Katharine McGee - The Towering Sky

First published in the USA by HarperCollins Publishers Inc. in 2018

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018

Published in this ebook edition in 2018

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Alloy Entertainment and Katharine McGee 2018

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018

Cover images © Fancy/Veer/Corbis/GettyImages (fashion model red dress); Shutterstock (all other images)

Katharine McGee asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008179915

Ebook Edition © September 2018 ISBN: 9780008179908

Version: 2018-08-20

For Deedo, and in loving memory of Snake

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in the USA by HarperCollins Publishers Inc. in 2018 First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018 Published in this ebook edition in 2018 HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF The HarperCollins website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk Copyright © Alloy Entertainment and Katharine McGee 2018 Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018 Cover images © Fancy/Veer/Corbis/GettyImages (fashion model red dress); Shutterstock (all other images) Katharine McGee asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008179915 Ebook Edition © September 2018 ISBN: 9780008179908 Version: 2018-08-20

Dedication For Deedo, and in loving memory of Snake

Prologue

Avery

Leda

Calliope

Watt

Rylin

Avery

Calliope

Rylin

Leda

Watt

Avery

Calliope

Leda

Rylin

Calliope

Avery

Leda

Rylin

Calliope

Avery

Watt

Rylin

Watt

Leda

Calliope

Avery

Leda

Calliope

Avery

Rylin

Watt

Avery

Leda

Calliope

Rylin

Leda

Watt

Avery

Calliope

Avery

Watt

Calliope

Rylin

Avery

Leda

Avery

Rylin

Avery

Calliope

Leda

Avery

Watt

Leda

Calliope

Rylin

Watt

Atlas

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Books by Katharine McGee

About the Publisher

December 2119

THERE HAS ALWAYS been something otherworldly about the first snow of the year in New York.

It gilds the city’s flaws, its hard edges, transforming Manhattan into a proud, glittering northern place. Magic hangs heavy in the air. On the morning of the first snow, even the most jaded New Yorkers pause in the streets to look up at the sky, stilled by a quiet sense of awe. As if every hot summer they forgot that this was possible, and only when the first flakes of snow kiss their faces can they believe in it again.

It seems almost that the snowfall might wash the city clean, reveal all the monstrous secrets buried beneath its surface.

But then, some secrets are best kept buried.

It was on one of these mornings of cold, enchanted silence that a girl stood on the roof of Manhattan’s enormous skyscraper.

She stepped closer to the edge, and the wind whipped at her hair. Snowflakes danced around her in splintered crystals. Her skin glowed like an overexposed hologram in the predawn light. If anyone had been up there to see her, they would have said that she looked troubled, and sharply beautiful. And afraid.

She hadn’t been on the roof in over a year, yet it looked the same as ever. Photovoltaic panels huddled on its surface, waiting to drink in the sun and convert it to usable power. An enormous steel spire twisted up to collide with the sky. And below her hummed an entire city—a thousand-story tower, teeming with millions of people.

Some of them she had loved, some of them she had resented. Many she had never known at all. Yet in their own ways they had betrayed her, every last one of them. They had made her life unbearable by depriving her of the one person she had ever loved.

The girl knew she’d been up here too long. She was starting to feel the familiar slippery light-headedness as her body slowed down, struggling to adjust to the decreased oxygen, to pull resources in toward her core. She curled her toes. They were numb. The air downstairs was oxygenated and infused with vitamins, but here on the roof it felt whip-thin.

She hoped they would forgive her for what she was about to do. But she didn’t have a choice. It was either this, or go on leading a shriveled, starved, half life: a life deprived of the only person who made it worth living. She felt a pang of guilt, but even stronger was her profound sense of relief, that at least—at last—it would soon be over.

The girl reached up to wipe at her eyes, as if the wind had stung them to tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though there was no one around to hear. Who was she talking to, anyway? Maybe the city below her or the entire world or her own quiet conscience.

And what did it matter? New York would go on with or without her, the same as ever, just as loud and electric and raucous and bright. New York didn’t care that those were the last words Avery Fuller ever spoke.

Three months earlier

AVERY DRUMMED HER fingers restlessly on the armrest of her family’s chopper. She felt her boyfriend’s gaze on her and glanced up. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, teasing.

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” Max answered his own question by leaning over to drop a kiss on her lips. “You may not realize it, Avery, but I always want to kiss you.”

“Please prepare yourselves for the final approach to New York,” the chopper’s autopilot cut in, projecting the words through unseen speakers. Not that Avery needed the update; she’d been tracking their progress this entire trip.