Shade

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Margie came down the stairs, huffing her exasperation. Her shoelaces carried jingle bells, which made me want to giggle. Or maybe my giddiness came from the feel of Zachary’s body close behind me as I stood before the porthole. My hand tingled, enveloped in his, my skin sensitive from touching nothing but nothing for so many weeks.

  The couple wandered around the large open area, examining the hammocks. Despite their bickering, they were holding hands too.

  “They’re so cute,” I whispered.

  “Mm.” Zachary’s thumb traced a circle in my palm. “They’d be even cuter if they buggered off right about now.”

  I laughed, tilting back against his chest. He took my other hand and slid both arms around me from behind. I rested there, savoring his sturdiness.

  “Aura,” he whispered into my hair. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

  I didn’t want to guess. I only wanted to feel his solid body press against mine and hear him speak my name. “Can I ask you something important?”

  “Anything.”

  “What’s your favorite song?”

  He hesitated. “Anything but that. Not now.”

  “You can tell me your deepest secret, but not your favorite song?”

  “I can tell you my favorite song, just not now. Ask me something else.”

  I thought of another tactic. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “Easy one. Yes.”

  “Then tell me your favorite song.”

  He laughed softly in my ear. “That’s your price, aye?”

  “Aye.”

  “Hmm.” His voice made his chest vibrate gently against my back. “Is that just the price to kiss your lips? What about other places?”

  I turned my head to press my cheek against him, unable to speak, since that would’ve required breathing.

  As the couple moved on, Zachary swept my hair over my left shoulder, baring my neck. His lips brushed the corner of my jaw, just below my ear. My knees turned to honey.

  Zachary’s arms suddenly tightened around me. “Uh-oh.”

  I opened my eyes. He pointed straight out the brass-rimmed porthole.

  Beyond the smudgy glass, three DMP agents stood on the docks, their white uniforms gleaming in what was left of the afternoon sun. Weapons were holstered in wide black straps over their shoulders.

  “What are they doing?” I whispered.

  “Looking for someone.” As the dumpers rushed up the Constellation’s gangplank, Zachary dragged me toward the stairs. “Looking for us.”

  “How do you know? Maybe they’re looking for that shade.”

  “Regular dumpers don’t handle shades, and those guns have real bullets. Come on, we can’t get past them.” He gestured for me to go down first. “We’ll have to hide.”

  We climbed down to the lowest level, but the wide-open engine room offered no safe places. Our last option was the kitchen, off-limits for restoration.

  Zachary stepped over the yellow KEEP OUT tape. “Perfect.”

  I followed him. A large wooden box stood at the far corner of the kitchen.

  “Potato bin.” He lifted the handle and leaned the open lid against the white wall. I placed my hands on his shoulders so he could lift me into the bin with minimal noise. Once inside, I scrunched my body over to make room. At its highest angle, the top of the bin barely cleared my skull.

  Zachary joined me, then lowered the lid. We sat with our shoulders crammed together. The compartment smelled of dust and mildew.

  Soon I heard the rap of hard-soled shoes above the kitchen’s ceiling. The thought of facing real DMP agents made my knees shake. Gina had told me nightmare tales of people getting “dumped,” detained for questioning. I didn’t want to share one iota of what I knew—about myself, about my mom, about Zachary.

  Then the floor vibrated from the impact of heavy feet. The dumpers had entered the kitchen. I suddenly had to pee really bad.

  “Check every inch.”

  I almost jumped out of my skin when the deep voice barked the order.

  “This is the last room,” the man said.

  I held back a shudder. There was no way we could’ve gotten out without passing them, and they knew it.

  The agents split off, opening and closing squeaky compartment doors.

  “Watch it!” the lead agent said. “If we break a piece of a historic landmark, I’ll be up to my ass in paperwork.”

  The agents came closer. Zachary tensed beside me. Did he plan to fight his way out of this one?

