A Thousand Faces

by Janci Patterson

  I didn't tell Kalif he looked like his dad. No need to add insult to injury.

  By evening, we'd eaten nothing but chips from the vending machine and little packets of complementary saltines. I didn't like leaving Kalif alone to go get food, but we both needed to eat, and he probably needed space. It wasn't easy finding out your parents were probably murderers.

  I should know.

  I found a burger joint down the street, and hurried there and back. When I returned to the room, Kalif's chair was empty. I moved frantically through the room, searching for him, for a note, for any sign that he hadn't run off on me. The bathroom door was open, and the bed and table were empty. The room was small; there were few places to hide.

  I took deep breaths, looking over Kalif's laptop and hard drives. He'd left all his equipment, so I told myself he couldn't have gone far. If he was leaving me forever, he'd have taken the computer.

  I leaned over the screen, and found the computer processing some data.

  He'll be back, I told myself. He probably just went to get some air.

  And good for him. I was sure he needed it.

  I was pulling the food out of the bag when I felt the draft from the balcony door. The curtains were still drawn, but there was a one inch crack between the door and the frame.

  When I pulled the door open, I found Kalif sitting cross-legged against the wall, looking out at the lights from the city. He wore his home body, but the shadows concealed him from passers-by. He had his arms tucked around his waist and his shoulders hunched forward, like a pill bug rolling himself up to shut out the world. His face looked younger, and his cheeks more filled out, more like Aida's.

  "Hey," I said. "They should really put some furniture out here."

  He smiled at me. "This'll do."

  I hesitated in the doorway. "Do you want company?"

  He unwrapped one arm, gesturing to the space beside him. "Please."

  I retrieved the food, we checked hands, and I sat down beside him. I spread the burger wrappers on the concrete in front of us. The cold seeped through my jeans when I sat down next to him, so I moved blood through them, warming myself.

  We sat shoulder to shoulder, staring down at our food. "You okay?" I asked.

  "I don't know," Kalif said, "and I'm annoyed about it."

  I nudged him. "It's understandable if you aren't."

  Kalif glared angrily at the sky. "Is it? It's not like I didn't already know my dad was a douche."

  "Yeah, well. Douche and murderer are separate things."

  Kalif didn't look convinced. "So once I get this trace to work, what are we going to do?"

  "Find my parents," I said. "Maybe we could show these other shifters what we found, make them see that my parents didn't do it."

  Kalif gave me a doubtful look. "They're vigilantes. You'd be taking a huge risk trying to make them see reason."

  Since I didn't know anything about them, it was an even bigger risk than trying to talk to Aida and Mel had been. "Then we'll have to break them out."

  He sighed. "Going up against shifters will be a whole different game."

  My stomach clenched. He was right, of course. The path ahead was dangerous. It was one thing to worry about tech used to trap shifters, and another thing to know you'd be dealing with a fortress used to contain them. "I have to do this," I said. "But you don't. If you want to just find the trace for me and go home, I understand."

  Kalif settled his arm over my shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere. I just want to be sure that we're considering what we're up against."

  The more I considered it, the more saving my parents felt impossible. Even if we did track them, Mel and Aida had probably already warned these other shifters that we were coming.

  Kalif cleared his throat. "So what about after we free your parents? What then?"

  I tried to stay still, but my body stiffened, and from the way he shifted against me, I could tell Kalif noticed. I knew what happened. I'd always known. I thought Kalif knew, too, and we were intentionally not talking about it.

  Why bring it up now?

  It wouldn't do any good to lie to him. "My parents will want to run. Fast and far."

  Kalif sat as still and stiff as I did. "And you're going to leave with them."

  I sighed. "I don't want to. But what choice do I have? Our families hate each other. How would we ever survive that?"

  Kalif leaned into me. "It's all very Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?"

  I groaned. "And look what happened to them."

  "Here's the thing," Kalif said. "You know what I always thought their mistake was? It wasn't falling in love or getting married. It was that they did all that, and then they went home afterward. It's the need for their families' approval. That's what they couldn't survive."

  My breath caught. "You don't want to go home anymore?"

  Kalif tilted his head against mine. "How can I?" he asked. "It's not like I can take you back there."

  The thought that I could keep him was too good to be true. "It wouldn't be dangerous for you, though, because you're their son."

  "Maybe I'd be safe," he said. "Maybe not."

  A chill ran over me. Would Mel be willing to kill his own son to protect his secret? For Kalif's sake, I hoped not. "You can't come with my parents. They'll never trust you."

  "I know," he said. "I wouldn't, in their shoes."

  "So what are our other options?"

  Kalif was quiet for a long moment. And as I looked out at the city lights, I was sure he was going to admit defeat. We were a problem without a solution.

  Then he turned, speaking words into my ear that sent tingles down my spine. "We could run off together."

  I sat, stunned. Could we do that?

  I wouldn't leave my parents now, not when they were about to be executed. But once they were free, what then? I couldn't go back to being their trainee daughter, hoping for safe missions so I could help out. Kalif and I were young, sure, but not children. Especially not after all we'd accomplished together.

