“Where will you go?” the boy asks.
I refocus. My voice comes out cool and collected. “East, maybe. I’m more used to the inner sectors.”
The boy keeps his eyes forward. “You can stay longer, if all you’re going to do is wander the streets somewhere else. I could use a good fighter like you. We can make quick cash in Skiz fights and split our food supplies. We’ll both do better.”
He offers this idea with such sincerity that I have to smile. I decide not to ask why he doesn’t fight in Skiz himself. “Thanks, but I prefer to work alone.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Fair enough.” And with that, he leans his head back against the wall, sighs, and closes his eyes. I watch him for a moment, waiting for him to expose those brilliant eyes to the world again. But he doesn’t. After a while, I hear his breathing grow steady and see his head droop, and I know he’s fallen asleep.
I think about contacting Thomas. But I’m not in the mood to hear his voice right now. I’m not even sure why. Tomorrow morning, then, first thing. I lean my head back too and stare up at the clothes hanging above us. Other than the distant sounds of night-shift crowds and occasional JumboTron broadcasts, it’s a peaceful evening, just like at home. The silence makes me think of Metias.
I make sure that the sound of my crying doesn’t wake Tess and the boy.
I ALMOST KISSED THE GIRL LAST NIGHT.
But nothing good can come out of falling for someone on the streets. That’s the worst weakness you can have, right up there with having a family stuck in a quarantined zone or a street orphan needing you.
And yet . . . a part of me still wants to kiss her, no matter how cracked a move it might be. This girl can point out a detail on the streets a mile away. (“The shutters on that building’s third-floor windows must’ve been scavenged from a rich sector. Solid cherrywood.”) With a knife, and in one throw, she can skewer a hot dog from an unattended stand. I can see her intelligence in every question she asks me and every observation she makes. But at the same time, there’s an innocence that makes her completely different from most of the people I’ve met. She’s not cynical or jaded. The streets haven’t broken her. They’ve made her stronger instead.
Like me.
Throughout the morning, we hunt for more opportunities to make money—naive police to pickpocket, stuff in trash bins to resell, unguarded pier crates to pry open—and when that’s done, we find a new spot to camp for the night. I try to keep my thoughts on Eden, on the money I need to collect before it’s too late, but I start thinking up new ways to mess with the Republic’s war campaign instead. I could hitch a ride on an airship, siphon off its precious fuel, then sell it on the market or divvy it up to people who need it. I could destroy the airship altogether before it heads off to the warfront. Or target the electric grids of Batalla or the airfield bases, cut their power and shut them down. These thoughts keep me occupied.
But every now and then, when I steal a glance at the Girl, or feel her eyes on me, I helplessly drift back to thinking about her.
NEARLY 2000 HOURS.
AT LEAST 80°F.
THE BOY AND I SIT TOGETHER IN THE BACK OF ANOTHER alley while Tess sleeps a short distance away. The boy has given her his vest again. I watch as he files his nails down by scraping them with the edge of his knife. He’s taken the cap off his head, for once, and combed through the tangles in his hair.
He’s in a good mood. “You want a sip?” he asks me.
A bottle of nectar wine sits between us. It’s cheap stuff, probably made from those bland sea grapes that grow in ocean water. But the boy acts like this wine is the best thing in the world. He’d stolen a case of bottles from a shop at Winter sector’s edge earlier in the evening and sold all but this one for a grand total of 650 Notes. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly he gets around the sectors. His agility is on par with the top students at Drake.
“I’ll have some if you do,” I say. “Can’t let your stolen goods go to waste, can I?”
He grins at that. I watch as he stabs his knife into the bottle’s cork, then pops it out and throws his head back for a long swig. He wipes a thumb across his mouth and smiles at me. “Delicious,” he says. “Have some.”
I accept the bottle and take a small sip before handing it back to him. Salty aftertaste, just as I thought. At least it might ease the pain in my side.
