by Trisha Leigh
“Hey, stranger.”
I jerk around to see the boy himself, his breath puffing white clouds in the cold December afternoon. It’s as if I conjured him, and every muscle in my body tenses.
“Hey, Dane,” I manage, ignoring the way he sounds as though he’s missed talking to me.
I can’t let the way he makes me feel put me at ease. The Cavies are depending on me. Flicker is depending on me.
“Can I sit?”
“It’s not my graveyard. I doubt these people care anymore.”
“I guess that’s a fair assessment.” He flashes a dimpled smile and sits at my side, too close for comfort but at least his hands are in the pockets of his coat.
Then I remember my gift doesn’t affect him. It still seems as though it could be a simple oddity, even given his potential affiliation, but it could be that the Philosopher—or someone like him—has developed some sort of antivenom.
Maybe we’re being dumb, to think we could ever have an advantage.
It’s strange, but the silence that follows doesn’t make me nervous. I don’t fidget or sweat, and it’s almost as though we’ve been sharing company for years instead of weeks. The whole time, my brain toys with how to broach such a bizarre-sounding subject without him simply insisting I’m off my rocker.
“Why aren’t you with the others at Kaminsky’s? Doesn’t your boyfriend play basketball?”
I start to protest, but the gentle teasing in his smile makes me stop and offer one in return. “I’m kind of on probation with my father.”
“Oh, I doubt that’s true. He’s got to be pretty excited about a second chance to get to know you.”
A lump lodges in my throat, surprising me. It’s not fair that I can’t enjoy my own second chance. I have to deal with all this other stuff. Things I have no interest in, like governments and secret societies of homeless Cavies. “I think he is. I just don’t think I’m very good at being his daughter.”
Dane’s dark, bottomless eyes take in the tears shining in mine. A finger extends, soft as it wipes free the drop perched on my lashes. Even though it’s Dane, even though he’s a liar, it’s a relief to let someone touch me without being terrified of what I’ll see.
“Give yourself a break, kid. It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
It’s tempting to forget who he is, to lean on him because he’s here and there’s something oddly comforting about his quiet, strong presence. But I can’t. Time to suck it up. “I know. I mean, I guess parents aren’t easy even if you grew up with them. What are yours like?”
“My parents?” He looks away, toward the cold gray headstones. His fingers pull his coat tighter. “They’re not bad, a little overbearing and pushy. High expectations. Your stereotypical Asian couple with one son.”
He could be lying, but I don’t see why it matters. It sounds true.
Of course, he is some sort of a spy. Maybe he lies because he has to, or because he doesn’t know how to stop.
“Is that why you’re so reluctant to let anyone get to know you? You’re afraid we’ll all distract you from your noble quest of academic perfection?” I try a smile, but it feels wobbly and doesn’t stick. “Or maybe you have another reason for keeping your distance.”
“And what would that be?” He goes from being curious, sweet even, to donning a careful, cool mask.
Like he’s playing a game.
I take a deep breath, then plunge into the deep end of the pool. “Maybe you have a secret. A bad one, like you know when a bomb is going to go off, but instead of telling everyone you’re going to just save yourself.”
He tries for chill, but every muscle in his body tenses. “Wow, that’s dramatic.”
“Okay, fine. Like you’ve hacked into the school database and know when every pop quiz is planned for next semester, but you’re not telling anyone.”
“Better.” His serious gaze wanders back to meet mine. There’s forced amusement there, but behind it, frustration. As though he’s staring at a chessboard with no idea where to move next. “It’s my default when I’m nervous. I’m kind of shy, but it can come off as snobby. I’m working on it.”
“Hmm.” This time, I hear the lie. I feel it like actual wool being pulled over my eyes, but sense there’s little point in pushing. I have no proof of anything, and the guy could be a trained government agent. He’s not going to be the one to blink first.
