Illusive (27 page)

It takes a second, but Guntram understands. He lets out a startled laugh, and then pauses, as if unsure whether that is the right reaction. Then he is roaring with laughter, filled with so much mirth that he forgets to stanch the bleeding, and Ciere sees fresh droplets run down his neck.

“How…” Guntram says, finally finding his voice, “how the hell did you manage this?”

Ciere looks back at the ship. Her own mouth is pulled into a smile that is all teeth. “That man,” she answers. “He ordered me to show him who I was.” She holds up her hand and watches as the flame licks along her palm.

She doesn’t explain how Aristeus’s command freed her. It shattered the mantra she’s lived by since she was eleven years old. She doesn’t tell him about how hiding has inhibited her immunity, about how her guilt over her mother’s death has plagued her for six years. She doesn’t tell him that when Aristeus commanded her to reveal who she was, he wasn’t anticipating her answer. She is an illusionist.

So the fire doesn’t burn her. None of these flames do.

It’s just an illusion.

I
t turns out that arriving on Kit’s doorstep with a dog and Devon Lyre was nothing. Arriving on Kit’s doorstep with a bleeding Alan Fiacre, Brandt Guntram, and a cheery Conrad is much, much worse. So much worse that Kit doesn’t bother with the screaming and the cursing; instead, he hugs Ciere so tightly that her ribs feel permanently mashed out of shape.

Guntram and Conrad are immediately offered every hospitality Kit has to offer, but they decline. Guntram says they are off to find a hotel and regroup with their team. They’ll be back tomorrow, they add, to pick up Ciere. They’ll give her a night with her handler so she can pack.

When the door shuts and all eyes turn to her, Ciere reddens. She hasn’t been looking forward to this. But if she doesn’t speak up, Magnus and Kit look ready to tie her down
and interrogate her like they did Carson. Ciere negotiates for a cup of tea in exchange for information. With the warm cup held snugly between both her palms, she stares into the dark liquid and opens her mouth to explain.

She tells them everything—the wild flight back to Philadelphia, the meeting with Brandt Guntram, the deal she made, the feds following Carson’s GPS to the docks, the resulting firefight, Guntram getting knocked out by Aristeus, Ciere and Alan trying to hide on the barge, Aristeus ordering Ciere to show him who she was, Ciere using her illusions to create a double of Alan while vanishing the real boy and Aristeus shooting the double, Ciere creating a fire, Aristeus flinging himself into the water to escape the nonexistent flames, finding Conrad lurking behind a crate, being whisked away by the Syndicate’s reinforcements, and driving away in the chaos that Ciere’s illusionary fire created. As she speaks, Magnus grows shades paler, and a thin smile stretches across Kit’s mouth.

“But how…?” Magnus flounders.

Kit picks up where he leaves off. “How did you manage to thwart Aristeus’s immunity?”

Alan and Ciere glance at each other. “It’s simple,” Alan says with a quiet note of satisfaction. “You may have noticed I’m not entirely comfortable with eye contact. He never got into my head.”

Kit laughs out loud and asks for them to continue the story.

Ciere doesn’t tell them about the formula or Alan being an eidos. She also doesn’t mention Aristeus’s job offer. She doesn’t want to tell them how, for the briefest second, she actually thought about accepting it.

To her surprise, Kit has little to say on the subject of Ciere’s deal. “It’s not a bad trade-off,” he admits. “From what I know of the Gyr Syndicate, they’ll have to follow through on Guntram’s word. Accountability and all.”

Magnus speaks up. “What about Alan?” he asks. “Do you plan to take him with you?”

“I kind of have to,” Ciere says. “With him being my bodyguard and all.”

Two incredulous stares.

“I had to explain his presence somehow,” Ciere says, scowling. “So if he suddenly backs out, it’s going to look a little suspicious.”

Alan wrings his hands. “There’s no use in my going to TATE,” he says. “If Aristeus was right about there being traitors in the organization, it’s not safe.”

“Besides, everyone thinks Alan’s dead,” Ciere adds. “What’s the harm in letting him go along?” She directs her next question to Kit. “Speaking of Aristeus, do you think he survived? I mean, he did jump into the middle of a fast-moving river.”

