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  The knot in my stomach twists that much tighter.

  “Yeah, we all know it takes a hundred gangs to beat ours.” My joke feels hollow, but I want him to think I’m chill.

  Hurley nods smugly. “Bustin’ heads is our business.”

  “And business is good,” I say, wishing I believed it.

  The train screeches to a stop at 59th. Most of the gullies get off.

  Ah, heaven.

  We all grab the empty seats. The few remaining gullies recoil to the other side of the car the way they’re supposed to.

  Hiking my feet up on the seat, I stretch out, thinking back to what I read in Maddox’s journal. The entry was marked with today’s date, but he was ranting about something that went down two hundred years ago. Stuff about his ‘kind’ fighting the battles that won this country’s independence. But I’ve never heard of vampires playing a big role in the Revolutionary War. His ‘kind’ are mindless blood fiends. The only reason Maddox isn’t a crazed blood junkie is cuz he uses magic to get a grip on his hunger.

  He’s clearly pissed off about whatever happened back then. I can at least relate to some of his pain. All us supes are prisoners of New York. The whole state’s fenced in by a solid barricade of stormy energy swimming with sigils custom-built to kill any one of us if we try to escape. We call it the Wall. I see it everyday from Coney, where it sits twenty miles offshore, sprawling across the ocean.

  Like all supes, I know the history of this country. It’s recorded in our bones. We’re as trapped by the past as much as we are by the Wall. We know the truth and it isn’t written in any gullie history books. They don’t talk about how a human shadow government teamed up with warlocks to vanquish the Brits. And they definitely leave out the part about when the warlocks wanted too much of the pie and how the humans allied with the Highborns, the royal family of a power hungry race of faeries known as the Sidhe.

  Stupid gullies.

  There’s two kinds of faery–the Seelie and the Unseelie. One is of the light and the other is of the dark. The humans thought they were working with the good guys, but all Sidhe have one thing in common. They’re unpredictable and don’t care for humans. After the Highborns put the Wall in place to imprison the warlocks who got rid of the Brits for the gullies, they started using New York as their garbage can, throwing in any supes they deemed undesirable. Goes without saying, we hate all Highborns. Not that the humans feel the same way. The Highborns wiped their collective memories and–

  Zulu knocks my legs off the seat, jarring me from my thoughts. I jump to my feet. “What the–?”

  “End of the line,” he says, looking all cocky as he pushes me toward the exit.

  The doors slide open. A wall of heat rolls off the platform, smacking me in the face. Feels like we walked into an oven. My clothes cling to the sweat pouring off me. But as we head to the stairs, my skin breaks out in an icy rash of goosebumps. There’s more of our kind close by.

  Hundreds of them.

  4

  Bad Hat Summit

  THE SUN’S LOW AND THE SKY’S BLOOD-RED by the time we get to Inwood Park. Jarring pops of air bombs, firecrackers and the whining screams of Roman candles come at us from all directions as we follow Maddox through the heavily wooded park. The noises turn me into a jumpy freak. It’s all I can do to keep from smoking out of here.

  We finally come out of the woods into a clearing. A warm muggy breeze blows off the river, wafting an ungodly mixture of smells at us. I know some of them: the graveyard stench of deathwalkers and wraiths, the musky odor of shifters and the rotten egg stink of too many demons.

  Having this many supes in one place rocks me off balance. My skin’s crawling, heart’s hammering and there’s a ball of sick rising in my chest. Chances are good I might puke for the second time today.

  Maddox signals us to stop at the edge of the massive gathering. Every gang in sight is wearing their colors, each one a distinct cluster amongst the whole. My muscles tighten into fight mode as I scan the crowd. Never thought I’d see the day when Bonegrinders stand next to Shamrocks, Red Dragons tolerate Mechs, and Pink Ladies put up with Carnies.

  This bogus truce might actually be for real.

  A bright white fire blazes at the very center, pulsating with so much power my teeth are buzzing. The Bad Hats circle the pillar of flames, hovering ten feet in the air above the rest of us. I count thirteen of them. Each warlock faces the crowd, wearing a top hat and old-fashioned, high roller threads done up with flashy brass buttons.

