2 - JASINA

CHAPTER TWO

M atron Bell, my auntie , is angry with me. I know this because of the way she directs those dark, pitted eyes of hers in my direction every time I so much as make a whisper of noise during our tour of the Maiden Tower. She pulled me aside this morning and gave me a long, boring lecture on how I am not here to enjoy myself, I am here to do a job, and if I embarrass her, or any of the other Matrons, there will be severe consequences.

I controlled my urge to roll my eyes during that lecture—mostly because she was looming over me like a bitter matriarch—but here, in this great hall, and among the other Little Sisters, I do not have the fortitude.

The eye-roll wasn't meant for Clara Birch, but it's aimed in her direction on the stairwell above me when it comes out.

She flashes me a disapproving look and then turns and continues her way up into the tower. As she is number nine, she has a long climb.

As a newly minted Little Sister, I will be housed in the dorm with the other seventy-four girls who just made it past the First Choosing. And even though I understand that I am here to do a job, I can hardly contain my excitement.

Technically, this is the second Choosing, but the first one happens internally, done by the Matrons and not by the Extraction Master, so it's not officially a Choosing, merely a whittling down.

Every Extraction year comes with hundreds of Pledges, little girls who all made an initial vow to the god when they were twelve. This is the official beginning of service. Then, each year thereafter, the Pledges make that same vow again.

Lots of girls drop out before they ever reach the age of Extraction. But still, there were three hundred and twenty-seven of age Pledges during this initial whittling down.

One hundred of us got through to the next level. And even though we weren't yet in the dorms, all one hundred of us were presented to the Extraction Master—Aldo Scott—three days ago and this morning seventy-five names were called out on the Tower stage.

That's us. The official Little Sisters for the one-hundred-and-twenty-first Extraction.

Three weeks from now there will be another Choosing and twenty-five girls will move out of the dorm and then there will be fifty left.

These fifty will spend the next three weeks getting ready for the next Choosing that will leave a lean twenty-five.

The final Choosing is the one everyone shows up for. The whole city shuts down for three days and there is a carnival, and feasts, and galas, and finally, standing on the tower stage, the top ten are announced and number one is sent through the doors and the nine left over are awarded gigantic, luxurious Maiden Tower apartments, and a yearly stipend that no Maiden in the history of the Extraction has ever managed to spend. There is an endless supply of expertly crafted handmade gowns and dresses, the best perfumes and lingerie, and more eligible men to go out on the town with than anyone could ever hope to choose from.

Most Maidens find their future husbands during this time. Clara Birch was an exception, since she was already in love with Finn Scott. But even if she didn't officially date the men she spent her evenings with, she still went out with them. It's required.

But Clara never got close to the men. And everyone in the city talks about how Finn Scott is waiting for his one true love to be released from the god's service, oohing and ahing over them like their love is so special. As if they've been celibate. Come on. We all know Clara and Finn have the occasional tryst and from the mussed-up, just-fucked look of Clara Birch's hair it's pretty clear where she just came from.

"Jasina!"

My head snaps to attention. "Yes!"

Matron Bell, my auntie, claps her hands as she yells. "Keep up!"

The group started to move on while I was daydreaming, so they are all a couple dozen steps ahead of me now.

I nod, bowing my head a little—"Yes, Matron"—then scurry to catch up with the group.

The Little Sister dorm is a hotly-guarded secret. It's here on the ground level on the Maiden Tower, but it has its own four-story wing that is locked and empty at all times, except for the three months out of every decade when it is filled with Little Sisters for the Choosing. All growing up, us hopefuls have dreamed of the day when we move into the tower.

All Little Sisters and Maidens alike start their journey into the god's service in the same way, cloistered together with your competitors. No one, absolutely no one but Matrons and Little Sisters is allowed inside. And even though every decade there are sixty-five girls who leave the tower behind, Unchosen, none of them ever broke the vow of secrecy about what it all looks like or how it's laid out.

