Shade (17 page)

“How did they do it?”

Dylan made an O with his hand. “They used this crystal disc thingie. I guess it was like bait.”

“The summoner. We use them in court to get the ghosts to the witness stand. It lets them go places they never went during their lives.”

He scoffed. “You mean places like a little black box?”

“Is that where they put that kid’s ghost?”

“Yeah. It was about the size of a remote control.” Dylan fidgeted with the Velcro pocket of his windbreaker, ripping it open and smoothing it closed. “He was still screaming when they locked it.”

“Whoa.”

“It was pretty close.” Rip. Smooth. “I think he was about to shade all the way, and then they never could’ve caught him.” Rip. Smooth. “Afterward the Obsidian guys talked to us and let us play with some of their equipment. It was cool.”

“Cool?” I rolled my eyes. “It’s called recruitment. And I bet one day the dumpers won’t bother anymore. They’ll make us work for them whether we want to or not. Like a draft.”

“So maybe it’s better to volunteer. At least that way we get free college. And probably sweeter assignments.” Dylan wiped a rivulet of rain off the bridge of his nose. “In this Vietnam game I played once, all
the draftees—that was the lowest level—got deployed to these hard-ass jungles really far from the towns where they could get hookers and stuff. But when you had enough points to re-enlist, you got more weapons and better armor.” He shoved his hands into the front pouch of his windbreaker, pulling the hood low over his forehead. “So maybe if the DMP drafts you, you end up at some crap-basket in the Middle East where you can’t have alcohol, but if you sign up, maybe you get to work where it’s air-conditioned.”

I didn’t even try to follow his pinball imagination. “Just be careful, Dylan.”

“You coming?” Mickey called to us, bellowing over the roar of rain on hundreds of granite slabs.

We waved at him. “At least Logan remembered my birthday today,” Dylan said.

“Oh! Happy birth—” I cut myself off as I realized it was anything but happy. “I’m sorry. And it’s your sixteenth, too. Have you gotten any presents?”

“Shyeah, right. No one’s even said anything.” He shrugged and turned away. “Come on.”

Grass hadn’t grown on Logan’s grave yet, so it still looked fresh, except for divots where puddles had formed over the last few rainy weeks.

The Keeleys stepped aside so I could place my heart-shaped wreath of red and white roses next to the bigger one they had just laid at his grave. The soft, spongy earth gave way easily as I pushed the thin stakes into the ground.

“I love you, Logan,” I whispered, below the rush of rain. A lock of
my hair fell out from underneath my hood and was instantly soaked.

Logan’s headstone was the standard gray granite. Under his name and dates of birth and death, it simply read,
FOR WHAT IS SEEN IS TEMPORARY, BUT WHAT IS UNSEEN IS ETERNAL.
I remembered that same Bible verse from his funeral Mass. It made me shiver, thinking of shades.

I took a step back, into a puddle in the waterlogged grass. Cold rain seeped over the top of my right shoe.

“What does he say to you?”

I realized Mrs. Keeley was speaking to me.

I cleared my throat. “When?”

“Whenever. Dylan won’t tell us anymore.” She clasped Mr. Keeley’s arm beside her. “We think he’s holding back.”

Dylan scuffed his feet against the grass. “Mom …”

“The house is so quiet.” Mrs. Keeley shifted her black leather gloves from hand to hand. “I never realized how much Logan talked until he was gone. His grandmother always called him her little chatter-bug.” She glanced at each of her other children. “He never hid anything from us.”

“Except that tattoo,” Mr. Keeley added. He showed a hint of a smile, as if he admired Logan’s little rebellion.

“Yes, there was that.” Mrs. Keeley narrowed her eyes at him, and when she looked back at me, some of that hostility remained. “Can you tell us anything? How does he spend his time? Where does he go? Is he—” She dropped one of her gloves. “Oh.”

Mr. Keeley grunted as he tried to bend over to get the glove without smacking her with the umbrella.

“I got it.” Mickey stepped around the end of the grave and picked up the glove.

Instead of taking it from him, Mrs. Keeley grasped Mickey’s arm and tucked him close to her side. He winced at the grip on his biceps.

“This one’s muter than a mime,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I expect he’ll be joining a monastery soon and make his vow of silence official.”

Mickey’s mouth drew into a tight straight line, as if to prove her point.