  Douchebag posers.

  “Come on, let’s get closer,” Maddox says.

  I grab his arm. “No way, if things get hairy in there, we’re safer on the outer ring.”

  Fletcher steps forward. “Dude’s makin’ sense. The warlocks are messin’ with bad medicine. That fire’s comin’ from Shorakkopoch Rock. Right where the Lenape people were tricked into selling their land for a bag of beads. The spirits here want revenge.”

  My hands bunch into fists as tension rails through me. If anybody knows what he’s talking about here, it’s Fletcher. He’s part of the Lenape nation.

  “Yeah, man,” Hurley adds. “Anything can go down tonight. There’s no hiding if we’re stuck out there in the middle of it.”

  Glaring at us, Maddox removes my hand from his arm. “Since when do we hide?”

  “We don’t,” Knox says, ramming into me with his shoulder as he shoves past. “Stop bein’ pussies. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to crush some heads while we’re here.”

  We all fall in line as Knox turns into a walking furnace, clearing a wide path with the scorching heat he’s radiating. I start to follow, but Maddox blocks my way. “You got my back?”

  His question cuts deep. So I accidentally read one freakin’ page of his journal. That’s no reason to doubt me. He should know I’d die for him. “Of course. I’m always ready to lay it down for you.”

  He locks me into that stare, taking another look under the hood. There’s nothing more to find, except my anger at yet another brain rape. “You’re a good soldier,” he says at last.

  There was a time when I would’ve puffed up with pride to hear him say that, but something’s changed. I’m feeling less like a soldier and more like his butt monkey.

  Fletcher hangs back with me as we both watch Maddox hurry to catch up with the others. “Something’s not right with him.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not telling us everything.”

  I frown at him. “Watch your mouth, man. He’s the prez. Dude’s probably uptight as the rest of us, but you know he’s gotta let on like he’s strong about all this.”

  Fletcher’s quiet a minute. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  I slap him on the back. “You know it.”

  When we reach the inner circle the energy punches into me. The fire’s too bright. My eyes start to sting. The chill coming off it seeps in, bone marrow deep, sapping my strength. My legs start trembling. I glance over at Justice, Constantine and Booker on my left, and Hurley and the others to my right. None of them seem to be affected by the fire. I’m the only one.

  I can’t let on I’m feeling ready to do a face plant. Any show of weakness will make our gang look bad.

  Just when I think I’m doing a good job of hiding it, I catch Pandora staring at me with that steady gaze of hers. She signs, drawing a finger down the side of her face and pushes up her nose, asking me why I’m sweating like a pig next to this cold fire.

  I sign back, saying it’ll pass. She looks unconvinced.

  “Welcome, my brothers and sisters,” a voice booms from above.

  Every gaze lifts to the Bad Hat president, Rade Silverhand. He’s suspended over the fire, lit up like a rock star with mirrored sunglasses set on chiseled features, his long black hair flowing in the fiery wind.

  Nothing’s changed in ten years. Same assholes still on top. The only reason Rade’s kept his rank is because of that silver gauntlet drilled into the bones of his arm. Known as th
e Hand of Kairgain, the gauntlet magnifies the power of the wearer. That means Rade wins every game. I don’t think anyone’s ever gone up against him since he kyped that metal glove off some sorcerer king’s skeleton.

  Rade surveys the swarm of gangs, tilting his head all regal like. “I know what you’re all thinking. Why are you here standing next to sworn enemies?”

  Growls and shouts roll off the tense crowd.

  “I’ll tell you why. The gang standing next to you is not your enemy. The real enemy isn’t here. They’re on the other side of the Atlantic. I’m talking about the tyrants who keep us down, locked up and fighting each other. We’re right where they want us. At each other’s throats. All so we’ll forget about them. Our prison wardens.”

  He pauses for a moment, surveying the pissed off faces staring back.

  “It’s time to wake up to what the Highborns are doing to us. Every year they throw more and more of us into this overcrowded cesspool. What do we do? We war over shrinking scraps of ground. We die defending puny turfs.”

  Rade rises higher into the air, watching his audience from behind his mirrored shades.

