A Thousand Faces

by Janci Patterson

  "Okay," Kalif said. "Be careful."

  "Yeah," I said. "You, too." I dug my nails into my scalp. What he was about to do was the opposite of careful. It was foolish and reckless.

  And possibly the only chance my parents and I had of escaping alive.

  We hesitated there, and in the space that followed, I realized what I wanted to say. I love you. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you, so get out of here, would you? But before I could get the words out of my mouth, Kalif beat me to it. "Go," he said. "I don't want you down there any longer than you need to be."

  I set my feet wide apart to steady me. My throat ached where Mel's fingers had dug into it. "Okay," I said. And then I hung up the phone. I moved down into the foggy part of the facility as quickly as I could. At least if the Carmines were posing as my parents, they wouldn't be simultaneously looking at the readouts from their infrared cameras. That should give me the chance to hide, and wait for them to go find Kalif. Then I could find my real parents and we could all get out of here.

  I crouched down in a doorway around the corner from the hall where I'd heard Oliver talking; if anyone did come around the corner with infrared goggles and a gun, there was no reason to give them a large target.

  My mind played at the ghosts of noises in the silence, but when I heard the last security door opening, the noise was unmistakable.

  Oliver Carmine's voice cut through the fog. "You kept him a secret for sixteen years. So I know you're a good liar."

  Aida chattered back, like she was trying to prove him wrong with her lack of control over her own voice. "I'll deal with him," she said. "You don't have to hurt him."

  They moved farther up the stairs, but I heard Wendy's voice growing fainter. "We'll consider that," she said.

  And then they were gone.

  I pulled out my phone, holding it close to my face and texting Kalif. They're on their way, and they're talking about hurting you.

  I held my breath, hoping that would be enough to finally send him away.

  No luck.

  Okay, Kalif texted back. I've told Mom to meet me on one side of the compound, but I'm on the other. The chase will give you a few minutes, and if they come back too soon, I'll intercept them.

  My heart pounded, and my head swam. If he was watching to know when we left the building, then he was close. Too close. For a second, I thought I might black out. I knelt down on the floor and touched my forehead to it. What was I doing letting Kalif walk into a situation that dangerous? I might trust his loyalty, but I could still doubt his judgment.

  But if he split, how would I get my parents out?

  I planted my hands on the floor. I had to get my parents up there so I could help him, in case things went wrong.

  More wrong.

  I heard a click through the fog. It sounded like a door, but the dampened sound meant I had no way to know how far away it had been. I climbed to my feet and pressed down the hall in the direction Wendy and Oliver had been. The fog remained thick. Kalif was right. Unless they had a flush system, it would last for a while longer.

  There ought to be a second exit to this place, but without Kalif to check the schematics for me, I didn't know where it was. Besides, I was no Mike Menendez, but what with the total lack of emergency exit signage, this place didn't seem up to code to me.

  There were three doors down this hallway branch. Two had eye scanners, like the ones on the doors to my parents' cells. The third one couldn't be a cell—unlike the others it had the hinges mounted to the inside.

  I stepped up to one of the eye scanners, and jumped at the thump that came from the next door over. I moved closer, my ear to the wall, listening. The thud came again, like someone banging on the inside of the door, but with something sharper than their fist.

  Another thump came, and then a ka-chunk noise as the door handle fell to the ground. I flattened myself to the wall just outside the door and watched as the door swung open.

  Dad stepped through the doorway, an axe in his hand. The room behind him was already thick with mist; this door must have been opened earlier—probably when they caught Dad and locked him up.

  I reached my arm toward him faster than I should have, and had to jerk back to avoid the downswing of his blade. "Um, Dad?" I said. I stepped into the doorway with him, so we could see each other's faces clearly.

  His eyes widened and he reached for my hand. Now, standing this close, I could see that the side of his head was swelling, like he'd been punched in the face. He limped slightly as he moved out of the doorway and into the hall, and I could see that the back of his pant leg was torn and bloodstained. We swapped signals, and he let the axe drop to his side.