Kit touches a finger to his lips. “Oh,” he says quietly, “I’m sure he survived. He’ll be looking for you now that you’ve outwitted him.” He narrows his eyes. “Keep your guard up.”

“Always,” Ciere agrees. She turns to her left, instinctively ready to flash a grin at someone who isn’t sitting there. It’s then that Ciere consciously realizes that something is wrong. There is a gaping hole in their circle, and she is struck by the empty seat.

“Wait,” she says, panic climbing up her throat. “Where’s Devon?”

Devon is gone.

Not
dead
gone, but simply
gone
gone. Devon already had his luggage, and he and Kit simply parted ways—Kit drove back to Philadelphia with Magnus, while Devon hitched a ride to a bus stop.

Ciere calls him. He doesn’t pick up, and it makes her wonder if he hasn’t smashed his own phone. A few hours later, when she is lying in bed and nearly asleep, a soft beep brings her back to wakefulness. She reaches out for her phone and sees an unknown number. The text reads,
Gone to Hemsedal to see if they actually have vodka. So you’re alive?

She smiles, but she feels a pang of worry. She texts,
Fine. Lured the bad guys into a trap. Everybody’s good. You okay?

And that is the last she hears from him.

The next day, Ciere packs for her stay with Guntram. Before running off the barge, she remembered to snag her Hello Kitty backpack. It smells like gasoline, and there is an oil stain across the cat’s left ear. But the bag is still functional. Ciere goes through the contents, packing and repacking what she thinks she might need. Her hand goes still when she finds the sprig of dried lavender. She holds it in her palm for a moment; it looks incredibly fragile, like it might crumble if she squeezes too hard.

“What’s that?” Alan asks.

Ciere holds the sprig out to him. He sniffs. “Lavender,” he says.

She holds the sprig up carefully. “When I was a kid,” she says, “I cast an illusion over this plant. I was seen and the feds got called. They wanted to recruit me. I probably would’ve ended up like Aristeus if I’d gone with them.”

Alan’s eyes widen, and he stands a little straighter. “You could’ve, you know. I wouldn’t have blamed you. If you joined up with Aristeus, you’d… well, you’d be free.”

Ciere frowns. “The feds killed my mother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for sympathy or anything.” She carefully wraps the lavender sprig in a sandwich bag and tucks it into the backpack. It feels different to be carrying the lavender with her now. It’s less of a burden and more of a reminder. Of who she is. Of what she is. And of the woman who died to keep her free. “It’s just… my whole life, my immunity felt like it drew the feds to me. It’s always been this thing I couldn’t get rid of, almost a liability. If I hadn’t been immune, my mom might still be alive.”

“Yes,” says Alan, “but I wouldn’t be.”

It’s a startling thought. That her illusions managed to protect someone instead of endangering him.

“Thanks for not telling anyone about”—Alan waves vaguely at his head—“you know.”

Ciere studies him—this boy holding the Praevenir formula in his head. She can’t blame him for lying to her. With his knowledge, he could create armies. He could sell the formula for a fortune. He could bring about the rebirth of Fiacre Pharmaceuticals. He could change the course of history. But he’s just standing there, smiling shyly, fidgeting and leaning against her dresser.

“It’d change everything, if people knew,” she says. “I think it’s better if we let everyone think you’re either dead or just the last Fiacre.”

As if
, part of her can’t help but think,
that wasn’t dangerous enough
.

As Ciere walks down the stairs one last time, Tulip and Liz are waiting for her. Liz has a bundle in her hands, and she gives it to Ciere with a crooked smile. “Scones,” she says. “For later.” Then she gives Ciere a beady stare, and adds, “Make Copperfield proud.” The way she says it, the words “or else” are all but tacked on to the end.

When Ciere goes into the foyer, she sees that Guntram is waiting and conversing with Kit. The two of them are clasping hands and nodding at each other, like they’ve come to some agreement. Guntram catches Ciere’s eye and smiles. “You ready to go?”