  Nobody says a word. They’re all listening, nodding intently.

  “Times are changing and the scales have tipped in our favor. Tonight, we make history. How, you ask?”

  He waits a minute, letting the question build in our minds.

  “We tear down the Wall!” he finally shouts, his voice vibrating in our bones.

  Shock rumbles through the crowd. Suddenly all the gangs are loud with talk.

  “In your dreams, warlock! Stop jerkin’ us off!” someone calls out.

  “A load of shifty sweet talk if you ask me!” somebody else shouts.

  “I’m feelin’ some serious smoke blowin’ up my ass!” another one yells.

  The balls on these guys, thinking anyone here will trust them. The Bad Hats have a rep for sacrificing supes. They don’t harvest from strong, well-organized gangs. Everyone knows they nab outcasts off the streets. The occasional sprite for potions and spells, a reject leprechaun for wealth ceremonies, or a random demon, because its scales make for a cool pair of boots.

  Not that I’m all broken up about these purebloods. None of them ever shed a tear for me. As far as I’m concerned, most of them deserve whatever they get. But I’ve lost friends who were purebloods, and it was because of me. A small band of rejects took me in when I was a kid–an old gnome, a wererat, a frost giant and an ogre. I know, sounds like a motley bunch, but they were my friends.

  We lived in the Lincoln tunnel. I supplied every form of comfort they desired–teleporting makes me an excellent thief. In return, they gave me their company. Some might say they charged me for their friendship, and maybe that was true in the beginning. But in the end, they paid me back with their lives the day the warlocks invaded our underground haven, looking for me. My friends never gave me up, and they died for me.

  After that, I stayed on my own, slipping into vacant hotel rooms, homes whose families were on vacation, RV’s and campers. I even slept in style a lot of times, but it got lonely. And boring. After awhile I hit the inner city streets again, purposely taunting the warlocks to chase me. It was funny until I almost lost an eye. I quit baiting them after that, but by then, they were hot on my trail to the point of exhaustion.

  Thanks to Maddox I’ve been out of their reach for the last ten years. Until now.

  I really hope he knows what he’s doing. Pulling my jacket sleeve back, I look down at the protective ward on my wrist. I’m good. The bastards can’t touch me. I’m not the scared nine-year-old runt he found all those years ago. I’m older, stronger and better at using my powers. Most of all, I’m not alone, I’m one of the Forsaken. We’ve got each other’s backs.

  “Hear me!” Rade’s voice thunders over us like Zeus from Mt. Olympus, only with a watered-down British accent.

  The horde quiets down.

  “How would you like to have more than the measly slice you’ve got? Do you think you could handle a whole lot more?”

  “Hell yeah!” Zulu yells along with the rest of the mob, his fist punching the air.

  No surprise there. He’s no doubt thinking about starting his own gang again. He’s been threatening to leave us since the day I met him.

  “How about your own county, or state?” Rade asks.

  The gangs go crazy, shouting and howling with excitement.

  A wicked smile forms on Rade’s face. “Then listen up. The planets are aligned and everything’s in place to take down the Wall tonight!” He lets that sit with the shocked crowd for a half second. “Right now, the spirit of liberty is beating in the heart of every human in the country. Our plan is to steal this spirit, channel it into the mother of all spells and rip the Wall apart. How’s that sound to you?”

  A frenzied roar of support fills the air.

  Unbelievable.

  “What do you think of all this?” I ask Booker. “Can they really do it?”

  Booker doesn’t answer. His body’s rigid as he stares at the homely imps guarding the fire at ground level. These ones are particularly vicious looking–hairless, sinewy creatures with snarling mouths and clawed hands stained the reddest of red. The warlocks must’ve had their minions spill a lot of sacrificial blood to prepare for tonight’s rite.

  I elbow Booker. “Dude, did you hear me?”

  He snaps out of it, his expression detached and spacey. “Yeah, they can do it. It’s happening. They’re siphoning the energy off the humans, and us too. That’s what’s charging the fire. All they’re waiting for is the fireworks to start and the blood of King Newyddilyn’s son.”