  I tucked my face against Kalif's neck, breathing him in. I knew what I wanted. I just hadn't dared hope for it. "Is that what you want?"

  He spoke into my hair, like he was trying to muffle the words. "Yes. Is that crazy?"

  "Completely insane," I said. I sat up and looked Kalif in the eye, to make sure he wasn't joking, but he looked dead serious.

  "I can't believe we're actually talking about this," he said.

  "Me, neither." This was not at all where I'd expected this conversation to go. I closed my eyes and kissed him, letting my lips linger on his. And for the first time, I considered the idea that he and I could be a permanent thing. We could live together, work together. Build a life together the way my parents had.

  I wanted that life—the partnership. And I couldn't imagine anyone kinder to have that with than Kalif.

  The kiss deepened, turning serious. I ran a hand through his hair and held on.

  When we broke apart, we stared at each other, each bowing under the weight of the decision. I tried to imagine how my parents would react when I broke them out and then ran off. It made sense tactically. Kalif's parents would almost certainly chase them, and him as well. The last place we should all be was together.

  That's how I'd explain it to them. They'd hate it, but what could they do? They wouldn't be able to stop me for fear that I'd shift and disappear.

  I breathed in the night air. "What will we do?" I asked. This was the first time I'd envisioned a future where I didn't join the family business. I'd lied and stolen because my parents did, but given the mess it had landed them in, I couldn't help but think that maybe my hesitation to hurt people wasn't a weakness I had to get over.

  Maybe it was the strength that would keep me from being like them. It seemed obvious now, but it had never occurred to me to think that I might want that.

  "I don't love the idea of screwing people over for a living," I said. "The fruits of that are all around us, and I hate them."

/>   Kalif considered that. "So, what? You want to live like regular people? Get normal jobs? I've got skills I could use for that."

  He did. But giving up on using our powers sounded just as distasteful as the crimes we'd committed.

  "No," I said. "I love running jobs with you. But it seems like there's got to be some use for our talents besides stealing things and spying on people."

  He raised his eyebrows. "What did you have in mind?"

  I didn't realize how much I meant the words until I said them. "I just think it's a waste, the way your parents track down other shifters and then turn them over to be killed. Maybe . . . maybe we could find other people like us, and help them. My mom talks about Dad finding her like he saved her from the pits of hell. There are probably a lot of scared shifters who feel that way."

  Kalif smiled. "It's not like I love crime." He paused. "That's what's annoying me, I think. We screw people over, and don't think twice about it. The way I've been living, I am destined to turn into my father. And then I'll lose you, and it'll be my own stupid fault. Or worse, you won't leave me, and you'll be miserable."

  Like his mother. "You're not him."

  "I know," he said. "That's what's so annoying. I shouldn't be afraid of turning into him, but I am."

  I folded my hand into his. "Maybe the fear is what's going to stop you," I said. "Maybe it's there so you can see what you want."

  His arm tightened around me. "I want to be with you," he said. "Shifter saviors or normal jobs, or whatever."

  "Good," I said. "Then it's a plan." One that sounded wonderful, if only we could survive long enough to free my parents first.

  It took me half an hour to convince Kalif not to sleep on the floor that night. He stood near the bathroom door, wringing his hands. "Look," he said, "I know you think it's stupid, but I still feel like if we do anything while your parents are still in that place, that I'm taking advantage of you while you're upset, and that makes me a bastard."

  "Like your father."

  "Like my father." Kalif looked at the mirror. "I look like him just thinking about it."

  He did. It must have been hard, being able to look in the mirror and see the way your father has shaped you, all the while trying not to be like him.

  I collapsed onto the bed. "I'm not trying to pick on you," I said. "I just think it's lame for you to practically propose to me and then sleep on the floor."

  Kalif stared at me. My body shrank a little. I probably shouldn't have used that word, but I was pretty sure that's what we were talking about. My parents said they were married, but basically they'd just run off together. Most shifter marriages were common law, since we didn't exist in a legal way.

  Kalif gave me a pleading look. "You have a point," he said. "Can I just admit that and then sleep on the floor?"

  I sighed. "I'll sleep in my clothes, for goodness' sake. Just lie down in the actual bed and get some actual sleep."

  In the end, he did, even though it meant that we both slept in our jeans again. I curled up against him with my head on his sleeve and his arm running under my neck, and he rolled into me, wrapping his other arm around my waist. I fell asleep to the rhythm of his breathing, and I let myself be happy to curl against him, tasting the idea that we could do this every night. Forever.

  I woke up when he moved away. I looked at the clock. It was four AM. We'd only been asleep for a few hours. Kalif sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  "I can't sleep," he said. "So I might as well get to work."

  I sat up and stretched.

  "You should get some more rest," he said.

  "So should you. But I don't want you to be alone."

  "I'm not," he said. "But you're going to need to do fieldwork as soon as I find a lead, and I don't want you doing that on half a night's sleep."

  I lay back down. "Fine," I said. "But it's cold here without you."

  Kalif pulled the laptop off the table and brought it over to the bed, propping himself up with some pillows. I curled up at his side, facing away from the screen. Even through our jeans, his body warmed mine.

