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I’ve never been happier, even if the world as we know it is at the brink of collapse.
Not that you can tell when you walk the streets. Everything seems normal on the surface. People go about their business. They work, shop, party their butts off on Friday nights, walk their dogs and pick up their poop, kill each other. Some look content, others rather miserable. Same merry old world. But I know better. IgNiTe and each of its members know better.
And still ... I’m happy.
If anyone had told me that my life would take a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn for the better, I wouldn’t have believed it. Three weeks ago, my most likely guess about my future would have involved Mom—or some other concerned adult—committing me to the loony bin.
Instead, I now have a boyfriend, a miraculously tolerable mother, a brother, a definite hope to control my demons, a mentor I admire. In short, a life worth living, a life I’m more than willing to fight for.
I smile at my mocha latte and stir it with a wooden stick.
“I thought that was your bike,” a familiar voice says behind me.
I look back, trying not to wince. I can’t help but feel like I’ve been caught with both hands inside the cookie jar. But it’s silly, I’m just a girl in a coffee shop. There’s nothing here to betray the fact that I’m on my way to the underground headquarters of a secret organization.
“Luke! Hey, what are you doing on this side of town?”
My brother swaggers in, his blond hair resplendent under the track lighting overhead. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he says.
I’m supposed to meet James in ten minutes for a meditation session. I sip from my drink. “Library.”
“Really? I was headed there, too. Let me get some coffee, and we can go together.”
“Um, actually, I was just there dropping off some books.”
“Oh, all right.” He looks disappointed.
I feel bad and would go with Luke if I didn’t have to meet James. “I would tag along, but I have to meet Xave.”
“No worries.” He walks to the counter and orders a double espresso.
I linger, staring at the cookies and pastries behind the display area.
“Do you want a cookie? My treat,” Luke says with a wink.
I already turned him down once. I can’t do it again. “I’d love one. Chocolate chip.”
“A chocolate chip cookie for the lady, please.”
After paying, he hands me a paper bag with my huge cookie inside. As I take it, the entrance door opens and my head begins droning. My heart hammers as I’m reminded of my encounter with Elliot. My eyes dart toward the door, all senses in high alert. A burst of adrenaline fizzles out as I see James pushing past the glass door. His eyes meet mine immediately, then he presses on toward the counter, pretending not to recognize me.
When I regain my composure, I realize I’m clutching the paper bag in a tight fist. I relax and look up to see if Luke noticed. The expression on his face takes me by surprise. A deep frown creases his forehead and his pupils are reduced to nothing, just dark pinpricks piercing his clear blue irises. Nostrils flaring, he looks past me, past anything laying in his field of vision. His attention is somewhere else.
He turns his head ever so slightly toward the counter, where James is ordering black coffee. Luke must have noticed my reaction, after all. Now he’s worried about the person standing behind us.
“Well, um, I guess I’ll get going,” I say.
Luke turns toward the exit very slowly. “Okay, I’ll see you later then.” He spares one quick glance in James’s direction, then walks beside me with firm steps, jaw taut and twitching. James looks straight at the cashier, chatting in friendly terms, ignoring me as if I was a complete stranger.
Outside we say goodbye, and I make time by checking my boots and putting on my helmet. Luke waves as he drives by in his SUV. I wave back and wait till he turns the corner, then start my bike. I’m so stupid. James warned me not to go in that coffee shop again. Aydan’s brew is nasty, but that won’t serve as an excuse for my screw-up.
After clearing all the security that leads to The Tank, I exit the elevator and look down through the glass. Rheema is the only one here, wearing greasy coveralls as she works on a dismantled engine. Noticing me, she waves, a genuine smile etched on her face.
I bounce down the metal staircase. “Hey, Rheema,” I say, returning the smile. Her dirty blond hair is up in a tight bun, but two stubborn ringlets frame her face. “What you got there?”
