Black City Read Free Page B

Darkling DNA—it doesn’t make any difference. I’m still a monster.
    “I don’t want you going out at night anymore,” he says.
    I let out an irritated sigh.
    “I’m serious, Ash. I don’t want any Trackers sniffing around here asking questions.”
    “Okay, okay,” I mumble.
    Dad goes to a drawer and pulls out an envelope.
    “This came through the mail,” he says quietly.
    Dad hands me the envelope. Inside are a pamphlet and a copper wristband. I scan the contents of the leaflet:
     

     
DARKLING REGISTRATION ACT

O N THE ORDERS OF PURIAN ROSE, head of the United Sentry States:
Darkling citizens living in Sentry territory must wear Identification bracelets at all times. Failure to comply will result in death.
     

     
    I examine the wristband. There’s some text engraved on it: Ash Fisher #000121 Property of Harold Fisher, Ivy Church, the Rise.
    I inhale sharply. “They can’t be serious. I’m not a dog! I’m no one’s property.”
    “I’m sorry, son,” Dad says, unable to meet my eyes. “Just promise me you’ll wear it. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”
    I swallow back my shame and slip on the wristband, not wanting to give Dad any more reasons to be worried about me. I cover the band with my sleeve, but I still know it’s there. It’s humiliating. In the space of a few minutes, I’ve gone from being someone’s son to being his pet.
    “At least this way a Tracker won’t mistake you for a rogue Darkling,” Dad says, his voice strained.
    “Yeah. Look, it’s no big deal; it’s just a wristband,” I lie, whether to him or to myself, I’m not sure.
    I glance at the padlocked door leading to the crypt.
    “Has she eaten?” I say.
    Dad shakes his head. “I was waiting for you.”
    I go to the fridge and take out a sachet of Synth-O-Blood, a synthetic form of O-positive blood. The Sentry engineered it shortly after war broke out eight years ago, in order to feed the thousands of Darkling citizens they’d forcibly relocated to the Legion ghetto, behind the newly constructed Boundary Wall. They were the luckier ones who managed to bribe, bargain and fight their way into the ghetto, knowing it was their best chance of survival. The rest were sent to “migration camps” in the Barren Lands. Now the only Darklings you’ll find on this side of the wall are a few domesticated housemaids, some trespassers hiding out in Humans for Unity safe houses, rogue Wraths and me. The last twin-blood in Black City.
    Dad moves the camp bed and unlocks the padlocked door. We walk down the stone steps in silence. The crypt stinks of death and decay. In the center of the room is a battered armchair, a discarded book on the armrest. I force myself to look beyond it toward the creature hunched in the corner of the room.
    She stirs.
    My grip tightens around the bag of blood.
    “I’ve . . .” I clear my throat, which is dry like cotton. “I’ve brought you some dinner.”
    The creature growls, tugging at the chains holding her to the wall. I slide the sachet of blood across the floor, and it comes to a juddering halt in front of her. She rips into the sachet and slurps at the blood with her black tongue, splashing blood all over her partially rotted face, revealing the full length of her long, curved fangs.
    I sit down on the armchair, watching from a safe distance. The Wrath virus isn’t airborne, but I’m still at risk if she bites me. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I angrily wipe them away. Dad’s right. We have to be careful with the Trackers back in town. I glance over at the creature.
    They mustn’t know about Mom.

4
    NATALIE
    I HURRY UP the gleaming white steps to the Sentry’s regional HQ, my new home. One wing of the white marble building is still being reconstructed after it was blasted during the air raids, but otherwise it’s come out relatively unscathed. Not like everywhere else in this city. It probably wasn’t our forefathers’ smartest idea to build Black City