  "Where," I asked, "How did you . . ."

  He smiled, slapping the handle of the axe with his palm. "It's a fire precaution," he said. "I found it earlier when I was hiding, and used the fog cover to sneak it into the nearest cell, so that if they caught me—"

  "You'd have a way out." I smiled back. A fire axe. Maybe the building was up to code after all. "And pulling it out didn't set off an alarm?"

  Dad shook his head. "I think the auditory alarms are suppressed. Was that your doing?"

  "Kalif's," I said. "Thank him."

  Dad frowned. Clearly he didn't want to be thanking Kalif for anything, even though he should.

  I'd save the argument until I had both my parents together. I didn't have time to make it twice. "Where's Mom?"

  Dad's head jerked farther down the hall. "This way." He strode in that direction, holding the handle of the axe in one hand, and resting the back of it in the other. He took the axe to the door handle on the other cell. Then he slipped the axe handle through his belt, put his fingers in the hole where the handle had been, and yanked the door toward him.

  I got a clear look at Mom before the room filled with fog. I wasn't prepared for what I saw. Mom lay on her back on a metal-framed cot, blood matting her hair. A precise set of thin red lines stretched across her face from her nose to her ear, and she was missing a notch out of her earlobe.

  My throat closed up. They'd been cutting her face; the worst thing you could do to a shifter. We could change our flesh to look like anyone, but scars weren't natural. Neither were open wounds. We couldn't hide them; we couldn't shift them.

  Even if Mom got laser treatment, she wouldn't be able to look like anyone else for a long, long time. Maybe ever.

  If they were willing to use methods like this, no wonder Aida didn't want the Carmines getting their hands on Kalif.

  I grabbed Dad by the hand. "Why didn't they do this to you?"

  His voice was low. "They wanted one of us they could still threaten," he said. "One of us they could still use. They tortured her and made me watch, unless I'd give them the information they wanted to get to you."

  She turned and looked at us, still lying on the cot. At first, I was afraid that she couldn't get up, but then she sat up, as if trying to orient herself. As she did, her whole body shook.

  I took a step back. "To me? I thought this was all about the murders."

  Dad nodded. "It was. But Mel and Aida ratted you out as well."

  I stepped back, stunned. That couldn't be right. I'd been living in their house. If they'd wanted to turn me over, they could have done it. "I don't think so," I said. The words tasted bad in my mouth, but I spit them out anyway. "I think they were protecting me."

  Dad looked taken aback, and I couldn't blame him. I hadn't believed a word of Aida's speech about how much they wanted to keep me away from Asylum. I thought that had just been an excuse to keep me from pursuing my parents.

  I set my jaw. Mel had tried to kill me and Aida had left me for dead. Even the realization that they'd once cared about my safety didn't earn them any good will after that.

  "What do they want with me?" I asked. "I'm not a murderer."

  Dad shook his head. "It's not just about rogue shifters for these people. It's about subduing any shifters who aren't under their control."

>   My heart lodged in my throat. So that's why Aida was hiding Kalif. With his knowledge of their missions and technical expertise, he'd be useful to them.

  But she was working with these people. Shouldn't she want to help them out?

  Mom seemed to come to her senses, then. "Jory?" she said. "They got to you?" Her hands clawed at the cot frame, and she scooted back on it, as if trying to find a safe corner to hide.

  Dad rushed toward her and steadied her in his arms. I stepped forward, and we all exchanged signals.

  "It's okay," Dad said. "Jory broke in to find us. We're safe for now but we need to move quickly."

  "Let's go," I said. "Now, before it's too late."

  Dad moved to scoop my mom up into his arms, but she pushed him away. "I can walk, Dale," she said. "I'm not an invalid." Her limbs shook as she pushed herself to her feet, but she got there, and stood before us, straightening herself up in what I was sure was a show of proof. She wasn't helpless.

  But in her eyes, I saw fear, not just of the Carmines, but of the future.

