Shade (22 page)

Zachary’s face twisted. He spat out something in Gaelic—at least, I thought it was Gaelic. Ian responded, and then they were off, yelling a barrage of indecipherable words that made my ears ring. To increase my disorientation, the car was speeding, bumping over potholes and forcing me to grab the door handle around turns.

It took me almost half a minute to realize that Ian and Zachary were speaking some form of English. Only then did I appreciate how much Zachary toned down his native Glasgow accent at school. Watching them go at it, I noticed they had the same strong, stubborn jaw and animated green eyes that darkened to a formidable glower in the heat of anger.

I tried to pick up any recognizable phrase so I could insert myself into the conversation.

Ian said something-something-something “… the two of you in public?”

I interrupted with, “Why can’t we go out in public?”

“Because this is what happens.” Ian jabbed his finger at the looming Power Plant entertainment complex, where a DMP van was parked outside. “The dumpers get suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“I don’t know,” he blurted, his voice pitching higher. “I don’t know what they think a couple of kids are capable of. But they see the First and the Last together—” He waved a hand beside his head. “The agents’ wee minds start churning out conspiracy theories. It’s no wonder, when you chose today of all days.”

“It’s our birthday,” Zachary said.

“It’s also the buggering solstice!” Ian coughed as he ran a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. Then he faced forward and thumped his head on the headrest in frustration. “What am I going to do with you?”

I spoke up again. “You could start by telling us what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that I’ve spent months trying to convince the DMP that you’re of no interest. That the fact that you’re the First is an insignificant accident. Someone had to be first. Why no’ you?”

I wondered if Ian believed that, if he thought he was pushing the truth or a lie. I wanted to believe it was a coincidence—it seemed self-centered to think my birth could have caused something as colossal as the Shift. But between my mystery dad and Mom’s cryptic notes—not to mention Zachary’s strange power—there were too many questions and not enough answers.

“And then you two go and call attention to yourselves like this,” Ian continued. “Holding hands in a pedalo, for Christ’s sake. They must have been frothing at the mouth at the thought of you two reproducing, wondering if you’d give birth to some kind of metaphysically enhanced creature or a bottomless black hole.”

I gaped at him.
Reproducing? Giving birth?

“Dad …” Zachary leaned his elbow on the window and covered his eyes. “Can you stop now, please?”

Yeesh. And I thought my aunt was embarrassing.

Thinking of Gina made me channel her suspicious nature. “Mr. Moore, why do you care what the DMP thinks of me? Why do I matter so much to you?”

“It’s my job,” he said, too quickly, still facing front. “And I want to keep the DMP as far from my son as possible.”

I thought of everything Zachary and I had in common, the weirdness of our shared birthday—shared birth
hour
—and suddenly my fingers turned to ice. My mind spiraled out of control, all the missing pieces fitting together in one terrible possibility.

“Mr. Moore, is Zach my twin brother?”

“What?!” Zachary sputtered. “Good God, why would you think that?”

I counted off the reasons on my fingers. “My father’s missing. So’s your mother. We were born a minute apart. Now your dad is freaking out over us going on a date.”

Zachary put a hand to his chest. “Dad, tell her it’s no’ true. It can’t be, right? Right?” His voice was so tight it almost squeaked.

Ian faced the backseat again. “Of course I’m not her father.” It was his turn to be the calm one. “I never even met her mother.”

“So? They have ways—”

“Zach, it’s okay.” I touched his arm, wishing I hadn’t said anything. “I just realized he can’t be my father. He doesn’t have brown eyes.”

“Oh.” Zachary slumped back in his seat. “Right. That’s a relief.”

Understatement of a lifetime.

So that eliminated one candidate, which wasn’t very helpful. But Ian probably knew more about me than he was letting on. If I was the First, then MI-X and DMP must have considered the possibility that my birth—and therefore my heritage—was connected to the Shift.

“Do you know who my father is?” I asked Ian, though I doubted I’d get a straight answer.

He quirked his chin, not quite a nod or a head shake. “We have our theories. Some are outrageous, to say the least.”

“Like what?”

“Even if I were allowed to tell you, you wouldn’t believe them. And until we know for sure, we can’t have you going off on a wild-goose chase.” He adjusted his dark blue tie. “It could lead to questions that are too big for amateurs to answer.”

