Blackout (Darkness Trilogy) (8 page)

I jump
into the living room to see the Shadow slouching calmly on a white sofa. She is surrounded by pale-yellow chairs and wicker lamps. A television in the shape of a large, clear rectangle—like a giant phone—stretches across the corner of the room. I look at the Shadow, but she doesn’t even acknowledge me. Her spidery legs cross on a glass coffee table covered in pink magazines, and one lies open on her lap.

I lower Magic in a frustrated huff. I’m still panting, but she looks relaxed.
Her fair skin is smooth without any hint of an expression. She is neutral, utterly neutral, and I’m not used to this kind of person: unemotional and cold. Everyone in Dark DC had a beating heart and they showed it. I don’t trust this Shadow. Not yet, anyway.

The door to our suite opens behind me.

“Who’s there?” I call.

“That would be Tinder,” she
says, flipping a shiny page with one long and careless finger. I creep slowly backward to see the front door. Sure enough, there he is.

Tinder slams the door shut and runs to grab the
wooden bureau by the opposite wall. He pivots the bureau around and pushes it toward the door. It screeches across white tiles until it stops at the threshold. Tinder turns to face me, still bent ninety degrees at the waist. His face shows only fear. Through a wide hole on the side of his shirt, I see his delicate ribcage heaving up and down as he catches his breath. I pick up a cream-colored armchair and carry it toward him, wedging it under the golden doorknob and nodding for him to continue. Tinder and I drag furniture toward the door until there’s almost nothing left to move. Except the sofa where the Shadow still sits. 

“You should relax, boys,” she says.

Tinder and I walk until we are standing over her with our hands on our hips. She should be thanking us, but she doesn’t even look us in the eye. Just another reason to be skeptical of her: People don’t look at you when they have something to hide. Instead, the magazines have her full attention. She bats her dark eyelashes and flips another page.

“You’re welcome,” I say, irritated.

“No one wants to marry a murderer,” she says, distracted. “The fights will stop when the rest of you realize that.”

She’s absolutely right.

Our phones buzz once. I reach for mine in an instant.

SCHEDULE

**ALERT:
15 Minute Warning before Next Event**

1:30
p.m.–5:00 p.m. MAKEOVER.

Location: Your suite on floor 33
. Description: Clean and dress yourselves appropriately for Prize Night.

“Boys, have a seat,” the Shadow says in a breathy voice. Without any furniture left, Tinder and I sit on the plush white carpet. “I’d like to introduce myself.”

She flips her
voluminous hair to one side, revealing three shiny diamond studs in her ear. The Shadows’ arrowhead symbol has been tattooed behind her neck. The black tattoo is small—about the size of my thumb—but still it impresses me. It’s a sign of who she knows and how much she can do. Slowly, she licks her lips.

“I’m Elektra,” she says
.

I swallow. She just
exudes
power.

“
I am a Shadow,” she says. “Shadows are survivors, and we never work alone. In this Carnival, you and I are going to work together.”

Tinder nods his
head up and down feverishly, but I still don’t feel quite right about trusting her. I need to know why she’s here. In the Dark Zone, Shadows didn’t seem to need anything—even electricity. They were above it. Even if they did need power, I can’t imagine they would bow to anyone to get it. They would never consent to a Frontman or play by anyone else’s rules. There must be some other reason to explain why she’s in The New York now, competing in this goddamn Carnival.

“Phoenix, darling,” she says. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh—no,” I say quickly.

“Oh really?” she s
ays. She licks her lips again, and I clear my throat to stall for time. Think, Phoenix, think of something to say. I want to know why she’s here, but I don’t want to challenge her. The last thing I need is a Shadow as an enemy. A silence has started to grow—and finally I know what to do.

“
I just think we should all say why we’re here,” I say slowly.

Elektra shrugs and gestures at Tinder to go first.

“For power,” Tinder says, like it’s obvious.

I nod cautiously.
“Me, too,” I say. “My…closest friend’s little brother is sick. His name is Wick Windsong, and he needs to be warm to heal.”

