“Hey, I’m home,” I say as I lean against the back of one of the chairs in our little dining room, toeing off my boots. Our lodgings actually feel nice and cool for once, likely because of the extra naphtha I shelled out for last month.
Most everything on Trinity runs on naphtha—a limitless source of power provided to us by the Twelve Heralds. Some people even call it godblood. But it doesn’t come cheap for dusters, especially as each day gets a little warmer than the one before. The Heraldic Ministry tells us this is a test of our gratitude, our willingness to make sacrifices just like the Heralds sacrificed for us. All I know is that it’s meant skyliners hoarding naphtha even more than usual, leaving a lot of dusters scrambling to fill the gaps with whatever we can cobble together.
Halle’s left a little cup of drinking water on the table, next to packets of sandwich rolls from a nearby food stall. I scoop up the cup and tip it into my mouth, careful to get every last drop. I know we have more—I made sure to leave most of our remaining rations for Halle and Kelda—but I don’t ask for any. I never do.
“Sorry I’m a bit late,” I say when Halle stays silent. I wave a hand at the sandwich rolls. “Thanks for picking up dinner.”
The only response I get is a loud bark of laughter. No joy in it. Just a really bitter taste. I take a second look at her as she scrubs furiously at something in the sink.
Everything about her is furious, in fact. I can feel it coming off her like spikes.
Shit. Here we go again.
“So…” I draw the word out carefully. “How’s everything going here?”
“Everything’s fine. It’s great.” Halle’s voice slashes across thespace. She shuts the dish steamer off and shoves a pan into the cabinet underneath with a harsh clang. “And I wasn’t the one who got us dinner. The Bakshi sisters brought it over. After their day out.”
She hangs it there, knowing it’ll land right where she aimed. I wrap my fingers around the back of the chair in front of me, wincing. I’d promised her, days ago, that she could go with them. Promised I’d be home to take care of Kelda. It had been the nicest conversation we’d managed to have in weeks.
And then I’d forgotten all about it. As soon as Dani had turned up with a job.
“Halle… I’m sorry…”
Halle sweeps over and snatches my boots off the floor. We don’t look much alike. She’s all long legs, cascades of wavy black hair kept in place with a thousand copper hairpins, olive-toned skin that keeps a tan even in the low season, just like Mama, whereas I take after Papa—shorter, slighter, with white skin and dark-brown hair that I keep clipped short. With Halle’s height and her curves, most people think she’s the eldest of us, but she’s only fifteen. Then again, she had to step into Mama’s shoes when she was eleven years old, helping to raise a small kid while I scraped together cash any way I could.
Neither of us really knows what being young actually feels like.
She throws my boots onto the mat by the door in that way that saysYou should’ve remembered to do this first.“Where were you?”
My shoulders tighten at her disapproval. Like she’s my parent instead of my younger sister. “A last-minute job came up. Couldn’t wait.”
“Of course it couldn’t.”
I kick at the chair, and it screeches across the metal floor in protest. “For fuck’s sake, it’s not like I was out at a party, Halle. Work is work. I turn down jobs, I don’t get paid, and these lodgings aren’t cheap.”
She stops zigzagging around the place and leans against the sink again, facing me, her arms crossed. “But you said you’d be home. You promised I could have an afternoon to myself.”
“I told you, I don’t need a babysitter!” calls a voice from the second bedroom. Kelda. “I could’ve stayed by myself!”
“NO!” Halle and I shout it back in unison, without even looking away from our fight.
It’s the one thing we can always agree on, no matter what else is happening: Keep Kelda safe. At all costs.
“Evan Oyeno’s mother was telling me about a job opening up, at a fabricator’s shop,” Halle says, her deep-set brown eyes bright and fixed on me. It’s the only feature we share—dark, liquidy pools under strong brows.
I sigh, run a hand back through my short-cropped hair. There’s this tingling desire at the base of my skull to run, to phase away from the conversation I can see forming on the corners of Halle’s mouth because I already know the shape of it. “That’s great. We should tell Bibi down on the third floor about it. She’s been looking for work for a bit.”
“You know I’m not talking about this job for Bibi,” she says fiercely, and then, when I don’t say anything, she hurries on in the silence. “This is your chance. Aren’t you tired of being a low-level errand runner for the Gold Town Gang? If I pick up a few more hours to help cover the rent—”
“Stop it, Halle.” I don’t mean for my voice to come out so hard and cold, but my head is aching with thirst and I’m suddenly so, so tired and I can’t stop thinking about Kilpatrick and that preacher and whether I just shot everything right to hell today. “It’s not happening. It’s never happening, okay? I’ve made my peace with what I do and how things work in the dust.”
Halle leans back, and I can taste her frustration in the air. She wants a solution, something she can press her fingertips into and make right. She’s always been that way, with her eyes thrown forward into some kind of future I can’t see. Even in our darkest months, just after Mama was gone.
Sometimes I hate her for it a little. I hate how she can burn so bright, and the only thing inside me is a monster with a beautiful song and teeth that grow sharper with every kill.
Kelda appears in the doorway, her bright hazel gaze wide in her pale round face, a faded slicing scar bisecting her right eyebrow, her wavy black hair cut short like mine but wild and sticking up every which way. Probably because she’s been tugging at the ends like she does when she’s frustrated. Right now, though, her arms are crossed—just like Halle—and her lips are pressed tightly together.
“Why can’t I stay by myself?” she demands. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”
