by Cody Wagner
“I’m going to tell Wolcott. Now.”
Before Roze could respond, I took off running. My feet carried me on their own as my bones felt like they were going to melt. I was about to reveal myself to the school. My life as Jimmy was about to begin. Worse, I didn’t think this would stop the school from falling. I was too late.
I realized tears ran down my face as I crossed the road lasso. They were full of guilt and failure and terror and uncertainty.
That’s when I saw a familiar RV sitting in front of the Admissions Building.
I stopped, confused. The Zealot’s RV had been moved to the parking lot by the gym. Why was it here? Tiptoeing—as if it made a difference—I made my way around the vehicle. All twelve Zealots stood outside the Admissions Building, talking to Principal Wolcott.
I flew back behind the RV and dropped to the ground. The road was cold, and I almost yelped in surprise as I flattened my body and peered under the vehicle.
From my vantage point, I saw a Zealot reach his hand out. So did Wolcott. They shook hands and Wolcott smiled. The Zealot patted him on the shoulder and said something. Judging from his expression, he was pleased. Wolcott’s response actually made him laugh.
The bell rang, but I didn’t care. I held my breath as I continued staring, transfixed. More time passed, and I knew the second bell was about to ring. Again, I ignored it and watched them chat.
Finally, the Zealots turned and walked to the RV. I hopped up and ran across the street. The second bell rang as I reached the auditorium and hid behind the stage. Peeking over the edge, I saw the RV start up. It lurched forward, and I watched as it circled the road lasso and exited the Sanctuary campus.
I was too stunned to be excited. They’d only stayed a couple days? Surely, the Siren wanted them here longer. Especially with all those students glowing.
That’s when it hit me: The Zealots weren’t under control. It looked like the Siren’s plan to use uncontrolled Zealots might have backfired. I mean, she couldn’t force them to stay if someone else told them to leave.
That still didn’t answer why they were leaving or who made them leave. That’s when another thought hit: Did this have something to do with the note I’d left about Senator Joseph?
I had no idea, but I couldn’t stop to think about it. Our safety wasn’t guaranteed. After all, at least eight girls still glowed. While the Zealots were gone, those girls still needed to be reported, before they made videos or something.
After taking a few seconds to collect myself, I pushed off the stage and went back to the Classroom Center. As I jogged, I tore a piece of paper out of my backpack and wrote the names of all the students under control. Then, I went straight to the teachers’ lounge, slid the note under the door, knocked, and ran away.
* * * * *
The campus exploded with cheers that afternoon, when word spread about the Zealots’ leaving. Things got even louder after our innocence was announced on television. My mom immediately left a voice mail on Cassie’s phone, congratulating me on our success. I’m glad I didn’t talk to her, though, because she referred to them as “those wonderful Zealots.” I don’t think I could have refrained from calling them losers.
While the school celebrated, my emotions were all over the place. I’d played a pivotal role in our safety, and I’m not going to lie, it felt awesome. And I didn’t have to out myself as the Seeker in the process. On the other hand, the school wouldn’t remain safe for long. The Siren may have been set back, but she could return a million different ways. A voice in my head said She’s going to hunt you down, instead. The scary part was the truth in that voice. I now had zero doubt the Siren knew a Seeker was at Sanctuary.
Roze agreed I was in danger, and it got her off my back for not revealing myself earlier. In fact, she apologized—in her own way—for being so mad at me earlier. How? Well, we had a bit of role reversal. Instead of my following her around—like I did after The Pumpkin Bash—she stalked me all over campus. Everywhere I turned, there she was, pretending to have just “strolled by.”
We both knew her “I just happened to be here” act was crap when I caught her standing outside the men’s bathroom after I emerged from a shower.
Although I was clothed, I covered my crotch. “What are you doing?!”
She didn’t have an answer. Apparently, this was the third time she’d guarded my shower. She usually bolted before I finished, but this time, she’d fallen asleep against the wall.
After that, I admit it was fun to say, “I’m going to take a dump. Want to come?”
Watching Roze blush made my day, but I also liked her worrying about me. It lessened the feeling that she thought I was a weirdo. On the other hand, she constantly questioned me about my power every time we hung out. (“Can you see the glow if your eyes are closed?” “Do you dream of glowing people?” “If they fart, does it glow?”)
I guess I couldn’t blame her curiosity. In a world where superpowers don’t exist, this was crazy. And her obsession revealed some important facts. First, we learned the locket didn’t give anyone else my power. Roze kept asking to hold it, and while she pretended to examine the metal, I caught her staring at the TV one night after I’d told her a Zealot was glowing. The disappointment on her face gave away the fact she couldn’t see anything. However, I learned I could see people glowing without the locket. Somehow, Jimmy’s power had been permanently implanted in me.
Speaking of glowing people, while Zimmerman’s Zealots were still going strong, Senator Joseph vanished. A few days after Sanctuary was cleared, Roze and I were watching the news, when a different guy, Senator Randall, got up and simply announced Senator Joseph was on vacation with his family. Then, he, Randall, announced he was taking over.