  "Much better," I said.

  Kalif ran a hand through my hair, and then started typing.

  When I woke up, Kalif had fallen asleep leaning back against the pillows, the laptop still on his thighs. I reached up and touched the keyboard, waking it up from hibernation.

  The window showed a map of an office park in Sunnyvale, which was probably ten miles away. I sat up straight. He'd found something.

  Something close.

  I kissed Kalif on the cheek. As he stretched, I lifted his laptop to keep him from accidentally tipping it off the bed.

  "Hey," he said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." He ran a hand through his hair, squinting at the laptop screen. "I traced them to Fiji, and the Cayman Islands, and Nigeria," he said. "And then guess where?"

  "An address in Sunnyvale."

  "Right. It's in a business complex. I was thinking we could check it out."

  "Did you look into the company it came from?" I asked. "We'll want to have something to go on."

  He clicked to a search engine. "These are the things I don't think of at six AM."

  I took his computer from him. "Please. You haven't had a proper night's sleep in a week."

  As I searched, Kalif spooned against me, his arm draped over my waist.

  Focus, I told myself. But I couldn't bring myself to move away.

  The email originated from a company called Systems Development Limited. I scrutinized their website. This was exactly the sort of name shifters would give to their company. It didn't draw attention to itself. Their website was full of non-information about what a great tech company they were, without any clear description of exactly what kind of work they did.

  Eventually I found an explanation on a former employee's blog, whining that he had tons of experience, but couldn't find a job. According to him, Systems Development designed microchips for lots and lots of money and no recognition. I've designed tech for every major company you've heard of, but you won't find my name in the by-line.

  "This sounds like a great front," I said. "It's a good way to get rich and make connections."

  "Tell me about it. Their network security is insane. Took me a long time to verify that this was the right place, and not just another mask."

  I'd expected that, but it still felt like bad news. "No doubt their physical security will be insane as well. They're protecting other people's secrets as well as their own. Plus, they'll know we're coming. They'll have shifter deterrent tech." Even Mom and Dad probably hadn't ever encountered such a place.

  Except this one. And they obviously hadn't been able to escape from it.

  "How many shifters do you think we're dealing with? Can't be that many, can there?"

  I pointed to the blog. "This guy won't be one," I said. "He's far too candid." I poked around the company website, looking for employee information. Systems Development was privately owned, so it was more difficult to get information about their business structure, but eventually I found biographies of the CEO and CFO, a husband and wife team.

  "Wendy and Oliver Carmine," I said. "Could be them, or could be one of their employees who just happens to be a shifter. Or a shifter who disguised himself as one of their employees, to send emails from their server." I sighed. Tracking shifters was layer upon layer more complicated than tracing regular people.

  Kalif squinted at the screen. "Carmine. That sounds familiar."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. Let me see that." He took the laptop from me and started typing. After a few searches, he pulled up one of his conspiracy forums. A look of recognition spread over his face.

  He tilted the screen to me. "Take a look."

  I laid my head on his chest. He'd pulled up a three-month-old thread on one of his conspiracy forums. A man who called himself Hunter had profiled Wendy and Oliver Carmine, claiming they were shifters.

 
I sat straight up. "Does he have actual evidence?"

  Kalif scrolled down. Hunter was apparently stalking these people, which made me wonder if the Carmines were aware of the situation. The real kicker came far down the thread. It was a photo from a night vision camera—two people asleep in bed with a green tint cast over them. Hunter claimed to have broken into Wendy and Oliver's hotel room when they were in Seattle for a business trip. Kalif clicked on the photo to enlarge it.

  I grabbed Kalif's arm. Those people didn't look anything like the Wendy and Oliver seen in their official company headshots.

  But they both looked quite a bit like Aida.

  Kalif's face paled looking at the screen. His eyes widened, and he looked more like Aida than I'd ever seen him.

  "No way," I said. "If you saw this before, why didn't you—"

  "I wasn't paying attention," he said. "I didn't think it was real."

  I shook my head at the screen.

  It was possible that these were shifters posing as sleeping people, but if that was the case, I wasn't sure what Hunter's motive would be for posting them in a forum. I scrutinized their faces. The likeness to Aida was subtle—too much so to be an actual impersonation—but it was there. The man had a blanket tucked up to his chin, but his forehead and hairline were mirror images of Aida's, and the woman had Aida's chin and lips. Each feature was only present on one of them. These were more likely to be parents than children.

  When Kalif finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "It actually makes sense, if you think about it. There aren't that many shifters in the world. And my mom was willing to do whatever these people wanted."

  "She's scared of them," I said. And for the first time, I wondered what kind of life Aida must have had before she met Mel, if she thought living with him was a preferable arrangement. "Have you ever met your grandparents?"

  "Never," Kalif said. "On either side. You?"

  "No," I said. I knew that Mom's parents were normal people, but Dad's were shifter spies. They taught him everything they knew, and he taught Mom. The job just seemed suited to our abilities. I wondered if it was passed down for generations, or if the fit was so obvious that many shifters arrived at it independently.