Now I knelt on the floor and all I could think of were those long hypodermics sliding deep into my veins. Drops of blood wound down my ribs and spattered the floorboards. My back pulsed with the ache of Harper's silver-water and the remembered pain of those months under the prayer engines.
I hated it. I wanted away from every sensation of my body and every memory in my head. I wanted to escape, to somehow slip back into the furthest recesses of the past and forget every detail of myself. Slowly, I crawled to the desk where my needles lay waiting for me.
Chapter Seven
Fire
Two hours later, the night blossomed. The sky unfolded in rich waves of purple and blue velvet. Breezes traced pale violet ribbons through the darkness. Tiny buds of glittering stars burst into brilliant illuminations.
I pushed my window open and leaned out. The moon spread its light across my face and bare chest. Wind rolled up through my hair and stroked my skin. When I had been a child, every night had seemed as lush and wondrous as this.
I glanced back into my room. The remains of my bloodstained shirt lay on the floor. My used hypodermic floated in an old cup of water along with a wilting dahlia. The choice between the night air and my filthy room was simple.
I shifted sideways and pulled my legs out so that I sat on the edge of my windowsill. I glanced down at the empty street below. Even the alley cats seemed to have gone to sleep.
Taking a deep breath, I threw myself out into the open air. Wind whipped over my bare skin and through my hair as I plunged down-ward. I smelled the filth of the ground below wafting up toward my face. A rush of terror and exhilaration shot through me.
With a twist of my body I veered up, turning suddenly from the mucky street and arching up into the vast sky. Giddy pleasure shot through my body. I swept up over a factory roof and caught hold of one of the tin chimneys. My momentum whipped me around it twice. When I let go, I went spinning off like a top.
I was well out over the butcher district before my momentum ebbed and I began to drift on the gentle night winds. For a while I rolled onto my back and stared up at the stars and moon. They seemed close enough for me to reach out and scratch my initials into their shining surfaces.
When I had been very young, I had snuck up from Hells Below to drift up into the open night. I had thought that it was my kingdom. For a few weeks I had thought that perhaps I was the secret child of an angel. I had floated up into the frigid mists of clouds and imagined that the moon, shining above me, was my promised halo.
When my mother noticed my frostbitten ears, she knew exactly where I had been. She sewed lead-shot into my nightshirt and told me that the heavens were not for my kind. We Prodigals were cast from hot molten fires, far below the realms of Man. The fact that a few of us could soar into the frigid heavens was simply a joke that God played upon us, tempting us to our deaths. But I had not been able resist the skies.
A low wind pulled me along past the window of a town-house. I peered into a dim room. There were two little white beds, and I could make out the sleeping faces of the children tucked into them. I floated past the window and up to the roof. Beneath me, the family dog barked wildly. A man shouted at the animal and then slammed his window shut.
Once I was up on the roof, I took another dive, feeding the rush of my fear into a surge of flight. I zipped out across the White River and caught the updrafts over the water. I spread out my arms and hung above the city, just watching its dark mass. The factory district looked like an ugly rash that had spilled up from the insides of the earth. A sickly smell drifted off of it.
But above the White River, the stars cast glittering reflections over the rolling waters. Moored fishing boats silently swayed with the currents. I drifted, riding the wind up toward the Crown Tower Bridge. I felt a strange twinge as I drew closer to the massive structure. Across the west side of that bridge, Joan Talbott had been abducted.
I had no feeling for her. My only contact with her had come through the men around her. I had read Peter Roffcale's letters, listened to Edward Talbott's despair, and joined Harper in his search for her. I only felt her presence in the ruined wake of her disappearance. Roffcale had died. Edward Talbott had been willing to spend every coin he had to see her returned. Harper had hardly eaten or slept. I wondered how she could have inspired such love. What kind of creature was she?
I remembered her luminous eyes and long silken hair. Even conjured from wisps of smoke, she had been strikingly beautiful. I supposed that it would only be natural for men to adore such a woman.
I felt a burst of disdain and envy. I couldn't help but think that her life must have been pleasant and easy. Recalling Peter Roffcale's gutted corpse, I supposed Joan's life wasn't all that pleasant for her now, if she were still alive. It was petty of me, but the thought made me feel better.
Across the west side of the city, cathedral towers and ornate houses dominated the view. Suddenly I caught a flash from one of the city watchtowers. A searchlight ignited. A moment later, the piercing light swept across the cityscape. I dived quickly down, pressing my body against the supports of the Crown Tower Bridge. The last thing I needed was to end up netted by the Inquisition.
The spotlight swept past me and shot out over St. Christopher's Park. Two more lights split the night and turned to the park also. The lights swung through each other and across the air, searching. I kicked off the iron beams and glided down to the west end of the bridge. I ducked under the eaves of a house when a light slashed through the darkness near me. I knew I should drop back to the ground and just walk home.
Instead, I floated even closer in toward St. Christopher's. I couldn't help it. I wanted to know what other Prodigal had dared to take to the wind. Only a few Prodigals could fly. We were rare and growing more so with each generation. Sariel had been the only other Prodigal I had known who could soar into the dark sky. We had flown out of joy and instinct, believing that we were too high for any hand to reach. Neither of us had known how to evade the searchlights or nets. We had both ended up in St. Augustine's School for the Reform of Prodigal Youths.
One of the searchlights swept across the elegant houses on the south side of the park. For a moment, a black silhouette was captured in the light. The thin figure seemed frozen, pressed against a window. Then it dived. Four more searchlights cut through the air beneath the first. The Prodigal veered between them and fled into the wooded paths of the park. Another three lights came on. They closed in over the park. Below the search-lights, I could see lines of Inquisition men working through the bushes with their lime torches. The darkness was ripped into tatters as light after light sliced between the branches of trees and across the plots of flowers.
I dropped to the rooftops and ran across them, jumping from one to the next as I went. The closest watchtower stood only three roofs away. Once I passed it I would be in the circle of searchlights. I knew it was not my nature to run to the rescue of some idiot child. Still, I rushed in as if it were my own life I was saving.
The Inquisition men were already deep into the park. They were well ahead of me, but I had the advantage of the night itself. I could see into the shadows that they mistook for branches and twigs. I knew exactly where I needed to go. It was only a matter moving between the dozens of Inquisition men and their piercing lights.