“It’s a Harley engine,” she says looking back at the greasy pieces strewn on a long table. Switching a filthy old rag from one hand to another, she attempts to clean her fingers. It’s a useless task.
I’ve discovered Rheema has a true passion for mechanics and now she has a helper in Xave. They make me wish I had a similar dedication to something I enjoy, but I’m afraid I still haven’t found out what that is. I like computers and martial arts, but I don’t think I’d like to make a career out of them. Anyhow, figuring out my life’s passion isn’t that important right now. Not when all I want to do is fight and wipe Eklyptors off the face of the planet.
“I’m going to fix it up for you,” Rheema announces.
“You’re what?!”
“For saving our sorry buns.” She flicks me in the backside with her dirty rag.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, but only half-heartedly, because I’m already getting excited about the idea.
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” Rheema sticks her tongue out at me. “There’s one thing you have to do first, though.”
“What is that? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“You have to beat that bugger.” She taps her forehead with a greasy finger, leaving a dark mark behind.
“You got it,” I say. Meditation is still giving me problems, but it’s getting easier with every session. James is still puzzled by my ability to move objects with my mind. Hell, I’m still puzzled. I can’t even do it at will yet. Fear and anger are good triggers, but I can hardly fake those emotions. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.
I just wish I had a skill I could rely on, like Rheema with her deadly, incapacitating toxin. The one I found out she used on Dr. Schmitt that day at Riverbend. It’s so totally cool that she developed fangs that can deliver the poison. Cooler yet is how she taught her body to manufacture the substance. Moving dry erase markers isn’t quite deadly, unless you get really creative and desperate.
At the sound of steps, Rheema and I look up. James is coming down the staircase, coffee cup in hand.
“Marci, conference room,” he orders in a stern voice, without even looking our way. He walks off at a brisk pace.
Rheema gives me a questioning look. I shrug—pretending I don’t know what it’s about—and follow James.
I curse under my breath. How could I have been so careless, hanging out close to our hideout again, buying mocha lattes and cookies? I feel like such an idiot. How can I expect him to treat me like an adult when I do childish stuff like this?
“Who was that?” he asks as soon as I step into the room.
“I promise you he doesn’t know anything. I just ran into him by accident. I told him I’d just dropped off some books at the library. It won’t happen again. I swear I won’t go into that coffee shop anymore.” My words stumble over each other like domino pieces speeding to a colossal collapse. I’m not even making sense.
James’s gray eyes bear down on me. “You didn’t answer my question.”
My brain is slush and I have to muddle through the muck to remember the question. “Uh ... yeah ... the question. Um, that was Luke.”
“And where did you meet this Luke?”
“Well, he ...” I swallow and take a deep breath.
I knew at some point I would have to explain this. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do, but I haven’t found the right time. This is definitely not it.
James and Kristen need to know about Luke. About the fact that he’s not infected even though we’re twins and we both came from one of those evil fertility clinics. My head doesn’t drone in his presence. I think he doesn’t have an agent inside him. My guess is that his embryo was just a perfect combination of human genes. But what if I’m wrong? What if he does have a parasite in his brain but is immune to it? If that’s the case, that knowledge could propel Kristen’s research to a whole new level. Suddenly, I feel callous for keeping this from them.
“I should have told you before,” I begin.
James’s gaze grows dark. He purses his lips as if he’s trying to hold back a mean retort.
“Luke is my twin brother.”
After a slow blink, James shakes his head. “Your twin brother?” He begins to pace in front of the whiteboard, gaze darting to and fro, as if looking at the floor, the walls, the beanbags will clear his confusion. I know he’s wondering how come he couldn’t sense Luke if he’s my twin brother.
I press forward, glad that James isn’t screaming at me yet. “It’s a long story. I just recently learned that we’re related. You see, he was kidnapped when he was a baby.” I know it sounds like a soap opera, but it is what it is.
Pausing, James gives me his full attention. I’m glad to see he doesn’t look skeptical given how ludicrous the story sounds.
