Wings

Book 3: A Black City Novel

by Elizabeth Richards

Genres: YA Dystopian; YA Paranormal

Synopsis

The pulse-pounding conclusion to the Black City trilogy for fans of the Legend series

Fans of urban fantasy and forbidden romance will definitely want to pick this one up."--USA Today on Black City

Following Phoenix, Natalie finds herself separated from Ash and unexpectedly reunited with her parents, including the father she thought was dead. But she can only think of Ash. She hasn't heard a word of him since she and Elijah were brought to the underground headquarters of the Sentry Rebellion. But she vows to find him.

Ash, meanwhile is back in Black City; it's the perfect place to hide from the Sentry government. But not for long. He won't give up on Natalie or bringing an end to the terrible reign of Purian Rose.

Release date: June 12, 2014

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 400

Sample

PART 1

CRY OF THE PHOENIX

1.

Amber Hills, Mountain Wolf State

30 years ago

THE CHURCH BELLS CHIME MIDNIGHT, signaling the start of the Watchmen’s shift. No one else is allowed out after dark; no one else dares. Night is for the creatures that live beyond the wall. The ones lurking in the shadows of the forest. The ones that are watching me now.

A whisper of wind, as cold as winter’s breath, chills the back of my neck. I lift up the collar of my woolen jacket as I patrol the Boundary Wall that encases our compound. What the hell was I thinking of when I volunteered to do this? Well, it’s obvious who I was thinking of: Catherine. Maybe now that I’m a Watchman, she’ll stop seeing me as Best Friend Edmund and more as Potential Boyfriend Edmund.

I’m surprised the Guild allowed me to take the job—it usually goes to the hunters, not the eighteen-year-old grandson of the town minister—but I’m good with a gun . . . well, pellet gun. I can shoot a rat in the eye from thirty yards away. I weigh the rifle in my hands. It’s heavier but not too dissimilar.

Somewhere in the blackness beyond the wall a Lupine howls, the sound echoing across the night. I shiver. Their howls don’t bother me so much during the day, when the sun is high and there are hundreds of people milling about, but it’s altogether a different matter when you’re up on the wall, with nothing but darkness all around you. This was a really bad idea.

“All clear,” Mr. Kent’s gruff voice calls from farther down the wall. He’s one of the four Watchmen on duty tonight, including me. He’s far enough away that I can only make out his shadowy figure moving about in the night.

I scan the tree line, searching for the Lupine. From my vantage point on the thirty-foot-high wall, I can see right across the Forest of Shadows toward the volcano, Mount Alba, known locally as the Claw because of its talon-shaped peak. I squint at the trees. Their gnarled branches are like witches’ fingers, ready to snatch anyone who dares enter the forest.

“All clear,” I call back. “No Howlers here.”

We nickname them Howlers because of the noise they make when they call to each other. I shiver again. This is going to be a long night.

“Edmund?”

I whip around, gun raised, ready to shoot the frightened brown-haired girl peering at me from the top of the ladder. Catherine! A thrill of nervous excitement rushes through me.

“Fragging hell, Caterpillar. Don’t sneak up on a guy when he’s carrying a gun,” I say, lowering the weapon.

“‘Hello’ to you too,” she says, pouting. “And don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

She climbs up the rest of the ladder and joins me on the wall. Tucked underneath her arm is a blanket. She’s wearing a long red cape over a simple cotton nightdress, which clings to the swells and dips of her newly developed curves. She’s no longer plain, skinny Caterpillar, who would happily wrestle with me in the dirt. When she turned seventeen this summer, she started wearing makeup and doing her hair, and now looks like an actual girl girl—something all the boys in town have noticed, including me.

She’s not the only one who’s changed; in the past few months I’ve shot up another four inches and fill out my clothes much better. I even have a smattering of dark stubble across my jawline, which helps cover some of the scars on my face, so I don’t look half bad now. Not great but not completely vomit-worthy either.

“What are you doing here?” I say. “Not that I’m complaining, but you know it’s after curfew, right?” I glance along the wall, making sure Mr. Kent can’t see us. He’s walking toward the east corner of the wall. We’re safe.