I frowned at his warning. I wanted to be the first to know who I was, not the last. I was determined to find out, even if I had to unravel the mystery of the Shift in the process.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Zachary’s hand rest on the seat between us, two of the knuckles still bandaged. I reached out to take it. Maybe I didn’t have to be alone in my quest.

As my hand moved, I caught sight of my watch. “I’m supposed to have dinner with my aunt soon.”

“Where?” Ian asked.

“In Little Italy.” We had just driven onto President Street, verging on the freeway. “Turn right here.”

The driver didn’t turn right. In fact, he didn’t turn at all.

My pulse quickened, thumping in my throat. “Where are we going?”

Ian pulled out his phone. “Someplace quieter.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

I gaped up at the front windows of the redbrick row home on Amity Street. The dark green shutters were locked tight.

Beside me, Zachary let out a low whistle. “I told you MI-X has been around a long time.”

“Don’t worry, Aura.” Ian knocked on the white wooden front door. “I’ve been assured it’s no longer haunted.”

“The ghosts are probably too scared to come here,” I muttered. I couldn’t reveal, of course, that no ghosts would come near Zachary anyway.

The front door opened, and an old man appeared. To the surprise of my runaway imagination, he wasn’t hunched over, wheezing, and carrying a lantern. He wore a flannel shirt, khaki pants, and a Ravens cap.

“Come on in.” The man grinned as he backed up so we could climb the porch stairs and enter. “Ever been to the Poe House before?”

I shook my head. My life was creepy enough without spending any of it in the home of America’s Bizarrest Dead Writer.

“Dining room’s in the back.” He led the way through the dim, narrow living room, which was filled with exhibits like china, crystal, and artwork—and a lock of Edgar Allan Poe’s hair. Ick.

As we passed the fireplace, Zachary stopped in front of a portrait of a young woman.

“She was beautiful,” he whispered, and I got a little chill at the way his mouth released that word.

“She was his cousin,” I told him, “and only thirteen when they got married.”

“Her death at age twenty-five affected him profoundly,” the old man said. “Many of Poe’s later works feature the demise of beautiful young women.”

Young,
I thought. At least she made it to her twenties. Logan only got seventeen years and a few hours. I massaged the sudden sore
spot on my chest, the one that hadn’t ached for weeks. This place was already glooming me out.

“Pizza should be here soon.” The museum guy showed us into a small, dark dining room, where an antique table was set, oddly enough, with paper plates and napkins. Its surface had been covered in protective plastic, like the kind that was on my grandmother’s sofa.

Pizza at Poe’s house. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get weirder.

I sat at the table, facing a narrow, twisted staircase. Despite the house’s spookiness, I was dying to explore.

“Feel free to look around,” the old man said to me. “It’s all public except for the basement.” He pointed to a door with a red
NO ENTRY
sign, then winked at Zachary. “That’s where we keep the bodies.”

He disappeared into the living room, shutting the door behind him.

Zachary sat beside me. “Well, Dad, I can’t wait to hear how you pulled this one off.”

Ian gave a self-satisfied smile that reminded me of his son. “Back in the nineteen thirties, the city wanted to tear this house down for public housing projects. It was haunted at the time, so we and a few other paranormal organizations intervened and saved it on behalf of the Poe Society.” He spoke directly to me. “Our philosophy dictates that if ghosts can’t or won’t pass on, they should at least be placated. A contented ghost is a harmless ghost. That’s one reason why BlackBoxing is less common in the UK.”

Zachary shifted his feet under the table. No wonder he didn’t want his father to know he had such an obsidian-like vibe. It didn’t exactly fit with MI-X’s ghost-friendly mission.

“Anyway,” Ian continued, “in return for our past assistance, the Poe Society lets us use this place during the off-season as a short-term safe house. Mr. Pomeroy here has been a good friend to the agency.”

A muffled knock came from what sounded like the front door, and I heard Gina’s voice in the living room.

“Aura, thank God you’re okay!” she said as she swept into the dining room.

“I told you I was fine on the phone.”

She gave me a too-tight hug. “For all I knew, your kidnappers were making you say that.”

