“And that convinced Fitzgerald.” I raised my brows. “An interpretation?”

“There’s also the way you reacted when I arrested you. The arrest … I didn’t—it didn’t go as planned. You broke your chains. I never thought you would do that. No rational Shade would—unless she didn’t know what firecuffs were.”

“Maybe I knew, and gambled. I could have bet that the cuffs were set to a low flame. Or maybe I wanted to go out in a kamikaze blaze of glory.”

The car slowed. “We considered those possibilities.”

“Then what proof did you have? I’m a monster. Why would Fitzgerald even think about letting me loose?”

Conn stopped the car. “It was your file.”

“My file?” I had the strong suspicion that I was going to have to kill him.

“Your DCFS file. I showed it to her.”

Psychological and medical evaluations. Report cards. IQ scores. Complaints from foster parents … even I didn’t know everything that was in my file. “You stole it,” I finally choked out. I felt as if Conn had seen me in nothing but my oldest, ugliest underwear. “When?” I demanded.

His hands fell from the steering wheel. “After we cut class and you told me about how your fingers had disappeared while you were drawing.”

“Why did you do that? Why?”

“I was confused.” He kept staring at the windshield. The weak light traced his profile, his crooked nose. He rubbed his eyes, and I found myself wondering when he had last slept. Then I wiped that thought from my mind. “It was obvious that you had no idea what happened,” he continued. “You seemed so innocent. I’m trained to look for deceit, Darcy, but when I met you I had to rethink everything. It was possible that my training meant nothing and that you could lie without the tics and tells humans have, but then why would a Shade share anything about her past with me? Why would you welcome my friendship? Or seem to. Why would you—?”

He stopped right there, and it was a good thing that he did. The memory of our kiss paced between us like a dangerous animal. Neither of us wanted to touch it.

Conn leaned back in his seat and winced. I had forgotten about his ribs. He stared out the windshield and didn’t speak.

When he finally did, his voice was crisp. “Don’t deviate from the plan. Remember that the most insidious thing about Shades is that they can be anywhere, anytime, unseen. They may already know you’re working for the IBI. Even if they don’t, they might come to suspect you.” He handed me a backpack. “Good luck. I’ll see you on Tuesday at 3:23 p.m., at the corner of Michigan Avenue and Van Buren Street.”

We’ll see about that, I thought. I opened the car door.

“There’s something else,” he said.

I looked at him. I didn’t know how much more “else” I could take.

“A photograph,” he said. “Of a little girl. I found it in the IBI database, before I left for the Alter. There’s no definite match, but she looks like you.”

“All Shades look alike. That’s what Fitzgerald said.”

He shook his head. “They have the same coloring, but there are differences. Believe me. She looks like you.”

“Then give it to me.” When he didn’t respond, I raised my voice. “Conn, I want that photograph.”

“I know you do. I’ll bring it with me to our meeting.”

For a moment, I held the door handle, shocked at how easily he had manipulated me. Again. That photograph was bait. Now I needed to see him again. I got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and walked away.

I didn’t get very far before I heard the first scream.

Stage One of Conn’s plan was for me to parade myself in full view of everybody: a nightmare walking around in broad daylight. If I caused enough commotion, an invisible Shade might notice. Brilliant, right? I mean, if I didn’t get killed first.

I had had just enough time to register that the fog had lifted and that it was wickedly cold. I looked around at the low row houses and caught the smell of cinnamon rolls from a bakery. I guessed that maybe I was in Andersonville, the Swedish part of town. At least that’s what it looked like, except that this street had an odd metal rail running along both sides, tacked high onto the walls of the buildings, sort of like a sideways roller-coaster track, except with a single rail. And in this world, there were more trees. The streets were cleaner. Also, everyone was dressed very formally, in a mix of tailored coats and strikingly modern accessories, like caramel-colored sunglasses and high-top boots with cutout patterns. No one wore even a trace of black.

A man strutted by in a fedora and striped suit, then skidded to a halt when he saw me. He shrieked. A few women in cloche hats were more composed, though they clutched each other and yelled for someone to call the IBI. I stood there, hoping that this was enough of a commotion, when a mob rounded the corner, carrying torches and calling me names.

It was almost as bad as high school.

I ran.

But I was running on empty. I didn’t get far. The mob cornered me in a blind alley. I wondered if Shades got last requests, and if someone would give me a cinnamon roll before going completely Spanish Inquisition and burning me at the stake.

Then I heard a pair of light feet land next to me.

It was a boy.

“You,” he said, “look like hell.”

20

“And suicidal,” he added. “Are you suicidal?”

Our eyes locked. We were the exact same height. We were almost the exact same everything. “Um, help?”

The mob hung back. Two Shades was maybe too much.

“Just ghost,” he told me.

Ghost. That was my word. “I can’t.”

“Really?” he said with amused curiosity. “Why not?”

“Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Like now it doesn’t. Like now I could use your help.”

He looked at the crowd. They were backing off, muttering that they should probably wait for the IBI, though I knew that they had been ordered by Fitzgerald not to arrive at the scene. “Very well.” The Shade shrugged. “Shall we kill them all?”

Torches dropped to the ground. People shoved each other in their haste to run out of the alley. They were gone.

He chuckled. “My name is Orion. Who are you, and why are you playing cat and mouse? Or rather, why are you the mouse?”

“I’m Darcy Jones.”

He pulled a sour face.

“What?” I asked.

“That’s a human name.”

Now that we were alone and I wasn’t about to be barbecued, I had time to see that he wasn’t exactly my male mirror image, as I’d first thought. There were differences. Orion’s eyes titled up at the corners. My chin is pointy. But he wore what I always wore—simple black—and looking at him was like looking at myself from a stranger’s perspective. Slender frame. Hair like an oil slick. Winter skin.