She rolls her eyes. “Since when do you care about curfews? Besides, what sort of friend would I be if I didn’t come and celebrate your first night as Watchman?”

“A terrible one,” I tease.

“The worst,” she agrees, laying the blanket on the stone walkway that runs along the top of the wall. Folded inside the gingham blanket are two red apples and a blue-veined cheese. “I thought you might be hungry.”

I catch a whiff of the stinking cheese, and my stomach knots.

Catherine frowns, noticing my reaction. “It’s all I could take from the store without my parents noticing.”

“It’s great, Cater—Catherine, thanks.” I join her on the scratchy blanket, sitting close enough to smell her perfume: orange blossom and honey. I lean against the stone turrets and rake a hand through my stubborn black hair. “Pass me an apple, then.”

Our fingertips touch as she hands me the apple. Desire aches through me.

“Do you remember that time we snuck up here as kids?” she asks.

When I was twelve and Catherine eleven, we crept up here after curfew to look at the lights coming from Gray Wolf, the city closest to our secluded compound. I remember seeing them glittering in the distance, brighter than any star. Catherine had cried, saying they made her sad. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how trapped we were here.

Neither of us has left the safe confines of our town, Amber Hills—a walled commune built a hundred years ago by the Guild, to allow us to live away from the sins of modern life. “The world may have fallen to sin, but we don’t have to,” Catherine’s father, Mr. Langdon, is keen to remind us whenever we step out of line. I don’t usually agree with him, but on this one point we see eye to eye. We all know what’s out there. Demons. I briefly grip the circle pendant around my neck—a symbol of our religion. Our faith keeps us protected from them. Well, that and this great big wall. Catherine’s wearing a similar pendant, although hers is gold, whereas mine is wood.

“I recall your dad sending out a search party for you,” I say. And the beating he gave me afterward, before Grandfather stepped in.

She frowns, clearly remembering that too. “He’s so overprotective; it drives me crazy sometimes. He thinks just because he’s the head of the Guild, it somehow gives him the right to control every aspect of my life too.”

“I think that’s just what dads do,” I say, half smiling, although I wouldn’t know. I never knew my father.

“I guess,” she says, nibbling on her apple. “So how are you finding your first night as Watchman?”

I shrug. “I don’t know why everyone keeps making such a fuss about it. It’s not that scary out here,” I lie.

Another Lupine barks, closer this time. Catherine lets out a squeak of fright and throws her arms around my neck. The scent of orange blossom fills my nostrils. I try not to smile.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you when I’m on watch,” I say. “I can take on a few Howlers. I’m a good shot.”

“It’s not just them I’m frightened of,” she says, pulling away from me. “Patrick says there’s”—she lowers her voice—“Darklings in the woods.”

“Oh, well, if your brother says it, then it must be true.”

Catherine scowls at me. “He hunts in those woods all the time with Harriet and Drew.”

“Did he see one?”

“Well, no,” Catherine admits. “He found a deer with two puncture wounds in its neck.”

“Any number of wild animals could’ve made that wound,” I reply. “Besides, have you ever seen a Dark? Has anyone, in all the years we’ve been alive?”

She shakes her head, giving a little shudder. “No, praise be. They scare me more than all those other demons put together.”

“Why? A Lupine can tear you to shreds just as easily,” I say. “And a Bastet’s venom can rot the flesh from your bones.”

“I know,” she says. “But the Darklings are different. They don’t just kill you, they play with you first. They drug you, make you think you’re in love with them, so you willingly let them feed on you, until there’s nothing left of you but an empty shell. It’s sick.”

I roll the apple over in my hand. “Well, you don’t need to worry. The nippers are long gone,” I say, taking a bite. “There’s nothing in that forest but man-eating Lupines.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

I smirk. “I aim to please.”

Shadowy rainclouds slowly blanket the sky, blinking out the stars one by one. It begins to drizzle, but thankfully Catherine makes no attempt to leave—in fact she edges closer to me, causing her nightdress to ride up her legs a little. There’s a tiny freckle above her left ankle, and another one higher up her calf muscle. I wonder if there are any more hidden underneath the cotton—

“You’re staring at me, Edmund,” she says.

