The Shadow Society (29 page)

Before, when the flame in the firecuffs seemed to burn my brain, I used to pretend that it was that baby’s hair, the one from the fifth floor, and then I would pretend it was a flower, and then I felt better.

I stopped doing that.

*   *   *

T
HEY STARTED TO COME IN,
one by one, to ask me questions. There were five of them, and I began to know their faces.

Who else was involved in the plot? they asked.

What was your role in it?

Where do Shades live?

What other crimes have your parents committed? They are your parents, right?

What is your name?

Come on, you can at least tell us that.

We can be very nice to you. You know that, don’t you?

Are you hungry? Thirsty?

I was, but I didn’t say so.

They asked, How old are you?

My birthday had come and gone, I was pretty sure, even though I couldn’t really keep track of the days. I was five years old, but I didn’t tell anyone.

I had my own questions for them.

Where are my parents?

When will I see them?

But I didn’t ask. I didn’t say anything. I knew the rules. You don’t talk to the IBI.

*   *   *

O
NE OF THE GUARDS
was bigger than the others. He had to stoop to get through the door, and when he was in the cell it felt like there was no room, not even for me. I tried to be brave with the other guards, because that’s what my parents would tell me to do if they were here, but when he came into the cell I shrank into the corner.

He always paused before asking questions, and that pause scared me because I didn’t understand it. The faces of the other guards were hard with hatred, but at least I expected that. I didn’t expect whatever was on this man’s face. Maybe it was something worse than hate.

He began his questions. Most of them were old, some of them were new, and I stopped listening to all of them.

Then a noise interrupted him. It was my stomach, rumbling.

I felt so ashamed. For being hungry. For having a body. For being trapped. Tears leaked out of my eyes.

The man stood suddenly and walked out the door.

I didn’t think he would come back, so I didn’t bother to stop crying. But he came back.

He held out a roll of bread and a glass of milk. “Quickly,” he said.

I hesitated. Then I tore my teeth into the bread and swallowed the milk.

He took the empty glass, and I studied him.

I couldn’t tell what the look on his face meant. I had never seen it before, and it didn’t seem like anything I had ever felt. But I knew that his face was different from the other faces here. This didn’t seem so frightening anymore.

He had dark eyes and dark hair with streaks of gray. If I squinted at him and pretended, he almost looked like my uncle Bear.

I would call this man Bear, I decided.

*   *   *

B
EAR CAME EVERY DAY,
and he didn’t stop asking me questions or say anything different from what the other guards would say, nothing like that one word, and whatever was in his voice when he’d said it:
Quickly
.

But he always brought me something to eat.

He was there when they came into the cell, all five of them, and he wouldn’t look at me when the thin-nosed woman said, “We’re going to try something new today.”

Fear broke into my mind and began to crumble it to pieces, because Bear was not looking at me.

I ran at his legs. I couldn’t wrap my cuffed arms around them, so I leaned against them like they were a tree trunk, the last tree in the world.

There was a shocked silence. Then someone laughed. I heard a man say, “Well, well, well. Look who’s made friends.”

Bear’s hand came down heavy on my shoulder. “You’re coming with us,” he said, and his voice sounded just like the guards’.

*   *   *

T
HEY TOOK ME
to see my parents.

The room was a metal box, and my mother and father were strapped to metal chairs. My mother’s arm was twisted and lumpy and swollen, and my father had burns on him.

I started toward them.

“No.” Bear held me back.

“Nobody in this room seems to like our questions,” said the thin-nosed woman. “But this time, when we ask, we
will
get answers.” She switched on her flamethrower, and I began to shake. I searched my father’s face, but he wouldn’t look at me.

My mother did, and her black eyes were shiny and wet. She said, “Caged skylarks don’t sing.”

But then the woman thrust the blowtorch in my mother’s face, and I opened my mouth, and sang and sang and sang.

40

I stared at Kellford, my throat aching as if I had been really screaming instead of only remembering it.

“You … clung to me,” he said. “Called me Bear. And all I’d ever done was give you a bit of bread.”

It took me a moment to speak. When I did my voice was hoarse. “Are my parents alive? I never saw them after that.”

He shook his head. “Mistral died in prison and Hart was sentenced to death. As for you…”

“You saved me.”

“You were such a tiny thing,” he said helplessly. “Huge eyes. A soft, serious face. That day, in the interrogation room, the way you looked at me when—” He broke off.

I didn’t want to talk about that either. “How?” I asked. “How did you get me out of the IBI?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I do … now. But there’s a lot I don’t know, or understand.”