We continue taking turns—large swigs for him, small sips for me—until he recorks the bottle, seeming to put it away the instant he feels it dulling his awareness. Even so, his eyes look glossier, and the blue irises take on a lovely, reflective sheen.
He may not let himself lose his ability to focus, but I can tell that the wine has relaxed him. “So tell me,” I decide to ask. “Why do you need so much money?”
The boy laughs. “Is that a serious question? Don’t we all want more money? Can you ever have enough?”
“You like answering all my questions with your own questions?”
He laughs again. But when he speaks, his voice has a sad tinge to it. “Money is the most important thing in the world, you know. Money can buy you happiness, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. It’ll buy you relief, status, friends, safety . . . all sorts of things.”
I watch as his eyes take on a faraway look. “It seems like you’re in an awful hurry to stock up.”
This time he shoots me an amused look. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve probably lived on the streets as long as I have. You should know the answer to that, yeah?”
I look down. I don’t want him to see the truth. “I guess so.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
The boy speaks up. When he does, there’s such a tender quality to his voice that I can’t help looking up at him. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this,” he begins. He doesn’t blush, and his eyes don’t dart away. Instead I find myself staring into a pair of oceans—one perfect, the other blemished by that tiny ripple. “You’re very attractive.”
I’ve been complimented on my appearance before. But never in his tone of voice. Of all the things he’s said, I don’t know why this catches me off guard. But it startles me so much that without thinking I blurt out, “I could say the same about you.” I pause. “In case you didn’t know.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh, trust me. I know.”
I laugh. “Nice to hear something honest.” I can’t break away from his stare. Finally, I manage to add, “Well, I think you’ve had too much wine, my friend.” I keep my voice as light as I can. “A little sleep will do you good.”
The words have barely left my mouth when the boy leans closer and places his hand on my cheek. All my training would have me block his hand and pin it to the ground. But now I do nothing but sit perfectly still. He pulls me to him. I take a breath before he touches his lips to mine.
I taste the wine on his lips. He kisses me gently at first and then, as if he’s reaching for something more, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me harder. His lips are warm and so soft—his hair brushes against my face. I try to focus. (Not his first time. He’s definitely kissed other girls before, and quite a few at that. He’s—he seems like he’s short of breath. . . . ) The details flit away. I grab at them in vain. It takes me a moment to realize I’m kissing him just as hungrily. I feel the knife at his waist against my own skin, and I tremble. It’s too warm here, there’s too much heat on my face.
He pulls away first. We stare at each other in bewildered silence, like neither of us can quite grasp what just happened.
Then he regains his composure, and as I struggle to regain mine, he leans back against the wall beside me and sighs. “Sorry,” he murmurs. He gives me a look laced with mischief. “I couldn’t help it. But at least now it’s over with.”
I stare at him awhile longer, still unable to speak. My mind screams at me to collect my thoughts. The boy returns my look. Then he smiles, as if he knows what sort of effect he has, and turns away. I begin breathing again.
That’s when I see a gesture which jolts my mind completely back into place: before he lies down to sleep, he grabs at something around his neck. It’s such an unconscious movement that I doubt he even realizes he did it. I stare at his neck but see nothing hanging around it. He had grabbed at the ghost of a necklace, the ghost of some trinket or thread.
And that’s when I remember, with a nauseating feeling, the pendant in my pocket. Day’s pendant.
WHEN THE GIRL HAS FINALLY FALLEN ASLEEP, I LEAVE her with Tess and head off to visit my family again. The cooler air clears my head. Once I’m a fair distance from the alley, I take a deep breath and quicken my pace. I shouldn’t have done it, I tell myself. I shouldn’t have kissed her. I especially shouldn’t be glad that I did it. But I am. I can still feel her lips against mine, the smooth, soft skin of her face and arms, the slight trembling of her hands. I’ve kissed plenty of beautiful girls before, but not like this one. I’d wanted more. I can’t believe I managed to pull away.
So much for warning myself against falling for people on the streets.