I clear my throat, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

We’re silent for a long moment, letting the sounds of the night fill in the blanks: the rustle of the trees, the hoot of Phantom owls, the steady plip-plip-plip of rain splashing against the wall. I absentmindedly run my tongue over my top teeth, a habit I formed as a kid.

“I got a new dress for the dance tomorrow night,” Catherine says.

My stomach flips. The dance has been on everyone’s lips all week. It’s been eighteen years since we united with the Lupines and forced the Darklings out of the forest, bringing an end to a period of conflict known as the Misery, and each year the Guild throws a dance for the townsfolk to celebrate. We’ve had a shaky truce with the Lupines ever since, neither side wanting a return to the violence, but over the past six weeks they’ve been breaking into the compound, snatching people, and we don’t know why. They’ve already taken three victims, including my predecessor, Mr. Smyth, which is why I’m up here tonight, guarding the wall.

“Are you going with anyone?” I say as casually as possible.

“No.” She sighs heavily. “I’d sort of hoped Eric Cranfield would ask me, but I think Patrick scared him off.”

My mouth twitches at the thought of Catherine’s brother. He’s made it his mission in life to make mine hell. Still, I’m glad he’s frightened off the competition. I might stand a chance with Catherine now.

“It’s so frustrating. Patrick’s worse than Father. He thinks he owns me,” she continues. “Are you taking anyone?”

“Sure, because all girls are desperate to date the village freak,” I mumble.

“Don’t call yourself that,” she says.

“Why not? Everyone else does.”

“You’re an attractive guy, Edmund.” Catherine lightly rests her hand on my leg. A whirlpool swirls in my stomach. “Any girl who can’t see that needs her head examined.”

I look down. “We . . . er . . . we could go to the dance together, you know, since we’re both free?”

“Sure,” she says, removing her hand from my thigh.

I grin. “Really?”

“Why not? It’ll be fun,” she says. “We can go with Harriet and Drew.”

I’d rather poke out my own eyeballs—I hate those two almost as much as I do Patrick—but I won’t let them ruin the night.

“It’s a date th— Gah!” I grasp my chest as a burning sensation rips through it.

“Are you okay?” Catherine asks, alarmed.

“Yeah.” I rub my aching chest, waiting for the pain to subside. What in His Mighty’s name was that? “It was just a cramp.”

“In your chest?” she says.

I shrug, unable to come up with another explanation. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. It’s nothing to get worked up about.

There’s a sudden roll of thunder in the distance. The vibrations sweep across the sky, shaking the swollen clouds so that they release all the rain at once. It’s like someone tipped a bucket of ice water over us, soaking our clothes in an instant. We hurriedly roll the remaining food up in the gingham blanket.

“I’ll walk you home,” I say. I’m forbidden to leave my post, but I’ll be gone only a minute. I toss the bundled blanket over the side of the wall, and it falls to the ground thirty feet below us, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. We head down the ladder, taking it slow, not wanting to lose our footing on the slippery rungs.

My feet eventually touch the wet ground, and I help Catherine down the rest of the way. My hands slide over her trim waist, and I hold on to her for a fraction longer than I should before releasing my grip. Her cheeks turn pink.

A lightning bolt flashes overhead. I glance up. For a split second a shadow cuts across the bleached sky—a Phantom owl? It’s impossible to tell in the sleeting rain—before we’re plunged into darkness again. Another burst of pain blooms in my chest and I gasp, falling back against the wall, and clutch a hand to my rib cage. What the hell?

“Edmund! Are you okay?” Catherine asks as fire rips around my heart.

“I . . . I don’t know,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m not feeling so great.”

A moment later there’s a second flash of lightning, and whatever I saw before has gone. It must’ve been a Phantom owl. There are hundreds of them living in the forest. I lower my hand, the fire in my chest extinguishing as quickly as it came. I straighten up, feeling better.

“Maybe you should ask Mr. Kent if you can go home if you’re unwell,” she suggests.

