Phoenix
Page 28

Giselle leads us down a labyrinth of back alleys, which get narrower and darker the farther into the city we go. The round market buildings are soon behind us, replaced by narrow brick buildings, their crumbling walls painted vivid reds, purples, blues and golds. I peer into one of the shop windows, and my skin crawls at the sight of the sinister objects: monkey heads, jars of frogs, chickens’ feet, snakeskins. Elijah curls his lip up at them, as grossed out as I am. An uneasy feeling comes over me. Where’s she taking us? I tug on Ash’s sleeve.
“I don’t like this,” I whisper to him. “Let’s go back to the market.”
He gives me a kind but slightly patronizing look. “Just because Giselle’s a Dacian doesn’t mean she’s untrustworthy.”
No, stealing that man’s money is what makes her untrustworthy. I can’t help but feel he’s being blinded by her beauty. Or maybe . . . maybe it’s just me, I admit. I don’t like the way she keeps looking over her shoulder at Ash, flashing him a dazzling smile.
Lucas walks beside us. He’s intrigued by Elijah’s tail, which is just visible beneath the hem of his robe. The boy keeps grabbing it and laughing when Elijah swats him away like a pesky fly. It becomes a bit of a game between the two of them, and although Elijah seems annoyed at the boy, I know from the glint in his eye that it’s just an act. I think this happens a lot with him when kids are around, remembering how the little girl we rescued from the Destroyer Ship, Bianca, also played with his tail.
We turn down a side alley, and Giselle stops in front of a violet-colored house with a tiered roof covered in glimmering solar panels and topped with a weather vane in the shape of a sun.
“Welcome to Madame Clara’s,” Giselle says, pushing open the black door.
A bell tinkles as we step inside the gloomy shop. The walls are painted the color of night, with silver stars stenciled on them. There’s a heady smell of incense in the round room, making my stomach churn. The wooden shelves are packed with leather-bound books, potions, candles and colorful crystals.
Sitting at a round table in the center of the room is an elderly woman wearing a traditional folk dress like Giselle’s and heavy silver bands around her wrists. Intricate tattoos of the ancient zodiac decorate her arms and face.
Her long hair is coarse and gray; her dark olive skin is weathered with wrinkles and the strange tattoos. She’s wearing a pair of brass-rimmed sun goggles, and she lowers them. I stifle a gasp as I stare at her eyelids, which have been sewn shut.
She turns her head toward me, and her lips spread into a gold-toothed smile. “Do you want your palms read? It’s only two coins.”
“They’re not customers,” Giselle says, dropping the pouch of coins on the table. “Clara, this is Ash Fisher, Natalie Buchanan and—”
“Elijah Theroux,” he says.
“They need a place to stay. They’re hiding from the Sentry,” Giselle explains.
Madame Clara spits at the mention of the Sentry, muttering curses under her breath. She gets up, struggling slightly with arthritic hips, and waves at us to follow her into the back room. I soon realize the shop is just a tiny portion of the ramshackle building, which sprawls over five floors. Every room is painted a different rainbow color, and there’s a mural running up the stairwell, which was clearly painted by the ten children who are running about the building, laughing and playing.
Lucas tugs Elijah’s tail and sprints on ahead, wanting to continue their game of cat-and-mouse. Elijah laughs and races after the boy. The sight makes me smile. I catch Ash looking at me. He turns away, his expression pained.
“Why are there so many children here?” I ask as we walk up the creaking steps to the third floor. I can’t imagine they’re Clara’s kids, since she’s too old to be their mother.
“Madame Clara runs a refuge,” Giselle explains. “All the kids here ran away from home for one reason or another. She keeps us off the streets.”
That explains why she was pickpocketing earlier. She needs the money to help support all these children, the same way Ash had to sell Haze to support his father. Madame Clara shows us to a double room with bare wooden floors and colorful silken fabrics draped down the blue walls. Directly opposite us are wide bay windows, which lead out onto a balcony with loads of potted plants. To our right is the bed, which is covered in a handmade quilt, and to our left is a simple tin bath and sink. It’s not much, but after many hard nights spent on trains and trucks and in caves, it looks like heaven.
