Shade (26 page)

“About time Gina went to bed.”

I almost dropped the journal. “You scared me!” I hissed at Logan.

The lamplight was so bright I couldn’t see more than his vague violet outline next to the couch. I switched off the lamp. The white lights of the Christmas tree cast the room in a soft glow.

“Sorry I didn’t come earlier,” Logan said. “Your aunt was freaked enough without finding out I was here.” He sat on the coffee table. “I was afraid to come at all, after the way I was last night. I could’ve killed you.”

“I forgot I was wearing that necklace.” I picked at the orange lint on the afghan blanket. “No wonder you got so shady.”

“I’m sorry. The red sheets and the obsidian and … that guy—” Logan spied the vase of roses on the end table across the room. His fists tightened, then slowly released. “But that’s no excuse. I should’ve held it together.” He gestured toward the front yard. “And then when you fell, I thought I’d died all over again. I couldn’t pick you up. I couldn’t call for help.”

“But you did get help.”

“If Megan hadn’t been home—”

“If Megan hadn’t been home, one of the kids across the street would’ve woken up and gotten their parents. You saved me. It’s you I’m worried about.” I lowered my voice to the softest whisper. “Did you really turn—I mean, all the way?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. For a few seconds, I was a total shade.”

I put my hand to my mouth, trying not to show my horror at his temporary monstrosity. “What was it like?”

“It’s hard to describe. The closest I can come is riding a roller coaster in the dark—like Flight of Fear at Kings Dominion? It was terrifying and thrilling, and I had no control whatsoever. I couldn’t
even see what was coming next. Something else was pushing and pulling me.”

“Like a person?”

“No, a force outside of me—like gravity.”

Logan was more subdued than I’d ever seen him. I wondered if he was worried about shading again.

“If this force was so powerful,” I asked him, “why didn’t it keep you a shade? How did you turn back into a ghost?”

“That was the most amazing part. When you fell, I was so afraid you were hurt, it was like you filled up my whole head, so there was no room for any of my stupid crap. Next thing I knew, I was like this again.” He held up his glowing violet arm. “Pretty wild, huh?”

“Logan, this is incredible. It means shades can come back.” My mind boggled.

“But I was only a shade for three or four seconds, and it took something huge to snap me out of it. And when I did, it was like skateboarding through quicksand. Uphill.”

“Wow.”

“I don’t know if I could turn back into a ghost if I shaded again, so I gotta be careful, or I might never pass on. That force might suck up what’s left of my soul.” He lowered his head. “Speaking of passing on, I need to tell you something.”

“Get out!” Aunt Gina loomed on the stairway. “Logan’s here, isn’t he?” She came down a few steps, scanning the living room. “That’s who you’re talking to?”

Logan stood up. “No, you don’t get it,” he said to her, though she couldn’t hear him. “I was about to—”

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” Facing his general direction, she stalked forward and pointed to me. “Look at her!” She was in front of him now, but she couldn’t have known it. “You did that!”

“I know,” Logan said softly, then turned to me. “I’m here to say good-bye.”

I thought my chest would cave in. “Aunt Gina, please give us a few minutes.”

“No.” She reached into the pocket of her robe and brought out the obsidian pendant. “Not one more second.”

Logan moaned and backed away, through the coffee table, straight for the glowing Christmas tree. The edges of his image crackled and snapped, and I clutched the sofa cushion to steady myself.

Then he disappeared.

“Get out!” Aunt Gina advanced across the room.

“He’s gone,” I whispered. Ignoring the ache in my ribs, I rolled onto my side away from her. “He’s gone for good.”

After my fall, we stayed home for Christmas instead of traveling to see my grandmother. Aunt Gina tried to cook a turkey herself and spent half the day on the phone with Grandmom getting tips. I guess it turned out okay, but I couldn’t taste much of anything.

It felt like Logan had died again. My body was heavy and numb, even after I stopped the painkillers. I had no idea where he’d gone or when and if he was coming back, despite scouring the Internet for rumors. No one had seen him or heard from him in almost three days. Zachary had been right—I wasn’t really over Logan, not by a long shot.

