Wings (A Black City Novel) Read Free

after Catherine’s family, who run the butchery, general store and boutique. We pass the chapel, where I live. During the day, the spire casts a long shadow across Amber Hills, a reminder that wherever we are, we’re always under the watchful eye of my grandfather and the Guild. We pause outside Langdon and Son’s General Store, where her family is asleep upstairs, both of us breathless from running.
    “Well, good night, Edmund,” Catherine says, giving me a shy smile.
    “Night, Caterpillar.” I hold her gaze, wanting to kiss her.
Just do it!
I lean toward her.
    Her hazel eyes widen. “Edmu—”
    Her words get lost in my kiss. Her soft lips taste of apples and rain.
    “What in His Mighty’s name are you doing with my sister?”
    I jump at the sound of Patrick’s voice, breaking the kiss. He glowers at us from the doorway, his arms angrily folded across his broad chest. I’m usually taller than Patrick, but he’s standing on the step, so we’re eye to glaring eye. He’s the complete opposite of Catherine. Where she’s dark haired and petite, he’s blond, blue eyed and built like a bear. He’s the kind of guy who would’ve made a great Watchman, but Catherine told me he’s afraid of heights.
    “He wasn’t doing anything,” Catherine says.
    “He was kissing you,” Patrick says furiously.
    “That was just a good-night kiss, between friends,” she says, looking uncertainly at me. “Right, Edmund?”
    I wince at the word.
Friends.
But then realize that
of course
she’s going to say that in front of her brother; she doesn’t want him scaring me away like he did Eric and all the others.
    “Right,” I say.
    Patrick drags her inside and then turns to look at me.
    “I have a good mind to report you for leaving your post,” Patrick says.
    “And get your sister in trouble for being out after curfew?” I say. “I don’t think so.”
    “Stay away from her, freak,” he snarls. “Or else.”
    “Or else,
what?
”
    That was a mistake. Patrick shoves me and I hit the ground, getting mud all over my woolen pants. I catch Catherine’s eye just as Patrick slams the door. They’re filled with pity. I furiously pick up the rifle and clamber to my feet, roughly brushing the mud off my pants, my mind racing with a million ways to get back at Patrick. I trudge through the town to resume my post on the wall, my head bowed against the lashing rain.
    Something flashes across the path in front of me.
    What was that?
My hand twitches over my rifle. If a Howler’s gotten inside the compound, I’m in big trouble. Nearby is Mrs. Hope’s cottage. Her bedroom window is wide open, the long metal latch clanking against the wall.
Oh no!
I enter the cottage without knocking.
    “Mrs. Hope, it’s Edmund,” I say, my voice cracking a little.
    All the lights in the cottage are off, apart from a single candle that illuminates the hallway. Rows of medical books line one side of the wall. A clock ticks at the far end.
    There’s a creak of floorboards from the room overhead.
    I walk up the rickety staircase, gun raised. Every instinct screams at me to run, but a strange tugging sensation compels me forward, like someone is pulling on a gossamer thread woven to my chest, drawing me farther up the stairs.
    I lick my dry lips. “Whoever’s here, I’ve got a gun, so you’d best leave now!”
    A dull pain begins to ball up inside my rib cage as I softly tread toward the bedroom.
    I open the door.
    “Mrs. Ho—” My words get lost in my throat. The old lady is in front of the window, floating several feet above the ground, her long white nightdress billowing in the breeze. A pale arm is hooked around her waist—someone is lifting her out of the window! I take a step toward them, and pain explodes in my chest. I fall to my knees, dropping the gun.
    “Help me!” Mrs. Hope cries.
    I struggle to my feet and stagger over to the old woman just as she’s dragged out of the window. She stretches out her hand, our fingertips