Now I force myself to concentrate on meeting up with John. I try to ignore the strange X on my family’s door and make my way directly to the floorboards lining the side of the porch. Candles flicker by the shuttered bedroom window. My mother must be up late watching Eden. I crouch in the darkness for a while, look over my shoulder at the empty streets, then push aside the board and fall to my knees.
Something stirs in the shadows across the street. I pause for a second and squint into the night. Nothing. When I don’t see anything else, I lower my head and crawl under the porch.
John’s warming some sort of soup in the kitchen. I utter a trio of low whistles that sounds like a cricket; it takes a few tries before John hears it and turns around. Then I leave the porch and head around to the house’s back door, where I meet my brother in the darkness.
“I’ve got sixteen hundred Notes,” I whisper. I show him the pouch. “Almost enough for cures. How’s Eden?”
John shakes his head. The anxiety on his face unnerves me, because I always expect him to be the strongest of us. “Not good,” he says. “He’s lost more weight. But he’s still alert, and he recognizes us. I think he has a few more weeks.”
I nod quietly. I don’t want to think about the possibility of losing Eden. “I promise I’ll have the money soon. All I need is one more lucky break, and I’ll be there, and we’ll have it for him.”
“You’re being careful, right?” he asks. In the dark, we can pass for twins. Same hair, same eyes. Same expression. “I don’t want you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. If there’s any way for me to help you, I’ll do it. Maybe I can sneak out with you sometimes and—”
I scowl. “Don’t be stupid. If the soldiers catch you, you’ll all die. You know that.” John’s frustrated expression makes me feel guilty for dismissing his help so quickly. “I’m faster this way. Seriously. Better that only one of us is out there hunting for the money. You won’t do Mom any good if you’re dead.”
John nods, although I can tell he wants to say more. I avoid it by turning away. “I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’ll see you soon.”
DAY MUST HAVE THOUGHT I’D FALLEN ASLEEP. BUT I SEE him get up and leave in the middle of the night, so I follow him. He breaks into a quarantine zone, enters a house marked with a three-lined X, and reappears several minutes later.
It’s all I need to know.
I climb to the roof of a nearby building. Once there, I crouch in the shadows of a chimney and turn my mike on. I’m so angry with myself that I can’t stop my voice from shaking. I’d let myself get carried away with the last person I ever wanted to like. That I ever wanted to ache for.
Maybe Day didn’t kill Metias, I tell myself. Maybe it was someone else. God—am I making excuses to protect this boy now?
I’ve acted like an idiot in front of Metias’s murderer. Have the streets of Lake turned me into some simpleminded girl? Have I just shamed the memory of my brother?
“Thomas,” I whisper, “I found him.”
A full minute of static passes before I hear Thomas answer me. When he does, he sounds oddly detached. “Can you repeat that, Ms. Iparis?”
My temper rises. “I said I found him. Day. He just visited a house in one of Lake’s quarantine zones, a house with a three-lined X on its door. Corner of Figueroa and Watson.”
“Are you sure?” Thomas sounds more alert now. “You’re absolutely sure.”
I take the pendant out of my pocket. “Yes. No doubt about it.”
Some commotion on the other side. His voice grows excited. “Corner of Figueroa and Watson. That’s the special plague case we’re meant to investigate tomorrow morning. You’re sure it’s Day?” he asks again.
“Yes.”
“Medic trucks will be at the house tomorrow. We’re to take the inhabitants to the Central Hospital.”
“Then send for extra troops. I want backup when Day shows up to protect his family.” I remember the way Day had crawled under the floorboards. “He’ll have no time to get them out, so he’ll probably hide them somewhere in the house. We should take them to Batalla Hall’s hospital wing. No one’s to be hurt. I want them there for questioning.”
Thomas seems taken aback by my tone. “You’ll have your troops,” he manages to say. “And I hope to hell you’re right.”
The feel of Day’s lips, our heated kiss, and his hands running across my skin—it should all mean nothing to me now. Worse than nothing. “I am right.”
