Half of Blackwood wanted answers from the Shepherds, and the other half demanded their heads. The people asked Father Ken to deliver both.

  It had been less than ten minutes since the Gaverian’s departure when the villagers abandoned their chores and swarmed the apartment with the hole in the wall. Aron, Mari, and Maselli had expected this — just as they had expected the Gaverian’s arrival. But expecting over a hundred uninvited guests was another matter. There was no way to prepare for such a crowd, so they simply gave up and let the people overrun their home.

  It was fortunate Maselli could not read minds, because some of the things whispered inside his neighbours’ heads would have been heart-breaking. Still, neither he nor his parents could truly blame them. Frustration was mounting, and frustration always needed a target.

  When bad things happen, someone must be responsible.

  The Shepherd family stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the rubble, hemmed in by hard stares. Father Ken sat on a dusty sofa before them, clutching his spiritual staff. Sympathisers were few. Notable among them were Aunt Patrica and Uncle Percy, who planted themselves at the Shepherds’ side.

  “I have to be honest with you, Aron,” Father Ken said at last. “I don’t quite know what I am supposed to say. Everyone wants to know why the Gaverian came to you, but that is no one’s business. It’s not mine, and certainly not theirs.”

  “Speak for yourself,” a voice from the back said. “I swear there is something they’re not telling us, and I’ll be damned if we suffer any more because of them.”

  “How could anything that’s happened so far be their fault?” Father Ken asked. “Should we blame them for troubles they’ve suffered their fair share of?”

  “They’re hiding something, and we want to know what,” the same voice insisted.

  “That boy especially. We’ve been saying it for years now. Mari raised him wrong. When you cause trouble all the time, you see what it brings. Davey is dead because of him.”

  “Gretta, that’s too far,” Percy’s voice cut through. “It wasn’t Maselli who brought rebels to our home—”

  “He’s still responsible for what he did to Jeromy!” the person shouted.

  “Jude is dead, too. All because of him,” Aunt Gertrude added. “Mari can’t raise children right. Look at the monsters she has cursed us with. It’s on everyone’s mind, so let’s just say it. It’s time she went back to Maplewood. We’ve had enough of her and her bad luck.”

  “Father, tell the Commissioner we don’t want any foreigners in our village anymore,” another suggested.

  “Fools,” mumbled Father Ken. “May God forgive anyone who has opened his mouth to slander our sister. And pray the day does not come when you run to Mari Shepherd’s home for shelter.”

  Ezra might not be the only one who needed to leave Blackwood as soon as possible.

  “Aron,” snapped another voice. “Say something.”

  Aron placed his weight on the thinning threads of cordiality in the room. “I have heard you call my wife many names. I have ignored them in the name of peace. Now we have reached a point where circumstances beyond her control are being blamed on her. It tells me all I need to know about you—my so-called friends. You will never tolerate her, not for my sake, nor for my children’s. It would be better for everyone if Father Ken informed the Commissioner about our situation and moved us to another village.”

  “You’re less of a man than I thought,” said the same voice that had spoken against them earlier. “After all that we’ve been through, you still side with her over us? The prostitute? She doesn’t respect you. Never has, and never will.”

  Aron sat still, hands flat on his knees. You couldn’t tell if he was even breathing. Mari might as well have been a ghost—pale, invisible to the hundreds gathered in the room. Maselli could only wonder what was running through his mother’s mind at this moment. All he knew was how much she would cry when this was over. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; his eyes burning. If he had his father’s height and build, he would already be up, slapping everyone aside to confront the slanderous bastard.

  “Aron, Mari, are you sure this is what you want?” Father Ken asked. “Do you want to leave Blackwood behind?”

  After a long silence, it was Mari who answered. “Yes, Father. I think it is for the best.”

  “Very well,” said the priest, rising. “I respect your decision. For now, we remain a community capable of treating one another with decency.” He turned towards the massive hole in the wall. “Until then, you should move to Block Six, into Franka’s apartment.”

  The times had exhausted Maselli to the point where caution no longer mattered. It had occurred to him once before that Ezra’s belongings were scattered all over the house. People might question why they owned girl’s dresses when no daughters lived there. But just a few hours ago, Ren Regal had come and looked straight at Ezra without seeing her. Coupled with other strange occurrences—both recent and long past—he was beginning to realise that there was far more to Ezra than he had ever imagined. Jeromy instilled in him a sickening suspicion that their parents kept secrets not only from Blackwood but from Maselli as well.

