“No way,” I told Fitzgerald. “Not him.”
“You have no choice,” she replied. “You need a liaison within the IBI. If you don’t like it”—she tapped the glass box—“you know your alternative.”
“Give me someone else!”
But she was already heading toward the iron door. “McCrea is best equipped for the job. And quite frankly, no one else would be willing to work with you.”
She left me alone with Conn.
With a slight shake of his head, he began talking. Rules and regulations of our partnership. Standard operating procedure. Et cetera. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he was acting as if he had done nothing wrong.
“Darcy, are you paying attention?”
Silence.
His mouth tightened. He stood, jerked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him.
What was I supposed to do now? Maybe I’d gotten lucky and Conn was out there shanghaiing somebody else into working with me. Or maybe the deal was off.
He wasn’t gone long. He came back with a glass of water. He handed it to me. “In training, we’re told that Shades don’t need to eat or drink. But I know you do. I’ve seen you. After everything … I should have thought of this earlier. This water’s balanced with electrolytes, sugar, protein, and vitamins. It’s essentially a full meal.”
I drank. “What about a shower? I’m a mess.”
He shook his head. “You look authentic like this. Like you were brought into IBI custody and escaped. That’s your story. There’s more to it, of course, but we’ll go over that later.” He hesitated. “Darcy. I have to take off your bandages.” His hand reached for mine.
I flinched away. “Don’t touch me.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You heard what I said.” I gripped the empty glass, wondering if Conn realized that he had handed me a weapon.
He closed his eyes. Briefly. When he opened them, they were weary. “I don’t want to take off your bandages, but it would look suspicious to the Society that the IBI healed your wounds.”
And if I bashed the glass against his cheek, what then?
I’d face a swarm of people itching for the excuse to do their worst.
“Please,” Conn said.
“Fine.” I set the cup on the floor. “Go ahead.”
He was gentle. The gauze unwound with a whisper, coiling onto the floor. My skin emerged: pink, crinkled. But healed.
Conn touched the back of my hand. I felt a spike of desire, then a gush of disgust. I wanted, more than anything, to disappear. At least then my body couldn’t betray me.
“Michael did a good job,” he said. “He has some medic training.”
“Whose idea was it to jump me in the parking lot?”
At first, he didn’t answer. “Mine. But the plan was laid before I really knew you. After we went to the railroad tracks, I couldn’t figure out if you were pretending to be human or genuinely thought you were. The plan was a test. To see what you would do. At the very least, I hoped it would make you trust me.”
It was hard, very hard, not to pick the glass off the floor and break it against him.
Conn said, “That night, when you didn’t disappear in front of him, Michael wanted to arrest you then and there. It was the smart move. It would have been easy. But … I didn’t want to do it.”
“Oh, but you did. You did arrest me. Eventually.”
Conn looked away. He nodded, and when he spoke, his tone was empty and official. “Tell the Society that you were burned when the IBI arrested you, and that you were imprisoned for at least two weeks. Then they’ll think that time healed your burns. You got these”—he pointed at the small cuts etched around my wrists—“when you escaped.”
He put another pair of firecuffs on me (yes, again!), swearing that they weren’t turned on; they were for show, so that the entire IBI force didn’t freak out at the sight of a free Shade strolling its halls. Then he led me through the IBI labyrinth until we reached an underground garage. He uncuffed me, unlocked a car with tinted windows, and then we were inside the car, up and out onto the street, driving along the lake.
“Where are we going?” I asked. A heavy fog cloaked the city, and all I could see was the road and the lake and the white sky.
“North. Closer to where the Society lives. Or that’s what we think, anyway.”
He outlined his master plan to get me inside Society headquarters. It seemed hopeless and dumb. I didn’t care. At least I’d be free.
“It’s quiet,” I interrupted.
“It’s Sunday. The streets are often empty on Sundays.”
“No, the car. The car is quiet.”
His face lit up. “That’s because it runs on internal magnetic energy. You really should have that technology in the Alter. It causes less wear on the transmission, there’s no messy oil…”
“Do you honestly think I care? I just found out I’m not human. I’ve got a few more things to care about than the transmission of a magnetic car.”
He shut up.
I gazed out the window at the lake and the boats rocking by the piers, their masts fuzzy in the fog, as if they were being slowly erased. The sky was heavy with weather. I felt like the giant cloud sagging over the city—full, full almost to bursting, because even though the last thing I wanted to do was chat with Conn, I also was dying to spill out a thousand questions.
I settled for the one that seemed most important. “Fitzgerald said you presented evidence that convinced her I didn’t know I was a Shade. What evidence?”
Conn took an exit and turned onto a small road. “From the beginning, you—you were complicated.”
“Complicated.”
“Mysterious. Shades don’t exist in the Alter, and one has never been seen on surveillance of the portals. You looked happy. Happy with a human.” He shook his head. “Impossible. And the name you signed wasn’t fake. We traced it to Lakebrook High within seconds. I thought you were taunting the IBI. Showing us how powerless humans are, how we couldn’t stop you from doing whatever you were there to do, even if we could easily track you down.” He paused. “But there is another interpretation: that you had nothing to hide.”
