CHAPTER 6 #2
“No,” Charlotte replies. “But when he does, you shall be the first to know.”
I grip the armrest of my seat, trying to stay patient.
Outside, the storm pounds the roof and windows as the train cuts through the outskirts of Charleston City like a comet.
Tall, mirrored skyscrapers and ritzy hotels rise in stepped tiers, shivering like stars in the darkness, and on every stone bridge, blue-and-gold double-headed eagle flags rise from the fog.
I’ve been to the Rainbow District once before—for the Junior Fencing World Championship—and ever since, I’ve worked my hands raw to get back. I thought that if I were accepted to Grandmaster and played my cards right, my weapons restriction would be lifted. I thought I could get my life back.
But no. Everything’s gone to hell again, and a big part of me blames Dad.
He’s worked with the Blues longer than I’ve been alive, learning how they think and operate.
He should’ve seen this coming. At the very least, he should’ve warned me that a Bliss ban could put our lives at risk.
But he didn’t. Now I’m caught in the middle of a war he helped start: forced to become a Public Person under these circumstances, trapped on a train that might become my coffin, and begging for a bailout from a Blue.
“Tickets, please,” a Pinkie says.
Charlotte and I send the tickets through our Bonds. When the robot moves to the next row, she gives me a subtle thumbs-up.
“Really?” I text, sitting up straighter. “Edmund said yes?”
“Yeah. A little too fucking easily.”
“What do you mean?”
Charlotte runs a hand through her long curls. “Jack was nice about it. Too nice. Didn’t even mention Edmund at all. But… we’re in, I guess.” She sighs, then downs the rest of her Gibson in a shuddering gulp.
I wrap my fingers around my purse, the metal clasp digging into my skin. Luck. Irony. I don’t know what to call it. A year ago, one Blue destroyed my life, and now another Blue is going to save it.
Ahead, in row eight, Jane’s fingers fly across her mobile phone’s keyboard.
Every so often, she glances over her shoulder at me, as though wondering what my plan is, whether I’ve resigned myself to our shared fate, or if I’m searching for a way out.
The sight of her tear-streaked face weighs on my conscience, and I realize, with sudden, sinking clarity, that no one is going to step up for her.
If I don’t help Jane, there’s a real chance she won’t make it off the train.
Then another realization hits me: If I help Jane, her parents will be grateful. Very grateful. Perhaps even enough for her father, Judge Bradford, to overturn my weapons restriction.
I’d no longer be helpless. I wouldn’t have to lean on Edmund, Harrison, Charlotte, or Dad for protection. I could protect myself.
“We can’t leave Jane here,” I text Charlotte.
Charlotte squints at the girl, then texts, “Why not? Is she a friend of yours?”
“No. We just met once. A year ago.”
“Oh, well…” Charlotte turns toward the door of the blue first-year carriage. “I’m sorry, Lore. I can’t swing it. The private salons cap at five people, and Edmund already has Jack and Dickie. Once you and I join, that’s it.”
“Edmund’s a high-citizen,” I text. “He could invite ten people, and the Coppers would carry in the extra chairs themselves.”
“Maybe. But I’m already pushing my luck just asking him. I’m not pushing it further. And neither should you.”
She’s right.
But I’m still not ready to give up.
The Pinkie finishes scanning tickets and returns to the front of the carriage, where it speaks to the Copper in quiet, coded tones.
In response, the Copper ties the dogs to a grab pole and checks his pocket watch.
Too long he stares at it, as if timing a bomb strapped to the bottom of my seat.
I glance back at the lavatory, wondering how long it would take me to grab Charlotte and Jane, then barricade the three of us inside.
The Copper snaps his watch shut and turns to the digital map near the exit.
He traces his thumb along the lit route until he finds our location.
I pull up the same route through my Bond.
There are a few towns ahead, but mostly farmland, forest, and mountains.
I zoom in on the ranges and spot the tunnels, each marked by length.