Orion picked up the backpack that had dropped at my feet. He handed it to me.

“Thanks.” I unzipped the backpack and dragged out a blue wool coat with a large hood. It looked like it was going to snow.

“What else have you got in there?” He yanked back the bag and rummaged through it as I put on the coat. “A brown wig. Makeup. Sunglasses. Things to help you pass as a human. Where did you get them?”

“I stole them.”

“I don’t think you’re very bright, Darcyjones.” That’s how he said my name: in one big blur. “If you can’t ghost, why weren’t you wearing any of this? Or that?” He pointed at my coat as I tried to tuck my hair under the hood. “Of course the humans attacked you.”

Stupid Conn and his stupid plan. “I was trying to find you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Not you specifically. Someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” he repeated.

“I wanted to find a Shade. But invisibility makes it kind of hard to see you.”

“A fair point.”

“So my best hope was to make a screaming target of myself and catch a Shade’s interest.”

“Ah.” He returned my backpack. “That’s quite daring. Probably the swiftest solution. Not bad.”

Huh. Stupid Conn and his apparently not-so-stupid plan.

Orion tucked a stray lock of my hair into the hood.

I pulled away. Was he flirting? No more flirting. Ever. Look where it got me the last time.

“I can do that,” I said.

“You asked for help.” Then he glanced down at my burned hands and his smile vanished. “What happened to you?”

A snowflake touched my wrist and disappeared.

It came and went silently. I was silent, too. I hadn’t practiced this, how to tell Conn’s lies. But the snow helped. A snowfall softens all the hard noises and hard corners. It’s a natural liar. I saw the sky sprinkle down a hundred, a thousand little white lies, and decided that I didn’t owe Orion anything.

Okay, he had saved my life. But saving someone and knowing her are different things. I had my reasons for following Conn’s advice.

I needed time to decide if I even wanted to go home to Lakebrook. I needed information.

I also needed Conn’s photograph. It could be the key to my forgotten years.

So when Orion said, “Let’s walk. You can tell me all about it,” I was ready.

* * *

TALKING WITH ORION MEANT talking to thin air. He strolled invisibly by my side while I muttered to myself like a crazy person. Every so often, I saw Orion’s fingers flash in and out of being. He nipped at my elbow, tugging me in one direction or another.

When I asked, he explained (with some surprise that I didn’t know already) that it was easy enough to make specific body parts appear and disappear, though harder to talk as a ghost.

“What about your clothes?” I asked.

There was a pause, then a wicked chuckle. “What about them?”

“They disappeared when you did.” That’s how it had worked for me, at Marsha’s house.

“When Shades ghost, we produce a kind of energy, like body heat. Anything small or light enough and in direct contact with our skin—such as clothes, or a book—comes along for the ride.”

“I assume your clothes will reappear, then, when you do.”

Another laugh. “I suppose so.”

It was snowing hard by the time he pulled me north along Clark Street, one of my favorite parts of Chicago. This was where (in my world) Lily and I stocked up on art supplies. Then we’d pile into a booth at the Melrose Diner with Jims and Raphael and order a huge plate of mozzarella sticks. We’d swear that the next time we took the train into the city we’d do something different. But we never did.

Orion’s Clark Street was too clean. The apartment buildings were all very nicey-nice. Even the fire escapes were painted in pastel colors, though the strange rail that ran along the buildings was left alone, just plain silver.

Orion led me into a park and under a cluster of trees. The bad weather seemed to have chased everyone inside, so we had the place to ourselves. By then, I had told Orion almost everything, aside from the kiss (which might actually cease to exist if I ignored it hard enough) and how I really got away from the IBI.

Orion appeared. “So you ghosted out of IBI headquarters? I thought you didn’t know how to do that.”

I remembered Marsha throwing the kitchen knife, and the fear that had crept over me while drawing the IBI building. “If I’m startled or scared or about to die I can do it.”

“Half an hour ago, you were being chased by humans. Weren’t you frightened then?”

“No.” I realized that this was somewhat true.

“They had torches.”

“Yeah, but after firecuffs and solitary, the torches seemed kind of charming.”

“The IBI put you in solitary confinement? You are a brave Shade, Darcyjones.”

“Just Darcy.” He looked at me quizzically. “Jones is my last name. You don’t have to say it all the time.” He was still confused. “Okay, I get it. Shades don’t have last names, do they? Still, don’t you spy on humans?”

“Of course.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed how they speak to one another? How they use names?”

“We study humans for self-defense. You’re talking about cultural habits. We don’t care about that. You’re home now, Darcy. You’re one of us. You need to learn what matters.”

“Am I home?” I looked around the park, and it hit me that it wasn’t a park. It was Graceland Cemetery. “You’re kidding.”

He brushed the snow off a marble grave slab and pried up one edge. It lifted like a hatch, revealing an underground tunnel. “After you.”

Give me some credit. I did consider the possibility that the underground tunnel wasn’t going to lead to a party with streamers and balloons and a big banner saying, “Welcome home, Darcy!” But I went down anyway.

I dropped about fifteen feet. The shock of hitting the packed earth below made me stumble and really dislike Orion, who landed as lightly as a cat. He had probably ghosted his way down most of the tunnel. Cheater.

He reached into a tangle of roots and must have flipped some kind of switch. The tunnel glowed with sudden light, illuminating a passageway where the earth merged into stone walls and floors.

“How do you get electricity down here?” I asked, peering down the tunnel. Yes, I was stalling. That fall had shaken some sense into my head, reminding me (now that it was too late, now that I was trapped in an underground Lair of Doom) that Shades were supposed to be mass murderers. Hadn’t Orion threatened to slaughter that angry mob?