After my fall, we stayed home for Christmas instead of traveling to see my grandmother. Aunt Gina tried to cook a turkey herself and spent half the day on the phone with Grandmom getting tips. I guess it turned out okay, but I couldn’t taste much of anything.
It felt like Logan had died again. My body was heavy and numb, even after I stopped the painkillers. I had no idea where he’d gone or when and if he was coming back, despite scouring the Internet for rumors. No one had seen him or heard from him in almost three days. Zachary had been right-I wasn’t really over Logan, not by a long shot.
I was sitting at the table finishing my (store-bought) pumpkin pie while Gina did the dishes, when the phone rang for what seemed like the fortieth time that day. I tried to think which cousin hadn’t called yet to wish us a Merry Christmas.
Gina came out of the kitchen. “Honey, it’s Dylan.”
I took the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Dylan fell silent. For a moment I wondered, with my heart in my throat, if he was holding out the phone so Logan could speak. “Remember how you guys always used to come over on Christmas night after you got back from your grandmom’s?”
“Yeah.” The Keeleys would play music and serve yet more food, and then we’d all watch It’s a Wonderful Life. “What about it?”
“Nothing. Just… that was cool.”
It hurt to remember exactly how cool. “How is it over there?”
“Everyone’s crying. Do you wanna come over?”
“Does your family want me there?”
“Siobhan does. My dad sort of does. So I guess if we had a vote, it’d be tied, two and a half each.”
“Why don’t you and Siobhan come here? We could drive through Hampden and look at the lights.”
“Aw, that’d be awesome! Hang on.”
Dylan dropped the receiver. He was gone for several minutes, and I wondered if he’d forgotten I was on the phone. Maybe he’d gotten wrapped up in one of his new games.
Then suddenly he was back. “Okay-we’ll-be-right-there-bye!” He hung up.
In less than an hour, Siobhan was driving Dylan and me down 34th Street, a tradition Gina and I had missed this year, between her obsession with Logan’s case and my obsession with, well, Logan.
The Chieftains’ Christmas CD played on the car speakers as we crawled with the heavy traffic, under rows of lights that stretched above the narrow street.
Elaborate displays covered every surface of the shops and row homes. It was an unwritten law in Hampden-you had to put up Christmas lights, even if you didn’t celebrate the holiday. Which just proved that there were forces in this world stronger than religion.
“He’s not here in the car with us, is he?” Siobhan asked.
“No,” Dylan and I replied in unison, knowing she meant Logan. Then again, the light displays made the street too bright to see ghosts.
She lowered the volume. “Last night Mom and Dad were up late wrapping presents. They were talking in their bedroom, and I guess Mom was in and out getting supplies, and she left the door open.” Siobhan paused. “They want to move away.”
“What?!” Dylan grabbed the back of her seat. “Move where?”
“Anywhere-” Her voice faltered. “Anywhere Logan’s never been.”
“I’m not going!” He pounded on his knee. “I finally have friends at that lame-ass new school.”
“Dylan, you don’t have a choice,” Siobhan said.
“But you do. You and Mickey are eighteen. You could get an apartment and I could live with you.”
“We’re going to college.”
“So go to college here!”
“You don’t get it, do you?” she snapped. “Mickey and I want to get away as much as Mom and Dad do, if not more. Too many memories. Even driving here…” Siobhan flapped her hand at a Christmas tree made out of hubcaps. “Logan used to love Hampden.”
“He still does,” I told her. “He can come here any time he wants.” Although maybe not at the moment, with all these red lights and giant Santas.
She wiped her eyes, smudging mascara onto the side of her forefinger. She rubbed her thumb against the stain. “Maybe if we move, if he doesn’t have us to haunt, he’ll pass on.”
“Um, I got news on that,” Dylan said.
I spun to face him, provoking a sharp pain in my bruised rib. “From Logan? What did he say?”
“If we win the case, he wants to move on in public. Starting tomorrow, he wants me to spread the word so everyone can come.”
“Everyone?” Siobhan said.
“Post-Shifters. Especially those with cameras.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Logan is passing on as some kind of performance?”
“A grand finale.” Siobhan snorted. “Classic.”
“‘Blaze of glory,’ he says.” Dylan looked at me. “It might be kinda cool if Logan and I find the right place. It has to be somewhere near the courthouse, somewhere he’s been before.”
“The Green Derby,” Siobhan said. “The pub where Mickey and I are playing next month. Logan’s been there, and it’s only a block away.” She slapped the knob of the gearshift. “I can’t believe I just helped him in his diva-ness.”