The longest tunnel is only a few minutes away, four miles of darkness, limited visibility, and isolation.
Maybe even a jammed internet connection.
If the Copper is planning a hit, that tunnel is his window.
“How much longer until Jack gets here?” I text Charlotte.
“He didn’t say.”
“But you told him it’s an emergency, right?”
“Of course, but if he’s drunk—and he usually is—that word will go in one ear and out the other.”
An alcoholic. Perfect.
I check the map again and see we’re three miles from the tunnel. Less than two minutes.
I squeeze the daffodil brooch pinned to my dress, trying to appear calm as I count down the seconds. Just when my heart feels like it might burst through my ribcage, the door of the blue first-year carriage swings open.
Every head in our carriage swivels toward it.
The man in the doorway is short for a Green, close to six feet tall, with thrill-seeking eyes and beer-brown hair marked by the imprint of a hoverbike helmet.
A square jaw offsets his rugged nose, and his build is thick with muscle.
He has the look of someone who rests easy, like if the train malfunctioned and fell out of the sky, he’d spend the free fall lighting the cigarette tucked between his teeth.
He slips a silver flask into the breast pocket of his two-button suit and strolls down the aisle, parking himself beside our row.
“Hey, darling. Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Jack scans Charlotte’s face, taking in all the cosmetic surgery, and grunts. “Looks like I was right.”
Charlotte’s throat bobs as if she’s swallowing back vomit. Whether it’s because she’s nervous to see Jack or because the whiskey on his breath is strong enough to gas a small village, I can’t tell.
“You, there.” The Copper calls to Jack. “Passengers are prohibited from switching carriages during travel.”
“Oh, I’m not switching,” Jack says, jerking a thumb at us. “Just swinging by for a pickup.”
The Copper’s hand locks into a fist, his leather glove squeaking. “How dare you address me informally, sir. Where is your identification?”
Jack sways toward him cockily. Around us, students start whispering, and one activates their Bond to record. The Copper rips off Jack’s glove, but when he lifts his scanner, the world goes dark.
Charlotte presses close as we speed into the tunnel, gripping my arm with both hands. “Miss Waldsten, can you make out what is happening?”
“No.”
The carriage lights have gone out, and the security cameras show no status indicators either.
I reach out, fingers brushing only air. It’s too dark to see past my own nose, let alone anyone else’s.
Up ahead, someone lights the aisle with a cigarette lighter, enough to reveal rows of ghostly shapes.
I stand, heart pounding, listening for every whisper, every squeak of a seat, every shift of a body.
Somewhere in the dark, I hear the sharp beep of a scan.
For a moment, I brace for fallout. Jack should lose civil credits for switching carriages and speaking informally to a Copper. But when sunlight floods the carriage again, blinding and sudden, the Copper has taken off his helmet and is staring at Jack with a slack jaw.
“Forgive me, Mr. Carroway. I did not—”
“I’m gonna need that back,” Jack says, nodding toward the green leather glove still crushed in the Copper’s fist.
“I—yes, of course.” The Copper hands it over, then bows. “As I was saying, Mr. Carroway, I did not realize—”
“Now you do.”
I crane my neck to glimpse Jack’s Blood Ring, but he pulls his glove on too fast. Charlotte stares at him, stunned, as if he’s grown a second head.
It doesn’t make sense. Jack is a Green with no title or job-based authority. His rank should be well below the Copper’s. Even if he’s part of Edmund’s entourage, that provides protection, not power.
The Copper unties the dogs. He doesn’t protest when Jack tells us to grab our things, nor when Charlotte and I get up and head toward the blue first-year carriage.
Still, I feel the heat of the Copper’s stare burning into my back as I walk away.
Whatever he’s feeling, I don’t want to imagine it.
I just hope Jack’s arrival knocked the legs out from under his plan.
Because now I have another move to make. If I want to save Jane, Edmund needs to invite her to his salon.
And I’m the one who has to convince him to do it.