Maybe it was finally time to go back to Lakebrook.

I thought I could remember my way to the mausoleum, and it would be a far better choice than the only other portal I knew about, the Water Tower. Conn knew I knew about that one, and he might decide to look for me when he woke up. I couldn’t risk seeing him. Even if he couldn’t see me, I couldn’t bear seeing him.

I could go home.

Then I caught myself. I shouldn’t think of Lakebrook in that way.

But then, I thought as I glanced at a Sanctuary entrance, was this really my home?

What was?

My mind was exhausted and battered and sore. I reminded myself that I wasn’t supposed to think, and so without thinking I drifted into the Sanctuary.

I manifested in the Great Hall. I listened to my footsteps and recalled the echo of my smaller feet almost twelve years ago.

Suddenly, I wanted to see Savannah and tell her everything. She would know, wouldn’t she, what I should do? What I should feel?

I had started toward the Archives when Veldt appeared before me.

“Where have you been?” He almost seized my arm before he remembered—as I now remembered—the taboo about touching another Shade unless you’re certain that touch is welcome. “We’ve been searching for you. We need you.”

If I’d been my old self, I would have done what I wanted, which was to walk away from Veldt and go straight to Savannah. But I wasn’t my old self, so I stayed silent and followed him.

We ended up in a bedroom that I guessed was Meridian’s, since black clothes too small for anyone else in the room were strewn across the floor. The usual suspects were there: Meridian, who was poring over a pile of maps on a small table, and Loam.

And, of course, Orion.

He didn’t look up when Veldt and I entered the room, but flinched. Then he covered it by running a hand through his hair and leaning over the table. “There,” he said, and pointed at the map.

But Meridian looked up at Veldt and me. “Ah,” she said. “Perfect.”

Orion stubbornly gazed down at the map, and Meridian noticed. “Orion?” she said. “This was your idea.”

“Yes.” He finally met my eyes. “It is.”

I drew closer to the table, because my old self knew that I should see those maps. They were of city blocks downtown, close to the home of Cecil Deacon, the man who had started the Great Chicago Fire.

“Idea?” I repeated woodenly.

“I’ll be frank with you, Darcy.” Orion had recovered his cocky attitude and was now resting lightly on one hand pressed against the table. “The task we assigned you is too easy.”

“Necessary, of course,” Meridian said. “We want to maximize casualties.”

“But we can just as easily herd the humans by scaring them,” Orion said. “They’ll go where a Shade cleverly disguised as an IBI agent”—he waved a hand at me—“tells them to go, but they’ll also flee from a pair of terrifying Shades”—he pointed at Veldt and Loam—“and run where we want them. The truth is, we wanted to give you something to do. To make you feel part of something big, something for the glory of the Society.”

“The glory of the Society,” I muttered.

“And, of course, you’re inexperienced.” Orion’s voice became cloying. “We didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“So…” I tried to figure out where all this was going, and relaxed when I hit upon the only thing that made sense. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Orion smirked. “We need something more.”

“Our intelligence indicates that the IBI has beefed up security for this Friday night,” said Meridian. “I suppose they finally realized that there are going to be thousands of stupid sheep milling around the downtown area, eager to count down to the New Year together, outside in the freezing cold.”

Orion rolled his eyes. “Humans.”

“So the IBI has appointed a head of security,” said Meridian.

“He’s good,” said Orion. “We want you to eliminate him.”

“You—” I stuttered. “You want me to kill someone?”

Orion snapped his fingers and pointed at me like I’d guessed a trivia question and was about to win a prize. “Exactly,” he said. “His name is Connor McCrea.”

41

“Conn—” I stumbled over his name. “Connor McCrea?”

Veldt shot Orion an outraged look. “I know who you’re talking about, and I know that you’re setting her up to fail. I can’t believe you’re using the greatest moment in our history for a personal vendetta.” He turned to Meridian. “I can’t believe you’re letting him.”

“The elimination of McCrea serves the Society,” she said smoothly. “He’s one of their most promising young agents and is personally responsible for the arrest of several Shades.”

“Yes,” said Veldt, then added sarcastically, “Since we’re assigning impossible tasks, we may as well tell Darcy to kill Fitzgerald, too.”

“Fitzgerald is old.” Orion gazed steadily back at Veldt. “Old trees topple on their own. It’s the strong saplings you need to worry about.”

Veldt crossed his arms. “Like I need to worry about you?”

“Darcy should be eager for this task,” said Orion. “McCrea was the one who arrested her.”

I looked at Orion. Fear frosted my heart. “How do you know that?”

“I read the arrest docket. I’ve been … curious about certain things. Yesterday, I decided to do some research at the IBI, and discovered that McCrea’s debrief after your arrest is highly classified. In fact, the level at which information concerning Darcy Jones is protected seems, well, unusual. Even I wasn’t able to find much, which makes me suspect that the IBI is taking care to hide this information from Shade eyes. Of course, with due time, I could delve much deeper into this mystery. Unless”—he lifted a hand toward me, palm up—“Darcy would like to fill in the blanks.”

I swallowed. “I have no idea why the IBI would classify anything about me.” Orion’s smile told me I was going to have to try harder. “Well, I’m a Shade, right? I guess the IBI keeps most Shade arrests under wraps. For, um, reasons of national security. And in this case, I was a Shade raised by humans. Maybe, since I was … different, they found that interesting.”

“Interesting,” said Orion. “Do you know what I find interesting?” He turned to address everyone in the room. “The fact that the one thing I overheard about Darcy Jones’s arrest—a little thing, a bit of gossip one IBI agent mentioned to another over a cup of coffee—is that, in the Alter, when she still thought she was human, she and McCrea were dating.”