  The Blackens continued helping the Shepherds move, despite their resentment. They mostly carried jute bags and suitcases out of the apartment. Ezra was likely cramped and restless in her hiding place. It might be evening before she emerged again. Before Regilon had arrived, Maselli had given her the Black Syrup potion to hold on to. She wouldn’t survive on medicine alone—she would have to endure hunger until everyone had left.

  Aron and Father Ken spoke quietly on the terrace. It seemed the priest was trying to persuade Aron to stay. The idea felt unreal. How could Aron and Mari leave Blackwood? No doubt, they would suggest he remain behind with Hanna and raise a family. As if that was ever going to happen.

  “Hey,” said the devil, waving a hand in greeting. Hanna’s braids stuck out in dry, strands, and her face was covered in rashes. The blouse she wore hung loosely on her torso, and her legs were like sticks beneath her skirt. She sat next to him on his bed, in the spot where Ezra should have been.

  When Aron and Mari left, who was Ezra going to stay with—him or them? What kind of backward decision were his parents making? They hadn’t thought this through at all.

  “Maselli, I’m talking to you.”

  “What?”

  “I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

  “Sorry,” said Maselli. “I didn’t mean to… sorry.”

  “Excuse me.” Samellie went to his knees and looked under the bed. Crawling closer, he split Maselli’s legs apart. “Nothing here.”

  “Can we go somewhere else to talk?” Hanna asked.

  As they made their way down the stairs, she told him a lot. Soden had publicly denounced any association with the militia known as the Black Banner Rebellion. The president of Soden had offered to investigate the group. She had no word about Jeromy.

  “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  She led him to the wide clearing in front of the apartment buildings. Beneath a tree, a boulder offered them some shade.

  “Do you remember when we used to explore the tunnels after school? One time, Jeromy wanted to come with us, but you told him to wait here under this tree—and he did,” Hanna said.

  “We were gone for hours,” said Maselli. “But when we came back, he was still waiting. I asked him why he didn’t run off, and he said he stayed because I asked him to.”

  “He needs us,” she said softly. “I was supposed to be his big sister, but I wasn’t there when he needed me most. It’s really hard to care for you sometimes. I know there’s something you’re not telling me. I thought that maybe, if I was loyal enough, you’d trust me with whatever you and your family are hiding. But you never did. I got so angry… it made me do things I shouldn’t have.”

  “Is this about Antonica?” Maselli asked.

  Hanna didn’t answer. Some friends were approaching. Anna-Lisa asked Hanna to move over, complaining about how tired she was, then launched into a rant about carrying corn bags to the mill tomorrow. Danica came straight toward Maselli and wrung his arm.

  “I’m glad you’ve come outside,” she said, scrubbing a smudge off his face. “Staying in that miserable apartment won’t help you get better. How can I help cheer you up?”

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  Serica stayed out of the shade, hands on her hips. The scorching sun was no match for a girl built like a machine. She had been the tallest girl in their class—and she still towered over Maselli, beating him by several inches.

  “What?” he snapped, annoyed at the mocking expression in her eyes. Serica scoffed, saying nothing.

  “I thought Maselli and his parents were going to get lynched today,” Anna-Lisa said.

  “I feel sorry for Mari,” Danica added. “Jaspha has no right to talk to her like that.”

  “It’s not the first time,” Anna-Lisa said. “He does it every chance he gets. I don’t know what he has against her, honestly. I once him telling his sons he felt sorry for Aron—as if being married to an outsider was some kind of punishment. Can you imagine?”

  “It’s good that you’re leaving, Maselli,” Serica said.

  “Was that what you two were talking about?” Danica asked. “Are you trying to convince Hanna to leave with you?”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” said Hanna.

  “Speak for yourself,” Serica snorted. “Mommy’s boy isn’t staying behind for anybody.”

  “Don’t tease him,” Danica said. “I think it’s sweet how much he loves his mommy. It was so heartwarming to see you scrambling for extra money just to get some medicine for her.”

  “Extra money?” Hanna asked. “Maselli made more than he needed—otherwise he wouldn’t have been paying Zerah those late-night visits.”

  “I spoke to Zerah,” Serica said. “Maselli just stopped by to check on her baby. Something we, as her friends, haven’t even done yet.”

  Maselli listened as they gossiped about the person who had been farting through Father Ken’s arbitration at his apartment. They moved on to the topic of new husbands and the awkwardness of living together. When Danica began advising them on ways to seduce their spouses, Maselli decided it was time to go home—his former home, he reminded himself.

  As he entered, Mari was sobbing behind the kitchen counter, Patrica and Rita comforting her. When Patrica noticed Maselli, she guided Mari out of the kitchen. Mari’s sobs intensified as they passed him. Rita, handkerchief clenched, stopped nearby.

