A Thousand Faces

by Patterson, Janci

  I shot him one back. "What?"

  Kalif leaned into the doorway, and Dad smiled like he'd just heard an amusing joke. "Nothing," he said. "Your mom and I are going home. You coming?"

  I nodded. Better go now before I embarrassed myself further.

  "Later," I said to Kalif.

  He waved goodbye. "If you want to practice eye scans some more later, I'll be around."

  "I will," I said. Just as soon as my ego recovered.

  I walked out to the car in my bare feet. Mom had barely started the engine before Dad turned around and eyed me.

  "You sure look nice," he said.

  I ran a hand through my hair, but it felt normal.

  Mom glared at him. "Dale."

  "What?" he asked. Then he snickered.

  Mom smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

  I glanced down at my neckline, but nothing was showing. Clearly I was missing something. "What?" I asked. "What did I do?"

  Mom looked over her shoulder at me. "Your face is thinner."

  I put my hands to my cheeks. Crap. They were right. I wasn't intentionally shifting, but my waist had tightened, too, forcing my figure into a true hourglass.

  I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. With shifts this tiny, a normal boy wouldn't have noticed.

  But Kalif wasn't exactly normal.

  Good job, Jory. Way to be obvious.

  Dad kept going. "It's been doing that a lot lately. But it mysteriously only happens when that young man is around."

  "Dale," Mom said again. "Stop it."

  "I didn't do it on purpose," I said. That, of course, was Dad's point. My body responded to what my subconscious wanted—for Kalif to find me attractive.

  My face flushed. This time, I let it burn.

  Apparently failing to let embarrassing things drop ran in the family, because Dad charged ahead. "It pains me," he said, "that my own daughter has absorbed the cultural standard that thin is the same as pretty."

  "That's not entirely true," Mom said. "Her body is curvier, too."

  Now they both snickered.

  I clutched the front of my blouse to my chin. "Argh," I said. "Did I really do that?"

  Dad broke out in a full laugh. I buried my face in my hands.

  "Don't encourage her," Mom said. But she was still stifling a laugh.

  "It's okay," I said through my hands. "I'm not exactly feeling encouraged."

  "Hmm," Mom said. "Still."

  I knew what she meant. Mom had told me a thousand times not to get too attached to Kalif. We were working with his family for now, but shifters could never stay in one place for long. I'd left apartments, houses, neighbors, childhood playmates, even the stuffed tiger I loved as a child. I was used to living my life like the only pieces of it I could keep were my parents. I knew I couldn't be with Kalif. He wasn't interested anyway. I was just parading around like he was, humiliating myself.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. "Do you think he noticed?"

  The car bumped as Dad pulled into our driveway—just down the street from the Johnson's. We'd moved to their townhouse complex to be closer to them after we started working together. "Did you notice his shifts? I swear that boy's dimples get bigger every time he sees you."

  I snapped upright. He liked me?

  Oh, no. That was the wrong thing to hope for. If Kalif was interested, I was being unfair to him by leading him on.

  "Really?" I asked.

  "Don't worry," Mom said. "If he's reciprocating, that probably just means he finds it flattering."

  I slouched down in my seat. Great. Now we were back to humiliation.

  Dad unbuckled his seatbelt. "Just what that kid needs. An ego boost."

  "Oh, come on," I said. "He's not like that. It's just his dad."

  Dad climbed out of the car and walked into the house. I could see him still chuckling all the way to the door. Mom turned around in her seat, giving me an apologetic smile.

  I rubbed my forehead. "I didn't mean to be so obvious."

  Mom draped her arms around the headrest. "But you do like him."

  I rolled my eyes. "What do you expect?" I asked. "He's the only shifter guy I've ever met." Being both brilliant and sweet was also a winning combination.

  Mom shook her head. "Don't feel like he's the only guy in the world. You'll meet others."

  I raised an eyebrow at her. "Other shifters?"

  She shrugged. "You don't have to date shifters."

