Shift (12 page)

“Shut up.” I bumped my shoulder against his. “Like you can talk.”

He smirked as he turned back to the purple folder of photos. “Why did she travel to Ireland in the first place? Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Although Scotland’s landscapes are much more stunning.”

“She went specifically to be at Newgrange for the solstice. According to my grandmother.”

“Had she won the drawing for a pair of tickets to go inside on one of the five days?”

I cocked my head. “You know, I always figured she did, but Grandmom said she just up and left. Don’t they announce the lottery winners months ahead of time?”

“In October, aye.”

“So why wouldn’t she tell her own mom, ‘Hey, I won this amazing chance to be inside Newgrange at the winter solstice, along with only ninety-nine other people in the world’?”

Zachary touched the photo my mother had taken of Newgrange’s dark entrance, surrounded by gleaming white quartz. The picture was date- and time-stamped on that year’s solstice. “Maybe she didn’t have a ticket when she arrived. Lots of people come to stand outside and be a part of the event.”

“But your dad said she was inside with him.”

“They never actually met. Maybe he was mistaken.”

“But there must have been a record of who was there. Do people scalp their tickets like at a concert?”

“No, I’m sure that’s not allowed.” Zachary glanced at the coatrack behind the front door, where Ian’s hats hung on pegs. “You know, my mum didn’t go to Newgrange with my dad. I don’t know who did.”

I gasped. “Maybe he had an extra ticket and gave it to my mother.”

“He could have.” Zachary read the final page out loud. “‘Monday, April twentieth. Going home tomorrow. My work here is done. Not “done” as in finished. But “done” as in, I can’t stay one more minute, not
like this.’” Zachary counted on his fingers. “When she says, ‘not like this,’ you think she means pregnant? It would’ve been eight months before you were born.”

“Probably. I looked it up, and it turns out that most pregnancies last forty weeks, which is almost ten months.”

“Forty weeks before our birthday would be … early March.” He turned the pages. “No entries from then.”

“I was born a little premature, so it could’ve been later, but not much.”

“Could it have taken her until the twentieth of April to know she was pregnant?”

“If she wasn’t expecting it.”

He tapped the journal. “Or your mum knew before that date, but thought your father would help raise you. Maybe she came back to the States when she couldn’t find him.”

“Or if he refused.” My heart twisted. “If he didn’t want me.”

“Don’t say that. If he knew your mum was pregnant—which he might not—he didn’t walk out on
you
, he walked out on the idea of you—no, on the idea of a nameless, faceless baby. If he knew you, he’d want you in his life.” His voice cracked as it fell. “Anyone would.”

The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t just talking about my father or some abstract hypothetical “anyone.”

He dropped his gaze to his hands as he rubbed his knuckles together nervously. “I’m no’ saying that because I want to kiss you. It’s just true, so—”

“Shh.” I pressed my finger to his mouth. “Don’t move.” I leaned in and replaced my finger with my lips, brushing them gently over his.

My name was all he said before kissing me, deep and sweet.

I wanted Zachary’s mind, to help me figure out who and what I was, and let me do the same for him. But I also wanted his body, to make me feel at home again in my own skin. Though we were finally together in a warm room, I still shivered at the press of his palms against my back.

Under the pound of my pulse, I heard keys rattling.
Not again.

We broke apart as the front door latch turned. I hurried to straighten my clothes, then realized they were already straight. It was Zachary’s kisses that made me feel deliciously disheveled.

The door opened slowly, giving us enough time to pick up our pens and pretend to be taking notes.

Mr. Moore nodded to me as he dropped the keys on the front table. “Aura. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. How are you?” My voice softened as I realized it was more than a casual question. Ian’s face was drawn and pale, and he moved with none of the vigor I remembered. Though his thick salt-and-pepper hair was still more pepper than salt, he seemed to have aged ten years since I’d last seen him in December.

Zachary gave me a worried frown. He’d said his father was working himself to death, but Ian looked positively ghostly.

“How was work?” he asked.