  “Have you eaten today?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m coming from Hanna’s place,” Maselli said.

  A warmth spread across her cheeks. “It’s your place too.” With a brief, mischievous grin, she whispered, “Antonica does not belong there.”

  The kitchen door closed behind him. Maselli tiptoed to the third cabinet under the counter. How quiet could Ezra be? Unless… she was gone. What if she had disappeared?

  He fetched a glass of water and crouched. Opening the cabinet, he found her nestled inside, her neck bent at an awkward angle, snoring softly.

  Pillows lined one end of the wall. The bare sections were covered in purple triangles that seemed to spin the longer you stared at them. Her Black Syrup potion rested near her ankle, and she gripped a magazine loosely in her hand. The nasty veins were gone—a relief.

  He nudged her awake. “Here,” he said, offering the glass before she could speak. She took a sip, glancing around the kitchen.

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “A few centuries, maybe. The world is in ruins.”

  She touched her neck, groaning as she squeezed herself out of the cabinet. “I’m never getting used to this.”

  “You don’t have to. We’re leaving.”

  She raised a hand to his face, writhing for a moment. “I need a massage,” she said. “And a long bath… in one of those fancy tubs.”

  “A jacuzzi?”

  “And some wine,” she said. “God, I hate it when visitors come by.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We’re leaving—over to Franka’s.”

  “Oh. All this time, and I could’ve taken a stroll through town without worry. I wonder why I never thought of that?”

  “Come on. You’ll be safe. We’ll put you in some stuffy clothes and leave when it’s dark. It’s a short walk—nothing could go wrong.”

  “That makes me even more nervous.”

  “Ezra—”

  “I’m not leaving because I don’t want to,” she said. “I can’t leave this place. I mustn’t.”

  “Why not?” Maselli asked. “The government doesn’t care where they find you. If we get caught, we’re all dead either way.”

  “It’s not about the government.”

  “You remember we don’t have a door or half a wall, right?”

  “I’m not leaving. Not for any reason. No one would find me here.”

  “Can’t you cast a spell or something to hide yourself? For all I know, you could walk right out and no one would notice. My neighbours packed up all your things, and not once did anyone think maybe the dresses aren’t mine!”

  “Easy. They’re Mari’s. She used to be a girl.”

  “You have powers, Ezra. Why don’t you want to use them?”

  She trembled at his words. Refusing to answer, she sank deeper into the cabinet, half-hidden in shadow.

  The realisation hit him all at once. He hadn’t been listening at all. “You can’t leave,” he said, and she shook her head. “Can you at least tell me why?” She shook again. Maselli checked the door, then stepped closer. “Do Aron and Mari know?” She waited as if the heavens themselves must move before finally nodding.

  Aron entered, giving Maselli a look he understood perfectly. Without a word, Maselli left the room, closing the door behind him and pressing his ear against it, hoping to catch a fragment of conversation. He heard nothing.

  That evening, Aunt Patrica prepared a meal for the whole family. Aside from the Shepherds, her sons had returned home—a surprise, and a welcome one. They’d been serving deep in the Midder-Lands since graduation and hadn’t had a chance to visit. With a monstrous build like Percy, the only feature they shared with Patrica was her broad forehead. Both were roughly Franka’s age. Percy and Patrica had also had a daughter, a year older than Maselli, who had suffered ascension poisoning after a year of work on the Third. She died before Maselli graduated. None of that mattered tonight. The family made the best of the evening.

  They ate behind the television, flipping through channels to find something watchable. Occasionally, Maselli remembered Ezra—alone in the house. What was she doing? What if he never saw her again?

  “It’s almost seven,” Percy said, reaching for the remote. “Time for the news.”

  Black-and-gold flags stood on either side of a lectern; a microphone adjusted in front. A small red tag in the corner of the screen read, “Live.” The headline flashed: Address by the Primus.

  Mistress Sorel stepped into view. Both Sorels in government were lean, with chin-length amber hair, and an uncanny resemblance. Maselli felt almost like a mother of twins—he could tell them apart instantly. Mariel was slightly leaner than Schemel, an inch shorter, always wearing her family’s golden ring, and she was much colder.

  “Tonight, I speak to the earthen community. The days have not been kind to you, I know. Banks refuse to pay your wages, you are on the brink of starvation, and you are tired of hearing the same excuses about how the war affects everyone. I doubt most of you know who I am or what I represent.

  “They call me the Lady Balancer and I am responsible for all of you. I am working on policies that have not been considered in nearly thirty years. To reach this place, we must dive deeper into hell, and that means we must win the war as soon as possible.