I jerk when his warm hand lands on top of mine, curling around my fingers. An electric shock shudders through me at the contact, one strong enough that he must feel it, too, but he doesn’t turn me loose.
“Not everyone’s against you, Norah.”
“What? I don’t think anyone’s against me.” I get up, unsettled by his touch and his words, the soft way that he’s attempting to reestablish our rapport. It’s enough to make me forget that I’m supposed to be getting information from him. “I have to go.”
I’m halfway to the King Street gate before he calls after me. “Maybe my secret isn’t bad, Norah Jane. Maybe you’re running from the wrong people.”
The words stop my feet, my heart. When I turn, the uncertainty twisted on his handsome features breaks sweat out on my palms. It makes me forget, for a brief second, that his secret is what I think.
For some reason, that thought throws a bucket of sadness over me, until it drips from the ends of my hair onto my shoulders, until it covers me from head to toe. “I’m not running, Dane. I’ll never do that.”
We stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills. Standing on the board of a game I’ve never played and don’t understand, I’m afraid to move at all.
I have a gut feeling, a sure one, he won’t be the first to go. There’s no way to play my hand without giving something away, so instead, I fold.
My cabin fever reaches unimagined heights less than twenty-four hours later, and my father agrees to let the local Cavies come over on Sunday afternoon. Everyone accepts except Reaper, who has plans of her own to try to pull information out of Dane.
They know about my failure in the graveyard, and my assessment that he won’t talk unless we have proof we can use to back him into a corner. Mole still thinks we could coerce him, that if he knows about us then he knows enough to fear us. Except it would all be a bluff, because as far as we can tell, none of our abilities—coercive or not—work on the guy.
Maybe Reaper will have better luck, but I’ll be surprised if she does.
Since the Cavies are coming over my father says we can order Chinese food, and it makes me happy. It turns out I’m a less than stellar cook. There’s this website called Pinterest, and though its vast offering of recipes spins my head around, it did get me through my punishment.
Social media, a term I’d never heard before starting school at CA, makes me crazy. I don’t like the idea of being so connected, of having to answer people all day and all night, especially because a lot of the time I’d rather pretend I didn’t hear one notification or another, but it seems as though that’s the way the world outside Darley operates. We had computers, and the Internet, but it’s obvious now that the staff restricted our access, picked and chose what websites popped up in response to our queries.
The realization would have angered me, hurt me, a week ago. Now, it slides off my numb skin, a barely noticed slight among ones that are turning out to be so much bigger. None larger, or more painful, than the fact that two weeks have passed since Flicker showed up to warn us and we’re no closer to helping her.
The door buzzer interrupts my recipe perusing. On my way down the stairs, I wonder if all of the lies that frame my existence are going to tear me apart, or if they’ve somehow made me strong enough to do the right thing. To know what that is.
My father gets there first and has Mole’s hand in his by the time I skid around the corner.
“Shiloh, Tate. It’s nice to see the two of you again. How are they treating you in the group home?” My father’s concern over their fate is touching. They and Geoff are the only thr
ee of our group without relatives to come forward and he knows it.
Prism’s aunt, her only living relative, showed up recently, but they’re still figuring out how to deal with Prism’s inability to be in a room with others. Last Athena had managed to overhear, they’d diagnosed her with severe autism. It would work as a cover, and anyway, she can’t function. Not without a way to block other people’s feelings.
“It’s fine, Mr. Crespo. We both passed our equivalency tests, so we’re officially high school graduates now, and they gave us the holiday break to figure out what we want to do with ourselves.”
“Three whole weeks,” Pollyanna comments dryly.
“Well, if either of you need some more time, let me know. I could set you up with some kind of internship or mail-room job at the firm, which should get them off your backs while you decide about college.”
“Thank you, sir.” The offer sparks interest in Mole’s face, which strikes me.
The fact that I’m not the only one dreaming about a future that has nothing to with my mutated abilities makes me want to cry. It’s clear from Tate’s blank expression that she has no such inclinations, and her gaze lands on me a second later.