There was a gasp. It might have come from me. “That’s not true,” I said.

Sweetly, Orion said, “I don’t believe you.”

“We were class partners, but that was an assignment, for English class, which is totally normal in high school. In the Alter, at least. Obviously I didn’t know—”

“Shut up,” Orion snapped. His faked easy manner was gone. “If you did care for him, that’s all the more reason for you to kill the man who tricked you. If you did not, you should have no problem doing this small favor for the Society. If, that is, you are truly one of us.”

Veldt, whose expression had tightened when Orion had said the word “dating,” muttered, “If we have a viper in our midst, better that we know it now.”

“Indeed,” said Meridian. “Well, Darcy? What is your answer?”

I knew what Conn would want, if he were here. Say yes, he’d tell me. Say it, because if you don’t you’ll never learn anything else about New Year’s Eve. Your cover will be blown. They will guess the truth lurking under Orion’s accusations.

The truth that somehow, some way, a Shade had fallen in love with a human.

“Will you kill him?” Meridian pressed.

It was one lie I couldn’t bear to tell.

“No,” I said, and ghosted before they could seize me.

* * *

I FLEW THROUGH the city in a daze, watching the silver sun climb in the sky. It was only when its light struck the skyscrapers downtown and transformed them into shining icicles that that brightness cut through my misery.

I had to warn Conn, I realized. If I couldn’t do anything else, I had to do that.

But not in person. I didn’t have the strength for it.

It was Saturday, so I couldn’t count on him not being home. The coward in me wanted to wait until a workday, when he’d be at the IBI, but who knew what Meridian and Orion might try before then?

I waited until noon, when I wouldn’t cast a shadow. Then I went to his house.

I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t what I found. Conn was sitting on the back porch without a coat on. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on last night, as if the moment he’d woken up and discovered I wasn’t there he had walked right out of the apartment to wait.

To wait for me.

Conn’s face looked fragile, like something that might break. And when I saw that, something broke inside of me, and I almost appeared, almost called to him.

I caught myself. His expression might have had nothing to do with me.

And if it did?

He wouldn’t look that way if he knew what my past really held.

I glided toward a tree, and as the sun slipped down the sky my shadow mingled with the ones thrown by a network of branches. I waited, and he waited, and I wondered if he somehow knew I was there, breaking my promise never to spy on him again.

At dusk, when all the shadows had blended into darkness, he burst from the porch in a furious movement. He leaped down the steps and stalked across the snow to the street. Then down the street and around a corner.

He was gone. He had given up.

I told myself that this was a good thing.

I slipped into his apartment, and the scent of it knocked me back into my body. Turpentine. Basil. And Conn.

I wobbled on my feet and caught my breath.

I didn’t want to stand on his wooden floor, to feel and hear the creaks echoing the ones we’d made last night as our feet found their way to his bed. I didn’t want to see the undone blankets. I didn’t want to climb inside them, touch his pillow, and press my face against it.

But the universe didn’t seem to really care about what I wanted.

I forced myself not to look at the painting in the center of the room—I’d never finish it now—and went into the kitchen for the pad of paper Conn had used last night to write down Kellford’s address. I tore off a sheet. Every word hurt to write, because they were the last words I would say to him, so I wrote as few as possible.

I think Meridian’s attack will take place near Cecil Deacon’s home. I’m not part of their plans anymore, so they’ll probably send Veldt and Loam to cause a panic that will herd humans into danger.

Convince Director Fitzgerald and the mayor to cancel any New Year’s Eve celebrations. Impose a curfew. It’s the only thing you can do, because Meridian’s counting on thousands of people being in the streets.

Please do it. They want to kill you, too.

Be careful.

Goodbye,

Darcy

I folded the sheet of paper and set it on the bar. Then I left.

* * *

FOR DAYS, I stayed a ghost. It was weird to think that every hour I remained like this was another hour padded onto my life, but that was definitely the lesser of two evils. The greater evil would have been to have a body that made me really feel, made my heart cramp in pain and my stomach clench with guilt.

You can’t cry if you don’t have any tears, or eyes, or lungs.

One downside of ghosthood, though, was that I never got tired, and every time night came I couldn’t help wondering if Conn was sleepless, too.

When Thursday dawned, I had had enough. Why was I lingering in this world, anyway? There was nothing for me here but bad memories, and I’d done what I could to help the IBI. As for Conn …

Conn would be all right. I couldn’t contemplate any other possibility.

I floated north over Lake Michigan, then picked up speed when I reached what in the Alter was Lincoln Park, and what in this world was another cemetery. I darted through the graves, looking for the mausoleum that had taken me to the Alter and would take me there again, to whatever kind of life I’d have there.

When I saw uniformed IBI agents standing in front of one of those small, stone mausoleums, I knew I had found the portal.

And I found something else there, too.

Someone else.

A girl, flirting with one of the guards.

A brown-haired girl, tall and radiating sexiness, even though her body was completely swaddled in a camel hair coat.

It was Taylor Allen.

I nearly went solid with shock. “Taylor? What are you doing here?”

42

Taylor screamed.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, remembering that it is a little scary to hear disembodied voices. I manifested.

The guards screamed.

“Argh!” I ghosted again.

The guards kept yelling and fumbled for their flamethrowers, one of them smacking into another, Three Stooges style. None of them looked older than me, and I felt a burst of thankfulness that this portal seemed to be a kind of training ground for rookie agents.

Then they switched on their flamethrowers, and I stopped feeling so grateful. I just had to hope that none of them was primed to see my shadow.

“Taylor,” I hissed in her ear. “It’s me, Darcy Jones.”