“No, I’m fine,” I say, which is true. I’m not sick; it just feels like a bad cramp or perhaps a serious case of heartburn. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

We rush through the village, our boots slapping through the rapidly forming puddles. The cobbled streets are empty, apart from the occasional cat slinking between the thatched cottages. We run past Mrs. Hope’s house, a ramshackle building with a green door and circular windows, which are always shut no matter what time of year it is. The old lady is on her porch, watering the already sodden flowers, seemingly unaware there’s a thunderstorm. She’s tiny—barely five feet tall, with a stooped back, coarse gray hair, and a flowing white nightdress that hangs off her bony frame.

“What is that daft old crone doing?” I mutter.

Catherine slaps my arm. “Be nice, Edmund. You know she hasn’t been the same since Dr. Hope died last year. Someone should get her inside.” She looks pointedly at me.

I sigh and jog over to the porch, while Catherine waits nearby on the street. Mrs. Hope looks bewilderedly at me when I take the watering can from her, placing it on the ground.

“You need to get out of the rain,” I say loudly to her.

Mrs. Hope squints at me with milky eyes. “You’re Minister Hector’s son, aren’t you?”

I nod, although Hector’s my grandfather, not my dad.

“I didn’t see your sister at church today,” the old lady continues. “Is Cassie unwell?”

“She’s dead,” I say sharply. “She’s been dead for almost eighteen years, and Cassie was my mother, not my sister.”

“Oh . . . yes,” Mrs. Hope murmurs as I usher her inside the cottage. “Yes, that’s right. She hanged herself, after dropping that poor little baby into a tub of scalding water . . .”

I stop dead. “What was that?”

She brings her fingers to her lips, like she’s trying to remember what she was saying.

“Mrs. Hope?”

She gives me a weak smile. “You’re Minister Hector’s boy, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes, slamming the door behind her. Crazy old bat.

Catherine looks curiously at me when I join her. “I thought your mother fell down the stairs and broke her neck.”

“She did,” I say. Shortly after I was born, my mom accidentally dropped me into a bath of hot water. In her hurry to fetch the doctor, she tripped down the stairs and snapped her neck. At least, that’s what my grandfather told me happened. I glance back at Mrs. Hope’s house. Her husband used to be the town doctor and would have been the first person on the scene after the incident. Does she know something I don’t?

Catherine takes my gloved hand, drawing me out of my thoughts. We quicken our pace through the dark streets, although we’re both already soaked to the bone. At the center of the town is Langdon Square, named 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 touch, and then—

She’s gone.

2.

“I DON’T SEE ANY OTHER OPTION. I’m going to steal a Transporter and find Ash myself,” I say to Elijah, or more accurately, to his backside. He’s currently knelt in the dirt in front of me, pulling up carrots from the vegetable patch. His catlike tail sways happily as he works.

We’re in the UG—an enormous subterranean greenhouse lit by ultraviolet strip-lights, thus its imaginatively titled name, Ultraviolet Greenhouse, or UG for short. It’s unlike any hothouse I’ve been in before—equal parts farm, fruit orchard and garden, complete with outbuildings and a water tower. We’re gathering supplies for lunch. Well, Elijah is. I’m “supervising” from my spot on the rockery beside him. Colorful primroses jut between the stones, sweetening the recycled air with their perfume.

The UG is definitely my favorite place in the Sentry rebel stronghold—a secret military base that runs under the city of Gallium, the capital of the Copper State—but its beauty is lost on me right now. It’s been nine days since Rafe Garrick and his Lupine pack brought us to the compound, and my patience is wearing thin. Ash is somewhere out there, and I’m stuck down here just waiting for any news of him. A radio crackles in my pocket as if to remind me of this point. I have it constantly tuned to Firebird, a pirate radio station run by Humans for Unity, listening for any mention of Ash—thankfully we’re able to get a signal down here because of the complex’s booster system—but so far there’s been no word on Phoenix, the name by which he’s commonly known these days.

“That’s a great idea, pretty girl,” Elijah says, tossing a bunch of carrots into the basket by my feet. “Except for the bit about you flying a Transporter, of course.”

I frown. He has a point. I have no pilot training.

“Okay, I’ll kidnap Garrick and force him to fly it,” I say.

Elijah quirks an eyebrow at me.