Ian came around the table to greet her. I made quick introductions.

She shook Zachary’s hand first. “It’s about time, young man. I’ve been nagging Aura to bring you by the house.”

Ian shook her hand and gave a warm nod. “A pleasure to meet you. We have a wonderful thing in common, so we do.”

“Oh.” She smiled like he’d just told her she won a prize. No one was immune to that accent. “And what’s that?”

He pulled out her chair. “Seventeen years ago today, a bonnie child entered each of our lives.”

Gina’s mouth dropped open, and she hit the chair harder than she should have. “It’s your birthday too, Zachary?”

“It is.”

“And you’re turning seventeen. Small world.” Her voice twisted the last sentence.

“It gets smaller,” Ian said. “My son is a minute older than your niece.”

Aunt Gina stared at Ian, as if she would nab me and make a run for it.

“Zach was the last one born before the Shift,” I told her, “and I was the first one after.”

“Wait—what do you mean?” she stammered. “The
very
first? And how do you know for sure?”

A knock came from the front door.

“Thank God,” Zachary said. “I’m starving.”

He and his dad helped Mr. Pomeroy bring to the table three large white pizza boxes, a bottle of red wine, and a pair of soda cans.

Ian handed one of the boxes to our host. “Be sure the agent in the car outside gets some, and you as well.” He placed a hundred-dollar bill in Mr. Pomeroy’s palm. “Some utensils for the boy and me would be brilliant.”

I hid my smirk, having seen Zachary in the school cafeteria eating pizza the British way, with a knife and fork.

When we were settled with our dinner, Gina turned to Ian, looking flustered but determined. “So Mr. Moore, how do you—”

“Please, call me Ian.”

She didn’t. “How do you know so much about us?”

“I’m a special agent with MI-X. That’s the UK—”

“I know what MI-X is. What’s it got to do with Aura?” Her voice was strained, as if she already knew his horrible answers.

“Aura is of special interest to all of us.” He pointed his fork at his son and chewed as he spoke. “As is Zachary, to a lesser extent.”

Zachary narrowed his eyes, then set aside his utensils with a clatter and picked up the slice of pizza with his hands.

“I’ve done my best,” Ian continued, “to deflect the DMP’s attention from Aura. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been assigned here in the States.”

“Forgive my cynicism,” Gina said, “but why do you care?”

Ian drained his glass of wine. He coughed as he refilled it. “Before Aura was born, I was with her mother, Maria.”

My spine went cold. “What? You told me you never met my mom!”

“That was the truth.” Ian rotated his glass on the table. “We were once in the same place together. The circumstances of our children’s births, I believe, are connected by an event that happened to us—an event I cannot, for security reasons, elaborate upon. Much to my regret.” Avoiding our eyes, he lifted the glass to take a sip.

I spoke before I could lose my nerve. “You were at Newgrange.”

Ian froze with his glass to his lips. He and Gina stared at me.

“Something happened there,” I rushed to tell them, “a year before I was born. Mom kept pictures and a journal, but most of the pages are missing.” I looked at Gina, my throat lumping. “Did you tear them out?”

“No, hon,” she said quietly, “your mother tore them out.”

“Where are they?”

“I think she destroyed them. Those memories brought her a lot of pain, so I assume the pages had something to do with your father.”

I twisted the napkin in my lap, trying to hide my raging disappointment over the missing journal pages, apparently gone forever. “Why wouldn’t she want me to know who he was?”

“Aura … whoever your father was, he certainly wasn’t
around
. Not when you were born, and not when your mother got sick.”

“If she was mad at him, then why didn’t she destroy the whole journal? She left me pieces, and she made it sound so mysterious.”

“Of course she did,” Gina snapped. “She wanted him to be an enigma, not a deadbeat. Please don’t fall into that same trap. And please stay out of my closet.”

“I’m not giving up on this puzzle.” I looked at Zachary, who was valiantly battling the oozing cheese on his pizza. “We’re not giving up. Neither is Eowyn Harris.”

Ian stared at me in disbelief. “You know
Eowyn Harris
?”

“I got her name from Mom’s box of photos. I think my mother contacted her once a long time ago.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Is she important?”