by Marie Lu
“The first rule of fooling someone,” she said, “is to mix a few lies in with many truths.” She turned her chin down and gazed up at him from under a canopy of lashes. “It’s hard, isn’t it? To believe anything I say?”
Madeleine had been messing with him after all, even with her hurt words, her angry expressions.
“Then maybe I’m just wasting my time,” he replied.
“You should be grateful. I’m teaching you.” Madeleine’s enigmatic smile widened. “Trust nothing, suspect everything. If you want to figure out the truth, you shouldn’t just be standing here, trying to get me to talk. Go out and see color for yourself.”
The Nightwalker’s escape from the intersection of Eastham and Wicker now appeared clearly in Bruce’s mind. What had been going on behind the faded brick facade of the Bellingham building? Bruce couldn’t bring himself to look away from Madeleine’s gaze. A prickling sensation crawled down his spine.
“You’re afraid of me,” she said.
Instead of his finding a category to put her in, she was breaking him down, every step of the way. “You’re locked away in Arkham’s basement,” he replied. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Maybe you’re afraid that you like me.” She smiled sweetly.
“Why would I like you?”
“Well, you sure talk a lot when you’re here.”
“I could say the same about you.”
A teasing light appeared in her eyes, and she pulled her hair over one shoulder in a shiny rope. “Maybe I just like trying to read your mind,” she replied.
Bruce leaned his shoulder against the glass window separating them, then sighed. “Do you even know why they were there?”
Madeleine rested a hand on her hip and chewed her lip, considering him. He wondered what she was looking for. Finally, she said, “Go back to the building. If you want to find something, you’re going to have to get inside.”
Inside. “And is that a hunch, or do you know this because you used to work with the Nightwalkers?”
She just shrugged. “I might know some things.”
“Do you know who the Nightwalkers’ boss is?”
“So many questions. I can’t answer everything for you—go figure out something on your own.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth? You just told me to suspect everyone.”
She looked pleased. “You should suspect me, more than anyone,” she replied. “But it sounds to me like you want to get to the bottom of the Nightwalkers, and that the police don’t want you involved anymore. I may have exactly the information you need, but you’re the one who needs to use it.”
This was what he had come back for—information that Draccon had been trying to work out of her for months. Keep a level head. She might crawl in. Bruce wondered if he wanted her to, just to see what she could do. “You know I’ll probably pass this information along to the police. Why would you tell me this, when you’ve stayed silent in front of them for months?”
A playful light had entered Madeleine’s eyes. “Because, Mr. Wayne,” she said, “I suppose I’ve grown rather fond of your visits.”
Even though everything in him warned him to stay away, that this was a girl who had blood on her hands, who might work with an entire organization of killers—he still wanted to stay here, wanted to keep talking to her. I have to, he told himself, justifying the feeling. I’m getting further with her than any of the police have. I’m their only shot.
“And what will I find, once I’m inside?” Bruce asked her.
She touched a finger to her lips teasingly, then waved farewell to him as she headed back toward her bed. “Check the north wall’s lower bricks in the building. I’ll let you decide whether or not that turns out to be useful information.”
Bruce turned away, too. She could have just lied about everything, but it still didn’t stop his heart from beating loudly in his chest. Useful information. Her words had taken hold in his mind, and he felt compelled to follow them.
“You hate this band,” Dianne said as she looped her arm through Bruce’s. He had to lean down to hear her properly.
Together with Harvey, they were heading to a summer concert held on the greens of the new park in central Gotham City. The air was surprisingly chilly tonight, the result of a week of irregular storms, and in the sky, a few lingering clouds were lit up by the sunset in hues of pink and gold.
“I don’t hate this band,” Bruce lied. “I just think the Midnight Poets are overrated.” But in the back of his mind, he was thinking about the surrounding neighborhood. The park was only a few blocks away from the corner of Eastham and Wicker, where the Bellingham Industries & Co. building had been bombed. If he could find a good moment to get away from the crowd, he could take a closer look at the intersection, perhaps get inside and follow Madeleine’s clue.
Bruce hoisted his backpack higher, feeling self-conscious about the things he’d brought in case he’d need them. A bolt cutter, to get past any locks that might be on the building’s doors. A knife. A ski mask. Gloves. Items a criminal might pack, if anyone were to look through them. His thoughts flickered back to Madeleine for a moment, and the memory of her small, secret smile. What else did she know that she refused to tell the police?
“Bruce?” Dianne nudged him hard enough to jolt him back to the present. “I said, what’s not to like? They’re billed as the next great indie.”
“Hey, obviously someone likes them,” Bruce replied, recovering quickly. He gave Dianne a wry grin. “Far be it from me to stop you guys from listening to an awful show.”
Dianne grimaced at him and rolled her eyes. Bruce knew she could tell that his mind had wandered somewhere else. “Well, if we see them playing at a Super Bowl halftime in the future, I’m totally going to rub it in your face.”