Elektra
smirks. “I suppose it’s my turn?” she says. I watch her without blinking, sizing up her every move to see if she can be trusted. “Well, then, let me tell you a little story. Where I live in the Dark Zone, the moths come out at night. They fly with very beautiful white wings and flutter like fallen pieces of the moon. And every night, they flock into our torches and burn. I do not swat them away when I see them near the fire. I let them sizzle—not because I am cruel, but because I know how much they want the flame. You see, every creature is drawn to light. We
all
want power. The Carnival is a sure way to electricity, and Shadows have been winning it for years. They sent me here for more.”

I stare at her.
She glares back.

“Fine,” I say.
“I believe you.”

“
Darling, you don’t have a choice,” she says.

Our eyes stay locked. I do believe her
. I grew up spitting on the Frontier for keeping me from the light, so I recognize the burning in her eyes. She wants power. Shadow or not, she wants more. I nod seriously, letting her know that I will work with her. I might not be a Shadow, but we can help each other. She nods with me—and then smirks. I scowl and doubt her again, but I accept that she is right: No matter why she’s here, I have to cooperate. Because that’s what she wants me to do, and I don’t want someone this smart against me. Hell, for all I know, her advice could turn out to be crucial.

“Moving on,” she says.
“It is critical that we share everything we learn here with each other. Starting with these magazines.”

Of course she was reading those magazines for a reason.
I pick one of them up, but she pulls it out of my hands and tosses another one at me. I catch the flurry of pages spastically, ripping the cover. Elektra raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t be naughty, Phoenix,” she says.

I look at the magazine in my hands.
Zig-Zag
is written in giant pink letters across the top. Underneath, it reads
The Carnival
2081
edition
. So this is a copy from last year. The cover photo shows a DZ fresh on the red carpet. He is mid-punch, aiming for the photographer, and his face is contorted with rage. A strand of saliva is caught hanging off his scraggly chestnut beard, and he looks like an animal caught in a fight for his life. I grimace and turn the page.

On the left,
The Carnival
is printed in the center of a white background. On the right, a small blurb is printed:

“
The Carnival is back!

The Families can try to keep it private, but Zig-Zag has got all the deets. Every day this week, we’ll have a juicy new is
sue just for you. Watch these fifty new celebs in everyone’s favorite true love game. Candids and dishing inside…”

Unbelievable. Easies will talk about us every goddamn day.

The issue in my hands is all about Prize Night. DZs really do clean up for this thing.
Zig-Zag
has photos of DZs cleaned like Easies and dressed in shining black suits on the red carpet. There are even little captions to explain what the hell is going on. One corner box reads: “Prize Night starts the fun! In a private room in the
exclusive
New York, prizes divulge their juiciest secrets.
This
is where prizes reveal what they’re looking for in love.”

“Look at this,” Tinder says. He holds up the top two corners of his
Spotlight
for us to see. The headline reads
Laser & Sunshine Busted
! “Two DZs were caught kissing. They both were disqualified.”

The picture below shows a girl wrapped around a boy in a parking lot, leaning against a black truck.
They are fully dressed—it looks like it’s snowing—but she’s tilting her slim neck back and he’s kissing her collarbone gently. I imagine the same headline with “Phoenix and Star.” It makes me shiver. Seeing Star will be dangerous, but of course I can’t avoid her. She is my light, and I am her life. We’re going to have to see each other. Hold each other. Love
each other. I flip the pages of
Zig-Zag
more aggressively.

I reach a spread about The New York. Apparently, this two-tower complex was built just for the Carnival. Al
l players will live here throughout the week, and most Carnival events will take place in this building. For the rest of the year, it becomes a hotel for tourists—but now my head is starting to hurt, and I toss the magazine aside. Right now, I don’t want to know any more. I massage my forehead and rub away the lines. Tinder has his magazine way too close to his face, enraptured.

“Calm down, Tinder,” I say, put off by his eagerness.

“What?” he asks. He peers over the top of the magazine.

“You’re having too good a time with that thing,” I say.

“I like books,” he says sincerely.

Tinder is too childish for his own good. He has
a happy glow in his eyes, like he believes the whole world is a decent place. Now he’s smiling at me, and I notice a narrow gap between his two front teeth. Poor kid. He’s my age, but I see him as a kid. His pole-thin neck and large flappy ears make him look like someone who needs your help. Thinking about how he’ll fare in the Carnival, I don’t have much hope. He might earn sympathy, but sympathy isn’t love.

