Black City (40 page)

The room erupts into life as people talk excitedly to each other. The film is all the evidence they need. It’s clear: I’m guilty.

Guilty.

The word rattles around my head.

Guilty.

Dad sinks his head into his hands.

Guilty.

Logan Henrikk can’t look at me.

“I’m so sorry, Ash,” Juno says to me as she’s led out of the room.

“No, he didn’t do it! It was me! I killed Gregory, please believe me!” Natalie screams, tears spilling down her cheeks.

I can’t believe she’s still trying to protect me when she knows it’s over.

I catch her eye.

“It’s okay,” I mouth to her. “This is what I wanted.” I hold her gaze for as long as I dare, trying to let her know that everything is going to be okay. I feel the echo of her heart beating in unison with mine.

I hear snippets of conversation from the people in the viewing gallery.

“Sebastian wasn’t even there when it happened . . .”

“He ran away . . .”

“He was lying about Natalie . . .”

The Quorum of Three is quick to cast their votes.

“All rise,” the usher says.

I get to my feet, feeling suddenly unsteady on my legs.

Benedict Knox turns to me.

“Ash Fisher, it is the belief of this court that you are guilty of the murder of Gregory Thompson. You are hereby sentenced to death by crucifixion.”

40

NATALIE

“YOU HAVE TO COME OUT
at some point,” Day says from the other side of the bedroom door.

I’m lying on a small camp bed that’s been crammed into Day’s bedroom. After the trial, Michael and Sumrina kindly let me and Polly stay with them until we could sort out a new living arrangement, now that Mother has been sent to the rehabilitation center in Centrum and we’ve been kicked out of the Sentry HQ. Her contacts in Centrum said they’d take care of us, but there’s no way I can leave Black City when it’s my only connection to Ash. Martha’s living with Roach and Beetle, as there’s no room for her here.

The Darkling bite on my leg itches, and I scratch the scab, welcoming the pain. I want to feel something, anything, other than this grief.

Day enters our bedroom, dressed in an elegant black corset dress that I lent her for the occasion. Beetle lingers by the doorway. He’s wearing a dark green suit.
Green.
Ash’s favorite color.

“You have to come,” Day says.

I hide my head under my pillow again so they can’t see my tears. I can’t face what’s about to happen. I’ve already witnessed the death of one person I love, the night my father was killed. I’m not going through that again. I just can’t.

“He wants to see you,” Day says softly, lifting the pillow off my head.

“I’m not going,” I say.

“This is the last chance you’ll get to see him. Do you really want to miss that?” Day says.

“I can’t watch him die, I just can’t. I love him so much, I—” My throat constricts with grief.

Day hugs me as I cry.

“I can’t go, I just can’t,” I say after a moment.

The door quietly shuts behind them.

“Is Natalie coming?” I hear MJ ask Day.

“No,” she says. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

The front door slams a minute later.

I sit up and throw the pillow across the room, letting out a loud yell, screaming until my lungs are raw.

Footsteps shuffle toward my room, and the door inches open. Polly enters, wearing her pink slippers and robe. She sits on the edge of my bed. She plays with the ends of her glossy black hair, and looks at me with wolfish eyes just like her father’s, Purian Rose. Except her eyes are full of concern, not hate.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I say.

She gives me a look that asks,
Are you okay?

My lip trembles as more tears threaten. “They’re going to kill him.”

She hesitates, then stretches out a pale hand and lays it on top of mine. I let the tears fall. After a few minutes, I wipe my eyes, my tears all spent, and Polly gives me something close to a smile.

I glance at the clock on the dresser. It’s eleven thirty. Ash is being executed at noon. We go to the kitchen, and I turn on the portable TV, flicking through the channels, trying to find some news coverage. Polly squeezes my hand comfortingly.

I stop on Black City News, which is running a live feed of the execution. Juno stands in the center of the crowd, her face solemn. Thousands of people are in the town square, many thousands more filling the side streets. Juno speaks to the camera, but I don’t hear what she’s saying; I’ve turned the TV onto mute. I don’t want to listen to them talking about Ash like they have any idea who he is. To some he’s a traitor to the state for killing a Tracker, the worst kind of criminal. To others he’s a martyr, a hero to all Darklings.
That’s not who he is to me.
To me he’s just the beautiful boy I met under the bridge. The boy who kissed me on the rooftops. The boy who loved me. The boy who’s saving my life.

I shut my eyes.

* * *

Gregory holds a sword to my throat. The blade cuts into my skin.

“Let her go, Gregory,” Ash says.

“Gladly,” he replies.

He throws me to the ground beside Ash.

Gregory raises his sword, a murderous look in his hazel eyes. He’s going to kill Ash—I know it. I have to stop him!

“This is for Chris!”

There’s a crack of thunder.

I reach out for Sebastian’s sword at the same time as Ash.

My hand reaches the weapon first. I thrust upward.

There’s a flash of steel, a moment of resistance before the blade cuts through Gregory’s flesh. Hot blood splashes over my hands.
Oh, God . . . oh, God, what have I done?

I turn to Ash.

He grabs the sword from me.

It’s dripping with Gregory’s blood.

He drops the weapon to the ground.

