The Fandom(82)

I hold Ash’s gaze. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Nate squeezes my hand, his eyes moist. ‘Balls of steel,’ he whispers.

‘Like Katniss, like Tris, like Rose,’ I whisper back.

And before his tears start to fall, before Ash receives another beating, I slip the vial of sleeping draught up my sleeve and begin to walk down the alley into the unknown.





I emerge from the alley and get my bearings. To my right lies an arterial road, a straight stretch towards the Coliseum, and to my left lie rows upon rows of terraced houses. I recognize the pink glow which falls from a distant window, and I know that distant thump of drums. It’s the same as the Meat House from canon – several nondescript terraced houses linked together on the inside, filled with cerise light and futuristic music.

Carefully, silently, I tiptoe down the pavement, the drums gathering strength. I try to swallow, but my body has diverted all its moisture to my sweat glands. The door appears before me. My finger connects with the frayed plastic of the bell, my brain frantically sifting through information, searching for a plan. I have no idea what Saskia said to the guards. The canon showed this scene from Rose’s point of view, peering around the corner of the alley, waiting for an opportunity to flee.

I hear the creak of metal sliding across metal, the groan of the wood as the door parts from its frame. My gut knots. A guard stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the light.

He cocks his rifle. ‘What do you want?’

I try to speak, but the sight of his weapon dries my mouth even further.

‘Well?’ he shouts.

‘I – I were told I could make a few Gem coins – extra if I smile.’ I put on my best Imp accent and force my eyes to his face. All angles and symmetry – typical Gem.

‘And who told you that?’

The click of the safety hits my ears. Adrenalin hones my thoughts, an idea takes shape. ‘I work at the Harper estate. I served at Master Harper’s Gallows Ball. There were a gentleman who asked me to attend tonight.’

He narrows his eyes. ‘OK then, slave. What did this gentleman look like?’

‘Tall, with all this curly blond hair. He said he were related to someone very important.’ I try to look demure rather than terrified. ‘Howard summit.’

He nods, a little too hurriedly. ‘Howard Stoneback. OK then. But any trouble and you get a bullet between those breasts of yours.’ He shoves the nose of the gun into my sternum.

‘No trouble, I promise,’ I say.

He gestures for me to enter. I slip past him, my chest still aching with the imprint of his gun. The scent of incense and stale sweat fills my nose, and I find myself hankering for the stink of rotting bird. He locks the door and leads me down a corridor. The pulse of the drums grows more insistent and the bulbs cast the walls in a fuchsia glow.

He looks me up and down. ‘So, Howard Stoneback took a shine to you? I bet you think you’re really lucky? Well, the last slave he was left alone with didn’t look too pretty after he’d finished.’

My face must fill with fear.

He laughs. ‘Too late now.’

I begin to wish I was just following blindly in Rose’s footsteps. Right now, I’d be running for freedom, not waiting to be molested by a genetically enhanced pervert.

The guard opens a door into a small waiting area – no windows, crimson walls, another cerise bulb which flickers out of time with the drums. Four Imps wait in line in front of a plain, white door. I join the back of the queue. They turn and study me for a moment. Three girls and one boy. But something strikes me as unusual about each of them. An angry scar extends from either side of the boy’s lips; a Chelsea smile, I think Dad called it once. A large burn covers the back of one of the girls, her dark hair tied up and her smock cut to show the shiny, tight skin. The other girl has one eye which is gummed up like a slit on tree trunk – she reminds me of Baba and I can’t help but stare. She notices me and opens her mouth in a giant yawn, revealing a tangle of scars where her tongue should be. I look away.

It’s as though the Gems have grown tired of the blandness of perfection, and this awful place is some sort of warped tonic. Or perhaps it’s even more basic than that, perhaps humanity needs imperfection – craves it – because without flaws, humanity ceases to be. But still, the sick bastards could just embrace a monobrow.

I glance at the girl directly in front of me. She’s the only one here – except for me – who lacks any kind of scar. She looks younger, maybe only fifteen, and wears a beige smock, handstitched from sacking, darted to fit her body. Her red hair falls over one shoulder, a sheet of fire beneath the raspberry light. She reminds me of Katie, and I feel sick just thinking about what the Gems will do to her.

She catches my eye and smiles. ‘First time?’ she whispers.

I nod. ‘What’s happening?’

The door opens. A surge of music. The boy with the Chelsea smile disappears into the room. The door slams shut and the line shuffles forwards.

‘So we’re waiting to go into the display room. That’s where the Gems bid for us. The highest bidder gets to take you upstairs.’ She glances at my overalls. ‘Try and look, you know, desirable . . . you want them to want you. No bids is very, very bad.’

‘What happens?’

Her amber eyes grow wide. ‘A bullet . . . if you’re lucky.’