“You want to see it as much as we do,” Dylan told her. “I mean, you can’t see it. But you can see all the people who can see him. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. It’ll be nice to hear one last crowd screaming his name.”
I laid my head back and stared through the windshield, until my eyes lost focus and the street became one wide blinking sun.
Logan’s love affair with the world would have one last good-bye kiss. If only we could have that too.
“What if you guys lose?” I said. “What’s Logan going to do? Won’t he disappoint the crowds if he doesn’t pass on?”
“He thought of that,” Dylan said. “Says he’ll do a short concert.”
“And he’ll expect us to play for him?” Siobhan sniffled, then her breath hitched into a sob. “Why couldn’t he just go to begin with? Why does he have to make it so hard?” Her voice stretched to the breaking point. “Why does he have to be such an asshole?”
I pulled a bunch of fast-food napkins from the door pocket and handed one to Siobhan. “He’s not being an asshole,” I said quietly. “He’s just being Logan.”
“Same difference.” She covered her mouth. “No, I don’t mean that. He was a good brother. He was a sweet guy.”
“He still is,” Dylan and I said together.
“Shut up!” Siobhan tore another napkin from the stack in my hand. “You people are such freaks, you know that?”
“We’re freaks?” Dylan said. “That guy over there built a Christmas tree out of Natty Boh beer cans and Old Bay seasoning jars.”
Siobhan laughed. “Okay, good point.” She dragged the napkin under her nose and across her cheek. “I wish I was a freak too.”
* * *
My aunt went back to work after Christmas, once I’d mastered the crutches enough to get m
yself to the bathroom and kitchen and back to the sofa. I stayed home, since I couldn’t drive with a sprained knee, and I did not want to share her twelve-hour days at the office (though I really could’ve used the money).
Logan didn’t come over anymore. I lay awake each night in the living room, waiting but never calling. He kept his vow to stay away, and even though I knew it was for the best, each moment without him felt darker than the one before. The uncertainty and fear robbed me of sleep, until I felt like a shade myself-scattered, staticky, and in a very pissy mood.
Zachary called once, but only to discuss our research project. I knew he was giving me space, but his absence felt more suffocating than his hovering ever could.
Two days before Logan’s trial, I tried to distract myself by studying for midterms. Megan was supposed to come over to keep me company and share my calculus misery, and then we were going to her house for New Year’s Eve.
The doorbell rang half an hour before she was supposed to show up, which was odd. Megan was never on time, much less early. I made my way to the door and pulled the curtain aside to look onto the porch.
Two men stood there. The tall one in front, with a head of dark, bowl-cut hair, faced the door. His partner was slightly shorter, with light brown hair in the same odd style. The second man had his back to me, scanning the street. They were dressed like DMP agents, but instead of white uniforms, theirs were solid black.
Obsidians.
I stepped back, almost losing my balance on the crutches. Before I could move again, the dark-haired man held a badge up to the door’s window.
“Ms. Salvatore,” he called. “We need to speak.”
I checked the deadbolt to make sure it was locked. “Can you come back later when my aunt’s here?” I hated admitting I was alone, but there was no way I was letting them into the house.
The agent leaned close to the window. “There are some things she’s better off not knowing, correct? Things about Logan Keeley?”
My blood turned to ice. They must have known he’d turned shade, if only for a few moments. Did they have detectors? Would they hunt him down, trap him in a box and keep him on a shelf forever?
I unlocked the door and opened it. “Just for a minute.”
The dark-haired man gave a slight bow before entering. “I’m Agent Falk. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The other agent followed him in, but didn’t introduce himself. He stayed at the door, watching the street, as Falk walked into the dining room.
“May I?” He pointed a small laptop case at the table.
“What do you want from me?”
Agent Falk quirked his chin. “We want nothing but to help you achieve your potential.”
“Potential for what? Seeing ghosts? I’m not exactly unique that way.”
“No, not in that way at all.” Without sitting down, he laid the laptop on the table and opened the lid. The computer was already on, with some sort of database program running. Falk pulled down a list of numerical files. He selected one, and the hard drive hummed.
The picture that resolved in the center of the screen squeezed my heart to the size of a grape.
Logan, as he was in life. As he was the night of his death, onstage, on one knee. The photo was professional quality, capturing him with the mic at throat level, sending his brilliant blue lust-for-life gaze up above the camera.
Up into eternity.
I sank into the chair closest to the computer and let my crutches fall against my lap. “Where did you get this picture? Were you there that night?”
“Not personally. We have operatives who would blend in at a punk concert much better than I would.”
“Why were you following him before he died?”
