Shift (32 page)

“Morning!” He glanced at the Steelers clock over the door, which read 12:05. “I mean, afternoon.” He bent over, then stood up, rubbing his dark brown eyes and clutching a tattered textbook. “Sorry. You need gas? Use pump two. Pump one’s broken.”

“We need a phone,” I told him.

“Pay phone’s on the back wall.” He grabbed a phone card from the rack near the register. “Get one of these if you don’t have enough change.”

“I’ll take two.” Zachary set a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and picked up the cards. “Stay here,” he told me.

Figuring he wanted me to keep lookout, I backed up a few steps so I could see through the glass door. The cashier shuffled his feet, probably wondering when he could get back to his nap.

I peered past the counter into the adjoining pizzeria, separated from the store by a glass door and wall. “Are you Boris?”

“That’s my dad. I’m Alexei.”

“You’re Russian?”

“Not since I was two.”

“Don’t you dare!” Zachary’s voice rose from the back of the shop. “You owe me, and you know it.”

Alexei and I glanced toward Zachary, who lowered the volume when he spoke again.

“What are you reading?” I asked Alexei.

“Genetics textbook. I have summer school three days a week at Pitt. Trying to graduate early.”

“You go to University of Pittsburgh?” I said in disbelief. I knew honor roll seniors who’d been rejected from there.

Alexei bristled. “You know, out here in the sticks they teach reading and writing. Sometimes it’s not even from the Bible.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” I focused on the back of the store, but couldn’t hear Zachary at all now. “Is your dad’s pizza any good?”

“Pizza’s okay. But we have the best stromboli in the state.”

Family pride overcame my hunger. “Please. My grandmother’s a baker in Philadelphia. Her dough is—”

“Spare me, okay?” He pulled a set of keys out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the glass door between the store and the pizzeria. “We don’t open until one, but I make an exception for city skeptics.”

As I followed, I peeked at Zachary, who stood at the far end of the aisle with his back to me, gripping the edge of the pay phone. He slammed down the receiver but didn’t move.

In the pizzeria, Alexei flicked on the light, then the oven, then pulled two balls of dough from a stainless steel refrigerator. “I’ll do one veggie, one meat, so yinz can appreciate the full spectrum.”

I mentally translated the Pittsburghese “yinz” to “y’all,” then sat at one of the tables near the window to keep an eye on the road. I wanted
desperately to call Aunt Gina and Megan to let them know I was safe, but the act of calling could take away that safety—and maybe even endanger them.

But what would Logan do if I wasn’t there in time? Could he turn solid without me? If not, he’d miss his last chance to play guitar in front of a crowd before he passed on.

Unless he decided to stay another three months, hoping for the chance to become human on the September equinox. I didn’t even want to think about that.

Zachary came through the door from the shop. “Our ride will be here in six hours.”

“Six hours?! It’s noon. We need to be in Baltimore for Logan’s concert by ten fifteen. It starts at ten thirty.”

“It’s not six hours each way. Our ride’s not coming from Baltimore.”

“Who’d you call? Was that the phone number you were trying to remember?”

“One of them. Come here.”

I followed him through the outer door and into the parking lot. “Everything okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Aura, I spoke to Eowyn. Remember she’d written her new number on the note with your mother’s journal?”

“And you memorized it? Did you tell her what we found?” I would’ve bounced on my toes if he weren’t holding me down.

“I didn’t need to, because I’ll see her next week when I’m home.” His eyes sparked. “Where she’ll give me her copy of your mum’s journal pages.”

I stared at him. “Wait—what copy?”

“Eowyn’s not stupid. She wouldn’t let something so important be so easily lost.”

“But my mother sealed the envelope. She wrote across the opening.”

“No, Eowyn did, faked the handwriting. She only promised your mum she wouldn’t read them. She kept that promise.”

I uttered the new truth in a trembling whisper, afraid to believe. “So it’s not lost.”

Zachary smoothed back my hair. “No’ at all.”

I gave a triumphant laugh and threw my arms around him. He lifted me off my feet, squeezing me tight.

By instinct I moved to kiss him. He jerked back just in time.

“Oops.” I covered my mouth. “Don’t want you turning me red before the concert.”

“Right. Afterward, though …”

“Definitely afterward.” I took his hands. “This is the last time Logan will ever come between us.”

“I know.” The heat in Zachary’s gaze said that like me, he couldn’t stop thinking about last night. About everything we’d done, in and by the river. About everything we had yet to do … somewhere, sometime.

The door swung open behind me, and Alexei called out, “Okay, people. Time to eat your words.”

After six hours of fretting and eating (the best stromboli in the state), I was a complete stress mess by the time our ride arrived.

Zachary was stationed outside to flag down the driver. Through the glass front of the pizzeria, I saw his back stiffen at the sight of a
black sedan speeding down the highway. I rose from my seat, waved good-bye to Alexei, and pushed open the door.

My fingers froze on the handle when I saw that the black car was a BMW. Convertible. Just like the one driven by…

You didn’t.

Becca Goldman pulled up alongside us. With one long, French-manicured fingernail, she tilted down her sunglasses and looked at Zachary. “Now
you
owe
me
.”

She switched off the engine, slid out of the car, and brushed her hand over Zachary’s arm as she swept past us into the store.

Zachary gave me a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“What were you thinking? Becca hates me! She’d happily deliver me to the DMP.”

