On the stage, Mickey sat tuning his acoustic guitar and Siobhan her fiddle.
“So you convinced them to play,” I said to Logan.
“It’s good exposure. See the flyers people are passing around? Their first gig will be so jammed.” He watched his brother and sister for a few moments. “I’m glad I could do something good for them, after all the pain I caused.”
I decided not to derail his self-inflicted guilt trip. I stopped next to an empty chair at the end of the front row. “What’s your last song?”
“You’ll see.” He knelt beside me as I sat. “It’s not the one I wrote for you. I wanted that to be for us and nobody else.”
“You knew I was awake, didn’t you?”
He smiled and shrugged. “I wouldn’t waste a stellar performance on an unconscious girl.”
Siobhan tapped her bow on the side of her chair. “Is Logan here? We’re ready whenever you are.” She bit her lip. “No rush.”
“I better go,” Logan said to me. “I don’t know how long before this peace-through-justice thing expires.” His face more solemn than ever, he looked at me like we were the only two people in the room. “I already said I’m sorry a million times, so now I’ll just say thank you. For everything you gave me, in life and death.” He brushed his hand over mine. “Whatever happens, I’ll always love you. You’re gonna be okay.”
“Promise?”
He shook his head. “I can’t promise, because I can’t make it happen. But you can make everything happen, starting now.”
I couldn’t speak. I wanted to grab him and tie him to this world. But all I could do was put my hands around his nonexistent body in the closest we would ever get to an embrace.
“I love you, Logan.” More tears spilled over my cheeks.
“I still can’t watch you cry.” He leaned in. “Kiss me, one last time.”
I called up the distant memory of his lips against mine. But this time, I kept my eyes open.
When he pulled back, Logan passed his hand over my hair. “Don’t forget me, okay?”
He moved to the middle of the stage, a small raised platform in the corner of the pub. Megan came and stood off to the side, ready to translate for the sake of the pre-Shifters.
“Hey!” she yelled, snagging everyone’s attention. “Logan’s leaving now, so those of you who aren’t here for the cheap beer—well, not just for the cheap beer—come say good-bye.”
A swell of applause went up, and the crowd shifted down to our end of the pub. One by one, friends and fans came to the microphone and paid their final respects or made jokes at Logan’s expense. Cell phones and cameras came out, recording this historic moment.
I’d seen videos of other passings—though none quite like this—so I sort of knew what to expect. When he was about to move on, Logan’s image would brighten until he turned the pale yellow color of the sun. The thought of it closed my throat.
Dylan took the empty seat beside me. “I didn’t want to do a public good-bye onstage,” he said. “We talked in private before you got here.”
On impulse, I reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?” He pulled his hand away and folded his arms.
Behind me, my aunt squeezed my shoulder, but thankfully said nothing. I couldn’t handle another round of sympathy.
Finally Logan, flattered and battered by the farewells, stepped up to the microphone. “Thanks, everyone. I gotta say, this is pretty cool.” He gestured to Mickey and Siobhan. “I’ve always wanted my own personal karaoke machine.” He echoed the laughter of the crowd. “Best part about being a ghost? You can call your big brother a douche bag and he’ll never know.” Logan and Megan shared a conspiratorial grin as she failed to translate his last sentence.
“But seriously.” Logan reached for the microphone, then flickered when he realized he couldn’t touch it. “I didn’t believe I could be set free, ready to pass on, just by winning a court case. Seems kinda ridiculous. But I do feel more at peace now, so thanks.” He pointed at my aunt and then his parents. “To the people who made it work.”
After a long round of applause, Logan cleared his throat. “It’s better to leave a crowd wanting more than to bore them to death with a speech. So I’ll just say, I love you. I’ll miss every one of you. At least, I think I will.” He gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his mouth. “I actually have no clue what’s going to happen when I leave. But I do know it’s time.”