  Radio static squawked, and the lead agent cursed under his breath. “Reynolds.” He paused. “You’re kidding. Which way? … But we had reports that—yes, sir. We’ll be right there.” The radio chirped, then he shouted, “Move out! Now!”

  A compartment slammed shut. One of the agents asked the leader, “What happened?”

  “Command has confirmed that the subjects left the ship at sixteen-thirty. They’ve been spotted at the Hard Rock Cafe in the Power Plant building.”

  “But how did—”

  “What’s it matter? Just go!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In the distance the stairway creaked with the weight of the agents, and then all sound ceased but our breath.

  We stayed frozen—literally. The ship wasn’t heated, and we were sitting near the outer wall. A biting wind seeped through the hull and the tiny cracks of the bin.

  Zachary’s teeth chattered. So much for his rugged heritage.

  When I couldn’t feel my butt anymore, I squirmed and whispered, “I think they’re gone, but there could still be agents outside the ship.”

  Zachary grunted as he moved his legs. “Too bad I didn’t find us better accommodation.”

  I rotated my ankles to wake my sleeping feet. Pins and needles pricked my calves.

  “I figured they were watching us,” he whispered, “but that was bleeding insane. They were armed.”

  “The DMP doesn’t mess around. But what did we do to deserve that? You think they knew what you did upstairs, saving me from that shade? Maybe another post-Shifter was watching.”

  “There was no one else near our age on the whole level. But maybe the DMP has ways of detecting these things.” Zachary shifted again, his leather jacket rustling. “If anyone ever finds out, my life as I know it is over.”

  “I promise I’ll never tell.”

  “Don’t promise that,” he said in an ultraserious voice. “If they try to hurt you and the only way to protect yourself is to tell them what you know about me, then you tell them. Straight off, okay?”

  “No.”

  “Promise me.”

  “No!”

  “I will possess your heart.”

  Heat flared along the back of my neck. “What did you say?”

  “My favorite song. ‘I Will Possess Your Heart.’”

  “By Death Cab for Cutie?”

  He snorted. “No, the little-known T.I. hip-hop remix. Yes, Death Cab for Cutie.”

  I smiled at the cute way he said “cutie.” “Really?”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing, but it doesn’t seem to fit you. It’s kind of a sad song.”

  “No, it’s pure confident. It’s not ‘I want’ or ‘I need,’ none of that crap.” He slipped his hand over mine. “It’s ‘I will.’”

  A nervous laugh bubbled up. “You will, huh?”

  His fingers brushed my cheek, then slid into my hair. “I will.”

  Somehow, in the darkness, his lips found mine.

  I should’ve been ready. We’d been dancing around each other for months, and we were, after all, in a situation of forced snuggling.

  But my inexplicable surprise kinda made me blow into his mouth.

  “Oh my God.” I turned my face away in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

  He laughed. “American girls are so kinky. And overrated.”

  “Hey.” I grabbed his head with both hands and pulled him back to kiss
me.

  This time it worked. Holy Father with a flamethrower, did it ever work. We fit together like we’d been kissing for years in some parallel universe that had suddenly intersected with the one we were living in now.

  After the exploding-comet impact, Zachary kissed me carefully, like every millimeter of my mouth deserved its own exploration. Like the bottom lip would’ve been jealous if the top lip had gotten more attention. And the tongue that had given me a thousand subliminal licks at the sound of his voice? It was mine now.

  He cupped my shoulder blade and pulled me closer. I slid my hands to the back of his neck.

  Wow. I’d forgotten how soft a guy’s hair could be. Logan’s usually had some kind of gel to make it spiky.

  But remembering Logan made my gut clench in sudden longing. For weeks I’d wanted to kiss and touch him again, almost more than I’d wanted my next breath. And now, the memory of Logan and the reality of Zachary were tearing my heart in two.

  My grip tightened with the force of my grief, pulling Zachary into a deeper kiss. A little noise came from the back of his throat, making his lips tremble against mine.

