Read Online Wings (A Black City Novel) by Elizabeth Richards - Free Book Online Page B

floor, and blood seeps out of a gash on his head—a result of my punch—merging with the red rose tattoo above his left ear. I flex my aching hand and join Acelot in the cockpit.
    “Head to Black City News,” I say, taking the seat next to him.
    Acelot veers the aircraft to the left, flying us to the edge of the city. The broadcast station is a relatively modern-looking building by Black City standards, with BLACK CITY NEWS written in red letters over the entranceway. Acelot parks the ship in the forecourt. It’s not ideal being out in the open like this, but I’m hoping we’ll be gone before the Lupines catch up with us. We quickly scan the area for any sign of traps or cameras before heading inside the news station. I keep Sebastian a short distance in front of me, so he can’t run off.
    The studio is deserted, the offices strewn with abandoned paperwork. We hurry through the maze of corridors until we find a voice-over studio. I flick on the light, filling the room with a dull orange glow. I tie Sebastian to a chair while Acelot checks the equipment. Marcel slumps on the battered sofa in the corner of the room and watches us.
    “I’ve programmed the system to broadcast the message for twenty-four hours, then stop,” Acelot says. “By the time they trace it, we’ll be long gone.”
    “Okay, let’s record it, then get the hell out of here,” I say, sitting down at the microphone.
    A red light glows, letting me know I’m on air. I just hope Beetle and Roach are listening.

6.
    EDMUND
    Amber Hills, Mountain Wolf State
    30 years ago

    I FIDGET ON the hard pew, trying to get some blood circulating back in my bony legs, but it’s a lost cause. The church is heaving with people, as the whole town has turned up for Mrs. Hope’s funeral. Many have to stand outside and watch the service through the open doors. I’m surprised so many people showed up, but nothing draws a crowd like murder.
    Patrick Langdon, and his friends Harriet and Drew O’Malley, discovered her corpse a mile into the woods, lain against a flat rock, like she was sleeping. Her shrouded body now floats in the pool beside the pulpit. Sprigs of lavender bob on the surface of the water to mask the scent of death, but it’s not helping. All around me, people delicately cover their noses and mouths with handkerchiefs as they listen to my grandfather’s sermon.
    He’s a grave-looking man dressed in ceremonial robes that match the color of his thick hair and iron-gray eyes. Everybody says my eyes are just like his. It’s the only thing we have in common, other than the matching burns on our arms. Grandfather was the one who plucked me out of the scalding water when I was a baby and saved my life.
    He’s standing at the pulpit—an overly ornate structure made from oak and rosewood, depicting a scene from the ancient scriptures. Carved at the base of the pulpit are a nest of Darklings, their limbs twisted around each other so it’s impossible to tell where one Darkling ends and another begins—it’s just a contorted mass of naked bodies, their clawed hands outstretched as they attempt to pull innocent girls into their pit of sin.
    “It has been a trying time for our community these past six weeks,” Grandfather says, his deep voice traveling across the chapel. “Not since the Misery, eighteen years ago, have we experienced such violence and unrest. We have lost family, friends but not our faith.”
    “So sayeth us all,” the congregation murmurs.
    The Lupines have claimed four victims now. A kid called Tommy Stevens was the first to be taken, snatched out of his hospital bed in the middle of the night. A week later, they took a crippled woman, Mrs. Summer, then a fortnight after that, the Watchman and town drunk, Mr. Smyth. Mrs. Hope makes number four. What I don’t understand is why they’re doing it. The Lupines kill only humans who trespass on their territory, so what’s changed?
    I peer across the aisle at Catherine. She’s sitting