“I wasn’t working. I had a meeting with a medical officer.” Ian took off his suit jacket, wincing, and hung it over the back of a chair. “Son, we need to talk. Aura, could I trouble you to, er …”

“Oh. Sure. Zach, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” I reached to gather up the pictures.

“What’s this?” Ian moved forward and picked up the two photos—one of my mother and one of Newgrange’s front door. His face grew even more shadowed. “I remember that morning like it was today.”

“Do you remember her?”

A sad smile touched Ian’s lips. “Of course.” He winked at Zachary. “The Moore men have a penchant for beautiful American brunettes.”

Zachary squirmed. “Didn’t you tell us you’d never met Aura’s mum?”

“We didn’t introduce ourselves.” Ian eased into the recliner, supporting himself with both chair arms as he sat. “We spoke only briefly.”

“Did you give her your extra ticket?” Zachary said.

Ian raised his eyebrows, probably wondering how we’d figured it out. “I did.” He looked at me with bloodshot green eyes. “That’s why I feel responsible for you and your troubles, no’ simply because it’s my job.”

“What made you pick my mother?”

“Out of all the people gathered outside Newgrange, she seemed to long for it the most. The way she watched that dark doorway. Like she’d left a part of herself inside.”

I wanted to ask what he meant, but he started coughing. It sounded painful, so I quietly collected my belongings, with Zachary’s help.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Ian croaked. “Go, son, see her to her car. I won’t be running off any time soon.”

“Let me reheat you some tea first, Dad.” On his way to the kitchen,
Zachary took a handkerchief from his father’s suit pocket, then brought it over to him. “Here.”

Ian nodded his thanks and coughed into his handkerchief. My core chilled at the fleeting sight of blood. Zachary froze, then turned for the kitchen, his movements quick but stiff.

“Sorry,” Ian said when he’d recovered. “How are you getting along these days? With the media?”

“Not too bad. The DMP keeps them off my back—with your help, I take it.”

“We do our best.”

The microwave beeped, and in a moment Zachary returned to the living room. He gave his father the cup of tea, which smelled of lemon and honey. Ian’s hands shook slightly, rattling the cup on the saucer.

Zachary turned to me with fear in his eyes. “Ready?”

I swallowed. “Good night, Mr. Moore. I hope—I hope every-thing’s okay.”

Ian managed a hint of his charming smile. “Thanks very much.”

At the elevator outside Zachary’s apartment, I said, “Call me when you can, let me know what happened.”

“I will.” His jaw shifted. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s been shattered lately, but I thought it was from work. This cough only got worse a few weeks ago.”

“Then maybe they caught it early.”

He jerked his head in a brief nod. The elevator dinged, and when the doors opened, Zachary followed me inside.

“Go be with your dad now,” I told him. “I can let myself out of the building.”

His thumb jabbed at the
L
button, missing on the first try. “I’d hear it from him if I let you walk to your car alone.”

“It’s a pretty safe neighborhood.”

“It would be rude.” He leaned back against the elevator wall. “I’m almost afraid to go back, hear what he has to say.”

I moved closer and wrapped my arms around his waist. His own arms enveloped me slowly, and he rested his chin atop my head. I could hear his quick, steady heartbeat through the soft cotton of his shirt.

We said nothing as we descended. When the elevator reached the lobby, he kissed my hair and let me go. We walked out the front door and across the tree-lined island to where I was parked on the other side of the street.

I loaded my book bag into the backseat, then turned to see Zachary with his shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. My mind flailed for the exact right thing to say.

“Enjoy the rest of the
pizza gain
.”

He scrunched up his face. Definitely not the exact right thing to say.

“Sorry,” I said, “that was incredibly Italian of me. Make everything better with food.”

A smile softened his eyes. “Thank you. It will help.”

“Next time I’ll bake you something by myself. It won’t be as good as my grandmom’s. It might not even be edible.”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as there is a next time.” He opened my door. “I’ll ring you.”

I sensed he wanted me to leave while he was still calm, so I brushed
my hand over his as I got in the car. He gently shut my door.

I watched Zachary walk away, head down, until he disappeared into the building’s lobby.

Immediately a violet glow filled my car. “Logan, now is really not the time.”

“But I have good news to—
aaugh
!” His form crackled with black static.