  I let myself fall into the abyss of the kiss, let it swallow all thoughts of the past and future. I heard nothing but the rush of blood in my ears, felt nothing but the warmth of Zachary’s mouth, and in the total darkness I saw nothing but the images in my mind. Images of touching, pressing, lying down.

  Which explains why neither of us heard the footsteps.

  The lid of the bin popped open. I jumped away from Zachary and shielded my eyes from the light. Fear jolted through me at the sight of the strange man in a dark suit and tie looming over us. I waited for him to pull out a weapon and point it at our heads.

  Then Zachary let out a heavy sigh. “Hi, Dad.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Well.” The man straightened up and crossed his arms. “Good to see you’re maintaining absolute vigilance.”

  Zachary extracted his arm from behind my back. “Aura, this is my father, Ian Moore. Dad, this is—”

  “I know who she is, son.”

  “I know you know who she is,” Zachary said with a slight edge. “I’m just being thorough.”

  I smoothed my disheveled hair. “Nice to meet you.” I didn’t know what else to say after being caught making out by an international man of mystery.

  “Likewise.” He arched a gray and black eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d like to be gettin’ out of there now.”

  “It’s safe, then?” Zachary helped me to my feet.

  “I took care of it at the directorate level.” Ian offered an arm to steady me as I climbed out of the potato bin. “Spent a lifetime’s worth of political capital on this one.”

  “Thanks.” I brushed a cobweb off my sleeve, then checked my butt for dampness. “Does that mean we can leave?”

  “It means we must leave. And then go somewhere private where no one will hear the screams when I kill you both.” Ian strode toward the kitchen door.

  “He’s kidding.” Zachary gestured for me to precede him. “I think.”

  We followed Ian up three levels, all of which were void of the living and dead, until we reached the Constellation’s top deck. It was also completely abandoned. Even the uniformed tour guides were gone.

  They’d evacuated the entire ship on our account. Oops.

  But what was the big deal? What could Zachary and I have done this afternoon to piss off such powerful people?

  I had to trot down the gangplank to keep up with Ian’s pace. We passed through the empty gift shop on our way out, and Ian glared when Zachary slowed down next to a display of pirate hats.

  Outside, half a dozen police officers waited, holding back the ogling crowd. The officers nodded to Ian as he passed, as did another man, whose dark glasses and coat screamed federal agent. Sunglass Man pulled out a walkie-talkie, then hurried past Santa’s pavilion toward the busy traffic of Pratt Street. We followed him.

  As we approached the road, a black car with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. The car blocked the right lane’s traffic, so a police officer stepped out and directed the angry drivers around it.

  The unnamed agent opened both passenger-side doors. Ian stood at the front. “Get in.”

  I hesitated, reluctant to enter a car with strangers, even if they all had badges. Especially if they all had badges.

  “It’s safe.” Zachary’s voice held a touch of pleading as he put his hand on the back door. “Trust me.”

  “You first.”

  I followed Zachary into the car and sat behind his father. The sedan’s black leather seats were seductively soft, like they wanted me to sink into them, close my eyes, and forget all my very sensible fears.

  “Seat belts,” Ian said crisply, then told the man behind the wheel, “Just drive, please.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked him.

  “Nowhere.” He rotated in his seat to face Zachary. “Now what the bloody hell were you thinking?”

  Zachary looked sullen. “When?”

  “Today! You know what’s at stake here.”

  “No, I don’t. You won’t tell me.” His voice was steady and cool, the opposite of his father’s.

  “I looked all over the city for you—”

  “I left you a note—”

  “—and then the DMP rings me, saying you’re with her, of all people.”

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s wrong with—”

  “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Ian asked Zachary.

  “I didn’t want to lie to you about who I was with.” He lifted his chin. “I prefer honesty.”

  Ian’s nostrils flared. “Son, hiding the truth is just the coward’s way to lie.”