“For you and Ash,” Madame Clara says to me. “There are dresses in the wardrobe, if you want to change. Elijah can sleep next door with Lucas and the boys.”
Giselle smiles at Ash. “My room is at the end of the hall, in case you need me.”
She sashays down the corridor after Madame Clara, putting a little extra sway in her hips. Ash gives a lopsided smirk, enjoying the view. Fury spikes in me, and I mutter a few rude words as I stomp into the bedroom.
I open up the balcony windows to let in some air, then sit on the bed and take off my shoes while Ash runs the bath. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since the Barren Lands, and it feels weird. There’s a wall of tension between us that’s getting higher by the day. Ash keeps glancing over at me, like he wants to talk to me about something, but then changes his mind. Nerves fill my stomach, worrying that he’s going to ask me about the conversation he overheard with me and Elijah, and I don’t know what to say if he does.
“Natalie?” he finally says.
My tummy flips. “Yes?”
He looks at me with such deep intensity that I feel burnt by his gaze. He must notice my body tensing, because he looks away.
“Nothing,” he mumbles. “Do you want to wash first?”
“No, you go,” I say.
He pulls the modesty screen across the bath and gets undressed. I catch glimpses of him through the gaps between the panels—the curve of a biceps, the knot of muscles on his flat stomach, a naked hip. Yearning aches through me. There’s a splash of water as he slides into the bath.
A stab of pain shoots through my thighs. I look down and realize I’m digging my nails into my legs. I quickly get up, feeling flustered. I twist my hair up into a bun, then pull off my black robe, top and pants, so I’m just in my vest and underpants. I walk over to the wardrobe and find three gowns inside. I select a folk-style teal dress, with off-the-shoulder sleeves and little gold coins sewn into the hem of the pleated skirt. I lay it out on the bed quilt and begin unfastening the mother-of-pearl buttons.
There’s another splash of water, followed by the sound of footsteps padding across the wooden floor. I turn around, my heart racing. Ash stands a few inches away from me. Beads of water snake down his bare torso, sliding past his belly button toward . . . I swallow, flushing. He stretches out a hand and rests it on my hip. I can’t focus on anything but those five fingertips pressed against my skin.
He doesn’t do anything for a long moment, just gazes at me, silent and uncertain. A warm breeze flows through the open balcony windows, stirring his wet hair. Finally, he pulls me toward him, and dips his head. The kiss is slow, beautiful, intense, and I’m instantly lost in him. I lace my fingers through his inky hair and draw him closer, deepening our kiss. The beads of water on his body soak through my cotton vest, making goose bumps break out across my skin, but I don’t care; all I can focus on is his hand sliding down my back. It rests above the waistband of my underwear.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping under the elastic waistband of my underwear.
I have the Wrath.
The thought slaps me so hard, I stagger back from him, gasping for air. Oh God, oh God, oh God. How could I be so reckless? I gaze up at him, tears brimming in my eyes.
“What did I do?” he says, his face stricken.
I cover my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that’s going to break out at any second. How could I be so stupid? I could infect him!
He stands there for a moment, stunned and confused.
“Is it the scars?” he asks quietly.
“No! God, I told you I don’t care about those.” I blink, trying to compose myself.
“Then what is it?”
“I—” I don’t know how to end that sentence. I have the Wrath, and I’m going to die, and I love you, and I’m going to leave you, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
He grabs his clothes off the floor and tugs them on.
I chase after him. “Ash—”
He pushes past me and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I sink down on the floor and cry.
27.
NATALIE
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, I head downstairs, freshly bathed and wearing the teal dress. The coins sewn into the hem jangle as I walk, making me sound more cheerful than I feel. Around my neck is the gold pendant that Ash gave me for my birthday. My engagement ring hangs from the chain, and I tuck it under the top of my dress, hiding it from view.