Elektra
stands up suddenly and leaves the living room. Tinder and I exchange confused glances before we stand and follow her. Elektra walks at a jogging pace, and I have to run a little to catch up with her. We walk through the familiar hallway of golden leaves all the way to the very end, where we reconvene in a lavender bedroom.

“Where
are
we?” Tinder asks, spinning around in a tight circle.

“There are two bedrooms at the end of each hall,” she says. “The lavender one is for girls, and its closet is filled with girl clothes. The
navy-blue one is for boys.”

“So?” I ask.

“
This is my room,” she says.

“Yes, but why are we
here?” I ask.

“It’s getting late,” she says, crossing her arms. “Take
off your clothes.”

“
What?
”
Tinder asks. He clutches his copy of
Spotlight
like a life jacket.

“You saw how clean they were,” Elektra says. “We all have to shower.”

Shower?

Her bathroom waits beyond an open door in the corner.
I step warily across the carpet until my feet touch the ivory marble floor. It’s heated, and I recoil from the unfamiliar sensation. A polished claw-foot bathtub lounges elegantly against the side. Mirrors stretch from floor to ceiling. An all-glass shower takes up the third wall completely, and it’s—incredible. I’ve never taken a real shower before, but I’ve heard the stories: endless hot water all over your body. As hard or as soft as you want. All with the touch of a finger.

“I said take
off your clothes,” Elektra repeats.

“I can shower alone,” I say.

She strides next to me and puts her mouth by my ear. “Of course you can, baby, but I need to see what I’m working with,” she whispers. Hot air tickles my neck. “I want us to help each other, remember?”

I shake her off as Tinder enters the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Elektra just wants me to get naked.”

“We’re about to seduce some important people,” Elektra says, reclining onto the rim of the bathtub. “To stand a chance, you’ll want my honest, unedited opinion of how attractive you are. And you’ll do the same for me because”—she smiles—“you need me.”

Now Elektra bites her lip and gazes up at me in a way that makes her eyes look big and sulky.
I shake my head. I’ve known her for less than a day, and already I see she has a tendency to make things sexual when she wants something. But I can’t ignore her, because she’s right: I do need her help. I need to do what she says.

“Fine,” I say. “Quickly.”

I take off my shirt. Muscles across my chest flex slightly. Elektra drops the pouting act and eyes me without emotion. She nods me onward as I unbutton my pants.

Let’s just get this over with.

“You’re very strong,” she says. Her fingers linger casually over her bottom lip. I drop my dark-green cargo pants and throw them against the mirrors, left only in my faded gray boxer shorts. I rest my hands awkwardly on my hips and brace myself for Elektra to go on.

“
Very
strong,” Tinder says in disbelief.

“Tinder!” I shout. “I don’t need your opinion! Get out of here!”

Elektra giggles as he backs out of sight, embarrassed. I kick myself for being so harsh on him. He’s just so fragile. Elektra recovers and tilts her head to the side, flipping her dark hair into a drastic side part. Her eyes wander up and down my body, and as she looks down, I see black charcoal shaded over her eyelids.

“Almost perfect,” she says clinically. “
Your shoulders are broad and your chest is tight. Great arms. Girls will like the way your muscles bulge, so make sure you show that off. And your abs are very well-defined. The line of hair running down the middle of them is rather attractive…”

“Are we done here?” I groan.

“Yes, you can get dressed again,” she say. “You made that part easy. My turn.”

I bend over to pick up my clothes. By the time I stand up, Elektra has taken hers
off. Naked, completely naked. She dangles the jacket from an index finger over her shoulder. Her eyes wait expectantly.

“Well?” she asks.

“Should we get Tinder?” I stall.

“No, you’ll do,” she says. “So, how do I look?”

I don’t know what to say—or where to direct my eyes. In my world, there’s only Star and everyone else. I stand uncomfortably and scratch my head. Think, Phoenix. Say something. I look cautiously at her small ankles and thin calves, now her thighs. Muscle pops gently over her knees, and her milky skin looks smooth, but I can’t look at Elektra any more like this. It feels like a betrayal to Star. I shift my gaze to a random point behind her and stare, trying to think of something general to say.

