“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Let’s go back to HQ,” Sebastian says.

“No. I really need to get out of that house,” I reply. “I keep seeing Truffles’s little body all ripped apart . . .”

Sebastian lets out an impatient sound. “Fine.”

“Hey! What’s that nipper doing on here?” an elderly man calls out when he spots Martha beside me. Everyone turns. One woman in a black taffeta bustle dress screeches dramatically, and her husband comforts her.

“She belongs to me,” I say, pointing to Martha’s ID bracelet.

“She has no right to travel the steams with us, little girl,” he says.

Sebastian points a finger at him. “Don’t talk to her like that, old man. Do you know who she—”

I shake my head at Sebastian, silencing him. We’re meant to be incognito.

“Let’s walk. I could use the exercise,” I say.

We get off at the next stop and walk the final mile to Chantilly Lane Market, the oldest and largest marketplace in the city, taking it slow, as Martha’s clawed feet struggle with the cobbled sidewalks.

Chantilly Lane Market is brimming with life. Music spills out of the nearby taverns, and all around me, colorful flags flutter in the wind, announcing what each stall trades: fish, meat, vegetables, medicine, weapons, clothes, and accessories.

Ladies dressed in garish corseted gowns gossip with each other as they trade at the stalls, taking care that their long skirts don’t drag through the dirt. They smile at a troop of Sentry guards as they march by.

A small crowd has gathered around a man standing on a crate. He’s got a shaved head and a rose tattoo on his face—the symbol of the Purity. He raises his hands in the air, like he’s praying to His Mighty.

“And we shall rid the Darkling plague from His Mighty’s green earth, for they are demons sent to tempt us with their opiates and their bodies and their sinful ways. But they are Damned creatures! And anyone who lies with a Darkling is Damned as well, cursed to spend eternity in the burning depths of hell.”

The people in the crowd all murmur, “So sayeth His Mighty.”

Sebastian listens, enraptured.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe this crap,” I whisper to him.

“I’ve been reading the Book of Creation, and it actually makes a lot of sense to me.”

Sebastian continues to listen to the preacher, occasionally chiming in with “So sayeth His Mighty” with the rest of the crowd.

A shiver runs down my spine at the sight. I thought Sebastian was too smart to be suckered into the Purity faith.

I tug on his arm. “I didn’t come here to listen to some preacher. I want to go shopping and cheer myself up. That’s why we’re here.”

Sebastian looks at me impatiently, then back at the preacher. I can tell he wants to stay.

“Can Martha and I at least go? We’ll just be over there.” I point to some nearby clothes stalls.

He hesitates.

“No one will recognize me dressed like this. I’m perfectly safe. Please?” I touch his arm.

He looks down at my hand where I’m touching him. Hope sparkles in his green eyes, and in that moment, I hate myself for stooping to such low, manipulative measures. It’s something my mother would do.

“As long as you stay with Martha, and don’t wander off too far . . . ,” he says.

“Great, see you later!” I say, before he can change his mind.

We wander over to the stalls closest to Sebastian. Outside all of them are mannequins modeling the “Latest Fashions, All the Way from Centrum!”—although really they’re just hideous knock-offs. I doubt anyone here has ever been to Centrum, as it’s two states away and you have to cross the Barren Lands to get there. I’ve only been through the Barren Lands twice in my life, once when we moved to Centrum and the second time when we left. It’s a wild, desolate place, with scorched red earth as far as the eye can see. I don’t know how people can live there, it’s so deadly.

Martha waits patiently as I try on a few outfits, eventually settling on a pair of tight knee-length trousers, some cheap scarves, and a gaudy Gypsy dress covered in tiny coins.

“We should probably go back to Sebastian, dear,” Martha says after I’ve paid for the clothes.

“I want to get my friend a satchel,” I say, thinking about Day carrying all those books.

“That stall’s in the center of the market,” Martha replies.