I find everyone in the kitchen, watching an SBN news report about Sigur’s capture on Madame Clara’s old portable digital screen. I take a seat at the large oak table. The kitchen is warm and inviting, with terra-cotta tiles on the floor and wooden cabinets painted with colorful images similar to the mural in the hallway. Bunches of herbs hang from hooks on the cabinets, while jars of tea leaves line the shelves.
Even though she can’t see, Madame Clara moves deftly about the kitchen as she prepares a simple rice dish for supper, skirting around Lucas, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor, tying a red ribbon to Elijah’s tail, which is already covered in gaudy bows. Giselle laughs, shooing him away.
“Go play in the garden, you pest,” she says.
Lucas sticks his tongue out at her and runs to join the other children.
Giselle’s arms are laden with jars, and she places them on the table. She’s changed into a tulip yellow dress that clings to her curves, and has tied some bright orange feathers in her auburn hair. A purple bruise has started to form on her cheek where the guard slapped her.
Ash sits stoically in the corner of the room, watching the news report. He raises his eyes briefly as I sit down.
“They’re holding Sigur for questioning in Centrum,” Ash says flatly. “He’s going on trial next week for his role in burning down Black City.”
“Well, he’s still alive. That’s good news,” I say, trying to see the positive side. “Maybe Roach will send in a team to rescue him?”
“Don’t be stupid. They’re not going to rescue him. It’s too dangerous,” Ash says. “He’s as good as dead.”
I bite back my reply, stung by his harsh words. Elijah quirks a concerned eyebrow at me.
Giselle perches on the edge of the kitchen table beside Ash and begins writing some labels for the jars filled with something that looks like ground peppercorns. The gold rings on her toes glimmer as her foot keeps brushing up against his leg. Whether it’s accidental or not, I don’t know, but thankfully Ash moves his leg away before I lunge across the table and rip the feathers out of her hair.
Elijah unscrews the lid of one of the jars and sniffs its contents. His face scrunches up.
“What is that?” he says, thrusting the jar into her hand.
“Ground-up night whisper,” Giselle explains, putting the lid back on the container. “We mix it into our tea to help us relax. It’s quite potent, but my people have a natural tolerance to it, so we don’t feel its effects as much as others. It just gives us a nice, sleepy buzz.”
The digital screen beeps, and the Sentry crest appears on the monitor, with the words NEWS FLASH. Everyone falls silent as Ash turns up the volume.
“Citizens, we interrupt your program with an urgent newscast,” February Fields says. “Reports have just come in that the traitor known as Phoenix has been killed during a firefight in Iridium. Once again, the traitor known as Phoenix is dead.”
We’re all so stunned, it takes a second for the news to sink in.
“How can Phoenix be dead?” Giselle asks, confused. “You’re here.”
Ash groans slightly. “Oh no,” he mutters.
“Purian Rose will now make a statement to the nation,” February says on the digital screen.
A moment later, Rose appears on the monitor. He approaches a podium on the Golden Citadel balcony, which overlooks the city square in Centrum. The Sentry flag flutters behind him. He’s dressed in his ceremonial robes, and although his eyes are stern and fixed on the camera, there’s a barely disguised smirk on his lips.
There are cheers from the thousands of Sentry citizens congregated in the city square below him. Many are wearing white Pilgrim robes, their heads cleanly shaved, but others are dressed in the latest fashions—bright corset dresses and feathered hats for the women, long tailcoats and silken waistcoats for the men.
Rose addresses the crowd, talking briefly about the dark times they have faced recently, and saying that the time of hardship is over. The rebellion is defeated. The false prophet Phoenix is dead. Ash was not immortal, he was not a messiah. He was just a boy.
The image cuts to footage of the firefight in Iridium, which took place inside the Darkling ghetto. It’s hard to see clearly through the smoke and rain, but even in the poor conditions, you can make out the shape of thousands of bodies—Sentry, Darkling—piled on top of one another where they were shot down. They weren’t lying when they said it was a massacre. Suddenly a tall boy with black hair, an LLF jacket and Cinderstone powder painted on his face runs into the frame. It’s Ash! Except I know it’s not him at all. It’s Nick.