I return to the alley before Day can find me missing.
DURING THE FEW HOURS OF SLEEP I MANAGE TO GET before dawn, I dream of home.
At least, it seems like the home I remember. John sits with our mother at one end of the dining table, reading to her from a book of old Republic tales. Mom nods encouragingly to him when he gets through an entire page without flipping words or letters around. I smile at them from where I stand by the door. John is the strongest of us, but he has a patient, gentle streak that I didn’t inherit. A trait from our father. Eden is doodling something on paper at the other end of the table. Eden always seems to be drawing in my dreams. He never looks up, but I can tell he’s listening to John’s story as well, laughing at the appropriate places.
Then I realize that the Girl is standing next to me. I hold her hand. She gives me a smile, one that fills the room with light, and I smile back.
“I’d like you to meet my mother,” I say to her.
She shakes her head. When I look back to the dining table, John and Mom are still there, but Eden’s gone.
The Girl’s smile fades. She looks at me with tragic eyes. “Eden is dead,” she says.
A distant siren shakes me out of my sleep.
I lie quietly for a while, eyes open, trying to catch my breath. My dream is still seared into my mind. I focus on the sound of the siren to distract myself. Then I realize I’m not hearing the normal wail of a police siren. Nor is it an ambulance’s siren. This is a siren from a military medic truck, the ones used for transporting injured soldiers to the hospital. It’s louder and higher-pitched than the others because military trucks get first priority.
Except we have no injured soldiers coming back to Los Angeles. They get treated at the warfront’s border. The other thing these trucks are used for around here is to transport special plague cases to the labs, due to their better emergency equipment.
Even Tess recognizes the sound. “Where are they going?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I murmur back. I sit up and look around. The Girl looks like she’s been awake for a while already. She sits several feet away with her back against the wall, her eyes pointed out toward the street, her face grave with concentration. She seems tense.
“Morning,” I say to her. My eyes dart to her lips. Did I really kiss her last night?
She doesn’t look at me. Her expression doesn’t change. “Your family had their door marked, didn’t they?”
Tess loo
ks at her in surprise. I stare at the Girl in silence, not sure how to respond. It’s the first time anyone other than Tess has brought up my family to me.
“You followed me last night.” I tell myself that I should be angry—but I don’t feel anything except confusion. She must have followed me out of curiosity. I’m amazed—shocked, really—at how silently she can travel.
But something seems different about the Girl this morning. Last night she was as into me as I was into her—but today she’s distant, withdrawn. Have I done something to piss her off? The Girl looks directly at me. “Is that what you’re saving up all that money for? A plague cure?”
She’s testing me, but I don’t know why. “Yes,” I say. “Why do you care?”
“You’re too late,” she says. “Because today the plague patrol is coming for your family. They’re taking them away.”
I DON’T HAVE TO SAY MUCH MORE TO CONVINCE DAY TO move. And the medic truck sirens, almost certainly headed for Figueroa and Watson, have come by just as Thomas promised they would.
“What do you mean?” Day says. The shock hasn’t even hit him yet. “What do you mean, they’re coming for my family? How do you know this?”
“Don’t question it. You don’t have time for that.” I hesitate. Day’s eyes look so terrified—so vulnerable—that suddenly it takes all my strength to lie to him. I try to draw on the anger I felt last night. “I did see you visit your family’s quarantine zone last night, and I overheard some guards talking about today’s sweep. They mentioned the house with the three-lined X. Hurry. I’m trying to help you—and I’m telling you that you have to go to them right now.”
I’ve taken advantage of Day’s greatest weakness. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop to question what I say, doesn’t even wonder why I didn’t tell him right away. Instead he leaps to his feet, pinpoints the direction that the sirens are coming from, and darts out of the alley. I feel a surprising pang of guilt. He trusts me—truly, stupidly, wholeheartedly trusts me. In fact, I don’t know if anyone has ever taken my word so readily before. Maybe not even Metias.