“Oh my God, are you shading?”

“No! I don’t know! I was fine until now. Aura, why are you so red?”

“I’m not red!” My stomach lurched. “If I’m making it happen, then go. They’ll lock you up if you get shady again.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He disappeared, leaving only a yellow afterimage in my vision.

“Bizarre.” I gripped the steering wheel, waiting to see if he would return. I was afraid to imagine where he’d gone or what state he was in.

My phone rang, making me jump. I answered Megan’s call.

“Logan’s here,” she said, “and he’s freaking. Something about you being too red to look at?”

“I have no clue. I’m not even wearing red.”

“Are you sure? Jenna has this sweater that looks blue from a distance, but actually has little red threads all the way through it. So you can ward off ghosts without anyone knowing you’re a post-Shifter who can’t get into a bar.”

I switched on the interior light to examine my shirt. “Looks totally black to me. Besides, I was wearing this top earlier at my house. Logan was there and he didn’t see me all red.”

“What were you doing in between?”

“I was—” My breath froze.

Ohhhhh, no.

Zachary was rubbing off on me.

Literally.

I was sitting up in bed, speed-reading the last two hundred pages of
As I Lay Dying
for American Lit, when Zachary called. I’d managed to put Megan off, promising I’d explain everything when the four of us met on Wednesday night. I had a horrible theory in mind, and an all-too-easy way to test it.

“Hey,” I said into the phone. “How are you?”

“Cancer,” he whispered. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“Oh my God. I’m sorry.” I sank back onto my pillow. “Is it—I mean, did they say—”

“It’s this rare, vicious thing. Mesothelioma. Have you heard of it?”

The word made me think of those late-night, have-you-been-injured attorneys’ commercials. “Does it come from asbestos?”

“Maybe. I looked it up online, but I can’t remember much except—” His voice shook. “Except that no one lives long.”

My hand gripped the phone so tight, I thought it would break. “Can’t they do anything?”

“Dad starts chemotherapy on Thursday. But he says—ach, I dunno if he’s just being grim, but he says there’s not much hope. Aren’t parents supposed to make things sound better than they really are?”

“What about your mom?”

“That’s the only good part in all this. She’s coming straightaway.”

“I thought it wasn’t safe for her to be here.” Zachary’s mother had
stayed behind in the UK when Ian was assigned here. The danger and instability of being a secret agent’s wife had become too much for her.

“It’s not ideal, Dad says, but he couldn’t leave her in the dark about this. He gave her the choice.”

“I’m glad she’s coming.” I knew Zachary missed her like crazy. “That way someone’ll be with him while you’re at school.”

“And she’ll be here if—no. No. He can’t die. He’s only fifty-eight, for Christ’s sake.”

I twisted the edge of the dark blue bedsheet around my other hand.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Zachary said. “You lost your mum to this when she was a lot younger than fifty-eight.”

“It’s different. I never really knew her.” His words “to this” struck me as odd. “What kind of cancer did you say it was?”

He pronounced it carefully. “Mesothelioma.”

I wrote it down in the margin of the page I was reading before remembering it was a library book.

“It’s ghastly,” he said. “One website said the five-year survival rate is almost nil. It’s a kind of lung cancer, but it spreads like—”

“Whoa, wait. Zach, my mom had lung cancer, too.”

“What kind?” he said in a hushed voice.

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Aunt Gina.”

“How old was she?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“That’s very young for lung cancer.” He fell silent for a long moment. “Aura, do you think—could they have gotten this at New-grange?”

I twitched at the sudden ricochet of his thoughts. “How?”

“Maybe something poisoned them.”

“You mean like radiation? Wouldn’t it have affected them at the same time? And wouldn’t other people have gotten it, too?”

“Maybe they did.”

“Eowyn was there, and she’s fine.”

“So far, aye.” He let out a harsh breath. “The Shift might be more dangerous than we know. It might be more than just ghosts.”

His last word made me think of Logan and how he’d seen me covered in red after Zachary and I had kissed.

Uh-oh.
I wanted to tell Zachary, but he didn’t need that on top of the news about his father.