“You’ve been acting weird ever since graduation day, Bruce,” Harvey chimed in as he munched on a churro, spraying sugar crumbs everywhere. “It usually takes a lot to set you off like that. What’s happening at Arkham? Is it getting to your head?”
Bruce hesitated. The most he’d mentioned to either of them was that Draccon had finally begun…not warming up to him, exactly, but letting him in on a few aspects of her detective work. The rest of it, though—the conversation with Madeleine about the Nightwalkers—he hadn’t brought up to either Dianne or Harvey.
So Bruce shrugged. “Maybe some. Arkham’s been a noisy place, with the inmates heckling me all the time.”
“Maybe Detective Draccon will find a way to shorten your sentence,” Harvey said, “so you don’t have to deal with that every day. That doesn’t sound healthy at all.”
You have no idea. “I’ll ask her,” he replied.
Harvey looked ready to ask more questions, but Dianne just sighed and quickened her pace, forcing them to do the same. “Can we skip the asylum talk today?” she said, saving Bruce from elaborating more. He felt a twinge of relief when she cast him a subtle wink and then nodded toward the park, where people were filling up the grass with picnic blankets and lawn chairs. A few silhouettes lingered behind tree trunks, waiting for security to look away before climbing up to sit on the branches. “I mean—do you guys realize that this will be one of the last times the three of us all hang out together in Gotham City?”
“We have the whole summer,” Harvey replied. “You’re not leaving until the end of August, right?”
Dianne held up all her fingers. “Ten weeks,” she replied. “Yeah. My lola reminded me of that this morning—she nearly sobbed into her rice and eggs.”
The number sank in. Bruce felt a sudden pang as he realized how little time they had left together.
The three of them reached the park, and the topic of their future was dropped as they hunted for a good spot to sit. They finally settled on a clear patch of grass and waited for the band to come onstage. While Dianne argued with Harvey about the best song and Harvey tried to get her to sing the lyrics out loud, Bruce found his thoughts wandering to Madeleine.
A cheer went up from the crowd, momentarily distracting him. The band was taking the stage, and the microphone squealed as the lead singer cleared his throat. Dianne cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted a song request, while Harvey jostled her aside to yell out his own choice. As the band began to play, the crowd joined in on the chorus.
Bruce just listened as everyone around him sang along, his gaze fixed on his friends. They made it seem so easy to get close, to take down their walls and just be. The feeling of aloneness came to Bruce again, the realization that he might never be able to let down his guard in the way that they could. There was Harvey—clean-cut, law-abiding, determined to do the most good from inside the system. And Dianne, the product of a large, loving family, simply had faith in the system altogether.
But what if the system just needed help? In every mystery he’d ever read, the police always stayed one step behind the hero. What if taking things into his own hands was the only real way to fix everything?
He clapped along to the second song, trying not to grimace at how bad it was, until he was sure that Harvey and Dianne had both turned their attention entirely to the concert. Then, when a track came on that got everyone jumping to their feet, Bruce rose and started edging through the crowd. Dianne cast him a brief glance as he went. Bathroom, he mouthed at her, before continuing on.
Beyond the park, the evening streets were surprisingly quiet. It seemed as if everyone within a one-mile radius of the concert had either decided to attend or completely avoided the area, leaving the sidewalks empty. A cool breeze blew past, bringing with it the scent of the ocean and a raw, pungent smell of underground sewage.
Bruce straightened his blazer and the hoodie underneath it, then pulled the hood over his head. The bats of Gotham City were out in force tonight; when he paused to look up, he could see a colony of them circling along the horizon, eager to start their evening hunt. He quickened his steps as the light faded completely from the sky, until only pools of streetlight illuminated the road.
Finally, he stopped at the corner of the intersection, right under the signs that said EASTHAM and WICKER, and studied each of the buildings.
Nothing seemed remarkable, at least at first glance. The cluster of police cruisers and blockades were long gone, the broken glass and bullet shells cleared from the streets, and it seemed almost as if nothing unusual had happened here. But the skid marks on the ground remained—deep black angry lines—and the Bellingham building still bore the charred scars from the explosion and fire. A maze of wooden scaffolding now covered up most of what had been damaged, new windows and bricks in a half-finished state, and a chain-link construction fence draped with black tarp now surrounded the property, hiding the bottom floor from view.
He walked slowly around the corner, taking in the details and remembering what had happened here. The police blockade, the speeding getaway car. The gunfire, the explosion that destroyed the building.
The Nightwalkers destroy their victims’ legacies.
Bruce stopped when he made his way to the intersection, then turned. Here, he could finally see the name of the storefront painted on the brick lining the second story: BELLINGHAM INDUSTRIES & CO.
He crossed the street and made his way over to the building. Above the chain-link fence, he could see the chips in the brick that had worn away over time, the history embedded in the walls of this place. He walked quietly along the barrier, searching for something, anything, that might be unusual. The minutes ticked by.
Until a voice from behind startled him.
“Bruce.”