  “I have given the Institute of Ascension Advancements permission to select fifty people, aged thirteen through sixteen, for research purposes. This has been a hard decision; one I do not take lightly. God bless us all. For the motherland, for Henrikia.”

  “Henrikia,” everyone responded—except Maselli. Percy and Aron continued biting into their boiled yams. Mari shrugged off the news and joined Patrica in the kitchen to clean up. One of Percy’s sons idly picked his nose, while the other yawned. Where was the anger? The outrage? Had they heard the same news? Did they not understand what it meant?

  “Maselli, be careful not to burst,” Percy’s son said. “What’s the fuss?”

  “They’re sending fifty of us to the slaughterhouse, and you don’t care?” Maselli snapped. “Fifty.”

  “I bet you have no idea how many Reds have died just this month on the Midder-Lands,” the other son said.

  “Sexton keeps upping the pressure, and the High Commander’s men are barely surviving,” added the first. “Can’t blame Mariel for this. She’s a good woman.”

  “What the hell has she ever done for us?” Maselli asked.

  “She saved my boys’ lives, for one,” Patrica said from behind him, setting down a plate of sliced watermelon. “Had it not been for Mistress Sorel, they’d never have survived out on the plains. She snatched them right off the frontlines and put them somewhere the war couldn’t touch them.”

  “True,” said the one sitting closest to Maselli. “Mariel pushed for a policy against untrained civilians handling military-grade weapons. That way, any earthen can do something other than fight.”

  “All those white tents that have been coming around,” Percy added. “All the vaccines and medicines they give you. We had those as children in the city. You wouldn’t have been so fortunate if Mariel hadn’t organized health screenings down here in the south.”

  “Hospitals weren’t much of a thing either,” Aron said. “Still aren’t, but she keeps incentivizing foreigners to come in and provide cheaper healthcare.”

  “You should talk to Father Ken and see how many headaches she gives the church,” Mari said. “The Mistress has been pushing priests to reform our marriages. She thinks it might be wiser if we choose who we spend our lives with, rather than letting the Fathers decide.”

  “Just because she’s been nice in the past doesn’t mean she gets away with something so horrible. How can’t you see? They’re all the same. She makes it worse because she wants us to think she’s on our side.” Maselli whispered, “Are you all stupid?”

  On their way home, Maselli checked with every household and found almost no reaction. Either no one had seen the news, or the public did not care. Fifty people were about to die from horrific experiments—and no one seemed to care.

  “Let it go, Maselli,” Aron said. “There’s nothing we can do either way. Unless you want to end up like Franka.”

  Walking past Block Seven made his gut twist. It took a great deal of bargaining with himself to accept they wouldn’t be sleeping under the same roof as Ezra. Their walk was quiet—starless sky above, boots crunching on the soil. Starting the conversation he wanted proved harder than he expected. Looking around, seeing no one nearby, he finally said aloud, “Why can’t she leave?”

  His parents halted. Maselli stood unbothered by the evening lights falling into his eyes. Mari hugged herself, slowly turning around. Aron faced him, hands in pockets, expression flat.

  “She’s not scared of the government finding out about her,” Maselli said. “I think she’s afraid of something else. You two know what it is, don’t you?”

  “Are you back together with your wife?” Aron asked.

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Are you and Hanna back together?”

  “No.”

  His father shrugged. “You don’t deserve to know,” Aron said, putting a hand on Mari’s back and leading her away.

  Maselli knocked on a door. Antonica answered.

  “What do you want?”

  “Is Hanna here?” Maselli asked. “I have to tell her something.”

  “Tell me, and I’ll let her know.” Maselli hesitated. In a calmer tone, Antonica said, “She’s not home. Unless you want to wait here all night, you’d have to tell me.”

  “Antonica, who is it?” Hanna appeared at the door, underdressed. Maselli’s chest tightened—standing here like this was nearly suffocating.

  Moments later, Hanna returned dressed appropriately. She folded her arms and shrugged off Antonica. Looking at Maselli, she asked, “What is it?”

  “Come with me,” Maselli said. He led her down the terrace, expecting her to follow. She did.

  They walked far from the community. Hanna never asked what it was about—she knew it concerned his secret.

  A warning sign read: CAUTION! HIGH VOLTAGE. The old fence surrounded the abandoned base station. The tunnel entrance lay just ahead, the thick steel lid removed and set aside.

  “Maselli, I’m not going in there,” Hanna said. “I don’t care what it is. You can tell me up here.”

  “I’m just being careful. Someone might be following us.”

  Maselli climbed down the metal ladder into the tunnel. He stopped when his feet touched the concrete ground. Hanna followed, her warm breath brushing his nose.

  “I have a sister,” he said.