Megan finished repeating Logan’s words, then signaled to Mickey and Siobhan to start playing. The intro was slow and short, and then Logan’s voice joined in:
O, all the money e’er I had,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that ever I’ve done,
Alas it was to none but me.
And all I’ve done for want of wit
To mem’ry now I can’t recall.
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all.
I closed my eyes and let his voice wash over me one last time. Despite being a good-bye song, it was spirited rather than sad. By the end of the second chorus, my tears had dried.
The last verse was about the girl he loved, and Logan sang most of it straight to me. Then he dragged his gaze over the crowd to wish them again, “Good night and joy be with you all.”
When he finished, Mickey and Siobhan played the last bar, then let the notes fade.
To the sound of applause, Logan stepped back from the microphone, winked at me, and bowed his head. Someone dimmed the lights until nothing glowed but the emergency exits, scattered cell phones, and Logan.
The silence was broken only by a few sobs. Nothing happened for several moments, and my heart chilled with fear. Had there been a mistake? Had Logan waited too long after the verdict?
Then his violet outline pulsed and brightened. I put my hand to my mouth, muffling a gasp.
A golden light appeared at his core and radiated outward. A smile spread across his face as he was enveloped in the glow.
The post-Shifter audience hooted and cheered, the pre-Shifters joining in after a moment. In the center of the front row, Mr. and Mrs. Keeley hugged and rocked each other, and onstage, Mickey and Siobhan did the same. Behind me, Gina whispered a breathless prayer of thanks.
And then Logan changed.
Black sparks shot inward from the edge of his body, licking at the yellow glow like a hundred hungry snakes.
“Oh God,” Dylan said. “I knew it.” He grabbed my sprained wrist, but I barely felt the pain.
Logan’s eyes flew open, violet tornados swirling within them. His lips moved in a silent protest. The post-Shifter cheers turned to gasps of horror.
Aunt Gina whispered, “What’s happening? Is something wrong?”
The word “shade” rippled through the crowd.
“No …” I stood, ignoring the pain in my knee, and staggered toward Logan.
“Aura, stay back!” Gina cried.
Choking out Logan’s name, I reached the front of the stage. He stumbled back, thrusting out his palms.
“Don’t touch me,” he cried. Black lightning flashed between his fingertips.
The pale yellow glow shrank to a pinpoint, then flickered out. Logan was ghost-violet again, with shadows rippling through his form. I felt my brain and guts tilt from the shady energy. Around me, post-Shifters clutched their heads, moaning.
“I am not giving up!” I stretched out my hands. “I don’t care what you are.”
Logan backed into the far corner. “Aura, I fucked up so bad. Just let me go.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” said a familiar, chilling voice.
Agent Falk and his anonymous partner had crept up the side of the room and now stood behind Gina’s chair. Slowly Falk raised his hand. In his palm a clear crystal disc reflected Logan’s violet light and added a silver glow of its own. His partner pulled out a black box the length of his hand.
Th
ey would trap Logan in that box forever, unless he passed on now. Or became a shade.
Logan wavered and shook, trying to remain a ghost—the one thing he could no longer be and stay free.
“Ladies and gentlemen, do not panic,” Falk said. “We’ve got it all under control.” The two agents moved forward.
“No!” I threw myself at them. I lunged for the disc in Falk’s hand, jamming my sore wrist into his chest. The pain made me yelp.
Dylan seized the other agent by the front of his shirt. “You’re not taking my brother!”
The agent shoved him aside, sending him spinning. I clutched Falk’s uniform to hold me up and tried again to reach the quartz disc.
When Falk pushed me, I fell to my hands and knees next to my chair. He moved toward the stage, so I lifted one of my crutches and swung it into his ankles. The other agent seized my shoulders, then dragged my arms behind my back. I kicked out, my screams of rage echoed by the crowd.
And by Logan.
“LEAVE HER ALONE!” His voice keened and screeched, stabbing my head with daggers of noise. I raised my chin to see the black lightning crackle and spark over his frame. The violet faded as it was devoured by darkness.