“All right, bad idea.” I pick up a garden knife lying on the dirt and twirl it between my fingers. “Why did my parents leave Ash behind? If they’d just brought him with us, none of this would be an issue.”

“You know why,” Elijah says patiently. “They thought you’d be better off without him.”

I let out an angry sigh, still mad at my parents. I sort of understand their reasoning—they wanted to bring me and my sister, Polly, to the compound so we could be a family again, but there was no place for Ash in their plan. When I pushed them for an explanation, my mother threw up her hands and finally admitted the truth. “That boy is a bad influence, Natalie. A drug dealer and a wanted criminal, and he’s caused you nothing but trouble since you’ve been together. He’s torn this family apart! I don’t like the hold he has over you,” she’d said. “It’s not healthy. My God, you’re just seventeen and you’re already talking marriage.”

I turned to my father for support, but he just shook his head slightly. “We only have your best interests at heart, Talie,” he said.

My grip tightens around the knife in my hand, frustrated with them. It’s always been this way with my parents. They controlled my life as a child and they’re still doing it now. I stab the blade into a patch of primroses, beheading a few of the flowers. One of the female gardeners—a pretty brunette named Josie, who always has a smudge of dirt on her nose—gives me a frosty look. I blush. Unlike Elijah, I haven’t exactly made a good impression around here, after the “incident” in the Mess Hall.

Shortly after I arrived at the compound, I set fire to the canteen when my father refused my umpteenth request to retrieve Ash. It worked. He sent Beta Squad to Viridis, but by the time they arrived, Ash and two of Elijah’s half brothers—Acelot and Marcel—had vanished and Purian Rose’s troops were swarming all over the place. Beta Squad barely made it back alive. After that disaster, and two more failed missions to look for Ash in Thrace and our rendezvous point in Centrum, my father was ordered not to send out any more rescue teams. “I’m sorry, but those are the Commander’s instructions. It’s out of my hands now,” he said.

Although my father runs the compound, he isn’t the man spearheading the Sentry rebellion. That person is some rich benefactor, known only as the Commander, who has been funding this operation for years, and he’s the one who makes all the decisions around here. I don’t know his real name, as it’s a closely guarded secret to protect his identity.

I sink my chin into my hands, wondering what to do about Ash, while Elijah continues to work. The gold bands on his wrists glint as he heaves three bags of fertilizer over his muscular shoulders and carries them back to the vegetable patch. He grabs a fork and begins to shovel the fertilizer over the earth. He briefly pauses to mop his brow, smearing dirt over his face in the process. The effect somehow manages to make him look even more gorgeous. A group of nearby women cast appreciative glances his way.

I roll my eyes, laughing. “God, they’re shameless.” Elijah lifts a brow, and I nod toward the ogling women. “They’re old enough to be your mother.”

A flash of pain crosses his features.

“Oh, Elijah, I’m so sorry,” I stammer. “I didn’t think . . .”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly.

His mother, Yolanda, went missing a month ago, along with Ash’s aunt, Lucinda Coombs, and their childhood friend Kieran. They were all members of a terrorist group known as the Four Kingdoms, whose goal was to unite the four races by any means necessary. Before they disappeared, the trio were searching for the Ora—a powerful weapon believed to be weaponized yellowpox, which targets only those with the V-gene, namely the Sentry. Ash, Elijah and I had been on a mission to find them and retrieve the Ora, before we got separated in Viridis.

“We’ll find her,” I say gently. “Garrick’s put the word out in Gray Wolf to look for them. Hopefully his men will turn up something soon.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Elijah says, unconvinced. “I wish Esme had been able to give us more details before she was killed.”

Esme was Kieran’s wife, whom we met in Thrace. She’d told us that the trio had contacted her from Gray Wolf, saying they were heading to a nearby mountain called the Claw, to retrieve the Ora. That was the last any of us heard of them. Before we could question Esme further, we were attacked by Sentry guards and Esme was shot. We’ve tried to figure out which mountain the Claw is, but it’s not on any map that we can find. I thought it might be a nickname, like how Crimson Mountain is also known as the Devil’s Fork because of its twin peaks, but the closest mountain to Gray Wolf is Mount Alba, but that has a caldron-shaped cr