Sebastian’s still entranced by the preacher. I doubt he’ll notice if we’re gone for a few more minutes.

“We’ll be quick,” I say.

The light dims as we navigate the narrow alleys, walking deeper into the market. The bag stall is nestled between a bookstall and a metal shack with a wooden sign hanging over its doorway, reading MOLLIE MCGEE’S TAVERN. The place stinks of Shine—the cheap alcohol that most Workboots drink. I inspect a few of the satchels, trying to decide which one Day might like.

A few people look in our direction and whisper to each other.

“We really should leave,” Martha says anxiously.

“I’m almost done,” I say, selecting a tan leather bag from the pile.

At that moment, the door to Mollie McGee’s bursts open and three rough-looking men stagger out, drunk on Shine. They all have the black and red rose Purity symbol tattooed on the side of their faces. One of them spots Martha and points her out to the other men.

“Rogue!” he calls out.

“She’s not a rogue. She belongs to me,” I say, but they’re not listening.

One of the men grabs a metal rod from a nearby ironmonger and twirls it in his hand as he walks toward us, a sinister grin on his face.

Oh, heck! I grab Martha’s hand, and we dart down one of the alleyways as the drunken men lumber after us. I drag her into a jewelry stall and hold my breath as the men near us. Why did I go so far away from Sebastian? It was stupid of me.

The stall owner, an overweight middle-aged woman wearing gaudy makeup, tries to shoo us out of her shop.

“I want no trouble here,” she says.

“I’ll buy something expensive if you hide us,” I whisper back.

This satisfies her, and she ushers us farther into the stall.

“Here, nipper, nipper, nipper. Come out wherever you are,” the man with the rod says.

He bangs the metal poles holding up the stalls, making a terrible clanging noise, trying to scare us out. We shrink deeper into the shadows, and the men walk by, not seeing us. We wait in the stall for a few minutes, until I’m certain the men are gone.

I buy an overpriced gold ring, as promised, and leave.

“Are you all right?” I say to Martha when we’re outside.

“I’m fine, dear. It happens all the time.”

“Really? I had no idea,” I say, stunned.

“We should find Sebastian before those men come back,” Martha says.

We head through the maze of alleyways, getting turned around a few times until I’m not certain where we are. As we approach a butcher’s stall, I stop dead. Between the waving flags, I catch a glimpse of pale skin, rippling black hair and sparkling black eyes. My heart yanks. Ash.

He looks up, sensing me watching him.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t the designer stores in Centrum more your scene?” he says as we approach him.

“How would you know what my scene is? You know nothing about me,” I reply.

“I know enough,” he says, glancing at the ID bracelet around Martha’s wrist.

She covers it with her clawed hand, like she’s ashamed.

I furrow my brow. Is Martha embarrassed to be working for me?

“Do you know the way out of here, dear? We’ve got terribly lost,” she asks him.

His expression softens. “I’ll walk you out after I’ve got my blood.”

I curl my lip at the sight of the butcher’s stall. Pig carcasses, strings of sausages and legs of lamb hang from hooks above the counter, all swarming with flies. The ruddy-cheeked butcher swats at them with a bloodied rag. They disperse for a second, then return.

Ash places a copper coin on the counter of the butcher’s stall. “One bag of Synth-O-Blood.”

The butcher chuckles. “Not for that price, sonny. It’s two coppers a bag now, or hadn’t you heard? The government’s started putting taxes on Synth-O-Blood. Can I do you a deal on some pig’s blood?”

I laugh. “That’s apt. I always thought you were a total pig.”

Ash clenches his jaw.

When did I turn into such a brat? I’d never let Martha eat pig’s blood; it’s not fit for anyone. I pass the butcher some coins.

“Here, I’ll pay for it.”

“I don’t want your charity,” he snaps.

“Well, what are you going to eat, then? You can hardly eat human food. Or can you?” I never thought to ask this about twin-bloods.