* * *

That’s what really happened the day of the riot. I killed Gregory to save the boy I love. Juno’s film just missed that one crucial moment, because the cameraman fell to the ground.

And now Ash is going to be executed to save me. How can I let him die alone, when he’s being crucified because of me? He needs me!

“I need to go!” I say to Polly.

I grab my coat and rush out of the house.

Please let there be time!

41

ASH

“RUMMY!” I SAY.

Dad lays his cards facedown on my prison bed. “Good game.”

“I think you’re letting me win,” I say with forced cheer.

“Now, why would I do that?” he replies, equally forced.

They let Dad come into the cell to keep me company in my last hours. Sigur briefly met with me this morning, which was a pleasant surprise. He must’ve pulled a lot of strings and bribed even more guards to get to see me. I lean back against the wall. Harry, a lanky prison guard with short ginger hair, approaches my cell carrying a tray. There’s a single pint glass of fresh blood on it. My last meal. He gives me a genuine smile.

“You have visitors,” he says, placing the tray on my bed.

My stomach fills with butterflies at the tiny flicker of hope it’s Natalie. I smooth down my unruly hair. It swirls and stubbornly sticks out at mad angles again.

Day and Beetle appear by the bars. They don’t look me in the eye as I glance past them.

“Did they let her come?”

They don’t say anything.

Dad takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I wipe my eyes with my shirt sleeve; the prison-regulation material is thick and scratchy against my skin.

Beetle passes me a newspaper through the bars. I scan the headlines. It’s mostly stories about the upcoming ballot for Rose’s Law and how people are looking to vote against it, disgusted at the treatment of the Darklings in the Legion and angry at the Sentry government over the Golden Haze plot. People can’t turn a blind eye anymore. Humans for Unity’s membership has gone up fivefold since, and change is in the air. I just won’t be there to see it.

I turn the page, and my own face stares back up at me. “Hey, I made page three.”

No one laughs.

“Wow, why the long faces, everyone? It’s like someone’s died,” I say.

“Ash,” Dad says.

Day bursts into tears, and Beetle cradles her. I try not to look, jealousy burning through me. I wish Natalie were here.

“We should go to our seats,” Beetles says quietly a minute later. “We’ll be directly in front of you. You won’t miss us, bro.”

I hold Beetle’s hand through the bars, and he clings to it for a long moment.

“I love you, man. You’re my best friend,” he whispers.

“Hey, you’re gonna make Day jealous if you don’t let go,” I tease.

Day attempts a laugh, tears streaming down her caramel cheeks. She holds on to Beetle as they leave. He manages to make it halfway down the corridor before he starts to cry himself.

Dad kneels down on the hard concrete floor, and I join him in prayer. I try to believe the words about walking with the Lord in the Eternal Garden, or at least make them sound convincing for my dad. I know he needs this, probably more than me. I don’t think there’s a place in his heaven for people like me, but I’m okay with that. Maybe I’ll go to the Elsewhere, with Mom?

I’m so grateful Dad’s here with me right now. For years I wondered what it would be like to have a Darkling father, someone who truly “understood me,” but I realize now that man was with me the whole time. I couldn’t have asked for a better dad. He took care of me, he loved me, and he never abandoned me no matter how tough life got. I’m proud to be his son.

I hear Harry’s keys jangling against his leg before I see him. He hovers by the cell door.

“It’s time, kid,” he says solemnly.

Dad helps me to my feet. I lean on him a little. My shoulders feel heavy all of a sudden, my feet leaden. The sunlight shines through the small window of my cell. It prickles my skin, but it’s a good sensation, reminding me I’m still alive.

“Nice day for it,” I say to Harry.

He grimaces.

“You need to leave your clothes here,” Harry says, looking at his feet.

I shrug off the shirt and trousers, grateful to get the itchy material off my skin. I don’t mind it so much. There’s a freedom to being so exposed. I like how the cool air feels against my bare skin. I sling the linen modesty cloth around my waist; there will be children watching, after all.

“Any messages?” I ask hopefully.

“Sorry, kid.”

I have to accept she’s not coming. I’m never going to see her again. I turn to Dad, who is busy picking up my discarded clothes and folding them into a neat pile on my bed, delaying the inevitable. A tear trickles down his craggy face.

“Dad?”

He hurriedly wipes his eyes. “Yes?”

“Take care of Natalie for me. I’ve asked Sigur to do the same. Make sure she’s all right. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says.

His sad eyes trace the contours of my face, and I know he’s trying to commit me to memory. I can’t believe how much he’s suffered, first losing Mom and now me. This is worse for him in some ways. No one should have to see his kid die.

Harry holds out the shackles.

“Just a second.” I turn over Dad’s discarded playing cards on my bed, and I grin. So he
did
let me win!

Harry shackles my wrists and ankles and leads me down the long corridor to the awaiting transfer truck outside. Faceless prisoners poke their fingers between the bars of their cells as I pass, reminding me I’m not alone. Dad walks a few paces behind me, silent. The time for prayers is over.

42

NATALIE

I PUSH THROUGH
the bustling streets, desperate to get to the town square nearly a mile away. It’s already taken me ten minutes to get this far, and I’m barely around the corner from Day’s house. I’m not going to make it, and panic starts to set in. There has to be a better way.