It feels unnecessarily… clandestine. I mean, who cares? It's a dorm. I don't get it. But rules are rules. My Little Sister class got the same sermon this morning as every other entering Little Sister class. "If you say anything about the dorm in public, you will immediately forfeit your right to be here and be escorted out."

We're only midway through the tour of the Maiden Tower at present, but from what I've seen so far, it's been way undersold. The common rooms are open and airy, the roof above us so far away details must be left to the imagination, but I hear there's a dining room up there at the very tippy top. Closed now, because with only three Maidens left, it was pointless to throw parties anymore.

But now that the Little Sisters are moving in, I bet they will open that dining room back up. We live in the dorm, but we can go into any of the common areas without invitation. Back when nine women used to call this tower home it might be seen as rude to venture upstairs where they live. But now? Who cares? I'm sure all of us have the same plans—stay away from Haryet's, Clara's, and Gemna's floors, but explore every other nook and cranny of the place.

After all, some of us will only be here a few short weeks. Everyone wants to make the most of it.

Just as these words are forming in my head, we come around a corner and the whole group—all seventy-five of us—gasp in unison. There is a silence immediately after this gasp, and then… excitement. Squealing, and chatter, and giggling, and dancing, and jumping, and wide eyes with open mouths.

Because we have finally gotten our first look at the Little Sister dorm and it is spectacular.

I pictured a large room with many beds. Perhaps a little nightstand to put things on and a dresser of drawers. All those things are here in this real-life version of the dorm, but to say my imagination came up lacking is an understatement.

I don't know what to look at first. The curved, rounded walls that make the entire massive room look like the inside of a sandstone cave? The mature trees growing out of cracks in the plaster? Or the thick, woody roots spanning the walls—which are four stories tall and dotted with more balconies than I can count?

All that is amazing, but my gaze floats down to the floor where a canal made out of polished blue stone cuts the long, colossal room in half. Just like the real one outside cuts the city down the middle like a bright, blue line.

I'm smiling, and stunned, and shivers erupt, causing my body to have a slight spark display that presents as a tingle across my face where my freckles are. I'm here. And it feels like a dream, something meant for princesses in storybooks from long ago, not a down-city girl who grew up with no spark at all in her humble childhood home.

But the canal is just the start of this most magnificent space. On either side of the teal-colored canal ‘water' there is a plush, buff-colored carpet made to look like sand.

While I do not see bedrooms, per se, there are a hundred nooks with beds in them, each one with a special feature to make it unique. Like a terrace, for nooks on the upper floors, or a comfy and semi-private sitting area for those here on the ground. Some beds are on the ‘beachy' carpet and others sit directly on the polished turquoise ‘canal.' Looking past those first nooks, through round, cut-out windows in the plaster walls, I can see more spaces. More nooks. Like it goes on forever.

The walls are covered in artwork and shelves, which are lined with plants and small decorative items like stained-glass bowls, or books, or vases.

Staircases line the walls every twenty feet or so and dozens of girls are already climbing them, hoping to find their perfect spot to call home on a higher level. And the sewing rooms—my god. The sight of them actually causes me to sigh. They have machines here in up-city. Not foot-petal ones, like I've been using my whole life, but machines powered by the god with the magic of spark. Machines that can sew all kinds of different stitches and handle all kinds of delicate fabrics.

But I will think about that later because Ceela, Britley, Harlow, and Lucindy have all formed up around me. We do not rush the stairs, we remain calm because we were given instructions.

"I presume it's all down that way?" Britley is pointing to the far end of the dorm, which feels like a million miles away from where we're standing.

Ceela begins reciting our instructions from memory. "‘Follow the canal all the way down to the end and you will find an area meant to house five. Claim this space and we will be in touch.'"

"All right then, girls." Harlow nods her head with firm resolve. "Let's go make ourselves at home."

Lucindy takes my hand, squeezes it and squeals. Just once. Just a small one. Then gives me a great big all-teeth smile that is part wince. I squeeze her hand back, smiling as well. Being a Little Sister is a job for us. A very important job. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy all the luxury that comes with it.

