Crimson Rising Read Online Free Page B

reflection in the ocean, trying to understand the face before him. Beyond the scratches and bruises, he’d lost close to fifteen pounds since running from New York. He looked more like Fisher now. Skinny. Or skinnier, at least.
    It was just after three in the morning. The sun had been down for exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes. He’d been keeping track. This time of year it was light almost all day and night in the Polar Cities. He’d tried getting some rest, but every time he closed his eyes, the thought of that Unified Party gas bomb shocked him awake. It killed him not to know who threw it. They’d done him a favor, finishing off those slum assassins. They could have easily killed him, too. Instead, they sent gas. They wanted him unconscious, but not dead.
    And they hadn’t followed him into the city. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or petrified.
    He snapped his fingers and ignited a tiny flame that hovered above his hand and evaporated what beads of water were left. He played with it for a minute, quivering it sideways, expanding it, adding heat. Then he clenched his fist and extinguished it altogether.
    There was a time, not too long ago, when the fire controlled him—built inside until it tore through his skin, triggering an explosion capable of destroying a room, a train car, a building. Now he could snuff it out with his bare hands, not that it had done much for him back in the slum building.
    Madame had called it a sickness, tried to convince him that there was something wrong, that he needed to shoot and kill to fix it. And in the end, that’s exactly what he’d done. Maybe it hadn’t been with a gun. Maybe it hadn’t been by his hands directly, but he’d left her in Seattle, buried under the rubble. His mother, or the closest thing to it for twelve years, dead because he hadn’t come back to save her. He couldn’t face the thought of the murder he’d aided, even if it had been to save his own brother, so he remained up north. But even that had its dangers.
    Providence was one of twenty-five Polar Cities the U.N. had nestled along the Arctic Circle decades ago in preparation for intense global warming. They all had fancy, quasireligious names like Arcadia and Assumption. Most were in Canada and Northern Europe and functioned as normal cities had before the bombings. No Bio-Nets constantly stabilizing the environment. Rent was expensive and real estate even more so. The North Coast was incredibly desirable, and with a Unified Party ID socket carved into his wrist, finding legitimate work had been impossible. He’d managed to find shelter in the basement of a condemned building on the outskirts of town, dead in the middle of slum territory. Hardly beach-front property, but it had been hardwon regardless. Of course, the problems far outweighed the perks. Cassius didn’t search out trouble, but it was difficult to walk through the slum lands without finding it. Narrow escapes, arguments that intensified to fistfights—they had all become part of the norm these past few months.
    He didn’t spend much time indoors. Most days he roamed the city, familiarizing himself with every nook and cranny. Boredom compelled him, as well as the need to erase the past. And then there was his brother. Fisher.
    Cassius carried his communicator with him everywhere he went. It was an older model, the last before the new line of com-pads made long-range contact more convenient. But it was untraceable. He and Fisher could talk candidly, and Fisher certainly had a lot to talk about.
    He took things harder than Cassius, or perhaps he was just less afraid of discussing them. While Cassius spent most of his energy worrying about Madame and the Unified Party, Fisher had only one thing on his mind each time they talked. Pearls.
    He’d become obsessed, but it was understandable. While Cassius could only store and manipulate the broken Pearl energy into fire, Fisher had the power to break the things open—liberate