“Aura,” she said, “is Logan searching for peace?”

“Um … I don’t know,” was my brilliant response.

“How can we help him find it? Besides the trial, I mean. It rips us apart to think of Logan in this purgatory.”

I wanted to scream at Mr. and Mrs. Keeley to drop the case, but at the same time I was relieved they were speaking to me again. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to upset you.”

“He never wanted to upset anyone,” Siobhan murmured. “That’s why he always upset everyone.”

Dylan snorted again, louder.

“What?” his sister snapped at him. “You think I’m full of it?”

“No, I just hate when you talk about him like he’s gone.”

“He
is
gone!” Siobhan said with a snarl. “To us he’s gone. He’s dead, Dylan. Logan’s dead.” She spat out the last word, then covered her mouth. “Damn it.”

Mrs. Keeley moaned as she pressed her face against her husband’s shoulder. I felt Gina’s hand on my back and leaned against it to steady myself.

Dylan kicked a clump of grass into the side of the headstone. “This rain bites. I’m going back to the car.” He stalked off.

Released from his mother’s hold, Mickey sank to a crouch. He picked up a clod of mud from the gravesite and crumbled it in his fingers, muttering words I couldn’t hear. Siobhan stifled her sobs with her cashmere scarf.

I looked across the soggy cemetery for Logan’s light. I waited to hear his voice, complaining about the inscription or claiming he’d wanted black marble, or a carved granite guitar.

But he wasn’t here. Maybe he was starting to understand that these things weren’t for him. The funeral and the headstone were for those he’d left behind—his parents and Mickey and Siobhan.

Dylan and I were somewhere in the middle, alive but connected to the dead, left behind but not abandoned. These things did nothing but mock our memories of Logan.

Because we didn’t just remember him in living color. We remembered him last night, and the night before that, in violet.

I feel like a chauffeur.” Megan glared in the rearview mirror at me and Logan.

“Would you rather we all sit up front?” he asked. “Then I could just hover between you guys on top of the gear shift. Or sit on your lap.”

She stomped the brake pedal. “Asshole.” I hoped she was referring to the tourist who’d just staggered across the street from one Fells Point waterfront bar to another. “Next time, Aura, you drive.”

“My aunt always needs the car at night now.”

“Working late on my case, remember?” Logan began to imitate the VH1
Behind the Music
announcer. “Was it the tragic end to a skyrocketing career—or was it just the beginning?”

“Stay tuned,” I added, fluttering my fingers to signal the commercial break.

“Speaking of tragedy, I can’t wait to see Dork Squad again, now that the bassist is out of a coma.” He slapped the seat in a flourish that made no sound. “Remember the first time we saw them? Well, not really saw, because that shithole in Dundalk was too small and we had to stand on the sidewalk.”

“I remember.” It had been so humid that night, we could barely breathe. But we’d made out hard in the alleyway near the back door, our shirts shoved up to feel each other’s skin. Tiny bits of dirt had stuck to my back, adhered with sweat, and fallen out on my floor that night when I undressed for bed. If the show had lasted two more songs, we would’ve done it right there, right then.

I looked out the window at the Fells Point crowds, remembering all the times Logan and I had nearly had sex. There was always something that kept any given opportunity from being just right—too cramped, too rushed, too lacking in condoms. And then when we finally had a comfortable place with plenty of time—my bed, two months ago—I’d chickened out. I’d let a little pain convince me something was wrong.

Because if we were really in love, I’d thought, shouldn’t our first time be perfect? Planets aligning? Clouds sparkling? Comets exploding?

I’d been such an idiot. And Logan had died a virgin. For all I knew, so would I, because I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

Okay, I could imagine it, and did, every time Zachary spoke my name. I imagined that tongue of his curling around more than a pair of syllables.

But I could also imagine the fallout, Logan’s anger and sadness
and jealousy, and knew it wouldn’t be worth it. Not for a long time.

“Nelson’s isn’t a shithole,” Megan told Logan. “Just because they sell Guinness in bottles instead of on tap.”

“It’s a shithole by default, for being in Dundalk.”

She smacked the steering wheel. “God, Logan, you are such a princess. Ever since you guys moved out to the County, suddenly you’re all picky about where we hang out.”