Roze was sure it had everything to do with my reporting Senator Joseph. And she thought I was responsible for Sanctuary’s being cleared. As soon as Randall finished his speech, she said, “You did it!”
“You think?”
“Definitely. You told them about Senator Joseph. Next thing you know, he’s gone, and the Zealots leave. Seems cut and dry to me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
I was too embarrassed to take credit after all the times I’d failed, so I changed the subject to Mrs. Cooke. She dominated most of our conversations over the following weeks. Roze and I spent a ton of time watching videos and trying to learn more about her. But, while she was connected to the Zealots and other groups, Mrs. Cooke was never specifically mentioned. That made us more suspicious. It made sense that the Siren was invisible, manipulating her puppets from behind the curtain. Mrs. Cooke’s anonymity seemed to fit that.
Still, we didn’t know what to do. Especially because she was Cassie’s guardian. How do you tell someone, “We think your adoptive mom has powers and is trying to destroy us!” Because of that, we distanced ourselves from Cassie a bit. We didn’t want to, and it sucked leaving her out of something so important. But we didn’t how else to continue our research.
Sadly, Cassie noticed, and she got even more withdrawn. Being as intuitive as she was, she must have deduced we were working on something huge without her. Instead of talking to us, she dealt with it by removing herself. It’s like she was thinking If they don’t want to spend time with me, I won’t make them.
It was especially hard on Roze. I caught her a couple times trying to go on walks with Cassie. She even started new debates. Cassie played along, but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. A couple times, she just got up and left, mid-sentence.
I thought about Timothy and wondered if the same thing was going on here. Was Cassie torn up over the fact Roze had kind of ditched her? Was she jealous of our friendship?
Roze had had enough of it, too, and sat me down outside after dinner one night. “We have to do something with Cassie.”
I nodded. “Should we just tell her?”
I honestly hoped Roze would say No, but I had to throw it out there.
“Maybe,” Roze said, shifting on the bench
. “I just don’t know enough about her relationship with the Cookes.”
While the days were warming up a bit, nights were still cold, and I crossed my arms. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s almost always been in Cassie’s life. While she’s an awful parent, Cassie may have a deep-seeded attachment.” She lifted her foot and stomped a cockroach wandering by. “I’m worried that, deep down, Cassie may feel protective. She may not even realize it.”
“Huh. You think?”
“Maybe.”
Roze shifted and sniffed the air. The scent of pine was strong tonight, and I took it in, until she said, “Either way, it’s time to talk to Cassie. About something. Anything.”
She was right. And for once, I knew what to do.
* * * * *
That night, I was already in bed when Cassie settled in. I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to pretend to be asleep. Or to really fall asleep.
As soon as she pulled her sheet over her head and settled into her cocoon, I pulled my own sheet over my head, just like before. After shifting a bit in my little igloo, I said, “Cassie?”
She jerked and said, “Yes?”
“How are you?”
After a brief pause, she said, “Fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
I saw her shrug in her cocoon.
I gripped my sheet. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“About your mom?”
“Adoptive mom.”
“Sorry, adoptive mom.” I turned on my side to face her. “Has she always been this way?”
“What way?”
“Domineering. Power hungry. Awful.”
I think my directness caught her off guard, because she shifted around before saying, “Once, when I was six, I told her I wanted to play soccer. She actually agreed. I got so excited.”
“I can’t picture you playing sports.”
She ignored me. “Well, one day, she said, ‘It’s time to sign up.’ So we got in the car and took off. She went straight to the local gym and—” Cassie paused before saying, “she signed me up for basketball.”
“Basketball?”
“I’ve always been tiny. I despise basketball. She knew it.”
I bowed my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“You get used to it.”
“How?” That was a genuine question.
“You know how kids think their parents are perfect?”
I thought about that for a second. While the idea had never occurred to me, I realized it was true and said, “Yeah. I think I believed that until I came out.”
She shifted again. “I never believed it.”
“Ever?”
“Correct. Even as a little kid, I remember knowing she was someone I didn’t want to be like. She’s all about making herself feel better by crushing those around her.”
“Wow.”
We watched each other through our sheets, and I said, “What does she do for a living?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
I didn’t expect that. “What?”
“She’s never had a real job. At least as far as I know. But she always seems to get her way. No matter how important or crazy it is.”
I leaned forward. “For example?”
“A few years ago, she wanted to paint our house blue. She said it would relax her. My adoptive dad said, ‘No way.’ And I agreed. I mean, a blue house?”
“What happened?”
“Well, they disappeared into their room for like five minutes. Next thing you know, he’s painting the house blue.”
“Wow.”
“Not only that, but he was excited to do it.”
My entire body tingled. What was I hearing? “Are you going somewhere with this?”
At that, Cassie started crying.
I pulled the sheet off my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
She shook her head under her sheet. I could see tears soaking through the fabric as she said, “It’s not that.”
“Not what?”
“I’m not upset at you. I feel guilty. And horrible.”