Kellford sighed heavily. “The IBI wanted to lock you up forever. Director Martinez said you were a gold mine. There would have been tests, experiments … and I know for a fact that the Vox Squad was biting at the chance to get at you,
really
get at you. You still hadn’t given up some information that would have been invaluable to the IBI, like the location of the Sanctuary. In the interrogation room, you would have told us anything, anything we wanted, and we got a lot, but Valerie—the head of the squad—wouldn’t stop. The more she voxed the prisoners, the more you gave us, but the more you lost. You lost it. Began talking gibberish. Finally, we stopped. When we brought you back to your cell, you were numb. You didn’t speak a word after that. You didn’t even blink.

“I went to the coroner. I knew Anne from the Academy. We weren’t friends anymore, because she knew what I did for the IBI and I knew that she was soft on Shades. She agreed to sign your death certificate. Officially”—he glanced at me—“I tortured you to death.”

“Why would you say that?” I whispered. “You could have … you could have said I broke my cuffs, and ghosted.”

“Your firecuffs were set to kill you.”

“You could have claimed there was a malfunction. Why would you accuse yourself of such an awful thing?”

Kellford looked out the dark window. “It was more forgivable to the IBI than what I actually did. More forgivable, even, than negligence. A prisoner dying under interrogation? It happens. It happened to your mother. And I
wanted
to get kicked off the squad. The Society has done terrible things to humans, but we do terrible things right back.”

“Why did you bring me to the Alter? You could have let me go.”

“What, and let you find your way back to the Shades? So they could twist a sweet girl into a monster? I’m sorry for what happened to you, Lark. I believed—
everyone
in that room believed you had nothing to do with Ravenswood, but your parents were bloody monsters.”

I didn’t know what to say to that because, of course, he was right.

And he was wrong.

“The Alter was Anne’s idea,” Kellford continued. “It was a good one. I knew that the IBI would hunt for you, and you’d be safest in that world. It would give you a chance to become your own person.” He rubbed his forehead into a mass of wrinkles. “I hope I did the right thing.”

With his gray hair, he looked weary, as weary and unsettled as anyone would if an old ghost had come to visit him.

“Thank you, Bear,” I said.

He looked down at his big hands. “I am not a good man.”

“You’re good enough for me.”

*   *   *

I
SAW THE CITY
with new eyes. Well, new-old eyes, since now there were streets and sites and buildings that I recognized from the past two months, and that recognition was layered over an older one, the one that had been buried inside me. The one that had begun to emerge when I was in Lakebrook. That had crept into my sketchbook when I had drawn all those cityscapes.

I used to think of the Alter as my Chicago, and this one as an impostor, but the truth was that this Chicago had been mine, too, all along.

When I left Kellford’s apartment, I glided through the coming dawn to Graceland Cemetery.

I touched the scar on my neck, a mystery no more. I looked out over the gravestones and wondered if any of the Ravenswood dead were buried there. Then I boxed that thought, shoved it away from me. Going to Kellford had been a mistake.

I wished I’d never known. I’d gained only grief and guilt and a name that I didn’t want to be mine.

And there was a lot I had lost.

The hope that I would discover my parents, get rid of the orphan in me. I hadn’t even known I had hoped for this. I had let myself assume they’d abandoned me in the Alter and had taken off. One of the wandering Shades, like Savannah had said. I hadn’t searched for them. I’d shrunk my hope into something the size of a dust mote, something I couldn’t see. It was one of those hopes you only know had been there when they’re gone.

And I missed my innocence. Before, the bad things that had happened to me had simply
happened
to me. They were not my fault. Now, in some ways, they were.

Among all the things I had lost, surely I had also lost Conn.

Don’t think about him.

Don’t think about how much he looks like his father did, holding his baby daughter on the doomed fifth floor.

Don’t think about how you can’t lie to him.

Don’t think about how he would never love you if he knew the truth.

He wouldn’t even like you.

He would hate you.

Don’t think.

I let my mind glaze over and watched the snowy cemetery glitter in the rising sun. I hovered there for some time. Then, as I was staring at a mausoleum, I realized in a disconnected way that my last drawing in the sketchbook I’d tossed on Marsha’s carpet on that day in Lakebrook had not been of a small, stone house, as I’d thought. It had been a mausoleum. And not just any mausoleum—it was a portal,
the
portal Kellford had brought me through in 1997, one that he must have chosen because it was out of the way, or badly guarded, or ignored.

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
.”