  "I know," I said. Relationships were complicated for us, though. It took a lot of trust to be with someone who could literally change their face and do whatever they wanted when you weren't looking. It was one thing to have that trust between two shifters, but for a normal person to trust a shifter that much . . . I just didn't see a relationship like that lasting very long. Plus, they always had to begin with deception, since we couldn't go around telling the full truth to everyone we were interested in.

  I picked at a tear in the seat upholstery, digging out strands of white fluff with my nail. I knew I couldn't be with Kalif, but I wouldn't have minded finding him again in a few years, when we were older and more ready to be on our own. I squinted at Mom. "Did you embarrass yourself like this when you first met Dad?"

  Mom's eyebrows shot up.

  "Not that I'm thinking about marrying him," I said quickly. "I know we won't be around forever."

  Mom gave me a wary look. "But it's on your mind."

  I squirmed. "You guys brought this up. Not me."

  Mom's face softened, and as she looked out the car window, it seemed to shift younger, so she looked more like me. "I was embarrassed that your dad found me," she said. "He was running a job at the company I'd been conning for months. I was a beginner then—anyone might have caught me. I was lucky that your dad was the one who did. He took me—or my persona, I suppose—out to dinner and told me he knew what I was. I was about to break for the door when he shifted his hands under his napkin, showing me he was the same." She looked at me dreamily. "He was the first other shifter I ever met. He taught me everything. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met him when I did."

  I melted into my seat. If Mom meant to make me less attracted to Kalif, this wasn't helping. "And did you change yourself to impress him?"

  Mom nodded. "It took several months before I showed him my home face. But the personas I picked in the meantime were all conventionally beautiful. Like I said, I was a beginner. It took years for me to catch up to his skill."

  I smiled. I'd never heard that story in so much detail before. Dad's parents were both shifters, but Mom's weren't, so it made sense that he'd been more experienced than her. Dad said shifters were literally one in a million—there was only one of us for every million people on earth. But being born to normal parents made Mom more like one in a hundred million. She'd had it rougher than most of us.

  "So did you know right away?" I asked. "That you loved him?"

  Mom rested her chin on the back of the seat. "I'm not trying to encourage you, you know."

  My cheeks burned some more, but I planted my palms on the edge of the seat. "Please? I just want to hear the rest of the story."

  Mom smiled. "He says he knew. But I think I was caught up in the thrill of being saved, and I let that convince me for a while. Love came later."

  "Before you were a team? Or after?"

  "During," Mom said. "I think it's the way we worked together that made me really convinced that I couldn't live without your father."

  "That's why I don't want to date normal guys," I said. "I want that."

  "Well," Mom said. "Be careful with Kalif."

  I picked up one of Emmeline's shoes, toying with the buckle. "You're right, though. He probably doesn't even like me."

  Mom gave me a look.

  "What?" I asked. "It's not like he's putting moves on me. If he knows, he's probably just flattered, like you said." Those sounded like excuses, even to me. Ugh. "Next time I see him, I'll try not to send any more
embarrassing signals."

  Mom gave me a knowing look. "Come in the house," she said. "I'll try to make sure your dad lets this go. You try to forget about it, too. It's good for you to have friends your age. Just enjoy it."

  Sure. Enjoy just-friendship with the sweetheart shifter genius who just happened to live practically next door.

  No problem, Mom.

  As I walked into the house, Mom put a hand on my shoulder. "Your dad and I are set to go at three AM, so we'll probably be asleep when you go to bed. We'll be home by breakfast."

  I nodded. They'd been running late night missions without me since I was nine. "Be careful," I said.

  "Always," Mom said.

  As she walked upstairs, I was aware that my face had shifted even younger than normal. Tonight they'd be doing real work, the kind they'd prepared for over months. And I'd stay home, like I was still a child.

  I drew myself up to my full height, short though that was. They'd sent me out on one mission. If I could just get some more practice, maybe I could get good enough to be a regular part of the team.

  For that, though, I'd need more than better eye scanner skills. The rest of our team moved through missions with confidence, certain of their goals, certain they would succeed.