I bent over to retie my shoelaces, hiding my smile. They used to have this same argument when Logan was alive. Hearing it again, hearing her speak of him in the present tense, made things feel normal.

“I’m just saying,” Logan went on, “when you’re a public figure, you gotta be careful where you’re seen.”

We both laughed at that. “Who’s a public figure?” Megan asked. “You?”

“Yeah, me,” he said. “Because of the band, and now because of this stupid lawsuit. Other people are constantly measuring our coolness. If you think that’s bullshit, you’re living in a dreamworld.”

I have a boyfriend who’s a ghost,
I thought.
Of course I’m living in a dreamworld.

“But if you’re cool enough,” I pointed out, “anywhere you go is automatically cool.”

Logan considered this for a moment. “I don’t think any of us are that cool. Yet.” He looked out the front window, then leaned forward and pointed across Megan’s face. “There’s a spot. Pull in there.”

“Fine. Stop shining on me.” She put on her turn signal, but as she approached the street where he was pointing, she flicked it off and gunned the engine.

“What are you doing?” Logan said. “That was a perfect parking spot. Half a block from Faces.”

“We’re not going to Faces.”

“But Dork Squad is playing.”

“And you can go see them yourself. Cool part is, I don’t even have to slow down for you to get out of the car.”

I pushed on the back of the driver’s seat. “Megan, come on.”

“Aura, we’re going to a new place in Canton. Jenna said it was totally beyond.”

I couldn’t remember ever going to that part of Baltimore with Logan. It was just a few blocks east, but until recently, it hadn’t had any clubs we would’ve liked.

“I’ve never been there,” Logan growled. “I’ve never even been past Chester Street.”

She paused. “I know.”

My throat tightened. “Megan, don’t do this to me.”

“I’m doing this
for
you.” Just as we approached the intersection of Aliceanna and Chester, the light turned green. “Sorry, Logan.”

“No!” he and I shouted.

The car sped forward, and he disappeared.

“Turn around!” Through the back windshield I saw Logan standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms. A white SUV bore down on him, not even slowing. “Stop!”

Before I could cover my eyes, the SUV zoomed through Logan’s body.

“He didn’t feel it.” Megan’s voice had softened. “He’s fine.”

“He’s not fine!” I gripped her seat. “He’s all alone.”

“Please. Logan’s never alone for long. He’ll find a party if it—” She cut herself off. “Sorry.”

“If it what?” I snapped. “If it kills him?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Do you see me laughing?” Megan accelerated, tossing me back against the seat.

“Pull over.”

“No.”

“I want to move to the front seat. I feel stupid sitting here by myself.”

“Now you know how I feel.” She turned onto a side street and eased the car to the curb next to a fire hydrant before putting on the flashers.

I unbuckled my seat belt and yanked the door handle, but it wouldn’t go. “Unlock it.”

“Just climb between the seats.”

“Unlock the door, Megan! I’m not a little kid.”

“Really?”

We sat there for a minute, maybe more. Megan retrieved an emery board from the storage space between the seats and started filing her nails. I stared at the house across the street, counting the fake bricks on its Formstone facade.

Finally Megan’s stubbornness overcame mine. I squeezed between the two front seats and plopped into the passenger side. Then I snapped on my seat belt with an angry click. “You. Suck.”

*   *   *

Friday was apparently Underage Night at the Black Weeds club, so I showed my real ID for a green hand stamp, which got me unlimited nonalcoholic drinks for a five-dollar cover charge. Megan had a flask of rum in her purse if the scene turned out to be tragic. The line outside was a promising length, though, and I didn’t see anyone leaving as we entered.

We walked down a green-carpeted hallway illuminated by blinking teal, turquoise, and lavender ceiling lights. It looked like the Easter Bunny had projectile-vomited a Christmas tree.

“This place better not be glam,” I said to Megan.

“Jenna said they were remodeling. Besides, Siobhan said Connor’s the new bassist for this band Something Wicked.”

I stopped. “Is that the real reason we’re here?” I couldn’t face seeing parts of the Keeley Brothers scattered all over the city.

“Not the only reason. But Siobhan has to get up early for the SATs tomorrow, so she wanted me to see if they’re any good.” Megan tugged on my arm. “Come on, let’s give it a chance.”

We went through the wide wooden door into the club, and I knew I was the one with no chance.