“Hey,” I say, smiling in the face of her scowl.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I turn to my father. “Is it okay if we go upstairs until dinner?”
He leans over and kisses the top of my head. “Of course. I’ll send Becca up when she gets here, and y’all just let me know when you want to order dinner.”
“Okay.”
Tate and I thunder up the stairs, Shiloh following with more decorum out of both necessity and personality. It’s the first time a boy has been in my room, and as soon as Mole steps over the threshold I start scanning for any discarded bras or underwear, which is a totally irrational reaction—not only is it Mole, but he can’t see.
There isn’t anything inappropriate hanging around, anyway, and he feels his way to the desk chair while the two of us sprawl on the bed. They came over to stop me from going crazy, true, but also because Mole and Pollyanna have become obsessed with this feeling that time’s running out for Flicker. They’ve got Athena trying to find her so that he can listen in and get a clue as to her location, but he’s finding the increase to his ability hard to manage. The voices blend because they’re coming from farther away, and they’re louder, all talking over each other, now. At least that’s what he says.
We’ve thought about using him to listen in on Dane, too, but the same problems crop up. Plus, the two of them have never met, which has always presented more of a challenge for Athena.
“So, let’s assume we can’t count on Athena’s new superior superer hearing. What next?” Polly’s not lying down but sitting cross-legged, her hands clenched into nervous fists.
My own stomach spasms, nerves breaking out in the form of goose bumps across my skin. It’s hard to breathe. It gets worse, building until I’m gasping for air and drenched in sweat. Mole is red-faced, panting—we are pictures of dual panic attacks.
Mole casts Pollyanna a sharp glare, managing words somehow. “Tate, Christ. Calm the fuck down. You’re literally freaking us out.”
The iron fist squeezing my lungs relaxes, a cool wash of calm soothing my nerve endings like a balm. We try to remember not to talk in specifics about our Cavy lives while we’re indoors. The idea that the rooms could be bugged still seems plausible, even if none of us have found any proof.
Pollyanna has the grace to look apologetic for once. “Sorry. It’s happening without my realizing it more and more. I made the two girls sharing my room at the home cry for three hours the other night. And I was asleep.”
“It’s okay. I’m having trouble, too. Burned the shit out of myself again washing my hands yesterday. My mind wandered.”
My gaze falls to Mole’s hands, which are perfectly white. “It must not have been too bad.”
He runs his fingertips over his unmarred skin. “They were tender for a while, and our house mom said they were red. I kind of forgot about it, honestly. Are they better?”
“Yes.” My memory trips over my own miraculously healed cut and I realize we didn’t ask Jeannie about that side effect. “So I guess that’s still happening.”
“Yep. It’s pretty sweet.” Mole grins. “I’ve always wanted to be invincible!”
“Let’s not go testing her theory on any mortal wounds, Superman.” Pollyanna sounds distracted, turning her thoughtful gaze out the big picture window on the street side of my bedroom.
I know we’re all thinking about Flicker. Since we haven’t heard from the Olders, and Dane isn’t talking, it’s about time to implement plan… C? D?
Footsteps on the stairs announce Haint’s appearance, and when she appears in the doorway, one of her eyebrows goes up. “Wow, it’s a party in here.”
Her sarcasm makes Pollyanna snort, and breaks the tension.
“We’re brainstorming,” Mole explains. “It’s hard for Norah, so we all have to be quiet.”
I toss a pillow that smacks him straight in the face, making him sputter and us girls giggle. Mole huffs, picking a few feathers off his lips and chin while Haint kicks off her shoes and makes Polly scoot over on the bed.
“Flicker?” she asks. We all nod, and she shrugs. “You guys know there’s only one thing we can do, unless Theo gets control of his crazy ears and comes through. I’ll sneak in and see what I can find.”