“You have nice…
legs,” I manage. “Those girls in
Zig-Zag
wore a lot of short dresses. You’d look good in one of those.”

“What do you think of my
chest?” she asks.

Jesus,
I don’t know. I hadn’t really looked.

“
Good,” I muster.

“Yeah, I like them too,” she says,
pushing her chest forward and looking down at herself. She swings the leather jacket back on and zips it quickly. “Tinder!”

Tinder slinks inside the bathroom. In between Elektra and me, he rocks back and forth from his toes to his heels.
Spotlight
is rolled into a nervous coil, clutched by both of his hands behind his back. He doesn’t meet my eyes. I can sense it’s because he’s embarrassed. A black string of rope runs through the belt loops of his khaki cargo pants, holding them up at his hips. I glimpse his sunken stomach in the bare inch above them and wince.

“Your turn, Tinder,”
Elektra says.

Tinder clears his throat painfully.

“Elektra,” I say softly. “Does he have to?”

“It’s fine,” Tinder says. “I’ve been naked before.”

Tinder takes off his shirt, and all I can see are his ribs. I should leave, but the state of his body is distracting. I could count his bones if I wanted to. His thin arms hang at his sides like little fire pokers. Not a single hair grows on his chest, and only wisps peek out from his armpits. I wonder if he’s ever had to shave his chin, but I doubt it. This whole exhibition of Tinder is making me uncomfortable.

“Too skinny,” Elektra says. “I’ll have to dress you in layers.”

“He gets it,” I say.

Tinder takes off his pants.
Above fraying boxers, his hip bones jut forward like they’re going to take out one of my eyes. I survey him up and down, looking pitifully at his knobby knees. Tinder pivots his toes in toward each other, making his feet like two edges of a triangle. He is clearly embarrassed, and I can’t take it anymore. I look away.

“You’re going to have to win her with your personality,” Elektra says callously. “No one is going to fall for your body. Lure
her in with your mind.”

“That’s enough, Elektra,” I say.

She shrugs. “Fine, but you’re only hurting him,” she says. “Now that I can guess your sizes, I’ll go pick you out some Easy clothes.”

Finally, she leaves.

“Hey, don’t listen to that stuff she said about your body,” I whisper as Tinder gets dressed. He pulls his pants up quickly and turns away from me in shame. “True love isn’t just about bodies. It’s more than that.”

Tinder pops his heads through the top of his
shirt. “You think I’ll find true love here?” he asks, looking back at me again.

I sigh and nod.
The truth might break him in half.

“And Tinder?” I ask.

“Hm?”

“Get the hell out now,” I say. “I want to shower alone.”

He laughs, giddy again, and shuts the door. I undress a second time and roll my neck in a circle to stretch. I’m exhausted. In the shower, I have to fumble around with the silver knobs before water comes out, but when it starts, it feels amazing. Every inch of my body moans in pleasure. I hang my head and rub my wet neck with both hands. Just let it wash over me, soft and warm. The water swirling around the drain beneath me looks brown. I watch my legs turn paler without dirt.

My mind drifts back to Star, and I wonder if some Shadow made her get naked, too. The thought turns my hands into fists. Even
I’ve
never really seen Star without clothes on. The only time that I did was an accident. A horrible one. The whole scene replays in my mind as I soap my arms. We were hiking at night through Great Falls, a waterfall beyond Dark DC. I didn’t mean for anything to happen. We were just fishing by the rapids. There’s a rock trail there across the water: twenty ebony stones spaced unevenly between riverbanks.

That night, I’d tied her knife to a long
stick, and we were using it to spear fish from the shore. Then we heard noises behind us. Star snapped the stick instantly, ready to fight. In the distance, a gang of ten thugs was headed straight for us. They wore red windbreakers with black
X
s painted on the front and back. As they walked, they hit each other on the butt and yelped in high-pitched voices. Next to Shadows, they’d look like amateurs, but to us they looked dangerous: hot-headed, young, and—worst of all—with guns.