Minutes later, having come to the end of the canal, we arrive at a large, open living space outfitted with five separate bedroom nooks, each with an attached private bathroom. All the nooks are different, nothing is the same, but they're all very similar with thick double-sized mattresses covered in linens so soft and fine, it takes my breath away when my fingertips dance over the surface. The pillows are stuffed with goose down, the blankets lined with fur, the towels in the bathroom are oversized and plush.

"Is this how they live?" Ceela asks, holding up a pillow from the bed she's chosen. "Like fuckin' royalty? While all the rest of us down-city shiver under scratchy, threadbare wool at night?"

Britley slaps her playfully. "Watch your mouth, Ceela. We're up-city girls now."

" No ." Harlow's interjection is severe and sharp. "We're not. We're always gonna be down-city girls. And we're here for a reason. Don't let the posh blankets fool ya, friends. This city is filled with evil and the god uses these fine things to capture souls. You're ready to sell out for a fuckin' pillow, are ya, Britley?"

Britley tsks her tongue. "You're such a downer, Harlow. Put your feet up and look around for once. This is life. Blink and you'll miss it. Enjoy it. Because your days are just as numbered as mine."

Harlow growls out her response. "There's plenty of time to sleep when you're dead, friend."

"OK," I say, inserting an arm between Britley and Harlow. "We're all on the same side, girls. Harlow, there's nothing wrong with enjoying what we have. Britley, it's fine to be excited, but don't let it go to your head."

They both nod, then sigh, murmuring apologies.

They don't have to listen to me. No one ever put me in charge. We're all equals. But they don't seem to mind taking orders from me when I give them. I think they might even… respect me. So I do my best to be impartial. I like them all equally, so it's not even hard.

And anyway, they all bring something unique to the team. Ceela is a trendsetter. She always has big, new ideas. Lucindy is thoughtful and pragmatic, preferring to work behind the scenes. Harlow always plays devil's advocate, refusing to say any idea is a good one, forcing us to consider every angle of a problem. And Britley is quick to stand next to me, no matter what. Because I am the niece of Matron Bell and I'm the only one who reports to her, so I get the final say in everything. Which really does make me a little bit special, I suppose.

Lucindy is the only one who's been quiet through all this and it takes me a moment to realize that it's because she's not even paying attention to us. She's looking at a bedroom nook all the way inside the interior rooms, not the one meant for her that is closest to the canal.

I make my way over to her, smiling as I round the corners of hallways and pass through other nooks. "Is this your pick?" I nod my head to the space she's in, which is just as gorgeously furnished as the others.

"I'm not sure. Look." Lucindy points up. And when I follow her pointing, I see there is a second level back here.

"Are those more bedrooms?"

Lucindy shrugs. "Not sure. Should we go look?"

I glance over my shoulder, but all the others have gone into their nooks to check them out thoroughly. So I turn back to Lucindy. "Sure. Do you see any stairs?"

There must be several dozen stairwells in this dorm, curving around walls or twisting around landings. But they are all along the canal. Surely there must be a stairwell back here to get us up to the second floor, but the only one we find actually leads down instead.

This is where we find even more rooms. So many more, I get the feeling that this dorm could hold several times the number of girls who just moved in. There are dining rooms, and seating rooms, and sewing rooms, and even a couple of kitchens.

Lucindy looks at me, bewildered. "What is all this?"

"I'm not sure," I tell her.

"It's like they had hundreds of us down here in the old days, not just seventy-five. Why would they need hundreds of Little Sisters?"

"Why, indeed." I say this, but it comes out barely above a whisper because I'm distracted by another stairwell. I point at it. "There. Let's go up now."

Upstairs we can hear the other girls on the second level. Quite clearly, actually, because all the upper-story nook balconies are open to the canal room. But there are no doorways or hallways that connect this hidden second floor with the rest of the second floor.

Nor are there any bedrooms up here.

In fact, it's just a small open area. Completely empty except for a single door built into the far wall.