She picks up Tulip and squeezes him for a second before setting him down on the ground. “Don’t get rid of him,” she tells Kit.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Kit replies. “I think Lizaveta’s adopted him.” Then he leans forward, and his lips press against her forehead. “Call me if these thugs aren’t feeding you right.”

Guntram’s Honda is at the curb and Magnus stands next to it, talking to a taxicab driver. His duffel bag is being loaded into the cab’s trunk.

“Hey,” Ciere calls, trotting over to Magnus. “You headed out, too?”

“I have a job already,” Magnus says briskly. “I don’t need to join your crew to find work.” To her surprise, he enfolds her
in a brief, tight embrace. “You be careful,” he says into her ear. “Both of you,” he says, louder, when they break apart. Ciere notices that Alan and Kit have come up behind her.

Magnus gets into the cab and the door swings shut.

“Hey,” Kit says, and it takes a second for Ciere to realize he isn’t talking to her. Magnus rolls down his window and peers out, eyebrows raised. “Take care of yourself,” Kit says.

Magnus gives him an unimpressed look. “You take off again,” he says, “and I’ll start leaving notes at your address in Kingston.” The cab pulls away from the curb and vanishes around a corner.

“What’s at Kingston?” Ciere asks. She knows all of Kit’s bolt-holes and houses, but she hasn’t heard of this one.

Kit shakes his head. “Nothing.” He pats her on the shoulder one last time before trudging back up to the house.

“You all ready to go?” Alan asks. Ciere nods.

“We need to think of an alias for you,” she replies, studying him. “Something good.”

“Time to get going,” Guntram calls. Ciere groans softly.

“Six months with the Syndicate,” she says. “You think we can hack it?”

Alan doesn’t answer, but his lips curl up at the corners and his hand slips into Ciere’s. “It’s what we do, right?” he says, smiling faintly.

For the first time, Ciere feels like she understands Alan’s
odd serenity. She’s spent so long running—not from the feds but from herself. From what she is. She’s spent years fighting it, trying to hide her talents, and now she’s standing with a boy whose life she saved with them. They’ll never be normal or lead normal lives. For better or worse, they are immune. There’s no changing that. And with that knowledge, a heavy weight is gone from her shoulders.

She feels free.

D
aniel is seventeen years old when he trades away his freedom.

He sits in the waiting room of a hospital. There’s a cloying sweetness to the air, as if someone is trying to cover more unpleasant smells. The chairs are worn and the floor smudged. A janitor is at work emptying trash cans.

Daniel spends the hours reading old magazines and contemplating if he could steal a cup of coffee from the nurse’s station. He’s just about to try it when a hand falls on his shoulder. He flinches and looks up. A woman stands over him. Curly hair, pretty features. And a brilliant black eye.

“Long time no see,” says Morana. She eases herself into the adjacent seat. In addition to the eye, her left arm is in a sling.

“You missed all the action,” says Daniel.

Morana’s face sours. “So I’ve heard. You guys had quite the little adventure.” She waves a hand at the swinging doors. “When’s Aristeus due out?”

“No idea.”

“I heard what happened. You couldn’t fish him out of the river?” Morana says, chewing on a thumbnail.

The thing is, Daniel could have. He’s been thinking about that river for the last six hours, but not for the reasons Morana thinks.

“If I’d gone in after him,” Daniel says, very quietly, “I might have died.”

What he doesn’t say is how tempting that sounds. He’s forbidden to hurt himself, forbidden to take his own life, but if he drowned while attempting to save Aristeus—

He wouldn’t betray any more people.

—No rules would be broken.

For just a second, he’d considered it. Because the look on Ciere’s face had been a knife through the ribs. It reminded him of how much he still had to lose. Of how many people he could still hurt.

But in the end, he hadn’t done it. The moment slipped by, and Aristeus clawed his way to shore. Daniel found him on a dock, lying on his back and gagging on a mouthful of river water and bile.

Another hour passes, with Morana reading what looks
like a celebrity rag while Daniel stares at, but doesn’t really see, an article on the upcoming election.

When Aristeus finally walks out of the ER, he looks bedraggled and exhausted.

“Still alive, then,” Morana says dryly. But her eyes are shining.