“And that convinced Fitzgerald.” I raised my brows. “An interpretation?”
“There’s also the way you reacted when I arrested you. The arrest … I didn’t—it didn’t go as planned. You broke your chains. I never thought you would do that. No rational Shade would—unless she didn’t know what firecuffs were.”
“Maybe I knew, and gambled. I could have bet that the cuffs were set to a low flame. Or maybe I wanted to go out in a kamikaze blaze of glory.”
The car slowed. “We considered those possibilities.”
“Then what proof did you have? I’m a monster. Why would Fitzgerald even think about letting me loose?”
Conn stopped the car. “It was your file.”
“My file?” I had the strong suspicion that I was going to have to kill him.
“Your DCFS file. I showed it to her.”
Psychological and medical evaluations. Report cards. IQ scores. Complaints from foster parents … even I didn’t know everything that was in my file. “You stole it,” I finally choked out. I felt as if Conn had seen me in nothing but my oldest, ugliest underwear. “When?” I demanded.
His hands fell from the steering wheel. “After we cut class and you told me about how your fingers had disappeared while you were drawing.”
“Why did you do that? Why?”
“I was confused.” He kept staring at the windshield. The weak light traced his profile, his crooked nose. He rubbed his eyes, and I found myself wondering when he had last slept. Then I wiped that thought from my mind. “It was obvious that you had no idea what happened,” he continued. “You seemed so innocent. I’m trained to look for deceit, Darcy, but when I met you I had to rethink everything. It was possible that my training meant nothing and that you could lie without the tics and tells humans have, but t
hen why would a Shade share anything about her past with me? Why would you welcome my friendship? Or seem to. Why would you—?”
He stopped right there, and it was a good thing that he did. The memory of our kiss paced between us like a dangerous animal. Neither of us wanted to touch it.
Conn leaned back in his seat and winced. I had forgotten about his ribs. He stared out the windshield and didn’t speak.
When he finally did, his voice was crisp. “Don’t deviate from the plan. Remember that the most insidious thing about Shades is that they can be anywhere, anytime, unseen. They may already know you’re working for the IBI. Even if they don’t, they might come to suspect you.” He handed me a backpack. “Good luck. I’ll see you on Tuesday at 3:23 p.m., at the corner of Michigan Avenue and Van Buren Street.”
We’ll see about that, I thought. I opened the car door.
“There’s something else,” he said.
I looked at him. I didn’t know how much more “else” I could take.
“A photograph,” he said. “Of a little girl. I found it in the IBI database, before I left for the Alter. There’s no definite match, but she looks like you.”
“All Shades look alike. That’s what Fitzgerald said.”
He shook his head. “They have the same coloring, but there are differences. Believe me. She looks like you.”
“Then give it to me.” When he didn’t respond, I raised my voice. “Conn, I want that photograph.”
“I know you do. I’ll bring it with me to our meeting.”
For a moment, I held the door handle, shocked at how easily he had manipulated me. Again. That photograph was bait. Now I needed to see him again. I got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and walked away.
I didn’t get very far before I heard the first scream.
Stage One of Conn’s plan was for me to parade myself in full view of everybody: a nightmare walking around in broad daylight. If I caused enough commotion, an invisible Shade might notice. Brilliant, right? I mean, if I didn’t get killed first.
I had had just enough time to register that the fog had lifted and that it was wickedly cold. I looked around at the low row houses and caught the smell of cinnamon rolls from a bakery. I guessed that maybe I was in Andersonville, the Swedish part of town. At least that’s what it looked like, except that this street had an odd metal rail running along both sides, tacked high onto the walls of the buildings, sort of like a sideways roller-coaster track, except with a single rail. And in this world, there were more trees. The streets were cleaner. Also, everyone was dressed very formally, in a mix of tailored coats and strikingly modern accessories, like caramel-colored sunglasses and high-top boots with cutout patterns. No one wore even a trace of black.
A man strutted by in a fedora and striped suit, then skidded to a halt when he saw me. He shrieked. A few women in cloche hats were more composed, though they clutched each other and yelled for someone to call the IBI. I stood there, hoping that this was enough of a commotion, when a mob rounded the corner, carrying torches and calling me names.
It was almost as bad as high school.
I ran.
But I was running on empty. I didn’t get far. The mob cornered me in a blind alley. I wondered if Shades got last requests, and if someone would give me a cinnamon roll before going completely Spanish Inquisition and burning me at the stake.
Then I heard a pair of light feet land next to me.
It was a boy.
“You,” he said, “look like hell.”
20
“And suicidal,” he added. “Are you suicidal?”
Our eyes locked. We were the exact same height. We were almost the exact same everything. “Um, help?”
The mob hung back. Two Shades was maybe too much.
“Just ghost,” he told me.
Ghost. That was my word. “I can’t.”
“Really?” he said with amused curiosity. “Why not?”
“Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Like now it doesn’t. Like now I could use your help.”
He looked at the crowd. They were backing off, muttering that they should probably wait for the IBI, though I knew that they had been ordered by Fitzgerald not to arrive at the scene. “Very well.” The Shade shrugged. “Shall we kill them all?”