  I hoped that part came with practice, too.

  Three

  When I woke up the next morning, I rolled out of bed and looked at myself in my full-length mirror. My subconscious controlled my body in my sleep, reverting to my home body whether I liked it or not. Whatever I was feeling, it was bound to show up in my first-thing reflection, before I started making subtle changes. Today my face was rounder and puffier than normal, making me look younger than I was.

  Like the kid who always got left at home. Ugh. I needed to find something useful to do, stat.

  Maybe Mom would have something for me, now that they'd finished their job.

  I walked down the hall to Mom and Dad's room. I expected the door to be closed, since they'd probably come home in the early hours of the morning. But instead I found the door open, and their bed made.

  I headed downstairs. Sometimes they were so wound up after missions that they didn't go to sleep at all, electing instead to drink coffee and use the leftover buzz to plot their next mission. But the living room was empty; so was the kitchen.

  Had they not come home? I pulled my home body in to be leaner, stronger. They'd probably just gone out already.

  I peeked out the window. Their car was in the driveway, but they often took a cab or a bus to jobs, to reduce the amount of turnover we needed to do on our cars. They also each had a car for the personas they'd been using at Eravision, parked in pay lots downtown.

  But they wouldn't have taken the bus on an errand this morning, would they? Not without leaving me a note. I checked the kitchen table, the counters, and the front door. No note. I checked my phone. No messages.

  I could feel my muscles hardening, not for strength, but out of fear. This never happened. Mom and Dad were late sometimes, but they always let me know when that was a possibility. They always texted. They always made sure I knew they were safe. If they thought a job was going to be dangerous, they always went in one at a time, so that I'd still have a parent at home if something went wrong. I had never, never woken up to find them gone with no explanation.

  A pit formed in my stomach as I thought about Dad watching behind us yesterday as we left the job. I'd made a mistake, sure, but a tiny one. How would they have traced that back to us?

  They couldn't have. Could they?

  The corner of my eye twitched. I couldn't just sit here wondering. I needed to talk to Aida. Checking in with her was always the first order of business after any mission, so Aida knew what to say when the clients contacted her. She'd know what was going on. She should have texted me by now, but since I wasn't an official part of the mission, she must have forgotten.

  I ran upstairs to get dressed. I'd just pulled on my jeans when I heard a knock on the front door. I threw on a t-shirt and ran downstairs, then peered through the peep hole. I could see Aida standing there, in her home body.

  I opened the door and we shook hands, giving our signals. "My parents aren't home yet," I said.

  Aida leaned against the doorframe. "They haven't checked in, either."

  My stomach dropped. It was one thing for them not to contact me, but if there was trouble, they should have called Aida. Unless it was the kind of trouble that meant they couldn't call anyone. "Was this a difficult job?"

  Aida frowned. "It wasn't supposed to be."

  I put my hand on my cell phone in my pocket. "They always let me know when they're going to be late."

  Aida took a deep breath, and nodded. "I'll send Mel to investigate. If they suspected someone followed them, they may have decided to lie low for a while."

  Now Aida was spinning theories. Hers didn't sound any more plausible than mine.

  I took a step closer to her. "Tell me what I can do to help."

  Aida put a hand on my arm. "Just stay safe," she said. "That's what your parents would want."

  I cringed. She made it sound like they were dead. And though I hated to admit it, she was right that they'd want me safe.

  I was afraid Aida was going to tell me to stay home, but instead she said, "Why don't you bring your work down to our place?"

  I bit my lip. "Okay." It was better than sitting home alone, wondering.

  Aida squeezed my wrist. "Don't worry," Aida said. "Your parents are capable. They'll figure it out and be back soon, I'm sure. Mel was just making breakfast. You can eat with us."

  "Thanks," I said. I shut the door and deflated against it. Aida sounded confident, but it was her job to be a good liar.

  My parents had been gone for hours. By now they could literally be anyone, anywhere.

