“You … do?”
“If what you claim is true—and McCrea’s evidence supports this—then you were raised as a human with no knowledge of your origins. You are perhaps the one Shade who has no belief in the Society’s propaganda of hatred and destruction. You must have sympathy for the human cause.”
“My sympathy might be a little tarnished by abuse and kidnapping.”
“Regrettable, but consider what we face.” Fitzgerald pointed at the hospital scene, at the rigid limbs and bugged-out eyes. “There hasn’t been a Shade attack in years, but recent intelligence indicates that one is in the planning stages. The IBI could keep you here forever, or we could take a risk. We could ask for your help. Infiltrate the Society. Make the Shades accept you as one of them. After all, you are. If you manage to gather useful information, the IBI will send you back to your world.”
“How much information? How long would this take?”
“The IBI will determine that. Darcy, do you want more people to die?”
“No.”
“Do you want to remain a prisoner of the IBI?”
“Yes. It is my one true ambition in life.”
Fitzgerald made an impatient noise. “Do you want to go home or not?”
Home. I wasn’t sure what that meant anymore. After the freak show on Saturday afternoon, Marsha would probably be glad to have her spare room back, and I’d have a short return trip to the DCFS. I’d stay in a group home until I was eighteen. Then the DCFS would cut me loose. Lily, Jims, Raphael … maybe we’d stay in touch. Or they’d forget about me. They’d have each other.
I remembered leaning toward Aunt Ginger and whispering my secret in her ear. “I want a family,” I had told her.
Aunt Ginger had thrown back her head and laughed. “Why, make your own!”
Now, in the iron-walled cell, I considered Fitzgerald’s proposition. I doubted there was much left for me in Lakebrook. As for the Shadow Society, it was possible they had done the horrible things Fitzgerald claimed, but I had only her word, and I didn’t exactly trust the IBI to tell me the truth. Could Shades really be so evil? I wasn’t evil.
And I was a Shade.
This was a chance. A golden opportunity, like they said. I could find out more about my past. I’d judge the Society for myself. Maybe I could find my parents and tell them exactly what I thought of them.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d find a place where I belonged.
“Yeah, okay,” I told Fitzgerald. “I’ll do it.”
19
“Excellent,” she said. “McCrea will be your handler.”
“My what?”
Conn’s eyes cut to Fitzgerald’s. When she nodded, he said, “You’re to report to me, Darcy. We’ll meet on a regular basis but at irregular hours, and in different locations. You’ll pass along any valuable information about the Society. Meanwhile, if the IBI needs something else from you—either based on your intel or on its own agenda—I’ll give you instructions.”
“No way,” I told Fitzgerald. “Not him.”
“You have no choice,” she replied. “You need a liaison within the IBI. If you don’t like it”—she tapped the glass box—“you know your alternative.”
“Give me someone else!”
But she was already heading toward the iron door. “McCrea is best equipped for the job. And quite frankly, no one else would be willing to work with you.”
She left me alone with Conn.
With a slight shake of his head, he began talking. Rules and regulations of our partnership. Standard operating procedure. Et cetera. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he was acting as if he had done nothing wrong.
“Darcy, are you paying attention?”
Silence.
His mouth tightened. He stood, jerked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him.
What was I supposed to do now? Maybe I’d gotten lucky and Conn was out there shanghaiing somebody else into working with me. Or maybe the deal was off.
He wasn’t gone long. He came back with a glass of water. He handed it to me. “In training, we’re told that Shades don’t need to eat or drink. But I know you do. I’ve seen you. After everything … I should have thought of this earlier. This water’s balanced with electrolytes, sugar, protein, and vitamins. It’s essentially a full meal.”
I drank. “What about a shower? I’m a mess.”
He shook his head. “You look authentic like this. Like you were brought into IBI custody and escaped. That’s your story. There’s more to it, of course, but we’ll go over that later.” He hesitated. “Darcy. I have to take off your bandages.” His hand reached for mine.
I flinched away. “Don’t touch me.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You heard what I said.” I gripped the empty glass, wondering if Conn realized that he had handed me a weapon.
He closed his eyes. Briefly. When he opened them, they were weary. “I don’t want to take off your bandages, but it would look suspicious to the Society that the IBI healed your wounds.”
And if I bashed the glass against his cheek, what then?
I’d face a swarm of people itching for the excuse to do their worst.
“Please,” Conn said.
“Fine.” I set the cup on the floor. “Go ahead.”
He was gentle. The gauze unwound with a whisper, coiling onto the floor. My skin emerged: pink, crinkled. But healed.
Conn touched the back of my hand. I felt a spike of desire, then a gush of disgust. I wanted, more than anything, to disappear. At least then my body couldn’t betray me.
“Michael did a good job,” he said. “He has some medic training.”
“Whose idea was it to jump me in the parking lot?”
At first, he didn’t answer. “Mine. But the plan was laid before I really knew you. After we went to the railroad tracks, I couldn’t figure out if you were pretending to be human or genuinely thought you were. The plan was a test. To see what you would do. At the very least, I hoped it would make you trust me.”
It was hard, very hard, not to pick the glass off the floor and break it against him.
Conn said, “That night, when you didn’t disappear in front of him, Michael wanted to arrest you then and there. It was the smart move. It would have been easy. But … I didn’t want to do it.”