“It’s messed up,” I continue. “The same doctor that performed my mother’s insemination took Luke from the hospital the very day we were born. The man raised him like a father but was murdered a few weeks ago. My mom saw his picture on the news and that’s how we found Luke. Funny thing is, he was there all along. He’s been in my school since kindergarten. I’ve known him practically my whole life without realizing we were related.”
The are-you-serious look on James’s face shows me he is actually skeptical, after all.
“But you two look nothing alike,” James says. “You look Hispanic and he’s ... well ... a gringo, like me.”
Man, I hate stereotypes. I excuse James’s comment because I know him and realize he’s only trying to make a point.
“I look like my father. He looks like Mom. We’re not identical twins.” I give him a mocking glare, after stating the obvious. “Starting with the fact that he’s a boy and I’m a girl.” This last part wins me a nasty glare. Okay, maybe I overdid it with the sarcasm.
I sigh and barrel through to the end of my explanation. “I didn’t mention him before because I’d just found out who he really was and we weren’t exactly getting along. You can only imagine the upheaval Mom and I were in when he showed up. I won’t bore you with the details, but the thing is, I decided to wait and see what would happen before bringing him up. I thought you and Kristen would want to know about him, especially since he might be immune.”
“Immune?” James looks at me as if I’ve gone crazy. “How do you figure that?”
“Well, you know. No weird feeling in the back of the head. I don’t ...”
I was going to say that I don’t sense Luke, the way I can sense other Eklyptors, but James is shaking his head, looking very worried.
“I felt him, Marci.”
“W-what?”
“Why else do you think I want to know what you were doing with an Eklyptor right outside headquarters?”
“He’s not an Eklyptor,” I say, shuddering worse than if he’d called Luke the son of Satan. “You must be confused. Maybe it was the cashier you sensed.” I know this isn’t true, since I know the girl behind the counter isn’t one of them.
James lifts his eyebrows to point out my pathetic excuse.
“Okay, not the cashier. Maybe you sensed me. Yeah, that’s it!” I nod vigorously, convinced James just got it all wrong.
“No, Marci.” His eyes are sad, then suddenly remote, as if he’s searching his mind for an explanation.
My stomach becomes a wild, tumbling thing with a mind of its own. I keep telling myself that James is mistaken. There’s no way Luke is infected. We’ve lived under the same roof for almost a month. I would know it if he had a parasite in his brain. I would have sensed it!
The heavy, sickening feeling settling in my gut tells me otherwise. James and I exchange glances.
“He could be a full-fledged Eklyptor, Marci. A spy,” James says. “This whole tale sounds too convenient. And him coming out of nowhere just as you joined IgNiTe.”
“No, no. He’s my brother. They did DNA tests. They checked out.”
“Those could be faked. You know they have their hands in everything.” James rubs a hand across the back of his bald head.
“No way. He’s the spitting image of Mom. They look so much like each other it’s freaky.”
“Marci, is he full-fledged? Has his agent taken over?!” James’s voice grows loud as he takes a step in my direction.
“I ... I don’t know.” I rack my brain. I always thought he was healthy, normal. I never tried to look for signs to check whether he’s an Eklyptor or Symbiot. And from what I can recall, I’ve never seen in him the telltale signs that indicate he may be fighting the shadows.
“This is not good, Marci.” James takes his hands to both sides of his face and pulls back, stretching his eyes.
I feel sick, betrayed. If Luke is an Eklyptor, what is he doing in my house? Has he been planning all this time to infect Mom and I? Or worse, is he a spy working for Elliot, trying to infiltrate IgNiTe? Does everyone in this freakin’ world live double lives, pretending to be something they’re not?
And if he’s a Symbiot, why hasn’t he mentioned anything about the shadows?
I groan in frustration. My mind is whirling so fast, I’m not even making sense anymore. Of course Luke wouldn’t mention the shadows. I haven’t mentioned them to anyone outside of the Symbiots within IgNiTe. Not even Xave knows about them. Luke could be in the same situation I was in before I met James, desperate to figure out if he’s crazy or possessed by demons.