“No, it’d be like you eating grass. I can’t digest it,” he admits.

The sudden clang of metal on metal behind us makes me jump. I turn, fear rippling through me. The three Purity guys who were chasing us earlier sneer back at us. They’ve blocked the alleyway.

“Found you,” the man with the iron rod says to Martha.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” I warn.

The men just laugh.

“One race under His Mighty!” Iron Rod says, raising the weapon.

The men charge at us.

It all happens so fast, I barely have time to react. Ash pushes me to one side and runs in front of Martha, who falls over as she tries to back away from the men. Ash roughly grabs Iron Rod by the throat and tosses him into the butcher’s stall, sending blood and meat everywhere. A leg of lamb lands at my feet.

“Watch out!” I cry as a second man rushes toward Ash.

I grab the leg of lamb by my feet and swing it like a club, hitting the man on the head. He staggers back one, two, three steps, before fleeing. His two friends quickly follow before Ash and I can do any more damage.

We sit Martha down on a wooden crate. Her gray hair has come loose from her headscarf; her clawed hands are trembling. I drop the meat and briefly hug her.

“Are you injured?” Ash asks her.

Martha holds out her hand. It’s bleeding.

“I’m such a silly old crone. I cut it as I fell,” she says, attempting a gap-toothed smile.

Ash cringes, looking at the holes where her fangs should be.

“We need to bandage her hand,” I say, passing him one of the scarves I bought earlier.

He tenderly wraps it around Martha’s hand. I barely recognize the boy in front of me. His face is usually so hard and angry, but now it’s gentle and full of concern. His eyes briefly flick up, sensing me studying him. I flush.

“Thank you, dear,” Martha says, patting his cheek when he’s done.

“Yeah. Thank you, Ash,” I say quietly. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

He rubs the back of his neck and stands up. “Anytime.”

Martha studies him with interest as he helps her up. “Your name’s Ash? As in Ash Fisher?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She smiles. “I know your family. Before the war, I regularly attended your father’s services, and we grew quite close. I even used to babysit you.”

Ash takes a moment to think about it, then a wide smile spreads across his face. “You’re the lady with the blood-candy!”

She smiles. “That’s right. My, haven’t you grown? The last time I saw you, it was just before the war broke out. You were eight years old and chasing my granddaughter Lillian around the graveyard, trying to put spiders down her top.”

I laugh at this image, and Ash laughs too, a deep throaty chuckle. I’ve never heard him laugh before. The sound suits him. I quickly look away, my emotions in a jumble.

“How is Lillian?” he asks.

“She was sent to the Barren Lands during the war with my daughter and her husband. I haven’t heard from them since.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ash replies. “I heard rumors about what was happening in the Barren Lands. My mom used to hold her Legion Liberation Front meetings at the church, just before she was sent to the ghetto, and they discussed it a lot.”

So that’s how Ash knew about the execution camps during Mr. Lewis’s history lesson? Guilt and shame crawl through me. We all know my father was responsible for sending Martha’s family there. I don’t know how she can stand being around me or my mother, but I suppose she doesn’t have a choice—she’s our servant. I recall how she covered her ID bracelet in front of Ash, and it finally hits me why she’d be ashamed of it. She’s not our servant. She’s our slave. My stomach churns. How could I have been so blind to this?

“How about Annora? Did she make it through the war?” Martha asks him.

A shadow crosses his features.

“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to intrude . . .”

“Mom and Dad split up years ago. It’s just me and Dad now.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Your parents were such a lovely couple,” Martha says.

“It was inevitable. Humans and Darklings just aren’t meant to be together.” He flashes me a look.

“Natalie! There you are. I was worried sick,” Sebastian’s voice sounds behind me.

His blond hair is ruffled from running, and his cheeks are flushed. He looks relieved to see me. Then he catches sight of Ash.

“Get away from her, nipper,” he says, storming over to us.

“It’s all right. I know him,” I say, getting between them.