Gypsy (The Cavy Files Book 1) (35 page)

“More like being a great-great-granddaughter or -son.” It makes me smile. It’s the reason I love the Calhoun legend, too, and the reason it persists even with the exasperation of Saint Philip’s. Because it
captures
the city.

“Right.”

“Is there another reason?” I prompt, mesmerized by the way it feels as though we’re in a bubble. Just two people who happened to meet in a cemetery, sharing their favorite pieces of history about the city.

“I think Calhoun would have been shocked that while Charleston loved him, they never embraced him. It’s a reminder, I guess, that as much as you can feel a part of something, it’s often an illusion. Acceptance, belonging—they’re subject to the whims of others, out of our control more often than not.”

The observation goes straight to my heart, squeezing it into a pancake. I don’t think Maya and Jude feel about me the way Charleston felt about Calhoun, exactly, but how long will they remember me if I disappear?

Maybe the world can never accept me, like the Philosopher promised. My fingertips dig into the pitted stone.

“Norah? Are you okay?” Dane’s dark eyes go soft, liquid. They dribble concern toward me, and not just for this moment.

I felt it yesterday afternoon, too, when I spilled the beans about the syringe attacks. Dane’s worried about me.

“I’ll be fine. No sense in feeling sorry about things I can’t change, right?” In the silence after I speak, I hear what he doesn’t say—that he understands. Because he’s existing in a world that’s not his, too. “It must be hard, remembering that your everyday life isn’t true. Being a student, working for the principal, turning in homework—it’s all pretty stupid compared to what you actually do, I guess.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “It’s hardest when I start to wish the illusion could be real.”

The way he looks at me, the liquid in those eyes brimming with a million conflicting emotions and spilling out toward me, coating me, makes it impossible to breathe, to look away. The cemetery disappears, and if my fingers weren’t anchoring me to the massive stone at my back, I might topple over.

“I wish you would reconsider my offer. The people who attacked you in Pirate’s Alley could be dangerous.”

He knows where the attacks happened. I never told him that.

The words, muttered in the lowest voice still audible to the human ear, bring the world rushing back. We’re not Dane and Norah anymore, connected by a sad inability to belong in the world. He’s some kind of secret agent, and I’m the… Asset? And the concern he’s showing, the way he’s trying to reforge the connection between us—it’s only because he’s trying to recruit me. Bring me in. Turn me into Flicker.

Even though once they learn all the things I can’t do, they might not want me, either.

I’m surprised by how quickly I adjust. How easy it is to restrict the bubble only to me, keeping Dane and all his fake niceties safely on the other side. “How do you know? Maybe they’re the good guys.”

His lips twist as though it’s an insult. “They’re not.”

“How do you know?” I ask, too sweetly.

He hasn’t said anything specific about the Olders, but every bone in my body says he knows. They keep track of all of us, and even if they’re living under the radar, or off the grid, or whatever spy-speak is right, the government hasn’t forgotten them.

“I don’t know who would have done that, Norah, but isn’t common sense enough reason to assume they’re not good? They stabbed you in the neck with a syringe!”

The lie followed by the truth almost throws me off, but as long as Dane’s been watching me, I’ve been watching him. Even before the reality of his day job came to light, something felt off about him. Intrigued me. And not just his ability to block my awesomely lame number-seeing.

“You must have either gone looking for my police report, or you’ve known all along,” I comment. “I never said where it happened.”

He says nothing, lapsing into silence and refusing to meet my gaze. It’s as though there are words he can’t catch, as though they’re skittering around like restless spirits, but for the life of me I can’t guess what they might be. As with most of our interactions, when Dane talks it sounds as though there’s a bud of truth underneath soil made of lies; the thought that maybe he’s right, that the Olders aren’t what we think, makes me sweat in the chilly breeze.

We don’t know anything about the government agency using Flicker, but we don’t know anything about the Olders’ motivations for enhancing our powers, either. Maybe Dane’s trying to tell me something, the way he was talking about how things might be if this were a movie.

A hot rush of anger, as strong as last night’s, pushes me to my feet. I pace back and forth in an attempt to rein it in, but it doesn’t work. “I don’t understand you, Dane. You act like you want to help us, maybe even protect me, with your little roundabout truths. But if you really cared, if you weren’t just using me to complete your mission or close the file on the Cavies, if you
really
believe we’re in danger… why not just say so?”

He doesn’t answer, and the fact that nothing I’ve said leaves any kind of discernible mark pushes me further down the rabbit hole of rage.

My lips twist into a snarl. “You know what? I think you don’t care. You’ll say anything to make me believe that joining your agency or whatever is the only safe option. The people who attacked us might be a mystery, but at least they’re trying to help us.”

“You don’t have all the facts. You have to stop and ask yourselves what’s in it for them. Because no one gives a gift and asks for nothing in return.”

We stare at one another, my chest heaving, his gaze hard and unflinching. The way the pulse jumps in his neck tells me he’s not as unmoved by our confrontation as he wants me to think, but his stubborn self-control makes me grit my teeth to keep from flying at him, pounding my fists into his chest until he breaks.

“Think about it,” he whispers. “You know I’m right. Everything between us hasn’t been a lie, Norah. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Truth.

Even so, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just words. They’re cheap and changeable and can be twisted and marred and spun into fields of enigmas.

“I don’t know you at all, Dane. The friendship we started was bogus from the beginning, and you haven’t convinced me it was ever anything but your job.”

