PART I
* * *
BLACK CITY BURNING
PROLOGUE
PURIAN ROSE STEPPED OUT onto the balcony of the Golden Citadel, adjusting the white cotton glove on his right hand. The sun had just started to set over the city, making the giltstone buildings shimmer gold. He was greeted by the melody of a million voices calling out to him across the metropolis, united in their evening prayer. Normally this would bring a smile to his thin lips. Centrum was his creation, his perfect vision of the world: purity, faith and power combined.
But not tonight.
How could he be happy when everything he had worked so hard for was in jeopardy? It had taken fifteen years of bloodshed, bribery and sheer determination to build his utopia, but that half-breed and his race-traitor girlfriend had threatened to unravel it all. Rose flexed his right hand, irritated that the glove wasn’t fitting correctly. Everything had to be flawless; too much was at stake to allow for even the slightest imperfection.
In the city square below him, a team of workmen were preparing the stage for the televised referendum in a couple of days, when the whole country would vote for his segregation laws. The ballot was meant to have taken place two months ago, but after everything that had happened in Black City—the riot between his Sentry guards and the Darklings, which resulted in a teenage boy being killed; Emissary Buchanan’s imprisonment for poisoning its citizens with a drug known as Golden Haze; and the attempted execution of the half-blood boy they were now calling Phoenix—well, it hadn’t seemed like the right time. Public opinion of his government had never been so low.
But that was a few weeks ago, and people’s memories were short. He was a patient man, able to bide his time until it was the right moment to strike, even though he was itching to punish the citizens of Black City for defying him. No fear, no power! they had chanted. It had enraged him at first, but he had found a way to turn the situation in his favor. He was, if anything, resourceful.
His eyes caught on two black ants crawling along the golden balustrade that ran around the edge of the balcony, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his gray eyes. Despite all his power, he still couldn’t prevent His Mighty’s smallest creatures from invading his carefully crafted world. Just like the rebels in Black City.
The sound of footsteps made him turn. By the doorway stood his servant—a young man named Forsyth, who was dressed in long white robes with a red rose emblem on his chest. It was the uniform of the Pilgrims—the devoted followers of the Purity faith, the religion that Rose had founded. The servant bowed.
“Your Transporter is ready, Your Excellency,” Forsyth said.
Rose simply nodded, dismissing the man, and turned his attention back to the ants. He watched the insects for a moment longer before crushing them under the thumb of his white-gloved hand.
He had waited long enough. The moment had come to put his plan into action. It was time he reminded Ash Fisher and Natalie Buchanan why they should fear him.
1.
ASH
A STEAM-POWERED STREETCAR rattles along the tracks beside me, spewing clouds of soot into the gray skies shrouding Black City. I take a cigarette from my packet of Sentry-regulation smokes and slip it between my lips, but don’t bother to spark up. Nicotine doesn’t give me the same buzz that it used to; nothing gets me as high as the heart beating inside my chest. I only carry the smokes to give me something to do with my hands when I’m nervous. My fingers find the small parcel inside my jacket pocket, and my stomach flips.
I stroll through the Rise, the poorest district in the city, and turn down Cinder Street—a narrow alleyway wedged between rows of tightly packed Cinderstone buildings. Three boys are playing in the street, blocking my path. Two of them brandish toy wooden swords, pretending to be Sentry guards. They’re chasing the third boy, who is dressed in black clothes, the sleeves decorated with orange ribbons that look like flames when he runs. It takes me a moment to realize the boy is pretending to be me. My chest tightens as I watch him play, thinking about the real fire that blazed up my arms, burning the flesh off my bones . . .
The boy looks up at me with wide brown eyes.
“Phoenix!” he cries out.
The children run over to me.
“I saw you on the news the other day,” Little Phoenix says. “Did you really hijack those Sentry trucks?”
“Yeah,” I say, putting my unlit cigarette back in the packet.
“And steal all those medical supplies from Sentry headquarters?” he asks.
“Yup,” I say.
“Wow,” all the boys say in unison.
Since the uprising two months ago, the Sentry government has been finding ways to lash out at us, such as withholding medical supplies from our hospitals or stopping Synth-O-Blood shipments into the Darkling ghetto, known as the Legion. I’ve been working with Humans for Unity—the rebel group campaigning to unify our species—to protect the people of this city. The front door of the house behind them opens, and a pretty middle-aged woman with sandy blond hair appears, wiping her hands on an old dishcloth. I’ve seen her at a few of the rebel meetings, although we’ve never spoken. I think her name’s Sally.
“Boys, get inside this minute and leave that young man alone,” she says.
“Aww, Mom,” Little Phoenix whines.
“Don’t ‘aww Mom’ me,” she says, ushering them inside.
She gives me a shy smile once they’re in the house.
“I really admire what you’ve been doing,” she says in a quiet voice. “I think you’re very brave to stand up to Purian Rose. It’s given so many others in this country the courage to finally do the same.”
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.
She blushes slightly. “Well, good luck at the ballot tomorrow. I’ll be voting against Rose’s Law,” she says. “The war’s over; it’s time we all forgave each other and moved on.”
“I appreciate your support,” I reply. “See you tomorrow.”
I head toward the small house at the end of the lane and dart around the back of the one-story building. As I’d hoped, the bedroom window is open. I climb through, being careful not to make a sound as I land on the other side.
The tiny room is crammed with old furniture: a desk, two beds, two dressers and a wardrobe. Day’s side of the room is immaculate, while Natalie’s is strewn with magazines, shoes and laundry. Her nightstand is covered in makeup, plus a small container of heart medication that I stole from the Sentry when we raided their medical supplies. I carefully navigate the mess and lean over her bed. Only Natalie’s face peeps out from behind the handmade quilt, her golden curls spilling across the pillow.
“Happy birthday, blondie,” I whisper.
Sunlight catches on her blond lashes as they sleepily flutter open.
“I was just dreaming about you,” she says.
“All good things, I hope?” I say, shrugging off my jacket.
She grabs my belt and pulls me onto the bed with her, making the wooden frame creak under our weight. I worry that Sumrina—Natalie and her sister Polly’s guardian—might hear us, but that thought is quickly pushed aside when Natalie presses her lips against mine. Everything melts away, and it’s just the two of us, our hearts beating in unison. My hand glides down her body, skimming over the soft cotton nightdress until I find the silken smoothness of her legs. My fingers brush over a small mark on her calf muscle where a Darkling bit her a few months ago. Natalie suddenly stops kissing me and bolts upright, cheeks flushed, to look toward Day’s bed. She lets out a long sigh when she realizes it’s empty.
“That could have been embarrassing,” she says.
I chuckle. “I would’ve restrained myself if she’d been here.”
Natalie raises a brow at me.