DEDICATION
If you wear smiles like armor—
If you put on personalities like clothes—
If you can’t show the world all that you are—
This book is for you.
MAP
CONTENTS
Dedication
Map
Part One: The Ospreys
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Part Two: The Wraithland
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Part Three: The Knife
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
Back Ad
About the Author
Books by Jodi Meadows
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
PART ONE
THE OSPREYS
ONE
THE MIRRORS WERE an expensive superstition.
Not that it mattered to Melanie. Every time we came to the western side of the city, she insisted we stop and look, and I couldn’t find it in myself to deny her that pleasure.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Wind plucked at a wayward strand of her sleek, black hair. She gathered it all back and tied it with a torn bit of fabric.
“Sure.” The city spread below us, shimmering with knots of streetlights in the wealthy districts. Those people were important enough to warrant gas lamps at night, as though light protected like locks or swords or shields. But wealth wasn’t the only thing that shone: glass panes hung on the west face of every house and tower and mansion in Skyvale, the mirrored city.
Beyond the houses, factories, shops, and refugee hovels, mountains were silhouetted against the night sky. A heavy, full moon lifted.
“When the wraith reaches the Indigo Kingdom,” I said, “all of this will be destroyed. Mirrors won’t do anything to stop it.”
Melanie shot me a frown as I crept toward the edge of the roof and let out a short whistle.
A sharp trill answered from below. The other Ospreys were in position by the warehouse doors and the nearby intersections, watching for passersby, police, or worse: the vigilante. Black Knife.
For two of the youngest Ospreys, this was their first mission. Though we had been preparing them all their lives, a Black Knife appearance was the last thing Connor and Ezra needed.
Just the thought of Black Knife dragging away Connor—
“You don’t have to worry about them, Wil.” Melanie touched my elbow. “They’re well trained.”
I straightened and shook off the anxiety. Everyone, including Melanie, needed me to be strong. “Why should I worry about them? They’re only standing watch. We’re the ones about to do all the work.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been checking their progress every five minutes.”
“I’m being observant.”
“You’re being paranoid and it makes you look suspicious.”
“Well, you didn’t see Black Knife drag that old man from his house because he’d used magic to hide his family while the Nightmare gang tore through the neighborhood.” Magic was forbidden in the Indigo Kingdom, and Black Knife didn’t care how it was used. Self-defense, healing, greed, murder: it was all the same to him when magic was involved.
“You’re awfully sensitive about him.”
Melanie didn’t have magic. To her, he was no more a threat than the police. But to others . . .
I scanned the flat warehouse rooftops again to be sure we were still alone up here, and then jumped down to the lower section of the roof. I landed in a crouch, my fingertips on the cool slate tiles for balance. A moment later, Melanie landed beside me with a quiet thump that was masked by the rush of the swollen river nearby.
The clock tower in Hawksbill chimed midnight.
Kneeling before the warehouse’s roof-access door, I drew a lockpick and tension wrench from my pocket. In a few seconds, I had the door open. Melanie and I slipped inside, silent as shadows. The warehouse was cool and still, with the dusty scent of neglect.
Moonlight fell through smeary windows, barely illuminating the stairs as we descended. Toe, ball, heel—careful so we wouldn’t make a sound. There were no guards here, but one couldn’t be too cautious.
We followed the spiral stairs down two flights. Mel went left and I headed right, to the southwest corner where crates from the Indigo Kingdom’s famed paper mill hunched in the dark.
There were fifty or more crates, their labels mere outlines in the shadows. I slipped a match from my pocket and struck it against the floor. After I scuffed out any traces, I leaned toward the crate labels, searching for the one I wanted.
My match sputtered out, and I lit another, still edging down the rows of sealed crates.
There. A faded page inked with a lion and Liadia’s coat of arms. The crate was stashed in the corner, where other homeless stock had been shoved. Thankfully, the one I needed was still in the front—Liadia hadn’t fallen very long ago—but it was too high for me to open and reach inside.
I checked over my shoulder. No Melanie.
What I needed to do was so small that it was insignificant, but still I hesitated. Magic was completely illegal. Unpardonable. Unforgivable. Not many people had magic anymore, as far as I knew, but those caught using it were never seen again.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I touched the crate. “Wake up.” It was an old command, from when I was little and I used magic without fear. From when I’d believed I brought things to life. “Do this silently: slide forward and float down to the floor. I will guide you.”
The crate shifted, loosening with a gasp of dust. With my fingertips resting on the wood, I stepped back to give it room. Slowly, as though it were as light as a leaf, the crate floated down and touched the floor without a sound.
“Unseal the lid,” I murmured. A faint, fleeting wave of dizziness clouded my head.
The lid popped up, loose now. I bade the crate sleep again before I opened it. I needed only a handful of pages.
“Find what we’re looking for?” Melanie’s whisper came from behind me, and I stiffened. She was quiet.