“Why? You have no reason to.”
“I do. I really do.”
“What? Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Cassie! Now is not the time to keep secrets.” OK, that was a crappy thing to say, considering I was holding a gigantic secret from her. But that was about to end. I decided right there, on the spot, that I was going to out myself as the Seeker after our conversation ended. It was time.
“You’re going to hate me,” she said.
“I would never, ever hate you.”
We sat in silence for what felt like hours. I listened to the sound of Cassie crying under her sheet. I was tempted to go and sit with her, but I remained completely motionless.
Finally, she reached out and slowly pulled the sheet off her face. She looked up at me—her tears glowing from moonlight pouring through the window—and said, “I think she might be the Siren.”
Twenty-One
Convos and Distractions
Cassie could have said a million things that wouldn’t have surprised me. She could have said singing tapeworms lived in her butt. She could have said her uncle was an orangutan, who’d been dressed in a gaudy wig and taught to break dance.
But hearing, from Cassie, that her own adoptive mother might be the Siren hit me like a nuclear bomb.
I just stared at her, my mouth mumbling something incoherent. My utter confusion must have distracted her, because she stopped crying, wiped her face, and squinted at me.
“Blaize?”
I wanted to say something, to reassure her, but I couldn’t.
“Are you angry?” She covered herself with her sheet again.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell if I was angry or not. Sure, I hadn’t told her I was the Seeker, but this was different. This was about the Siren herself. If Cassie had told us about Mrs. Cooke way earlier, could we have saved Jimmy?
The thought hurt too much. I couldn’t dwell on it, so I started talking sense to myself. First, I realized I couldn’t blame Cassie. This was her adoptive mother for god’s sake. She must have been going through years of conflicted emotions.
That thought kick-started my mouth, and I blurted, “How long have you suspected her?”
With the sheet still over her face, Cassie said, “I didn’t make the connection until Christmas.”
I relaxed a bit. That wasn’t long enough to save anyone. And I couldn’t blame her for not suspecting sooner. Denial can be a powerful thing.
“How did you make the connection?”
Cassie pulled away the sheet and stared at me. “You’re not asking what I expected.”
I leaned back. “What?”
“I just told you . . . you know. Sorry, I can’t say it out loud again.”
“That’s OK.”
“I expected questions about her. Not how I made the connection.”
She was right. If this information was new, I would have been more shocked. And way more skeptical. I should have expressed doubt or asked for more examples of Mrs. Cooke’s power. I’d spoken without thinking again.
This time, though, I think it was for the best.
I climbed down, walked over, and sat on the edge of Cassie’s bed. Looking her in the eyes, I said, “Roze and I suspect her, too.”
Cassie scooted back against the wall, stunned. “How? When?”
I picked up her blanket and started picking at it. “Just recently.”
“What made you think she might be . . . you know?”
I thought for a second. It wasn’t the time to tell her about the Seeker. Not after this bombshell. Letting go of her blanket, I said, “She’s all about control. To the point it’s weird. And her husband is Senator Joseph’s campaign manager. Oh, and you may not know this, but she had a nasty run-in with Tracey over Christmas. This was right before Tracey made he
r video.”
“What happened?” Cassie scooted to the edge of her bed, and I filled her in on their confrontation.
By the time I finished, I thought I’d made my case sound convincing, but intuitive Cassie said, “That’s all? You thought she was the Siren because of those measly things?”
“I didn’t say it was a lot. Roze and I just have a strong feeling about her.”
Cassie’s eyes sparked with anger. “And you didn’t tell me?”
She had every right to be mad, but I tried defending us. “We didn’t think you suspected. And you heard our proof. It’s mostly stupid speculation. We didn’t just want to say, ‘Hey we think your mom—sorry, adoptive mom—is terrorizing the school.’ How horrible would that be if we were wrong?” I scooted an inch closer to her and said, “But I was wrong. We should have brought you in. I’m so sorry.”
Cassie’s studied me for a minute, and her face softened. “I can see how it would be weird.” She grabbed the sheet and began pulling it through her fingers. “So what now?”
I shrugged. “Well, I have a billion questions. But since we’re talking about including people, I think we should wait for Roze.”
* * * * *
The following day at lunch, Cassie and I filled Roze in on our conversation. She was so stunned by Cassie’s news, a wad of Saving Salad fell out of her mouth and landed on her tray.
“Without us saying anything, you suspected her, too?”
Cassie nodded. Her eyelids were dark, and I knew she’d barely slept.
“That is . . . I mean . . . Wow.” Roze brought another forkful of lettuce to her mouth, but it fell before reaching her lips. “You don’t have real proof, either?”
Cassie looked down at her untouched food. “No.”
“So, what can we do?” I asked.
We talked a few more minutes, and once again realized our evidence sucked. We’d already established my reasons were circumstantial, and Cassie’s suspicious were simply based on Mrs. Cooke getting her way. Lots of manipulative people did that. Sure, things seemed to be lining up a little too weirdly, but that happens.