  “Whoa. That’s specific. How’d you get all that info?”

  Booker nudges his chin at the warlock’s toadies. “Imps have a hive mind. Being part imp makes it easy for me to plug in.” He gives me a sly smile. “Plus, since I’ve got some warlock blood in me, and imps have to obey any warlock, I ordered them to let me in on the plan.”

  “There’s using two wrongs to make a right.” At least now know I why I’m feeling weaker. I glance around, wondering where they’re hiding the prince of the Highborn king. And how the hell did the warlocks manage to nab the poor bastard from the royal family? The Highborns live between dimensions somewhere in Europe.

  “Are you ready to claim your freedom?” Rade shouts.

  The gangs go wild, yelling for him to get on with the ceremony.

  Rade floats out over the gangs and roars, “Say it like you mean it!”

  Thrusting fists into the air, the gangs blast a united chant. “Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

  Booker called it. The Wall’s coming down. I’d like to think it’s a good thing, but there’s something in the air. A smell, and I’m not referring to the rank, musky odor of the Hellhounds standing next to us. This is the stink of ruin and impending doom.

  Suddenly, the boom of cannons reverberates from the near south and more distant parts of the city. The ground shakes and an explosion of lights fill the darkened sky, blazing bright with sparkling cascades of red, shifting to flaring blooms of cobalt blue and purple.

  Framed in the glittering barrage of color, Rade gives his audience a grandiose bow. “Then freedom is what you shall have,” he promises.

  5

  Double Cross

  WITH FIREWORKS OVERHEAD, THE BAD HATS sink to the ground. Their ugly imps scrabble out of the way like a pack of whipped dogs, cowering near the foot of their masters. In unison, the warlocks raise their arms, blasting a smoky stream of black fire into the crowd. The suddenness is startling as the darkness hits those in the first row, worms into their chests, shoots out their backs, into the next guy, and the next, until all the gangs are caught within a web of black magic. My whole gang is paralyzed, their bodies convulsing and faces twisted with pain.

  I grab at my chest. It takes a second to realize I’m not being targeted. I instantly go into vapor mode, but nothing happens. I can’t reach my Djinn fire. It’s like a door�
��s shut and I’m locked out.

  Then I hear Maddox. He’s behind me, chanting something in Latin. Pain sears into my wrist. I yank my sleeve back. My protective ward is glowing white-hot, sizzling my skin into blisters. Maddox must’ve activated some sort of shield around me. The burning hurts like a mother, but there’s no time to bitch about it.

  I glance over my shoulder at him. “They’re wasting the others. We gotta help them!”

  Maddox stops chanting and the pain eases up a degree or two. “It’s up to you, Edge. You have to open a portal. It’s the only way we’ll get out of here all at once.”

  What? Why the hell does he still think I can open portals? He made me try a million different times and the most I ever opened up was a cut on his chin after I got so frustrated, I punched him. “Tell me that’s not your only escape plan,” I say, facing forward again so the warlocks don’t notice I’m being shielded.

  An eternity seems to pass as I wait for Maddox to come up with a better solution. I just wish he’d think faster. Our gang’s being drained of power with every second that ticks by. The white flames shooting off Shorakkopoch Rock have doubled in size and they’re getting colder, freezing the air so much I can feel my plums retracting up inside my body.

  “Come on, Maddox. Do something,” I say under my breath.

  When he doesn’t answer, I risk looking back at him.

  His shoulders are hunched, lips a tight line, brows clenched in a dark scowl. The white fire reflecting in his silver eyes burn with an eerie incandescence. I’ve never seen him this furious. “Open the portal the way I taught you,” he seethes. “Their lives depend on it.”

  “I can’t. I’m cut off from my Djinn fire.”

  “It’s not the Djinn fire you need to do this.”

  “I’ve got nothing else!” He’s always refused to believe I might be half human. For years he’s been insisting I’ve got other powers. I don’t.

  An ear-piercing whistle sounds, drowning out the explosive rounds of fireworks. I clamp my hands over my ears, but flesh and bone can’t block the painful, high-pitched screech boring into my brain. If this keeps up, my eardrums will burst.