Wings (A Black City Novel) by Elizabeth Richards Page B

me on a true path. If I didn’t have those things, I’m quite sure I wouldn’t have turned out this way. The predator is always there, lurking within me, wanting, hungry. But it’s not the only part of me that has desires; the human side of me thirsts for
other
things. I gaze at Catherine for a long moment, watching as she unpins her hair, letting it fall in loose brown waves around her narrow shoulders. Eric smiles.
    “You can never be with her,” Grandfather says gently. “It’s not just your safety I’m worried about, but hers. You know what sinful desires are within you, Edmund.”
    I look at the floor, ashamed. My father raped my mother, so I know exactly what I’m capable of. I hate the fact that his blood is in my veins. But I would never hurt Catherine!
    Grandfather draws me away from the window. “Are you hungry?”
    I nod, sitting down at the kitchen table while Grandfather collects a knife and glass from the cupboard. He nods toward the jar of dead butterflies on the table.
    “Will you grind some of those up for me?” he asks.
    I take off my gloves and unscrew the lid, pouring a few of the silvery-blue-winged butterflies into a stone mortar. I start grinding them into a fine powder with the pestle. My grandfather has been mixing it into the holy water for years, under the Guild’s advisement, to keep the townsfolk placid. It’s not easy being enclosed inside a walled compound without going stir-crazy after a while, so it’s for their own good. I pour the powder into a small pot.
    “That should be plenty,” Grandfather says, sitting down at the table. He rolls up the sleeve of his dark tunic, exposing his arm. There are slashes all the way up it; some old, some fresh. He slices his arm with the knife and pours his blood into the glass. The rusty scent stings my nostrils. He fills the glass to the brim before passing it to me. I greedily drink.
    “Slow down, Edmund,” Grandfather says. “That’s all you’re getting this week.”
    I force myself to stop guzzling the blood and try to savor it, but it’s hard when I’m this hungry. The heat spreads over my tongue, awakening my taste buds. The blood has a slight bitter undertone to it, which I don’t like, but otherwise it’s good. I place the empty glass on the table and wipe my lips with the back of my scarred hand. They still look hideous, even after all these years. Darklings are meant to have amazing regenerative abilities, and I do to some degree—these wounds would’ve killed a human child.
    “Why did you save me that night Mom dropped me in the bath?” I ask quietly.
    “Because there is goodness in you, Edmund. Part of you is human; that part can be saved.” He sighs, getting up, and reaches for the phone. “I should call Mrs. Langdon and tell her you’re not taking Catherine to the dance. I’ll say you’re unwell.”
    “No, wait,” I say in a rush. “It’ll look weird if I don’t go. Everyone will be there.”
    His hand hovers over the receiver. If there’s one thing he hates more than the Langdon family, it’s gossip about ours. “Fine. But you’re not to see that girl again after tonight.”
    I nod, not looking at him, knowing it’s a promise I can’t keep. I’m sick of watching my life from the sidelines. If things go well with Catherine tonight, then I don’t care what the risks are; I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend. I place a hand over my silent heart. For once in my life, I want to know what it feels like to live.

8.
    EDMUND
    A SWARM OF BUTTERFLIES fill my stomach as I rap on the door of Langdon’s General Store. Behind me, in the town square, the dance is already in full swing, with men and women dressed in their finest clothes. Strung from some of the shops is a hand-painted banner, reading CELEBRATING 18 YEA RS OF PEACE . Tied to the cross in the center of the town square is the Lupine girl. Her dead eyes stare blankly at the banner.
    To the left, a stage has been set up for the band, and to