23
Harlem sizzled under the orange-pop sun, heat waves dancing over the concrete. While everyone smart—including the pigeons—had skittered to shade when the city issued a heat warning, we were walking under the assault of the August sun.
A city bus chugged by, heaving and coughing like an elephant struggling toward its waterhole. It cast a long shadow over us, its hydraulic brakes hissing hot air. Ahead, a bodega’s door was propped open with a wooden crate, music trickling out in slow, humid strokes. A man sat on the crate wearing only shorts, sweat dripping down his chest. He held a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He blew a cloud of smoke in our direction, his gaze filled with suspicion and mistrust.
I didn’t blame him. No one was out unless they had to be. The people who were out hugged the shade, walked sluggishly, and sought buses, taxis, or air-conditioned buildings like oases in the desert. They wore dresses, shorts, or—unfortunately for them—suits or long-sleeve uniforms.
But the four of us weren’t running for cool air or hurrying toward shade. We hadn’t even been smart enough to wear shorts and tank tops.
Last was dressed in a long-sleeve black dress that dragged on the concrete. Justice was in his usual—black pants, black T-shirt, black jacket. Me too, of course. Luvic was the only bright spot of color among us. He was in black, but the skin around his eye was purple and green. Not that you could see the bruise through his sunglasses, but I knew it was there.
The man outside the bodega spit on the sidewalk, giving us the side-eye as we passed. Anyone we’d passed before had ignored us, but predators always recognized other predators.
Last turned and waved coyly at the man.
“Leave him alone,” I said.
She pouted. Actually pouted. But then she shrugged and hurried to keep up with me.
Ahead, Justice and Luvic were murmuring in quiet, blade-sheathed voices.
“Did I mention,” Last said, poking my side, “how happy I am you’re not dead?”
“No.”
“I am. Really, really happy. At the closing ceremony, when that one”—she jerked her chin at Justice—“shot you, I cried. It was heartbreaking. If you’re going to die, I want to be the one to do it. I told you that. I thought you knew.”
Last waited for me to answer as if I might apologize for Justice shooting a crossbow through my chest. I didn’t respond. Instead, I blew at a trickle of sweat running down my temple.
“As my friend?—”
“I’m not your friend.”
“—for life, I feel obligated to warn you.” She looked at me from beneath her eyelashes. “My brother knows what you are.”
I tripped over my feet and then steadied myself, pretending I’d stumbled on a crack. “Yes. A creature.”
Last tilted her head, then she leaned close and whispered, “Friends don’t lie to each other, One.”
I leveled a look on her, and she shrugged.
“You prefer Mari. Why didn’t you tell me? Primus won’t care what you prefer. Did I ever tell you about my pet cricket?”
“No.”
Ahead, the long row of five-story buildings gave way to a twenty-story white-brick monstrosity. The city had plenty of buildings like this. It razed stone townhomes and century-old apartments to squeeze in ugly, towering people pens. They looked a lot like oversize shoeboxes. The one two blocks down was our destination. We were on our way to see the Merchant.
It’s funny. The last time I went to see the him, I swore up and down I’d never go back.
Yet, there I was, headed his way, on my first outing with our new allies. According to Jagger, he had in stock a weapon that could kill Finn permanently as soon as I tore away his illusion.
“I had a pet cricket.” Last glanced over at me to make sure I was paying attention. “His name was Only. I kept him in a little wicker cage that I set next to my bed, and he would sing to me all night long. I was eight, and I was afraid of the monster under my bed. Have you met him?”
“No.” Thankfully. “He doesn’t come to Hell Gate.”
Last nodded. “He likes nightmares. I had nightmares about my mom. But when Only chirped, I didn’t. I’d feed him sweet potato and spinach.” There was a smile in her voice. “He’d come when I called. He would climb on my hand and perch there, bobbing up and down, chirping. He was my pet.”
She stared over Harlem as if she weren’t on the sweltering sidewalk anymore but instead in her bedroom, holding a pet cricket whose chirping kept the monster under the bed away.