This still leaves a huge, unanswered question, though. Why can’t I sense him?
“Have you told him anything about us?” James asks.
“No.”
“Do you think he followed you?”
“I ... I think it was a coincidence. He said he was on his way to the library when he saw my bike parked outside the coffee shop. I already told you.”
“We have to find out what he is, Marci. You understand that, right?”
I nod.
James walks toward the door. “I think I need to post a few more guards in the parking deck.”
“Wait!”
He turns and gives me a furious look. He looks as if he wants to yell and is trying very hard to hold his temper. His stance—with tight, quivering fists at his side—is intimidating, but I set my jaw and ask my question.
“How come I can’t sense him?” There has to be an explanation and I’m hoping James knows what it is.
“How the hell should I know?” James’s anger spills over, unchecked. His face is red, his voice a booming soundwave that slams against my face. I take a step backward. I’ve never seen him lose it like this.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I refuse to let his outburst hurt me. All on their own, deep, controlled breaths begin pumping my chest. My thoughts jump like fleas on a dog.
Remorse flashes in James’s eyes, but it lasts only a fraction of a second. “You tell me why, Marci. Because I didn’t know that was possible.”
He walks off and his words ring in my ears like an accusation. I follow him, my own brand of anger surging to the surface.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I knew,” I yell at his retreating back.
He takes two steps at a time, headed for the elevator, ignoring me. I notice Rheema out of the corner of my eye. She takes a tentative step in my direction, looking dumbstruck.
“I can take care of this..” I stand at the bottom of the steps, gripping the handrails, staring up at James. “I will find out what he is.”
After mounting the last step, James stops. His wide shoulders rise up and down with each breath. He stands motionless for a long moment before turning.
“I’d prefer it if you stay away from headquarters until we figure this out.”
“But ...”
“Sorry, Marci. I’ll be in touch.”
I let go of the railing and press my back against the wall. I wipe sweaty hands on my jeans and stare at the polished wood floor. Did James just ... kick me out of IgNiTe?
I replay our conversation, trying to see things from his point of view in hopes of understanding his decision.
Is he afraid Luke is a spy and will follow me here one day? Or does he suspect more than just my brother? Is it possible that he suspects me? But how could he? After all I’ve done? After the way I proved my loyalty?
It isn’t fair. Whatever happened to trust? He asked me to stand by him by offering nothing but secrets, then just like that decides I’m not trustworthy?!
“What just happened?” Rheema asks, keeping her distance, looking concerned—whether for me or the team, I couldn’t say. James’s words still seem to echo through the expansive area, so I don’t blame her for the caution and distrust written on her face.
I push away from the wall, roll my shoulders to see if the weight pressing down on them will fall out. It doesn’t.
“I ... I really don’t know.”
My rubber soles scrape the metal steps as I climb my way out of The Tank. When I reach the top, Rheema is still standing there, scratching her head and looking back and forth from the conference room to me.
I really like Rheema. I think we could become friends. She must see something in my face because her expression softens.
“It’ll be okay,” she says. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you,” I mouth and board the elevator.
Out in the parking deck, the sound of my bike’s engine booms against the concrete walls. I rev it up, trying to drown the uncertainty that wraps its cold fingers around my neck. I tear out into the street, without a backward glance. Uncertainty, helplessness ... I thought I had shed them forever. It turns out it takes only minutes to conjure them back.
Just moments ago, I thought I had it all figured out. Most of my questions had answers and the ones that didn’t I could stow away without panicking. I had IgNiTe’s help, James’s help, to give me hope. Now I feel I have nothing.
The sun hangs low in the sky, well on its way out of this crummy day. I drive past buildings left behind in the dwindling light. It isn’t dark enough for the street lamps to switch on.
Shadows lurk in every alley.
I push forward, trying to leave them all behind.
- -