I was sitting at the table finishing my (store-bought) pumpkin pie while Gina did the dishes, when the phone rang for what seemed
like the fortieth time that day. I tried to think which cousin hadn’t called yet to wish us a Merry Christmas.

Gina came out of the kitchen. “Honey, it’s Dylan.”

I took the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Dylan fell silent. For a moment I wondered, with my heart in my throat, if he was holding out the phone so Logan could speak. “Remember how you guys always used to come over on Christmas night after you got back from your grandmom’s?”

“Yeah.” The Keeleys would play music and serve yet more food, and then we’d all watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
. “What about it?”

“Nothing. Just … that was cool.”

It hurt to remember exactly how cool. “How is it over there?”

“Everyone’s crying. Do you wanna come over?”

“Does your family want me there?”

“Siobhan does. My dad sort of does. So I guess if we had a vote, it’d be tied, two and a half each.”

“Why don’t you and Siobhan come here? We could drive through Hampden and look at the lights.”

“Aw, that’d be awesome! Hang on.”

Dylan dropped the receiver. He was gone for several minutes, and I wondered if he’d forgotten I was on the phone. Maybe he’d gotten wrapped up in one of his new games.

Then suddenly he was back. “Okay-we’ll-be-right-there-bye!” He hung up.

In less than an hour, Siobhan was driving Dylan and me down 34th Street, a tradition Gina and I had missed this year, between
her obsession with Logan’s case and my obsession with, well, Logan.

The Chieftains’ Christmas CD played on the car speakers as we crawled with the heavy traffic, under rows of lights that stretched above the narrow street.

Elaborate displays covered every surface of the shops and row homes. It was an unwritten law in Hampden—you had to put up Christmas lights, even if you didn’t celebrate the holiday. Which just proved that there were forces in this world stronger than religion.

“He’s not here in the car with us, is he?” Siobhan asked.

“No,” Dylan and I replied in unison, knowing she meant Logan. Then again, the light displays made the street too bright to see ghosts.

She lowered the volume. “Last night Mom and Dad were up late wrapping presents. They were talking in their bedroom, and I guess Mom was in and out getting supplies, and she left the door open.” Siobhan paused. “They want to move away.”

“What?!” Dylan grabbed the back of her seat. “Move where?”

“Anywhere—” Her voice faltered. “Anywhere Logan’s never been.”

“I’m not going!” He pounded on his knee. “I finally have friends at that lame-ass new school.”

“Dylan, you don’t have a choice,” Siobhan said.

“But you do. You and Mickey are eighteen. You could get an apartment and I could live with you.”

“We’re going to college.”

“So go to college here!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she snapped. “Mickey and I want to get
away as much as Mom and Dad do, if not more. Too many memories. Even driving here …” Siobhan flapped her hand at a Christmas tree made out of hubcaps. “Logan used to love Hampden.”

“He still does,” I told her. “He can come here any time he wants.” Although maybe not at the moment, with all these red lights and giant Santas.

She wiped her eyes, smudging mascara onto the side of her forefinger. She rubbed her thumb against the stain. “Maybe if we move, if he doesn’t have us to haunt, he’ll pass on.”

“Um, I got news on that,” Dylan said.

I spun to face him, provoking a sharp pain in my bruised rib. “From Logan? What did he say?”

“If we win the case, he wants to move on in public. Starting tomorrow, he wants me to spread the word so everyone can come.”

“Everyone?” Siobhan said.

“Post-Shifters. Especially those with cameras.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Logan is passing on as some kind of performance?”

“A grand finale.” Siobhan snorted. “Classic.”

“‘Blaze of glory,’ he says.” Dylan looked at me. “It might be kinda cool if Logan and I find the right place. It has to be somewhere near the courthouse, somewhere he’s been before.”

“The Green Derby,” Siobhan said. “The pub where Mickey and I are playing next month. Logan’s been there, and it’s only a block away.” She slapped the knob of the gearshift. “I can’t believe I just helped him in his diva-ness.”

“You want to see it as much as we do,” Dylan told her. “I mean,
you can’t see it. But you can see all the people who
can
see him. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice to hear one last crowd screaming his name.”

I laid my head back and stared through the windshield, until my eyes lost focus and the street became one wide blinking sun.

