now rests in his hands. It’s a heavy burden for anyone to shoulder, let alone a teenager. I know how he feels.
With a defeated sigh, Acelot tucks the handkerchief back into his pocket and nimbly climbs into the pilot’s seat. I sit beside him. The windscreen and control panels are badly cracked, and the navigation system keeps going down. Still, it can fly.
“Here goes nothing,” Acelot says, punching the START ENGINE button.
I grip on to the control panel and say a silent prayer as the engines roar to life, sending clouds of ash swirling around the aircraft, but mercifully no fiery ball of death. I let out a relieved sigh as the aircraft jerks up and the world (and my stomach) drops rapidly below us.
Acelot smirks slightly. “I told you it was nothing to worry about, my friend!”
“I never doubted you for a second,” I say, prying my fingers off the dashboard.
Black City whooshes below us as Acelot confidently weaves the aircraft between the smoldering buildings. Everything is in ruins. The Park is a pile of debris; Chantilly Lane Market is little more than a hole in the ground; the digital screens that once sat upon the rooftops now lie broken on the cobbled streets. We don’t need to go near the Chimney to know it’s been destroyed, since the Cinderstone plants continue to spew plumes of choking smoke into the sky. A few other civilian aircraft streak across the sky—looters, probably—but otherwise the city is eerily silent.
“I’ve fixed Alice as best I can,” Acelot says. “She should hold together long enough to get to the Tenth and back.”
My stomach twists at the thought. I pull out an old photo from my back pocket. It’s a picture of my mom when she was younger. We look alike—the same black hair, thin face, and dark eyes. She’s standing in a forest glen with Lucinda and my grandparents Paolo and Maria Coombs. Behind them is another Darkling—a stern-looking man with a birthmark on his cheek. I have no idea who he is. In the background of the photo is Mount Alba, the way it looked
before
it erupted, with a claw-shaped peak.
From this photo and an old map I saw back at the Bastet embassy in Viridis, I figured out that the Claw was Mount Alba. That’s where the Ora is and where my aunt, Kieran and Yolanda went to retrieve it. The only trouble is, Mount Alba is right in the heart of the Tenth. I don’t relish the idea of walking into the detention camp, but I have a mission to complete. There’s no point in putting this off any longer.
“Let’s head out today,” I say. “What’s the time?”
Acelot checks his expensive gold watch. “Just after two.”
“Okay, we should get to the station soon,” I say, referring to Black City News, on the outskirts of the city. We did a quick sweep of the city outskirts earlier and thankfully the station is still there, having been spared the worst of the fires that swept through the districts because of its remote location. “I want to send out my message before we go.”
Acelot turns down Bleak Street and lands the aircraft in an alleyway beside the Sentry headquarters, so it’s out of sight from anyone wandering by on the street. Although it was my idea to hide out in Black City, it was actually Sebastian’s suggestion we actually set up base in the former Sentry headquarters. I was reluctant at first, given that I distrust everything that comes out of that jerk’s mouth, especially since he’s our hostage, but it turned out to be a good choice. Not that I’d admit this to him.
The usually white marble building is covered in soot and part of the roof has caved in, but otherwise it’s come out relatively unscathed. Which is why I’m surprised when I see dark smoke billowing out of one of the windows on the first floor.
We enter the building via the kitchen and run through the corridors toward the dining room, where the smoke’s coming from. I push open the door. Marcel is standing by the window trying to fan the smoke out of
With a defeated sigh, Acelot tucks the handkerchief back into his pocket and nimbly climbs into the pilot’s seat. I sit beside him. The windscreen and control panels are badly cracked, and the navigation system keeps going down. Still, it can fly.
“Here goes nothing,” Acelot says, punching the START ENGINE button.
I grip on to the control panel and say a silent prayer as the engines roar to life, sending clouds of ash swirling around the aircraft, but mercifully no fiery ball of death. I let out a relieved sigh as the aircraft jerks up and the world (and my stomach) drops rapidly below us.
Acelot smirks slightly. “I told you it was nothing to worry about, my friend!”
“I never doubted you for a second,” I say, prying my fingers off the dashboard.
Black City whooshes below us as Acelot confidently weaves the aircraft between the smoldering buildings. Everything is in ruins. The Park is a pile of debris; Chantilly Lane Market is little more than a hole in the ground; the digital screens that once sat upon the rooftops now lie broken on the cobbled streets. We don’t need to go near the Chimney to know it’s been destroyed, since the Cinderstone plants continue to spew plumes of choking smoke into the sky. A few other civilian aircraft streak across the sky—looters, probably—but otherwise the city is eerily silent.
“I’ve fixed Alice as best I can,” Acelot says. “She should hold together long enough to get to the Tenth and back.”
My stomach twists at the thought. I pull out an old photo from my back pocket. It’s a picture of my mom when she was younger. We look alike—the same black hair, thin face, and dark eyes. She’s standing in a forest glen with Lucinda and my grandparents Paolo and Maria Coombs. Behind them is another Darkling—a stern-looking man with a birthmark on his cheek. I have no idea who he is. In the background of the photo is Mount Alba, the way it looked
before
it erupted, with a claw-shaped peak.
From this photo and an old map I saw back at the Bastet embassy in Viridis, I figured out that the Claw was Mount Alba. That’s where the Ora is and where my aunt, Kieran and Yolanda went to retrieve it. The only trouble is, Mount Alba is right in the heart of the Tenth. I don’t relish the idea of walking into the detention camp, but I have a mission to complete. There’s no point in putting this off any longer.
“Let’s head out today,” I say. “What’s the time?”
Acelot checks his expensive gold watch. “Just after two.”
“Okay, we should get to the station soon,” I say, referring to Black City News, on the outskirts of the city. We did a quick sweep of the city outskirts earlier and thankfully the station is still there, having been spared the worst of the fires that swept through the districts because of its remote location. “I want to send out my message before we go.”
Acelot turns down Bleak Street and lands the aircraft in an alleyway beside the Sentry headquarters, so it’s out of sight from anyone wandering by on the street. Although it was my idea to hide out in Black City, it was actually Sebastian’s suggestion we actually set up base in the former Sentry headquarters. I was reluctant at first, given that I distrust everything that comes out of that jerk’s mouth, especially since he’s our hostage, but it turned out to be a good choice. Not that I’d admit this to him.
The usually white marble building is covered in soot and part of the roof has caved in, but otherwise it’s come out relatively unscathed. Which is why I’m surprised when I see dark smoke billowing out of one of the windows on the first floor.
We enter the building via the kitchen and run through the corridors toward the dining room, where the smoke’s coming from. I push open the door. Marcel is standing by the window trying to fan the smoke out of
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