I’m surprised how fast it happens. My father comes through within thirty-six hours, securing the eight of us a place to stay. The great thing about it is that it’s so close to home, which I’m thinking the government and everyone else might not suspect.
It’s a beach house—a big one—that’s used exclusively as a vacation rental on a quiet island called Edisto, just south of Charleston. Secluded on a point, with a private beach and owners who are the proprietors of at least fifteen similar homes around the world—thanks, I believe, to one or another form of illegal businesses—the place shouldn’t raise any red flags.
Still, we’re not expecting to be here forever. Just long enough to formulate a plan. We have to get Pollyanna back, and now that I’ve told the Cavies at least part of what I saw when I touched her, they know we need to do it fast. There’s no way to know whether the Siphons are going to do something to her that will cause the break I saw or if it’s spurred on by something else.
We’re all surprised they’re going to let her live until she’s nineteen, to be honest.
I don’t see any reason to tell them about Jude’s involvement. To put him under more stress and isolation than he’s already enduring. Not yet.
Now that I know what he is, what he can do, the whole thing makes more sense. Pollyanna is suicidal. She’s lost control of her ability and is about to kill all of those people with her, and she knows Jude can siphon her power and save them even if she dies.
But he wants to save her.
My heart warms at the thought, even if the world around me is cold. Unforgiving. The Cavies in my life are good people, all of them, and we have to believe that will count for something.
We’ve just moved in, two at a time in case anyone’s watching, and I’ve been sitting on the porch all afternoon watching the tide. It’s cold, but a blanket and a cup of coffee have pretty much done the trick. I hate sitting here doing nothing, though. It makes me itch all over but we can’t move without more information.
Jude comes outside, that deliberate, strict gait of his announcing his presence as surely as if he spoke. I look up and try a smile but it doesn’t feel right. “Sit?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
That’s when I notice him fidgeting. His nose twitches. His eyes roam the beach, the swing, the house, me. One leg jiggles. He picks at his cuticles.
My heart speeds up. “What? What’s happened?”
“Nothing, just… Shhh.” He sits next to me, now, but doesn’t stop moving, and the motion it transfers to the swing makes me nauseated. “I found out something.”
“What? When?”
“When I went out yesterday. I was kind of just wandering, but then I passed Saint Michael’s. We have a family plot there with a mausoleum, and it got me thinking about my dad’s hiding places.”
Excitement tries to trump the feeling of anxiety that’s tugged me under since we got back yesterday. “You found something?”
“Yeah.” He glances toward the house again. “I don’t know why I never wondered whether he might have used it to squirrel things away.”
“And?” My heart is really pounding now, desperate for something, anything, that could lead us back to Pollyanna.
“I went there just to, I don’t know, feel close to him. The house is surrounded by reporters.” He swallows, then lowers his voice. “I know y’all have been looking for the benefactor behind the research at Saint Stephen’s, but what I found is something else… The government didn’t own Darley Hall. Someone called Gingerbread Man did.”
“Are you serious?” The words climb over themselves in their hurry to get out, almost choking me.
“No real name, no other information, just a note in the margins of one of his files. The Cavy Asset program wasn’t started by the government? See also: Gingerbread Man. And an address.”
“Is it a code name? You think he’s another Cavy?” My stomach clenches at the thought. How are we ever going to convince people we’re not a threat when we’re crashing planes and funding genetic research and maybe creating computer viruses that melt people’s brains?
“I don’t know.”
“I mean…we always assumed the government knew about us. They act like they did.”
“Think about it. They only started to observe you when you left Darley. Saint Catherine’s is funded by the government, sure, but what if the ladies there were convinced—by money or an attack of conscience—to send the last generation to someone else.”
“It certainly wasn’t an attack of conscience. I met those horrid witches.” I stop and think about the implications of what he’s suggesting. “So the people who raised us might have been doing all the experiments and keeping us secluded for…who? And why?”
“I don’t know.” He licks his lips, a pause growing. “Will you come with me? To see him?”
“We should tell the others.”
He shakes his head, hard, and grabs my wrist through the blanket. “No. We go, or I go alone.”
“Why, Jude? It’s dangerous! We’ve already lost someone this week. We should stay together.”
“You see what happens when we move in a group. We’re easy to spot, easy to track. And don’t take this the wrong way, but if the Siphons come after you and me, there’s nothing they can steal and use against us.” He waits, watching the pained expression on my face. “You’re not worthless, Norah. No matter what they said in your head to make you want to blow it off.”
That makes me wince but I don’t pull away from his touch, so warm through the blanket. I don’t look away from his gaze, either, hot and imploring on my face. The electricity sparks between us, never gone but often tamed by circumstances that leave little time for exploring it.
“We might only get one chance. If we spook him he could move. Disappear. My dad can’t help us anymore, so we need to be careful with the clues he left us to find.” He pauses. “I’m not saying we go after him alone, just check it out. If we find the Gingerbread Man, we bring the intel back to the Cavies and decide whether to involve Lee and the CIA.”
I think about it for a minute, my heart aching at the way he mentions his dad. The way Jude wants all his father’s efforts to not go to waste, even now.
I think about the massive discussion that would ensue by telling my friends, and know in my gut they would never agree to let us go alone, no matter how solid Jude’s arguments.
And they are solid. He’s right about it being easier and safer for everyone if we go alone, but as much as I agree, my mind keeps turning to Mole.
To what it will do to him to have me leave without anything but a note. What it will do to him if I run off, alone with Jude. Of the look on his face when he told me I’m amazing, and how it made me feel. It’s going to be hard to not have him, even if it’s only for a few days. He’s my compass. My true north, no matter which direction my heart leans at any given moment.
How will I know the right thing without him?
Despite the discomfort roiling in my gut over deceiving my friends, over hurting Mole, and even though a small voice in the back of my mind issues a warning about getting any closer to Jude, given my involvement in his impending death, I know I have to go.
I finger the last of the pretty rocks from Saint Stephen’s, smooth and glossy in my pocket, and decide to leave it for Mole as I nod.
“Yes, okay. Let’s go.”