Torches dropped to the ground. People shoved each other in their haste to run out of the alley. They were gone.
He chuckled. “My name is Orion. Who are you, and why are you playing cat and mouse? Or rather, why are you the mouse?”
“I’m Darcy Jones.”
He pulled a sour face.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s a human name.”
Now that we were alone and I wasn’t about to be barbecued, I had time to see that he wasn’t exactly my male mirror image, as I’d first thought. There were differences. Orion’s eyes titled up at the corners. My chin is pointy. But he wore what I always wore—simple black—and looking at him was like looking at myself from a stranger’s perspective. Slender frame. Hair like an oil slick. Winter skin.
Orion picked up the backpack that had dropped at my feet. He handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I unzipped the backpack and dragged out a blue wool coat with a large hood. It looked like it was going to snow.
“What else have you got in there?” He yanked back the bag and rummaged through it as I put on the coat. “A brown wig. Makeup. Sunglasses. Things to help you pass as a human. Where did you get them?”
“I stole them.”
“I don’t think you’re very bright, Darcyjones.” That’s how he said my name: in one big blur. “If you can’t ghost, why weren’t you wearing any of this? Or that?” He pointed at my coat as I tried to tuck my hair under the hood. “Of course the humans attacked you.”
Stupid Conn and his stupid plan. “I was trying to find you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Not you specifically. Someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated.
“I wanted to find a Shade. But invisibility makes it kind of hard to see you.”
“A fair point.”
“So my best hope was to make a screaming target of myself and catch a Shade’s interest.”
“Ah.” He returned my backpack. “That’s quite daring. Probably the swiftest solution. Not bad.”
Huh. Stupid Conn and his apparently not-so-stupid plan.
Orion tucked a stray lock of my hair into the hood.
I pulled away. Was he flirting? No more flirting. Ever. Look where it got me the last time.
“I can do that,” I said.
“You asked for help.” Then he glanced down at my burned hands and his smile vanished. “What happened to you?”
A snowflake touched my wrist and disappeared.
It came and went silently. I was silent, too. I hadn’t practiced this, how to tell Conn’s lies. But the snow helped. A snowfall softens all the hard noises and hard corners. It’s a natural liar. I saw the sky sprinkle down a hundred, a thousand little white lies, and decided that I didn’t owe Orion anything.
Okay, he had saved my life. But saving someone and knowing her are different things. I had my reasons for following Conn’s advice.
I needed time to decide if I even wanted to go home to Lakebrook. I needed information.
I also needed Conn’s photograph. It could be the key to my forgotten years.
So when Orion said, “Let’s walk. You can tell me all about it,” I was ready.
* * *
TALKING WITH ORION MEANT talking to thin air. He strolled invisibly by my side while I muttered to myself like a crazy person. Every so often, I saw Orion’s fingers flash in and out of being. He nipped at my elbow, tugging me in one direction or another.
When I asked, he explained (with some surprise that I didn’t know already) that it was easy enough to make specific body parts appear and disappear, though harder to talk as a ghost.
“What about your clothes?” I asked.
There was a pause, then a wicked chuckle. “What about them?”
“They disappeared when you did.” That’s how it had worked for me, at Marsha’s house.
“When Shades ghost, we produce a kind of energy, like body heat. Anything small or light enough and in direct contact with our skin—such as clothes, or a book—comes along for the ride.”
“I assume your clothes will reappear, then, when you do.”
Another laugh. “I suppose so.”
It was snowing hard by the time he pulled me north along Clark Street, one of my favorite parts of Chicago. This was where (in my world) Lily and I stocked up on art supplies. Then we’d pile into a booth at the Melrose Diner with Jims and Raphael and order a huge plate of mozzarella sticks. We’d swear that the next time we took the train into the city we’d do something different. But we never did.
Orion’s Clark Street was too clean. The apartment buildings were all very nicey-nice. Even the fire escapes were painted in pastel colors, though the strange rail that ran along the buildings was left alone, just plain silver.
Orion led me into a park and under a cluster of trees. The bad weather seemed to have chased everyone inside, so we had the place to ourselves. By then, I had told Orion almost everything, aside from the kiss (which might actually cease to exist if I ignored it hard enough) and how I really got away from the IBI.
Orion appeared. “So you ghosted out of IBI headquarters? I thought you didn’t know how to do that.”
I remembered Marsha throwing the kitchen knife, and the fear that had crept over me while drawing the IBI building. “If I’m startled or scared or about to die I can do it.”
“Half an hour ago, you were being chased by humans. Weren’t you frightened then?”
“No.” I realized that this was somewhat true.
“They had torches.”
“Yeah, but after firecuffs and solitary, the torches seemed kind of charming.”
“The IBI put you in solitary confinement? You are a brave Shade, Darcyjones.”
“Just Darcy.” He looked at me quizzically. “Jones is my last name. You don’t have to say it all the time.” He was still confused. “Okay, I get it. Shades don’t have last names, do they? Still, don’t you spy on humans?”
The Shadow Society Page 9