  Even if we escaped, how were we going to hide now?

  I shook myself and stepped toward the door. There would be time to worry about that later. I'd gotten away from Mel, but this was no time to get reckless. We still had an escape to execute.

  As we all moved out into the hallway, I looked at my phone. I didn't have any texts from Kalif. I hoped that meant that things were going well, not that they'd already gone horribly wrong. An image flashed through my mind of Wendy Carmine, holding a razor blade to Kalif's face.

  I reached for the nearest wall for support. We needed to get up there, now. There still might be a direct exit—one that wouldn't require us to walk through the lobby to get out. In the hallway, I paused in front of the third door. "Dad," I said. "What's in here?"

  I jumped as Dad brushed up against my arm. He was closer than I thought he'd been.

  He put a hand on the handle, listening at the door. "I don't know."

  I wished that I could safely call Kalif, but without the schematics in front of him, he probably wouldn't be much help. "Open it," I said. "Maybe it's another way out."

  Dad took his axe to the door handle and kicked the door in. Then he fumbled on the inside for a light switch.

  What appeared before us wasn't an exit, but the next best thing. It was a closet filled with changes of clothes of all sorts and in all sizes. The Carmine's costume wardrobe. Of course they'd have one of those in their basement facility.

  Dad clapped me on the back. "Well done," he said. And he grabbed the edge of one wardrobe rack and rifled through it.

  Dad tossed us each a set of gender-neutral business casual pants and shirts. That was smart—it would allow for the greatest flexibility as we left the building and got away. I'd drilled fast changes, but my parents had twenty years of field experience on me. They both whipped on their new outfits before I could finish mine.

  As we climbed the stairs out of the fog, Mom put a hand on my shoulder. I didn't turn; I couldn't look her in the face without wincing, and I didn't want her to see me react to her like that.

  "Where are they?" she asked. "How did you distract them?"

  My stomach dropped. I couldn't avoid it any longer. "Kalif is distracting them."

  Mom's fingers dug into my bone. "No," she said. "They betrayed us."

  "Not Kalif," I said. "His parents."

  Dad's voice was kind. "You keep saying that," he said. "But you can't be sure—"

  I spun around on him, standing a step above so I could look Dad directly in the eye. "Do you see the Carmines swooping down on us?" I asked. "Because Kalif knows what we're doing right now, and if he'd betrayed us, do you think they'd be letting us out of the basement? What possible way could that benefit them?"

  Dad hesitated. I was right, and he knew it. When we stepped out of this hallway and onto the main floor of their building, we introduced all kinds of variables to the equation. Down here, they had us cornered. Up there we'd have witnesses, new forms to take, spaces to run, open areas to escape.

  So unless Kalif was keeping my confidences, it made no sense for them to let us escape this way. Aida thought Mel had dragged me off, maybe killed me. She wouldn't know that I was down here to come after my parents. They thought we were already contained.

  "I'll make you a deal," I said. "If they're waiting for us at the top of the stairs, I'll admit you're right. Maybe Kalif betrayed us and maybe he didn't, but at the very least, we can't trust him. But if I'm right, and the Carmines are really distracted somewhere else, then you have to help me save him."

  "Dale," Mom said. She turned toward him, like she'd already decided I was too deluded to convince. "No."

  But Dad looked at me intently, like he was actually considering my proposal. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. It's a deal."

  Though I still couldn't bring myself to look directly at Mom's face, I could see her out of the corner of my eye, glaring at Dad.

  "He really is on our side," I said to Mom. "And he has the proof that you didn't commit any of those murders."

  Dad's eyes flicked to Mom, just for an instant.

  A sinking sensation settled over me, and I glanced at her, locking down my face, forbidding it to react to the cuts. I was glad that I looked, because otherwise I would have missed the expression that passed over her face. Her cheeks seemed to sink, and her face grew thin. She looked . . . guilty. "Mom?" I said. "I tracked Mel back to the murder of that CEO. You weren't involved . . . right?"