On the floor in front of me, the quartz disc dimmed, no longer detecting a ghost. Logan was free.
Free as a shade.
“Go.” Dylan crawled out of the pile of fallen chairs, gagging. “Logan, go!”
In the near darkness Logan was invisible except for a few violet tendrils snaking through his frame, painting one feature, then another. The body, the hands, the face I would never forget.
“AURA,” he whispered. “DON’T WAIT FOR ME.”
Chapter Twenty-five
I stood outside the Green Derby, watching the red and blue lights of a police car paint the white facade of the liquor store across the street. The two guys working there had their faces pressed against the glass door, gawking at the crowd pouring from the bar.
For once, Megan was quiet. We all were, everyone but Aunt Gina, who was holding a hushed, urgent conversation at the curb with a cop and a representative from the DMP field office.
I was too wrecked to care whether I spent the night—or the rest of my life—in jail for assaulting a federal agent. I would have done it again, to keep Logan out of that little black box. Wherever he was now, at least he was free.
Which was more than I could say for those he left behind. Mr. Keeley had started having chest pains and was on his way to the hospital. The paramedics hadn’t thought he was having a heart attack this time, but they wanted to play it safe. Mrs. Keeley rode with him in the ambulance, and Mickey and Siobhan drove the family’s SUV to meet them at the hospital.
Dylan had to give his statement, with Gina’s help, before he could leave—like me, he would probably have a mark on his record.
He waited alone near the alley, his forehead propped against the brick wall. His arms hung loose but ended in tight fists.
I made my way over to him, my crutches dragging on the sloping sidewalk. “Gina’s almost done, then she’ll drive us to the hospital to see your dad.”
He didn’t reply, just twitched his jaw.
“I think the deal will be that the DMP won’t press charges if we won’t.”
Dylan stared at the sidewalk at his feet. I wondered if he was about to be sick.
I shifted closer to him. “How did you know?”
He swallowed. “Know what?” he asked hoarsely.
“When Logan started to shade out, you said, ‘I knew it.’ How did you know?”
He placed his palm on the wall next to his head. “Logan felt wrong. He told me before you got here. He said all that shading had tainted him.” Dylan glanced at me. “That’s his word, not mine.”
My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a chunk of ice. “But he said he was ready.”
“He said that because everyone wanted to hear it.” Dylan put his other hand on the wall, as if he was holding up the whole building. “He told me he’d already caused enough pain.”
I tried to speak, but no sound came.
Then Dylan whispered, “He figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
I sagged against the wall, taking my weight off my bad knee. “The Obsidians gave him no choice. They warned us that if he didn’t pass on, they would detain him.” I realized the worst of it. “And we gave him that message.”
Dylan groaned and dragged his fingers against the building’s rough surface. “So it’s our fault.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Then it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him try to pass on if he wasn’t ready.”
“It was his choice, so stop it.” I pushed Dylan’s arm. “Logan would be pissed if he heard you blaming yourself.”
“You know what? Fuck him.” He slammed the heel of his hand against the brick wall. “Fuck you, Logan.” Dylan pounded with the sides of his fists, like a child having a tantrum. He punched the building in time to the words. “Fuck. You. Fuck. You. Fuck. You. Fuck you!” The last one came out as a long howl.
I didn’t look to see who might be staring. I just took Dylan’s hand and folded it inside my own.
He stopped, panting, his forehead still pressed against the wall. I rubbed his knuckles and felt his blood smear warm against my palm.
Finally Dylan angled his head toward me, a wave of brown hair falling over his eye. “What do we do now?”
“This time we don’t listen to Logan.” I dropped his hand. “We wait.”
* * *
I rid my room of red. I dumped the flannel sheets onto the Goodwill pile in the basement and replaced them with the purple-black ones, though they weren’t as warm. I gave my obsidian necklace to Megan for safekeeping. Like Aunt Gina said, I would want it one day, but not today.
