort of stopped listening when Beetle explained it to me.

“You’re doing much better,” Amy says.

“I suck,” I say, adjusting my microphone. “Don’t tell your sister, but I much prefer
doing the promos with James and Hilary on Firebird radio. At least I don’t have to
wear makeup.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Amy says, smiling.

Before we can carry on filming, Sigur sweeps into the room, his ice-white hair flowing
around his shoulders. He’s wearing loose purple robes that conceal his fragile wings.
One of his eyes is milky white, where he was blinded, while the other glimmers orange.

“Excuse me, but I have some important business to discuss with Ash,” he says.

Juno tries to stifle her frustration. “Okay, let’s call it a day. I think I’ve got
enough footage to cobble
something
together, although I can’t guarantee it’ll be any good.”

“I’m certain it will be a masterpiece, as always,” Sigur says. “What would we do without
you, Juno?”

“I’m only in it for the fame and glory, you know,” she replies.

It’s hard to tell if she’s joking or not. She’s never hidden the fact that she wants
to be a lead anchor on the national news one day. But I know she still feels terrible
for the role she played in my court case��it was her film footage that got me wrongly
convicted of Gregory’s murder, after all. I think this is her way of making it up
to me.

I follow Sigur into the hallway, grateful for the chance to escape.

“So what did you need to talk about?” I say, wiping the Cinderstone powder off my
face. “Do you have an update on the break-in?”

“No, we are still questioning people,” Sigur says. “I just sensed you needed rescuing.”

I grin. “Thanks.”

“I do have something I want to show you, though,” he says as we head down a flight
of metal stairs and enter a large circular hall in the center of the cave.

Sigur’s headquarters are located in the nocturnal animals section of the old Black
City Zoo. It’s perfect, really: dark, secure, with ready-made staff offices to work
in and former animal enclosures to sleep in. Of course, my mom made the place really
homey when she used to live here, so it doesn’t feel like a zoo anymore.

We wander through a network of corridors before reaching Sigur’s private suite. The
sprawling room is painted red and lavishly furnished with antiques, which Sigur salvaged
from Sentry mansions during the war. The majority of the suite is set up like a living
room, with elegant sofas and chairs surrounding a fireplace, while a large bed takes
up the rest of the space. On the right side of the bed is a small nightstand with
a jewelry box, a pottery urn, and a bronze hairbrush. Strands of long, dark hair cling
to the bristles. Grief spills over me, knowing they’re my mom’s.

“I miss her,” I say quietly.

“As do I,” he replies, walking over to the nightstand and picking up the urn that
contains my mom’s dual heart. It’s tradition for Darklings to harvest their Blood
Mate’s heart after they die to keep as a memento. “Life feels very empty without her.”

I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your Blood Mate. Purian Rose’s threat
flashes through my mind again. What am I going to do? How can I possibly choose between
Natalie and my people?
Would it be
so
bad if we lost the vote?
Sure, the Darklings would be trapped in the ghetto, but at least they’d be alive.
Natalie will die for certain if I don’t do this.
She’s my Blood Mate; Sigur will understand.
If I truly believe that, then why haven’t I told him about Rose’s ultimatum?

Sigur places the urn back on the nightstand and takes out a photograph from the drawer,
and hands it to me.

It’s a picture of my mom and her family, taken when she was about ten years old. I
smile. For the past few weeks, Sigur has been helping me build up a picture of my
Darkling family, finding photos and letters that they sent to friends before the war.
I study the picture. The photo seems to have been taken in a forest glen. Peeping
through the gaps in the trees is the blurry outline of a mountain with a sharp, talon-shaped
peak. I flip the photo over. Scrawled on the back is
The Coombs, Forest of Shadows, Amber Hills.

“Are these my grandparents?” I ask, pointing to a young couple standing beside Mom.

“Yes, their names were Paolo and Maria Coombs. And that’s your aunt Lucinda.” He indicates
a younger Darkling girl who looks a lot like my mom, except with a round face and
shorter hair.

“Who’s this?” I say, referring to the stern-looking man with a purple heart-shaped
birthmark on his left cheek, standing beside Paolo.

“I don’t know. Your mother rarely spoke of her family,” he explains, taking out an
old leather journal from the nightstand and passing it to me. “But this might help.
It’s your mother’s diary. I found it hidden among her belongings.”

“Have you read it?”

“No, it didn’t feel right,” he says. “However, I am certain she wouldn’t mind if you
read it.”

I flip through the pages, scanning her large, loopy writing, which looks a lot like
mine. A photo slips out from between the sheets and falls to the floor. I pick it
up. It shows my mom when she was in her late teens. She’s with Aunt Lucinda and two
other girls inside a run-down tavern. One of the girls is wearing a hooded cape, and
is exotically beautiful with full scarlet lips, bronzed skin and topaz eyes. She’s
perched on the armrest of the second girl’s wheelchair. This girl is pretty in an
ethereal way, with wide green eyes and wispy blond hair. She’s dressed in a barmaid
outfit, so I’m guessing her parents own the tavern, since they tend to be staffed
by family members. Neatly written on the back of the photo is the caption
T4K. Thrace.