“It’s right here.” I pulled several pages from the top and handed them to my friend. “Hold this while I put the lid on. You got the ink?”
“Easily.” She lifted the jar so the glass gleamed in the weak light, then shoved it into her bag. The papers followed. “Let’s fetch the others and get back.”
I lowered the lid, but didn’t dare seal it and move the crate up again. Not with Melanie here.
Together, we found a door and headed outside.
Quinn, who was supposed to be the lookout, wasn’t at the door. Brittle leaves skittered down the cobblestones; the autumn wind blew from the west, and a sharp, acrid stench rode the air.
Melanie and I looked at each other, our noses wrinkled from the smell. Wraith. It was strong tonight.
A small, guilty part of me twisted. If I hadn’t used magic on that crate . . .
No, magic that simple wouldn’t bring a gust of wraith. The stink and creatures that blew into the va
lley, like the heavy winds before a storm, were normal these days.
I whistled for the Ospreys and waited for the reply.
Nothing.
I whistled again. There should have been four lookouts: two at the street-level warehouse doors and two at the nearby intersections. Someone should have answered.
Still nothing.
I rested my hands on my daggers as wariness prickled over my skin.
What if the police had caught them? Or worse, Black Knife? He liked capturing all kinds of criminals, not only flashers: magic users. We’d run across him during three of our last five jobs, and once he’d come close to capturing Melanie.
The acrid stink grew stronger.
“Help!” A shout came from down the street.
I drew my daggers, sprinting toward the shout and terrified screams, and then the thud of a body slamming into a wooden fence.
Ezra, one of our youngest boys, dropped to the ground. His sister, Quinn, shrieked and ran for him. Connor and Theresa stood in the street, blades drawn as they backed away from looming shadows.
I skidded to a halt. Five huge men bore down on the Ospreys.
Connor’s round-eyed gaze darted from the attackers to me. “Wil! Mel!”
“Oh, saints.”
The strangers turned toward me. They were grotesque, with bulging shoulders and arms, the muscles bursting through the fabric of their clothing. Two were enormously tall, practically giants, while the others were as wide as doorways. All of them were revolting with red-veined eyes, cheekbones like shelves, and fat lips. They stank of wraith and shine.
They were glowmen: men turned into monsters.
I rushed at them. They swung at me with heavy fists, but I kicked and slashed with my daggers, my limbs but blurs of movement. I went for their knees and groins; their throats were out of my reach.
Melanie and Theresa fought with fiery quickness, making their way toward Quinn, who guarded Connor and Ezra near a crumbling wall.
A length of chain whipped through the air and caught my shoulder. Pain cracked through me. I tried to pull away, but the glowmen had me surrounded. Three on one didn’t seem very fair. Thankfully, they were stupid.
The first glowman, wrapping the chain around his fist again, didn’t notice as I stomped on the bottom links, jerking his whole body forward and into the giant closing in on the other side of me. I ducked beneath them, away from the third.
While they untangled themselves, I crouched and slashed my blade across one’s heel, slicing through the leather of his boot to the heavy tendon.
The glowman dropped immediately, dragging one of the others with him.
I jumped toward my friends, but the third glowman shoved me hard against a building, knocking both my daggers from my hands. As he lumbered closer, I groped along the brick wall, and a windowsill came loose. I swung with all my strength. The rotting wood clapped wetly against his head, but did no damage. He jeered and lunged for my throat.
I reached for my daggers, and his hands mashed against the brick.
The glowman reared back. I brought my heel down on the arch of his foot, making bone crack. When I drove my dagger into his thigh, blood poured, hot over my hand. I stepped away.
Melanie, Quinn, and Theresa were dispatching the two glowmen who’d been bearing down on an unconscious Ezra. The glowman with the cut tendon was limping toward them, but they could take care of him.
The fifth glowman . . .
Down the street, he held a dagger to Connor’s throat. Blood caught moonlight as it trickled down Connor’s brown skin.
“No!” I lunged for him, but the glowman I’d just stabbed caught my ankle and I fell, both daggers skittering out of my reach. Magic stirred on my tongue. I could make the ground bring the daggers to me.
No. Not yet. Magic was a last resort.
I struggled, twisting and yanking my foot, but the glowman’s grip tightened.
I slammed my heel against his face. His nose cracked and blood spewed, and he released me.
Daggers in hand again, I scrambled to my feet and ran to help Connor.
But Connor was free. A sword-bearing figure sliced and stabbed at the fifth glowman. Long and slender, he moved like a dancer when he twisted and ducked and disarmed his opponent.
Connor peeled away from the fight and hurtled toward me. “Wil! I’m sorry! I was coming to help you, but he—”
“It’s all right.” I dropped to one knee and touched his neck. “How bad is it?” It was all I could do to keep from hugging him, checking the rest of his body for wounds. He was old enough that it would only infuriate him. Still, I didn’t stop myself from pulling him closer.