Logan’s love affair with the world would have one last good-bye kiss. If only we could have that too.

“What if you guys lose?” I said. “What’s Logan going to do? Won’t he disappoint the crowds if he doesn’t pass on?”

“He thought of that,” Dylan said. “Says he’ll do a short concert.”

“And he’ll expect us to play for him?” Siobhan sniffled, then her breath hitched into a sob. “Why couldn’t he just go to begin with? Why does he have to make it so hard?” Her voice stretched to the breaking point. “Why does he have to be such an asshole?”

I pulled a bunch of fast-food napkins from the door pocket and handed one to Siobhan. “He’s not being an asshole,” I said quietly. “He’s just being Logan.”

“Same difference.” She covered her mouth. “No, I don’t mean that. He was a good brother. He was a sweet guy.”

“He still is,” Dylan and I said together.

“Shut up!” Siobhan tore another napkin from the stack in my hand. “You people are such freaks, you know that?”

“
We’re
freaks?” Dylan said. “That guy over there built a Christmas tree out of Natty Boh beer cans and Old Bay seasoning jars.”

Siobhan laughed. “Okay, good point.” She dragged the napkin under her nose and across her cheek. “I wish I was a freak too.”

*   *   *

My aunt went back to work after Christmas, once I’d mastered the crutches enough to get myself to the bathroom and kitchen and back to the sofa. I stayed home, since I couldn’t drive with a sprained knee, and I did not want to share her twelve-hour days at the office (though I really could’ve used the money).

Logan didn’t come over anymore. I lay awake each night in the living room, waiting but never calling. He kept his vow to stay away, and even though I knew it was for the best, each moment without him felt darker than the one before. The uncertainty and fear robbed me of sleep, until I felt like a shade myself—scattered, staticky, and in a very pissy mood.

Zachary called once, but only to discuss our research project. I knew he was giving me space, but his absence felt more suffocating than his hovering ever could.

Two days before Logan’s trial, I tried to distract myself by studying for midterms. Megan was supposed to come over to keep me company and share my calculus misery, and then we were going to her house for New Year’s Eve.

The doorbell rang half an hour before she was supposed to show up, which was odd. Megan was never on time, much less early. I made my way to the door and pulled the curtain aside to look onto the porch.

Two men stood there. The tall one in front, with a head of dark, bowl-cut hair, faced the door. His partner was slightly shorter, with light brown hair in the same odd style. The second man had his back to me, scanning the street. They were dressed like DMP agents, but instead of white uniforms, theirs were solid black.

Obsidians.

I stepped back, almost losing my balance on the crutches. Before I could move again, the dark-haired man held a badge up to the door’s window.

“Ms. Salvatore,” he called. “We need to speak.”

I checked the deadbolt to make sure it was locked. “Can you come back later when my aunt’s here?” I hated admitting I was alone, but there was no way I was letting them into the house.

The agent leaned close to the window. “There are some things she’s better off not knowing, correct? Things about Logan Keeley?”

My blood turned to ice. They must have known he’d turned shade, if only for a few moments. Did they have detectors? Would they hunt him down, trap him in a box and keep him on a shelf forever?

I unlocked the door and opened it. “Just for a minute.”

The dark-haired man gave a slight bow before entering. “I’m Agent Falk. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The other agent followed him in, but didn’t introduce himself. He stayed at the door, watching the street, as Falk walked into the dining room.

“May I?” He pointed a small laptop case at the table.

“What do you want from me?”

Agent Falk quirked his chin. “We want nothing but to help you achieve your potential.”

“Potential for what? Seeing ghosts? I’m not exactly unique that way.”

“No, not in that way at all.” Without sitting down, he laid the laptop on the table and opened the lid. The computer was already on, with some sort of database program running. Falk pulled down a list of numerical files. He selected one, and the hard drive hummed.

The picture that resolved in the center of the screen squeezed my heart to the size of a grape.

Logan, as he was in life. As he was the night of his death, onstage, on one knee. The photo was professional quality, capturing him with the mic at throat level, sending his brilliant blue lust-for-life gaze up above the camera.

Up into eternity.

I sank into the chair closest to the computer and let my crutches fall against my lap. “Where did you get this picture? Were you there that night?”