  So why hadn't they texted to let me know what happened? Maybe they'd had to ditch their phones, and also couldn't come home. I checked the clock. If that was the case, they'd buy new disposables and contact me soon. Stores were just now opening for the day.

  I trucked a stack of security catalogues down to Kalif's place. Dad and I had a game where whenever we walked into a building, we'd name all the locks we passed by type and manufacturer. Last week he'd stumped me on a set of solid core metal doors with an electrified lock. I'd gotten the type, but not the manufacturer. That wouldn't happen again. Plus, it was intense work. I needed that, if I wasn't going to obsess about my parents.

  Even so, I checked three times on the way over to make sure my phone was on, and that the volume was all the way up.

  When I got to the Johnsons' place, Mel met me at the door. He took my hand for a moment, giving me his code.

  I was pretty sure Aida had been intentionally remaining calm for my sake, but Mel didn't seem to think that was necessary. His palms were sweaty, and that wasn't part of the code. His hands kept reaching into his pockets and then back out again, like he meant to grab something but kept forgetting what.

  My fingers went cold, and I intentionally warmed them. It was one thing to hear that Mom and Dad were missing, and another to watch an unflappable spy worry about it.

  Mel scrutinized me. "You've checked your phone? You're sure your parents haven't called?"

  Obviously. "I'm sure. You?"

  Mel rubbed his forehead. "Nothing here. I'm going to go poke around the company," he said. "I knew we shouldn't have sent them in there alone."

  Please. I was a novice, but my parents were professionals. "Aida said the mission wasn't dangerous," I said. "They've done tougher jobs alone."

  "Sure," Mel said. "But we should have had trackers on them, at least. Now we have no idea where they've gone."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Trackers? My parents didn't even send me out with one. Too much risk that someone else would use it to track me, as well.

  Aida stepped out of the kitchen and gave Mel a look. "Stop scaring her. I'm sure they're fine."

  I wasn't. "Do you think someone caught them
?" I asked Mel.

  Mel rubbed his chin, leaning toward me. "Do you know anything I don't?"

  A cold wave washed over me. There were the people in the black vans, who followed Dad home. But why would they have found him now, after all this time? Not because I'd failed one eye scan at an unrelated company. "All my ideas are completely paranoid."

  Mel studied me for a moment, and then his face softened. "Just sit tight," he said. "I've got this covered." He pulled on a ball cap and walked out the door.

  I drew a breath from the bottom of my diaphragm. I wished I could believe that he did, but he wasn't exactly projecting confidence. Instead, I exchanged hand signals with Aida again.

  Aida was right that my parents would want me safe, but they weren't always right about everything. The question was how to convince Aida of that.

  "Isn't there something I can do?" I asked.

  "You can sit down and have breakfast," Aida said.

  Over her shoulder I could see Kalif sitting at the table with a book open in front of him. He gave me a sympathetic glance, and I half-smiled back.

  I looked Aida in the eyes. "If it were Mel who disappeared, wouldn't you use every resource to find him?"

  Aida closed her eyes. "Hard as it would be, I'd trust him to find his way out of whatever situation he found himself in."

  I raised my eyebrows. Really? I looked sideways at Kalif. He stared at his book, but his eyes didn't move across the words.

  Aida put a hand on my arm. "Give them time. Your parents will work this thing out." She hesitated there, waiting for me to agree.

  I sighed. Playing into her expectations would give me some freedom to do what I needed to without her watching me too closely. "Okay," I said. "But let me know as soon as Mel finds something."

  Aida gave me a sad smile. "Your parents will probably beat him back here. You'll see."

  I wished I could be as certain, but doubt gnawed at me, like a little dog tugging on a rope.

  I followed Aida into the kitchen, and she handed me a plate with sausage and scrambled eggs and half a peach on it. At our house, we usually had cold cereal for breakfast.

  Kalif munched on a link of sausage. He looked even more like his mom this morning, which was something that usually happened when his dad was around. He wiped his fingers on a napkin before offering me his hand. As he gave me his signal, he held on a moment longer than he strictly needed to. My hand tingled, and I rubbed it against my jeans.