He tilted up his head and cringed, but the cut on his neck wasn’t deep. “It hurts.”
“Put pressure on it. The bleeding will stop.” Instead of coddling him more, I turned and rushed the glowman who’d hurt him.
The newcomer had the glowman worn down. The beast was panting, bleeding from cuts all over his arms and chest. His shirt hung in shreds. With a mind to add a few more gashes to his collection, I ripped him away from the stranger and slammed him against a building.
A fantasy tickled the back of my thoughts: the brickwork coming alive, swallowing the glowman whole. A fantasy it remained; I couldn’t call attention to my power.
“Why did you attack my people?” My voice was little more than a growl, a knot of rage and fear. If they knew who we were . . .
His gaze flitted beyond me, toward Connor and the others. “The boys looked easy.”
Not because they knew us. Good.
Again, I slammed his head into the bricks. His eyes grew unfocused. “Touch us again,” I said, “and you die.” Maybe he could die right now, for what he did to Connor. I had daggers. I could do it quickly. It wasn’t like he was human. Not anymore.
A presence warmed my back, and the glowman tried to wrest himself away. “No!”
“Excuse me.” The voice was deep and unfamiliar. “I’ll take him, if you’re finished.”
I spun away from the glowman as he crumpled to the ground, and readied my daggers, but the hooded man didn’t look up. Quickly, expertly, he bound the glowman’s hands and feet together with a silk cord.
The sounds of fighting died away as the other Ospreys dropped their opponents. Five bodies littered the ground, still breathing for now. My eyes followed the stranger as he turned toward me.
His face was covered by a thin sheet of black silk; only his eyes remained unhidden, though shadowed now.
Black Knife.
“Thank you for your assistance.” He stepped closer and offered his hand, but then paused and let it fall back to his side. “You?”
Wonderful. He recognized me from the last few times our paths had crossed. Though he’d never saved one of my friends before.
I threw a glance over my shoulder. Melanie had gathered the other Ospreys and they were already slipping quietly away. I took four long strides backward.
“What’s your name?” Black Knife stalked toward me, removing another silk cord from a pouch on his belt. “I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been hiding?”
I touched my chest and feigned flattery. “You’ve been looking for me?”
“Who were those children? More recruits for your gang?”
Same group. Younger orphans. Not that I’d tell him what we were, or from where we’d been taken.
“Surely we’re a waste of your time. There are worse things in Skyvale than a few teenagers trying to feed themselves.”
His gaze cut to the glowmen bleeding in the alley. A few of them were beginning to stir. “What are you stealing this time?”
“Do I look like a thief to you?” I reached for a look of innocence.
“You look dangerous.”
I smiled. “Thank you.” Before I could consider the wisdom, I pulled a dagger and threw it.
Black Knife swore and darted aside. The dagger struck behind him, pinning a glowman’s hand to the ground. The broken pi
pe he’d been reaching for rolled away.
When Black Knife kicked the pipe aside and knelt to tie the glowman, I ducked around a corner and ran as fast as I could, crossing into the White Flag district and taking to the rooftops. The other Ospreys would be waiting at the inn.
Away from the quiet of the warehouse district, midnight life rumbled on the streets below: drunks staggering home, dogs barking, and babies crying. The moon cast wan light over the district, not yet reflected in the mirrors that hung on the taller buildings. If Black Knife had followed me, I couldn’t see him.
I paused on the roof of an apothecary and whispered to the sky, “Thank you.” My Ospreys were safe. That was all that mattered.
They were my only family, my only hope for home. When the Indigo Army invaded Aecor almost ten years ago, every adult living in the palace was slaughtered, and the highborn children were brought to Skyvale, the capital of the Indigo Kingdom. We escaped the orphanage a year later and named ourselves after the national animal of our conquered homeland.
The Ospreys, these children, were my life. Without them, I had nothing.
But with them . . .
With them, I would take back my kingdom.
TWO
AFTER DROPPING INTO the apothecary and lifting a few bandages and powdered herbs, I made my way to the Peacock Inn and slipped inside through the open window on the top floor.
We couldn’t afford the room, even though it was the worst one in the building; but Patrick, Melanie, and I had once broken up a huge fight that would have ended with five dead men on the floor, police swarming through White Flag, and the Peacock’s owner in jail. Now the innkeeper always let Ospreys stay when we were in town.
The others were there, starting a small fire and rinsing their wounds. I shut the window behind me and tossed my bag of medical supplies to Quinn Bradburn.
“Ezra.” I nodded at him. “Glad you’re awake. That was quite the hit you took.”
He ducked his face and shrugged. “I’m better now.”
I raised an eyebrow at Connor, who gave a small, frantic shake of his head; he hadn’t done anything. A knot of tension in my chest untangled. I smiled and moved on to gathering the stray weapons the boys had tossed everywhere. “Good. Next time, try not to get knocked out or cut, you two. It’s embarrassing. People are going to think kittens trained you.”