Star and I had to leave.
The only way out was across the rapids, and we’d never gone that way before. But we had to try. I went first. I jumped onto the first rock, teetering over churning water. Then I jumped onto the second, and Star jumped behind me onto the first. That’s when it started to pour. The rocks in front of me became instantly slick. I turned back to where we had come from and saw the gang laughing at us right on the other side.

“We don’t want to hurt anyone,” the largest
one said, waving his pistol too casually. I saw Star slip her knife into the back of her pants. She knew what was coming before I did. “Just throw us everything you have, and we’ll leave you alone.”

“Everything!” someone seconded him.

Star unbuttoned her shirt. The men catcalled as she ripped off the blouse and balled it into her hand. That’s when I saw her naked back: small and curved slightly at the waist. Delicate and beautiful. She threw her blouse to them, but they wanted more, so she kept taking off her clothes. I hated to see her so shamed. I started to take off my own clothes to distract the gang, but they didn’t look once at me. Soon, we were both naked. Star had put her knife carefully behind her on the rock so that they could not see it. With the last of our clothes balled together, Star lobbed them toward the thugs.

“Thank you for
the show!” one of them called. Then the brutes dropped our clothes on the ground and left. Didn’t even search our pockets.

Star and I sat there until the
cold rain stopped. We didn’t want to risk scrambling back through rapids on slippery rocks. At first, she didn’t want to face me, but then slowly we pivoted toward each other. I made sure to look her in the eyes. Her hair was soaking wet, and the dark strands stuck limply to her red cheeks. She was blushing. When her teeth started to chatter, she rubbed her own arms to keep warm, and I wanted to hold her so badly I almost swam toward her. I promised myself that the next time I saw her like that, she would feel free. Not trapped or embarrassed—just free. With me.

Elektra knocks on the glass, and I startle back to reality. I
finish shaving what few whiskers I have on my chin and rinse my hair. The bathroom air is thick with white steam by now. It’s almost hard to breathe.

“Get out of there, daydreamer!” Elektra shouts.

Fine, alright. I step out of the shower and leave the water running. Elektra throws a lush towel in my face, and I wrap it around my waist self-consciously. She acts as if nakedness means nothing to her. I wipe the water off my arms in firm swoops and then shake my shoulders back and forth to warm up.

“I’ve laid your outfit on your bed,” she say
s, unzipping her jacket. “Get to it.”

*

All three of our phones buzz once. We drop our food instantly and check them. I lick the salt off my fingers before I scroll through the 1
Schedule Alert
. A wet fingerprint blurs part of the announcement.

SCHEDULE

**ALERT: 15 M
inute Warning before Next Event**

0
8:00 p.m.–11:00 p.m. PRIZE NIGHT.

Location: Penthouse in Tower Two. Description: Get to know this year’s fou
r prizes. Prepare to choose the prize you will play. Only one player from each suite may play each prize.

We head for the front door. Elektra moves twice as fast as Tinder and I do, clicking ahead of us down the hallway in black high heels. By the time Tinder and I reach the foyer, she has already cleared a trail through the rows of furniture we used as a barricade. I nod my thanks to her as we leave.

In
the elevator, I barely recognize my reflection on the shining golden doors. Elektra “buzzed” my hair in her bathroom, and now it’s so short I can’t run my hands through it. Let alone tie it back like I used to. My hair looks like a mat of whiskers to me, but it’s a style we saw all through
Zig-Zag
and
Spotlight.
So it will do. I rub the top of my head and get used to how strange it feels: smooth when I slide my hand forward, soft prickles when I slide my hand back. Elektra plucks a piece of lint off my shoulder, and I glance down at my suit: crisp white shirt, black vest and pants, and a crimson tie that shines like a lightbulb.

After all
of Elektra’s help, the least I could do was help her find a dress. She wears a tight black one with only one sleeve. The dress slants across her chest to leave one arm and shoulder completely bare. I chose it because it’s short. Shows off her legs. It clings to her waist, emphasizing unexpected curves, and then falls loosely to the middle of her thighs. Her heels are tied with black bows around her ankles, and I’m still surprised at how naturally she maneuvers in them. I mean, Star’s spent her life in hiking boots.