Maybe I hadn’t escaped after all. Perhaps I was nothing more than a shadow, given the semblance of humanity by the magic the Institute had installed inside me.
Self-defense. Killing that man was self-defense. Just as it had been self-defense when I killed the shadow child attacking Oren, back on the ridge by the summer lake. And Tomas’s death—I’d killed him, but it was a mercy. I’d only ended his pain.
All explainable. Not my fault.
Except I enjoyed it.
I closed my eyes, shuddering. Even now I could feel the
remnants of that man’s magic, warm and fluttering inside me like bottled sunlight. There was so little of it left—the part of me that didn’t care about anything else just wanted more.“Feeling better now?”
I jumped, stumbling over a bucket and ending up in a sort of crouch. It was Wesley, standing just inside the doorway, hands folded across the expanse of his waistcoat. The green and brown eyelike pattern was muted in the low light, shining here and there.
He saw me looking and grinned. “Peacock feathers,” he explained with pride. “They’re a type of colorful chicken. Some farm off to the west raises them, and traders bring the feathers through once in a while. Coat costs more than some people make in a year.”
I swallowed. My mouth tasted sour, my throat so raw it burned. “Why wear it?” I croaked.
“It’s expected. Prometheus pays his lackeys well.”
Prometheus again. I wondered what would happen if I just walked up to Central Processing and said, Here I am. I’m a monster. Lock me up. Maybe they’d experiment on me, like the Institute. Maybe they’d just toss me up to work on the farms like the shadows Above. Maybe at least I’d find out what happened to my brother.
“Oh, for the love of—snap out of it.” Wesley strode forward until he could look down at my face. “So you hurt someone. We’ve all done it. Vee punches me in the face on a regular basis, and she still sleeps at night.”
I gaped at him.
“No, I’m not a mind reader. I just recognize the signs.” Wesley smiled, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Your face is pretty expressive, you know.”
I sucked in a deep breath through my nose. “How come you know what I did? And no one else does?”
“I was there,” he pointed out. “And I’ve got the sharpest Sight of anyone in the city. You’re not exactly subtle when you’re ripping the magic out of someone. It also helps that what you did should’ve been impossible, so it won’t be the first conclusion people jump to.”
I was suddenly glad my stomach was already empty.
“It’s different from what Vee does,” I said, swallowing. “For one thing, you planned it. For another, she didn’t kill you.”
“But she’s killed others,” he replied, to my surprise. I tried to picture Olivia, all golden hair and smiles, murdering someone the way I had, and couldn’t. Wesley shook his head. “Life is short, Lark. Sometimes we die and sometimes they do. It’d be nice if it didn’t have to happen, but life here is just as brutal as life out there in the wilderness.”
“And that makes it okay?”
“No.” Wesley moved toward me, nudging the fallen bucket aside with the toe of his boot. “I’m saying it doesn’t make you special. Whether a man dies because he’s been stabbed with a knife or because he’s had the magic ripped out of him, he’s still dead.”
“But someone wielding a knife can choose to put it down. They can stop themselves.”
“Tell me something.” Wesley dropped into a crouch in front of me. “Could you kill me? Here, now?”
I stared at him. He’s insane. Except that he seemed merely curious, not frightened or even alarmed. He didn’t recoil, but examined me with interest. Cautiously, I let my other senses come out, letting the golden and violet sparks of his shielded magic overlay themselves over my normal vision.
Slowly, I nodded. “I think so.”
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “And why don’t you?”
My mouth fell open. “What? I—because there’s no reason to. I mean, you helped us.”
“So if you’re not a murderous psychopath on a rampage, why are you so afraid of what you are?”
“Because—it feels good. When I take someone’s magic. A part of me wants it, all the time.”
“But you’re controlling yourself.”
I grimaced. “I didn’t exactly control myself out there, with that Eagle.”
“To be fair,” Wesley pointed out, “they were shooting at you and your boyfriend.”
My head snapped up as I tried to formulate a protest. Wesley waved a hand. “Whatever. The point is that you didn’t have time to think. You had to operate on instinct, so you did what your instincts told you. Survive, at whatever cost. It’s hardwired into us—doesn’t make us monsters. Even the shadows up there”—and he flicked his gaze toward the ceiling—“are only doing what they’re programmed by nature and magic to do.”
“But if my instincts are to kill to save myself—”
“Then you learn to control them.” Wesley straightened and offered me his hand. “And I think I can help you with that. That is,” he added, raising an eyebrow at me, “if you want to stay, and finish what your brother started.”
Somehow, the simple knowledge that someone else knew my secret, knew my fears about myself, and hadn’t cast me out made it feel as though the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I took his hand, all too aware of the supernatural warmth of it, my traitorous senses telling me he had magic ripe for the taking.
“Good,” he said, hauling me to my feet. “Now, you’d better put something back in your stomach, because before today’s done, you’re probably going to wish you were dead.”
CHAPTER 15
After a shower and a second attempt at breakfast, I felt better. I would’ve thought having someone know my secret would be panic-inducing, but instead, it was just a relief to have it known. Wesley had promised he wouldn’t share the truth of what I was with the others. “For one thing,” he’d said, “I don’t even know what you are, so how can I explain it to them?” But I knew that the instant I became a danger to anyone within the walls, all of that would change.
And so I agreed—I needed help. I needed training. I expected Wesley to leave Oren behind, but instead he led the both of us down into a vast cavern. It was, he said, one of the few “rooms” that wasn’t left behind from a previous incarnation of the city. The training room was a natural cave, undiscovered until my brother had explored these hidden passageways and found it.
Most of the people working in the training room were children barely old enough to have been harvested in my home city. There were half a dozen of them, all working with older mentors. And every one was a Renewable.
I averted my eyes, jaw clenched. Control.
“So, I’m up, huh?” The cheery voice belonged to Olivia, who sauntered in after us. Her eyes were on Oren, thoughtful, speculative.
“Morning, Vee,” Wesley said, fiddling with a rack of machines against one wall of the cavern. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” she replied, eyes still resting on Oren as she smiled. She looked none the worse for having been awake much of the night, talking to me—whereas I felt like I’d been run over by a carriage. Her hair was as bright and curly as ever, her eyes gleaming, cheeks and lips flushed. And she was still looking at Oren.
His eyes darted from her to Wesley. “Why am I here?” His voice was quiet enough that it didn’t echo in the cavern. “I’m no Renewable.”