“For now,” he replies, and Daniel is disconcerted by the fondness in Aristeus’s expression. “You okay to drive?”

Morana glares down at her sling. “Just fine. I’ll bring the car around.” When she walks past, her fingers brush Aristeus’s forehead.

Aristeus carefully sits in the chair next to Daniel. He’s carrying a paper bag, and when he opens it, Daniel realizes that the hospital must have taken Aristeus’s possessions when he was brought in. Aristeus upends the bag into his own lap and begins sorting through the contents. He picks up a damp tie and begins rethreading it around his neck.

Among the items are a wallet, a suit jacket, a watch, and a bright pink Hello Kitty bobblehead.

“One of the FBI agents went back to the boat for the things I left behind,” Aristeus says, touching the bobblehead. “I have no idea where this came from, though.”

Daniel picks it up, quickly running a hand over it. Fingerprints are easily wiped away. He knows one thief with a fondness for the animated cat. “It’s mine. Must have fallen out of my pocket.”

Aristeus has to know he’s lying, but he doesn’t argue. He tucks his wallet back into his pocket and picks up the watch, rolling up his sleeve to slip it on.

That’s when Daniel sees it—a series of roman numerals inked into Aristeus’s inner wrist. A tattoo identical to the one on Kit’s wrist.

“We need to talk,” Aristeus says.

“Thank God,” Daniel replies instead. “Every girl who’s ever said that to me promptly ran for the hills. I’m hoping the same will hold true here.”

Aristeus’s mouth twitches. “Ah. Not exactly the conversation I had in mind.” He picks up the last item from the paper bag—his small tablet. He flicks it on and opens a new file. After studying it for a moment, he hands it to Daniel. On the screen is what looks like a bank account. Daniel’s eyes widen. It’s a very full bank account. In the name of one Bethany Burkhart.

“This is an advance on your wages,” Aristeus says. “I’ve arranged for it to be put into an account, and when your sister turns eighteen, she’ll be informed that a private benefactor has offered her a scholarship. There will be no need for her to apply for federal scholarships.”

“A bribe,” says Daniel.

“A transaction.” Aristeus crosses his arms and leans against the chair’s armrest. Daniel suspects Aristeus needs
the extra support to stay upright. One doesn’t almost drown and then bounce back instantly. “Here’s what I’m offering you: this money and my assurance that I will not try to recruit your sister. I will also keep any other federal programs from looking into your family. In return, you work for me. You don’t try to run or betray me.”

“My freedom for hers,” Daniel says, just for clarification. Because that’s what this money would mean—freedom. If not for himself, then for someone he loves.

“You’re not going to be a slave.” Aristeus sounds as if he’s trying to come off as indignant, but all he can manage is tired and raspy. “I told you, I don’t work that way. You’ll have a place to live and an office to go to. You’ll have a life. Think it over.”

If Daniel takes the money, he’ll be a collaborator. He knows he should resist—this is the lure that will draw him into the clutches of the UAI. He won’t go from being a crook to a suit-wearing fed overnight, but he’s not stupid. He’ll end up in an office with nice clothes and nice food and a warm bed, and after a while he’ll be comfortable there. He’s only human. It might take months or even years, but he’ll slowly come to accept his new life.

He lets out a shuddering breath. “All right,” he says. “You keep my family safe. I work for you. Under one condition, though.”

Aristeus raises an eyebrow.

Daniel holds up the tablet and uses it to punctuate his words. “You don’t use me against my former crew, all right? You don’t ask me for information about them, and you don’t send me up against them.”

Aristeus hesitates. “That illusionist—that girl—”

“Is off limits,” Daniel growls. “You won’t ask me how to find her.”

For a second, Daniel is sure Aristeus will disagree. Illusionists are too valuable to be overlooked. He’ll ask, and Daniel will have to answer.

“Fine.” Aristeus rises to his feet. He crumples the paper bag and tosses it into a nearby trash can. “Your family is safe. I will leave your crew alone. Now, come along. We have work to do.”

“Protecting the immune and saving the world?” Daniel says, but his sarcasm sounds hollow even to his own ears.

Aristeus smiles. “Something like that.”