Bruce whirled to come face to face with Dianne.
He let out a breath and leaned against his knees. “For chrissakes!” he swore. “Could you have been a little quieter about following me?”
“I’m the one who surprised you?” she exclaimed, holding her arms out wide and answering with a swear in Tagalog that he couldn’t understand. She really is upset, he thought. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Is Harvey with you?”
“I made Harvey save our spots. Now, tell me what’s going on with you. You’re attacking Richard, you’re wandering off alone to the crime scene where you got into trouble—come on, Bruce!”
“Nothing. I’m just taking a look.”
He met her withering glare. Bruce could tell from the light in her eyes that she already knew he was hiding something from her—it was far past the point when he could continue keeping secrets. Besides, she’d already caught him sneaking around.
“Fine.” Bruce crossed his arms. Taking a deep breath, he began telling Dianne about Madeleine. The first time she’d spoken to him. Her past crimes. Being involved in Draccon’s investigation. He spoke in a rapid, hushed voice, as if someone might overhear him and send word back to Detective Draccon.
When he finished, Dianne’s face had changed from brown to ashen. “I can’t believe they roped you into something as crazy as this. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“They needed my help.”
Dianne gave him a pointed look. “Listen, let’s say that this girl—who is an unhinged murderer, I’d like to remind us both—was telling the truth. How have the police not found any evidence yet? They combed this street corner for weeks without finding so much as a hint of what the Nightwalkers might have been up to.”
Bruce held up a hand. “And if there’s nothing to find, then all I’ve wasted is a night of my time. But what if Madeleine gave me an honest hint? She told me to pay attention to the north wall. Maybe there’s something the cops missed.”
Dianne leaned forward and squinted at Bruce carefully. “Oh, I get it,” she declared after a moment. “I’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“You. What’s up with you—I’ve figured it out.” She crossed her arms and peered at him. “You like Madeleine. You’re all hung up on her.”
“What?” Bruce leaned away from her. “That’s what you got from what I told you?”
“It’s obvious, Bruce. Remember Cindie Patel from seventh grade? You were wild about her—remember when she lost her grandmother’s bangle during lunch, and you skipped five lunches after that just to look for it?”
“Hey, I found that bangle.”
Dianne clapped her hands twice. “Focus, Bruce! You always need to be the white knight, and now you’re obsessing over a random hint from this girl to the point where you’re willing to risk your probation. It’s the exact same thing.”
Bruce gave her a wry look. “Except I knew Cindie Patel because she sat next to me in Biology, and I know Madeleine because she’s in jail for three murders.”
Dianne waved a hand in the air. “Details. You know what I mean.”
Madeleine materialized again in Bruce’s thoughts. Maybe she’s right. But that made no sense at all. “Look, I’m here because I want to be,” he said, firmly this time. “That’s it.”
“Whatever. You know, Harvey would be pissed at you if he found out this is what you’re up to right now. And he’s got a point, Bruce. Sometimes you should trust the police to do the right thing. If Draccon finds out you’re snooping around like this, they might even extend your sentence.”
Always curious, aren’t you? He shook his head, trying to shake Madeleine’s words out of his head. “How about this: if I find nothing—”
“If we find nothing.” Dianne shrugged at him. “I’m involved now. I can’t just leave you here.”
Bruce glared at her, but she didn’t look away. “Fine. If we f
ind nothing, I promise I’ll never do this again. Ever. But you can’t tell anyone else about this. I’m serious.”
Dianne scowled at him. “You owe me one, for making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
At that, Bruce gave her a wry smile. “All right, all right. I owe you one. Thanks for looking out for me. And hey—Lucius is throwing a huge gala in a couple of weeks, to demonstrate some of WayneTech’s drone security technology. Do you want to come with me and make sure I don’t get myself killed?”
Dianne gave him a sideways look. “Really?”
“It’s pretty fancy.”
“Will they be serving good food?”
“The best,” Bruce promised.
She considered for a moment with pursed lips. “Okay,” she said. “Sounds like a plan.”
Bruce gestured to the corner of the block. “Stay over here, by the frame of that doorway. There. You’re not so conspicuous now. Keep a lookout for me. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, call someone.”
“Fine. But only if you stay on the phone with me the entire time.” Dianne took out her phone and tapped it twice. “And if it actually takes you longer than thirty minutes, I’m sending every cop in Gotham City after you.”
“Fair enough.”
Bruce headed away from Dianne and back along the fence. It wrapped all the way around the building without a single break, leading him right back to where he had started. He paused after another round, rubbing his eyes from staring so hard at the building.
What was he looking for, anyway?
Something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He looked down at the chain-link fence. He frowned, looking harder.
The fence was unbroken, sure…but along the chain link was a series of metal bumps, what looked like former breaks in the fence that were then welded back into place. It was a subtle detail, one that Bruce had nearly overlooked. But there was no question about it. The fence was welded shut. Which meant someone else had cut through it at some point, then carefully hid any tracks.