  Zachary’s face twisted. He spat out something in Gaelic—at least, I thought it was Gaelic. Ian responded, and then they were off, yelling a barrage of indecipherable words that made my ears ring. To increase my disorientation, the car was speeding, bumping over potholes and forcing me to grab the door handle around turns.

  It took me almost half a minute to realize that Ian and Zachary were speaking some form of English. Only then did I appreciate how much Zachary toned down his native Glasgow accent at school. Watching them go at it, I noticed they had the same strong, stubborn jaw and animated green eyes that darkened to a formidable glower in the heat of anger.

  I tried to pick up any recognizable phrase so I could insert myself into the conversation.

  Ian said something-something-something “… the two of you in public?”

  I interrupted with, “Why can’t we go out in public?”

  “Because this is what happens.” Ian jabbed his finger at the looming Power Plant entertainment complex, where a DMP van was parked outside. “The dumpers get suspicious.”

  “Suspicious of what?”

  “I don’t know,” he blurted, his voice pitching higher. “I don’t know what they think a couple of kids are capable of. But they see the First and the Last together—” He waved a hand beside his head. “The agents’ wee minds start churning out conspiracy theories. It’s no wonder, when you chose today of all days.”

  “It’s our birthday,” Zachary said.

  “It’s also the buggering solstice!” Ian coughed as he ran a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. Then he faced forward and thumped his head on the headrest in frustration. “What am I going to do with you?”

  I spoke up again. “You could start by telling us what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on is that I’ve spent months trying to convince the DMP that you’re of no interest. That the fact that you’re the First is an insignificant accident. Someone had to be first. Why no’ you?”

  I wondered if Ian believed that, if he thought he was pushing the truth or a lie. I wanted to believe it was a coincidence—it seemed self-centered to think my birth could have caused something as colossal as the Shift. But between my mystery dad and Mom’s cryptic notes—not to mention Zachary’s strange power—there were t
oo many questions and not enough answers.

  “And then you two go and call attention to yourselves like this,” Ian continued. “Holding hands in a pedalo, for Christ’s sake. They must have been frothing at the mouth at the thought of you two reproducing, wondering if you’d give birth to some kind of metaphysically enhanced creature or a bottomless black hole.”

  I gaped at him. Reproducing? Giving birth?

  “Dad …” Zachary leaned his elbow on the window and covered his eyes. “Can you stop now, please?”

  Yeesh. And I thought my aunt was embarrassing.

  Thinking of Gina made me channel her suspicious nature. “Mr. Moore, why do you care what the DMP thinks of me? Why do I matter so much to you?”

  “It’s my job,” he said, too quickly, still facing front. “And I want to keep the DMP as far from my son as possible.”

  I thought of everything Zachary and I had in common, the weirdness of our shared birthday—shared birth hour—and suddenly my fingers turned to ice. My mind spiraled out of control, all the missing pieces fitting together in one terrible possibility.

  “Mr. Moore, is Zach my twin brother?”

  “What?!” Zachary sputtered. “Good God, why would you think that?”

  I counted off the reasons on my fingers. “My father’s missing. So’s your mother. We were born a minute apart. Now your dad is freaking out over us going on a date.”

  Zachary put a hand to his chest. “Dad, tell her it’s no’ true. It can’t be, right? Right?” His voice was so tight it almost squeaked.

  Ian faced the backseat again. “Of course I’m not her father.” It was his turn to be the calm one. “I never even met her mother.”

  “So? They have ways—”

  “Zach, it’s okay.” I touched his arm, wishing I hadn’t said anything. “I just realized he can’t be my father. He doesn’t have brown eyes.”

  “Oh.” Zachary slumped back in his seat. “Right. That’s a relief.”

  Understatement of a lifetime.

  So that eliminated one candidate, which wasn’t very helpful. But Ian probably knew more about me than he was letting on. If I was the First, then MI-X and DMP must have considered the possibility that my birth—and therefore my heritage—was connected to the Shift.