“Ms. Salvatore.” Falk slid into the seat across from me. “You know you’re the First. We know you’re the First. By definition, there’s only one First. Therefore, everything you do, everyone you know, is of interest to us.”
I squeezed my hands between my knees, as my fingers had suddenly turned cold. “You follow me.”
“Not all the time. God knows we don’t have the resources. But as you come of age, our curiosity grows.”
“Why? Am I going to sprout wings when I turn eighteen? Grow a second head or an eleventh toe?”
Falk didn’t laugh or even smirk. “Honestly, we don’t know.” He shifted the computer in front of him and tapped the screen with both index fingers. “Things have grown more interesting since the death of your boyfriend.”
My fist clenched, wanting to smash this guy’s nose. Interesting. He was talking about the worst thing that ever happened to me like it was a science project.
“Logan’s pre-Shift,” I said. “What do you want with him?”
Falk signaled the other agent, who slipped his hand out of his pocket. In his palm he held a small disc made of ice-clear crystal.
Falk spoke. “Do you recognize this device, Ms. Salvatore?”
“It’s a summoner. It can call a ghost who’s tagged by the DMP. We use them in”-my tongue stuttered along with my pulse-“in the courtrooms. To get ghosts on the witness stand. It lets a ghost go somewhere they never went during their life.”
“Correct. Summoners are made of clear quartz, which acts in opposition to obsidian. A tagged ghost must appear anywhere the summoner is activated.”
“Logan is tagged.” I tried to take slow, deep breaths to calm my racing pulse, but the bandages on my ribs wouldn’t stretch far enough. “His tag gets removed after the trial. That’s the law.”
“Of course it is. Any basic social studies class teaches that state and federal laws apply to ghosts as well as the living. After all, they’re people too.” Falk tapped his nails on the tablecloth. “However, the law becomes rather fuzzy when applied to shades.”
“Logan’s not a shade.” My voice cracked on the last word. “You can’t hold him.”
“Actually, we can. According to the readings from his tag, he’s exhibited the metaphysical signature of a shade on several occasions, including Saturday night at this address. Coincidentally when you took an injurious fall. It’s more than enough evidence to hold him. His parents can sue to release him, but most of these cases are tied up in legal limbo for…” Agent Falk put a thumb to his sharp chin, as if calculating. “Forever, actually.”
I gripped the edge of the table. “They never get out?”
“Shades are far too dangerous to set free. Therefore we’ve decided that the only feasible solution is indefinite detainment.”
“They disappear,” I whispered, then turned to the other agent. “Is that what happens?”
He regarded me with eyes as clear and cold as the crystal in his hand. “We must protect the children.”
His voice slithered down my spine, twining between each vertebra.
“I know shades are dangerous,” I said to Falk, “but w
hat if we could help them turn back into ghosts?”
“Rehabilitate them?” The arch of Falk’s eyebrow screamed his skepticism. “It would be like training a rabid dog to guide the blind.”
My anger surged at the comparison. “What do you know about shades, or ghosts, or anything? Without us post-Shifters, you wouldn’t even know that they exist.”
“But we do know, and we’ve developed ways to learn more, with or without the help of post-Shifters.” The agent narrowed his close-set brown eyes. “If Logan Keeley moves on, he will cease to be a threat, so we would appreciate it if you would do everything in your power to make that happen.”
“I don’t have that power. If his family wins their case, he’ll move on. If not-”
“If not, he’ll be what we consider an ‘at risk’ ghost. Too near to shading to allow his freedom.”
I pictured Logan locked up in a BlackBoxed room or on a shelf in some DMP vault for years, maybe decades. Maybe forever. My own mind seemed to shade at the thought.
“Please…,” I whispered. “Logan’s a good guy. He just gets a little excited sometimes.” I turned to the shorter agent. “What if he were your son? Or your brother? Wouldn’t you want to give him a chance?”
“That’s what we’re doing with this visit,” Falk snapped. When I looked at him, he smoothed his hand over his throat and down the front of his black uniform. “So you can warn him. Encourage him.”
“Why?” I twitched my shoulders, which prickled with fear and confusion. “Why not collect him now, if you think he’s a risk? And why help me keep his secret?”
“Ah.” Falk closed the laptop. I wanted to grab it back to see Logan’s full-color photo again. The agent folded his hands on the computer’s silver lid. “The Keeley case has garnered a lot of media attention. Detaining him prior to his trial would create a public relations nightmare and throw a spotlight on our indefinite detention program. We can’t afford to look bad just as you post-Shifters are coming of age. Recruitment is the department’s number one priority, so that we can better understand ghosts.”
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