I turn and walk away, ignoring his last plea for me to think about it. The gates to the cemetery spill me out onto Church Street, but it’s not until I get all the way to Market that the chill on my face registers as tears, the tightness in my chest makes me realize I’m heaving sobs, and I recognize my terror for what it is.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It’s been four days since we took the files from Dane’s apartment, but even though we’ve been through them more than once, we can’t find anything on Flicker. There are a plethora of documents on genetic mutation and potential applications in the government and military, a topic that certainly wasn’t included in our Darley-run education. It’s interesting, and pretty much all the proof we need to feel confident that the government knows what we can all do, and has monitored our progress for years.

But there’s
nothing
about Flicker since her disappearance five years ago. No updates or files regarding her life since, what they’ve been asking her to do, or where they might be holding her hostage.

Pollyanna and Mole went through the whole cabinet twice, and then Haint and Reaper went through it with fresh eyes. The twins are still working on the computer—they cracked the main password, with the help of Polly’s growing talent for influencing others and their delinquent thirteen-year-old friend—but the encryption on the files is taking longer than we hoped. He’s running some kind of hacker program twenty-four-seven, but he figures it could be another couple of days before it cracks everything.

We’re hoping to find the answers to every question we never knew we should ask, which is a little silly. Still, with no address, no name, no phone number—nowhere to start—we’re all losing our minds.

The night of the white elephant party arrives with the promise of blessed distraction, and there are six little red packages with white bows arranged in a line on my desk. I had planned to open them before the party, but I still can’t bring myself to face the reality of what’s inside.

I changed clothes three times before deciding on a red dress and an off-white cardigan. My father agreed to let me shop online after the overwhelming experience at Target, and the dress is one of my better purchases. With the government watching and the Olders lurking, who knows what the future could bring. I could disappear tomorrow, captured like Flicker, and this could be my last chance to wear it. Plus, it
is
a Christmas party.

My whole body gets hot at the idea that Jude might think I look pretty. Of him seeing me like this, not in a silly CA uniform or lounging in jeans. My emotions are pinging off the walls one way and bouncing back to me another by the time I head down the stairs.

The sheen in my father’s eyes and the smile on his face make me happy and break my heart all at once. When he hugs me good-bye I hold on to him for longer than necessary. We’ve spent more time together during my punishment, and he’s asked more than once why I haven’t seen any of my CA friends since my official grounding ended. My answers haven’t been good enough, jump-starting his worry again, and the fact that I’m responsible churns guilt into the swirl of emotions in my belly.

“Have fun tonight, Norah. Be young. Stop worrying so much about… whatever it is that worries you.” His kind eyes crinkle around the edges. “One day maybe you’ll tell me what it is.”

I grab a coat, then lean up and kiss his cheek, my own eyes wet. “Thanks, Dad.”

It’s the first time I’ve called him Dad, the first time I’ve referred to him as anything at all out loud, and even though it’s clear he notices, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. I marvel again at how we’ve managed to become something like comfortable in a few short weeks.

The walk to Maya’s doesn’t take long, just a few minutes, which is nice because it’s cold outside but bad because the Christmas decorations and faux oil lanterns along the street combine to make the stroll a little magical, like something out of a movie. Except if it
were
a movie, there would be a special boy at my side, maybe thinking about threading his gloved fingers between mine.

I close my eyes for a second, allowing myself the daydream. It’s Jude’s face that I expect to see in the moonlight, but even though there’s a shadow beside me, it’s no one person. The glossy black hair belongs to Dane, the herb green eyes are Mole’s, and the good-humored expression hanging in them can only reflect Jude.

It’s confusing to think that when I’m not paying attention, they’re all in my head.

Maybe because I need all three of them.

Mole understands everything about me, everything I am, and he’s never, ever not been right there when I needed him.

Jude makes me laugh, he makes me feel pretty and wanted and safe, everything I’ve ever dreamed of having in the normal world. He intrigues me, and something about the way he’s quiet sometimes makes me think he wouldn’t hate me if he knew my secret.

Then there’s Dane, whose easy presence helped me through the first couple days of school, who—even if he uses it for evil—has a strange, instinctual understanding of who I am underneath all of the layers and decoys. He doesn’t judge that girl, the real one, or expect her to be someone she’s not.

Maya’s house looms a block later, looking like something from a Southern Christmas card. The soft glow from the inside gushes out, tugging me toward the entrance. Candles wink in the center of every window, and the green garland and red bows I’d seen on the inside a couple of weeks ago now adorn each side of the stairs at the front of the wide porch. White lights twinkle in a perfect row on the ledge of each roof, around every window, and line the front door.

The sounds of laughter and quiet music flutter through the thick panes of glass, warming me while I wait for someone to hear my knock. Their live-in maid smiles and opens the door wide when she sees me, even though we’ve only met twice before, and it makes me feel welcome and included in a way that tightens my chest.

“Can I take your coat, Miss Norah?”

I nod and hand it over, switching my white elephant gift from hand to hand to shake loose my sleeves, and she folds it over her arm. Even her pressed, traditional black-and-white uniform seems picturesque in the foyer’s perfect ambiance.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. The others are in the library, and Mr. and Mrs. Ashley are out for the evening at their own party. Miss Hannah’s asleep.”

So, we’re alone, except for the staff and Maya’s surprise baby sister. It’s exciting, kind of, and infects me with the idea that we’re adults, or almost, on my short stroll to the library. It’s like my father said—only a few more years, and then it will be time to make decisions for the rest of my life. Right now, more than anything else in the whole world, I wish that this situation with the government and the Olders and Flicker and our origins at Darley could wait that long.