She means sneak into Dane’s. It’s a better option than trying to sweet talk him, honestly, and one we all agreed on taking if Reaper fails.
“If we do that, he’s going to know it was us. You weren’t exactly subtle at the game, Shiloh.” It’s meant to be a simple observation, but somehow it sounds like a protest, dancing through the room until everyone else gives me the side-eye.
“First of all, like Becca said, we don’t have a lot of options. Second, who gives a shit?”
“I hate to agree with Tate, as you know, but why should we give a shit? I say it’s time to lay our cards on the table.” Mole’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him, his cheeks are red and his words are squeaking out through clenched teeth.
The visit to Saint Catherine’s took a toll on all of us, and the lack of interest from the mysterious Olders has only stirred more angst into the mix. We want answers, we deserve answers, and maybe he’s right—maybe the only way to lose Dane’s game is to refuse to play.
There is a potential problem with letting him know we’re on the offensive, though, and horror sizzles through me. “Our families could get hurt. Our friends.”
Haint turns sad eyes on me. “You’re the only one with friends, Norah, and our families… Well, you guys are my priority. Flicker is my priority. The Philosopher said we don’t belong in this world, and maybe he’s right. My grandparents, your dad…would they even want us around if they knew what we could do?”
All of the moments my father and I have shared over the past couple of weeks—the meals, the movies, the drive to and from Beaufort, even our argument the other day—play through my mind like a film. I want to believe that he cares about me, that knowing about my mutation wouldn’t make him feel any different than if I were deaf or attention deficit or had one eye that was a different color than the other. But I can’t be sure, and I hate myself for it.
I hate the Philosopher for embedding a certainty inside me, deep and fused with the core of who I am, that people won’t understand. Won’t accept us.
“Going on the offensive is Flicker’s best shot,” Pollyanna says, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn’t have a family or new friends to think about, but even though she makes it her job to be the most abrasive person in our group, there’s a wistfulness about her as she considers that it will be a bigger risk for me.
I love her for everything she is, but right now for allowing her humanity to show, even a little.
“She’s right,” Mole agrees. “Haint can see what she can collect as far as assignment and de
tails, maybe contact information of superiors.”
“Okay,” I agree. “And maybe Jeannie will get back to us soon.
“Norah?” My father’s voice echoes up the stairs and we all go still.
“Yeah?”
“Yes?” he says, mocking me.
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “Sorry! Yes?”
“Are you guys hungry?”
Everyone either shrugs or nods. “Sure, go ahead and order! I left our favorites on a sticky by the menu!”
He doesn’t answer but I know he heard me, and my heart breaks at the real possibility of giving this up. Giving him up, never mind Maya and Jude and the rest of them. I’ll do it, though.
If it means keeping them safe, it’s not even a question.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It’s Monday afternoon, but since school’s out for the holiday break and my father still has to work, there’s no one to stop me from leaving the house. Haint, Athena, and I go alone when we head to Dane’s, since a group of eight teenagers tends to draw attention, no matter how well behaved. Haint broke into the Charleston Academy office and found Dane’s address in the files easily enough, though there’s a niggling worry in the back of my mind that he’s going to know that we’ve been in there poking around somehow.
Reaper was supposed to get Dane to meet her for coffee, and hopefully that worked.
We need the distraction since there’s a very good chance Haint’s invisibility won’t work. The first part of the plan is for her and Athena to knock on the door pretending to sell magazine subscriptions.
We saw it in a movie once.
Dane lives in a shabby apartment complex on the north side of town, giving further credence to the fact that he’s not a typical CA student. Most of them are well-off, and even though Jude’s having trouble, he wasn’t when he started attending.
Idle wonderings about his mother, and how she could just cut him off from a secure future that way, try to distract me but I push them away, reminding myself for the hundredth time not to get any more involved with him. He helped me figure out some things about Darley, I helped him find a way around his financial issues, so that makes us square.