  Her whole body seemed to deflate.

  I grabbed her by the arm. These murders had taken place over years—years that she hadn't even known Mel existed. "But Mel as good as admitted to it," I said. "You couldn't have worked with him."

  Dad pulled me away, turning me and marching me up the stairs. "It was a long time ago," he said in a low voice. "It was just once. That's how I met your mother. I was trying to stop her."

  For a second, I saw the papers in my hands—the ones with the pictures of Mom's face. The things Mom had told me about the way she met Dad flashed through my mind. She'd been on a job. She'd behaved like an amateur. He'd caught her, and revealed to her that he knew what she was.

  The first murder. That had been them. Or at least, it had been Mom.

  All this time I'd been fighting against Mel, and my own mother was a murderer. "You were right," I said quietly. "Maybe I can't trust anyone."

  Dad's hands rested heavily on my shoulders. "No," he said to me. "If you believe that, you'll go insane. We're the same people we've been your whole life. Things happened in the past, but that doesn't change the present."

  But it did, didn't it? I was releasing a murderer into the world.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Someone who killed a long time ago. Before Dad, Mom had never even met another shifter. He'd changed everything for her; that's what she said.

  And when she did, I hadn't even begun to imagine her full meaning.

  We stopped in front of the door that led to the first floor of the Systems Development building. Mom stood just behind us. I waited for her to say something to defend herself, but she didn't. She still addressed Dad: "What's the plan?"

  Dad handed Mom a set of keys over his shoulders. "I got them in the scuffle. They wouldn't get me through the scanners, but one of them will work in their car."

  I felt a pang of guilt for what I'd said. This was exactly why we worked in teams. Why we had to trust each other. Because Dad was right—working alone, able to be anyone, was enough to drive a person insane.

  Maybe even drive them to murder.

  I could work out what that meant for my opinion of Mom later. I was sure it wasn't enough for me to leave her with people who would torture her. For now, that was enough.

  "And you?" Mom asked.

  Dad's voice was firm. "If we're not caught going through these doors, Jory and I are going to find Kalif."

  I gave a sharp nod.

  Mom sighed, and Dad reached out to rub
her shoulder. He had to keep his promise now. If he didn't, he'd be illustrating my point that I couldn't trust anybody. "Thank you," I said. And I put my hand on the door in front of me, and pushed it open.

  Twenty-four

  As I looked into the empty hallway, my heart pounded. The building looked deserted. The lights had all been turned off, so the only illumination came from the upstairs emergency lighting and the sun shining through the glass on the far end of the complex. I'd been in the basement so long that my eyes took a second to adjust to the glare.

  Behind me, I could feel Mom and Dad pressing into me, all of us standing at the ready, waiting for the attack.

  All seemed quiet. The blinds were drawn in the office windows; all the lights behind them were out. Any employees who were around today must have believed in the active shooter scenario. My gunshots would only have convinced them further.

  Sunlight shone through the branches of the surrounding trees, pouring through the glass doors and ceiling-high windows. I looked out the doors, searching for guards, and that's when I saw them.

  Kalif had backed himself all the way into the courtyard area just outside the door. Relief flooded over me, but only for a moment. Two people wearing my parents' faces stood in front of him, facing us, pinning him in place.

  I stood in the doorway, resisting the urge to hide back in the hall. But the sun was at their backs, and those were mirrored windows. From the outside, they were reflective and opaque. We could see them, but they couldn't see us. They'd backed him into a corner, and stood close enough that if he tried to open the door, they'd be on him in seconds.

  Next to Kalif stood an enormous, broad-shouldered man. He stood square on both his legs, so I knew that he couldn't be Mel, who would still be limping, at least, even if he'd managed to clean up his knee.

  I recognized the face the man wore from the headshots of Oliver Carmine I'd seen online. I might not have known who he really was if it hadn't been for his trembling posture; the shock and fear on his face was a mirror image of the look that Aida had given me when she told me about Asylum.