Two nights after the trial—the night before school started again—Gina dropped me off outside Zachary’s apartment building while she went to pick up takeout for dinner. I didn’t want to have this conversation in history class or the cafeteria, or over the phone. I owed Zachary that much.
When he answered the door, I handed him a shopping bag containing two white boxes—a long one and a square one.
“Which should I open first?” Zachary said as he showed me in, holding the door wide for my crutches.
“The small one is cookies. My grandmom sent me a bunch for New Year’s.” I glanced around at the small apartment he shared with his dad. The living room was sparse and neat. I could see into the kitchen, where a teakettle rattled on the lit front burner of a gleaming white gas stove.
“You didn’t have to do that, but thanks very much.” He set the small box on the square dining table, then opened the long box. “Oh.” He touched the red roses, their dried petals rustling under his fingertips. “You’ve decided, then.”
My heart twinged at the disappointment in his voice. “You were right.”
He pressed the lid back onto the box. “I hate being this sort of right.” A low whistle came from the kitchen, quickly building in pitch. “Do you want tea?”
I shook my head. “I can’t stay.”
He went in long enough to turn off the stove, then came back to stop at the edge of the kitchen. “What was I right about, exactly?”
“You were right when you said he’d take a piece of me with him when he left.”
Zachary nodded and gave a sympathetic scoff. “Especially the way he left.”
I glanced into the dark hallway leading to the bedrooms. Zachary had said we’d be alone, and I trusted him. “I think I can bring Logan back.”
He looked at me sadly. “I know you want to believe that, but—”
“It happened before.”
Zachary stared at me, then snatched up a set of keys and led me into the apartment building’s hallway. He didn’t speak as he guided me down the corridor to an unmarked door. He inserted the key in the knob and ushered me inside.
In the bright laundry room, a washer churned. Next to it a dryer hummed and thu
mped, like it was tumbling a pair of sneakers.
“Why is this room locked?” I asked Zachary.
“Keep the folks from the next building from using our wash, I suppose.” He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “This is where my dad and I come to talk about anything important. We assume the DMP bugged our flat.”
Standing close so he could hear me over the noise of the machines, I told him everything. About that night at my window, how Logan had shaded in reaction to my obsidian pendant (and my breaking up with him), how the DMP agents had warned me to warn him, and finally, what had happened Friday night at the Green Derby.
Zachary listened with furrowed brows, tapping his heel against the wall. When I finished, he examined me for a long moment.
“Every post-Shifter in that pub saw Logan turn shade,” he said. “If you brought him back again, it could bring hope to a lot of people. And fear to a lot of other people. It could change everything.”
“I know.” My hands were close enough to touch him, but I kept them wrapped around the grips of the crutches. “That’s why it’s not just for Logan.”
Zachary’s eyes softened. “It starts with him. He needs you.”
“I know I can’t save him, and I can’t change him. But maybe I can give him the strength to change himself.”
“By believing in his light.”
I wanted to hug him. “You really, really get it. You’re so amazing.”
“I just pay attention.” Zachary slid his hands into the pockets of his gray Ridgewood sweatshirt. “You’re no’ going back to him. As a girlfriend, I mean.”
I blinked in surprise. “How can you tell?”
“Same way I could tell it wasn’t over when you were in hospital. You couldn’t look me in the eye when you said his name. And now you can.”
He saw me so clearly, I wanted to back away—run away, even. “I can’t be with anyone right now. If you get sick of waiting, I’ll understand. Like you said, you’re no’ a bloody saint.” I tried to replicate his accent to relieve the tension.
“Something tells me I won’t need a saint’s patience.” His smile verged on a smirk, then faded back to sincerity. He reached out and covered my hand on the grip of my crutch, giving me plenty of time to shift away. “I noticed there were only five red roses in that box, not six.”
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