Lucindy stops at the top of the stairs, frowning as she plants her hands on her hips. "Well, this was a letdown." Then she turns and walks back down, calling out over her shoulder, "Are you coming? I want to check the wardrobes. Do you think we have new clothes yet?"

"Be right there," I call after her. Because I'm curious about the door. Everything in this place is so pretty, but this door is kind of ugly. Gray, and metal, and… well, that's pretty much it.

Strange. But whatever. I pull on the handle, but the door is locked. Part of me is relieved because it's the first day and I don't want to think about this weird space or this weird door. I just want to relish the fact that I live in this spectacular dorm. I want to go to the gala tonight, and dance, and laugh, and eat sweet things, and pretend like the god isn't the devil I know him to be. I want to be like all the up-city people who think that all this luxury is free.

Just one night. That's all I want. A few hours to appreciate the fact that after six years of classes, and lectures, and spark practice—I've made it.

I made it past the first Choosing. And sure, there was special treatment involved. I mean, I am destined to be here. But still, I put in the work. I deserve one night to shine, and be special, and be celebrated for the fruits of my labor.

So I go back down and rejoin my friends, putting the weirdness of the space and the mysterious door out of my mind.

Instead, I start poking through drawers (which contain nightclothes, and other comfort garments) and opening armoires (empty, because all our gala dresses are made specially for each event) and peeking into cupboards—which, depending on the space they're in, contain snacks and other small kitchen items or personal hygiene things.

When all that is done, I walk over to the sitting area right along the edge of our portion of the stone canal and flop back into the overstuffed and extraordinarily soft cushions as my gaze wanders. I watch other girls chat excitedly as they make themselves at home in their new Little Sister nooks.

The dorm is even more spectacular than I could've ever imagined. Just the color scheme alone is something I could look at all day. Except for the five of us, all the other Little Sisters are from up-city, so they're used to the trademark sun-bleached blue and soothing neutral tones. And, of course, I've seen my share of this up-city décor as well. I have been coming up here for classes since I pledged myself to the god when I was twelve.

But I am, and forever will be, from down-city where homes don't really have a décor. Furnishings are handmade out of scraps, mostly. There are some heirlooms, of course. Nice things a family has cherished over the generations, like a dining table or a glass-shaded lamp. But matching pillows and rugs? Sheer, billowing curtains that could be made into dozens of dresses? Quaint, round-paned windows in the walls and ceilings meant to direct sunlight into very specific areas of grand rooms?

No. Down-city is downtrodden. But we make do and we are happy with what we have.

And I'm not saying that the up-city girls are selfish, or wasteful, or entitled. I think, after all the years of social classes, all the years of learning polite manners and how to properly thank the god for your place in his world, that we've all come together at a certain level. They, the up-city girls, humbled themselves along the way, while us down-city girls accept the idea that there's more to life than what we were born with.

But only me and my friends come from down-city. Only the five of us understand how special this really is. As well as well as how fleeting it will be.

It was planned this way because we are a team and we are not here to relish in luxury as we giggle our way to the God's Tower stage to be Chosen. We are here to work.

That's why Auntie Bell was so cross with me this morning during the tour. That's why she gave me that infamous stink-eye of hers. "You have a purpose, Jasina." She looked down her nose at me when these words came out earlier. "You all have a purpose. The entire Rebellion is counting on you and your team to do this right. We won't ever get a better opportunity. Not even in a hundred years. This is our only chance and you had better take it seriously." She was shaking her finger at me by the end.

Of course I nodded dutifully, assuring her that all was under control.

And it is. I'm very serious about my job here.

Buuuuuut … this is the biggest moment of my life. She's a crazy old bat if she thinks I'm not gonna enjoy it.

This is it for me. Full stop.

There is no chance of me being one of the Chosen at the end of the Choosing because there will be no more Chosen.

The Extraction will die with us.

As will this god.

Ceela, Britley, Harlow, Lucindy, and I are here to make damn sure of it.