“But she likes me slightly more than she hates you, so we come out ahead.” When I didn’t even crack a smile, he said, “Look, she’s the last person anyone would expect us to call for help. The DMP has our phones, and her number isn’t in mine anymore.”

“But you remembered it.”

“Eventually.” He took my hand. “Aura, I’m not happy about this either, but I thought it was our best chance. She came all the way from Ocean City to help us.”

“Why?”

“Because we need her.”

I scowled at him. “Out of the goodness of her nonexistent heart?”

“Exactly.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Sometimes we help ourselves, and sometimes we get help from ghosts in the woods and bampots in BMWs.”

The cowbell clanged as Becca swept out of the store. “Look at this!” She held out a small can of power drink. “I haven’t seen Red Devil in four years. Apparently, the entire national supply is here in Where-the-Fucks-ville, Pennsylvania. I bought three—two for me, one for you.” She pulled another can from a plastic bag and gave it to Zachary. “Let’s go see this stupid concert.”

“Two requests,” he said. “One, stop pretending Aura isn’t here. Two, put the top up on the car. We’re hiding from the authorities, remember?”

Becca glanced at a spot above my shoulder, then hit the remote for the convertible top, which arced over the car’s interior. “Let’s go, Zachary and other person.”

Though Zachary offered to let me sit up front next to Becca, I refused, preferring to huddle in the back and pretend that Becca’s wish—that I wasn’t here—was actually true.

Her energy drink took effect right away, and I wondered if it had disappeared from the mainstream market because it had been made from the pituitary glands of deposed dictators and executed serial killers.

After three and a half hours of crappy dance music and Becca’s babbling about who was screwing who at Hailey’s stepdad’s beach house, we reached the Baltimore Beltway. Despite Becca redlining the Beemer’s tachometer, we were running late.

She turned down the volume to near silence. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “Tyler has been texting his brother Eric, who’s been texting his girlfriend, Alicia, who’s been texting her best friend, Heather, the girl who plays bass in Logan’s band. Logan knows you’re coming, which means his brothers and sister and that bitch Megan know, too. They’ll
be looking for someone wearing that.” She jutted her thumb behind her. “Zachary, tell your girlfriend to put it on.”

I opened the plastic bag that had been shoved under the driver’s seat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I pulled out a wig with three-foot blond ringlets, along with a pair of plastic black-framed glasses. “How does this make me inconspicuous?”

“What about me?” Zachary asked Becca. “Won’t I need a disguise?”

“No, silly. You’re the diversion. You’ll stay near the cameras, and if the DMP threatens you, you’ll tell the whole story, adding the part where your girlfriend was tragically mauled by a pack of bears. It’ll throw them off her trail.”

“How official is this plan?” I pulled the wig over my head and began to tuck my dark waves underneath the elastic.

“I’ll work on my story.” Zachary turned to me. “Hmm.”

I put on the glasses. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Figures,” Becca said. “I should’ve sprung for the fake warts.”

“Becca,” I said, trying to sound as sincere as I felt, “thank you for all you’ve done for us today.”

“I did it for Zachary, not—”

“Bullshit. You’re not even hot for Zach anymore since you got back with Tyler. You did it because you don’t completely suck, and I appreciate that.”

Glancing at the side mirrors, she switched lanes approaching the exit. Then she tapped her long nails on the steering wheel. “You’re welcome.”

S
ix minutes before Logan’s concert, Becca pulled up in front of his former high school in Hunt Valley. Camera crews from the local news stations were parked near the front entrance, and I saw a van with the logo of one of the big Hollywood media shows as well. I was glad Becca was going to drop me off around back, where no one would see me.

“Stay near the cameras,” I told Zachary as he got out of the car, “in case the DMP tries to take you. But don’t talk to the media if you don’t have to. Remember, they are not your friend.”

“Right.” He grasped my hand through my open window and whispered, “I wish I could give you a good-luck kiss, but that would cause problems.” He winked.

“It would also make me vomit,” Becca said.

He gave Becca a brief salute. “Thanks.”

She grunted, then slammed the car into drive. Zachary had to leap back to save his toes from being crushed.

“God, this place looks like a prison.” Becca tore through the bus lane at thirty miles an hour, even though there were cars parked on both sides. “I always thought the Keeleys were cool,” she said. “Sucks that they had to move to Hunt Valley and end up in public school. It would’ve been awesome to have a famous person from Ridgewood.”

“Look, there’s Megan.” My friend was standing near one of the school’s back doors, her foot propping it open.

Becca started to slow down. “About what happened prom night, with Zachary’s phone? I’m really sorry.”

I was too stunned to find the words. But as soon as I opened my mouth, she added, “I’m sorry it didn’t work.” She jerked to a stop and pointed at me. “You better be worthy of Zach, or I will fly home from UCLA and personally kick your ass. Now get out, and good luck.”

I didn’t bother with a retort. She had saved the day, after all, and besides, it was impossible to out-Becca Becca.

“Thank you.” I opened the door and leaped out of the car.

Megan greeted me with a quick, hard hug, sweeping me inside the building. “Where have you been?” She led me down a dim hallway, past a door marked
DRAMA
, toward the backstage area. “We got the message you were on the way and you would look like a blond Little Orphan Annie. What happened?”

“Short version: The DMP picked up me and Zach. We escaped, so they’re probably looking for us.” We passed under a clock that read 10:25. “Long version later.”

“Mickey’s waiting for you off stage,” she said as we rounded the
last corner. “You should see his hair all bleached and spiked. He looks just like—”

We stopped. Standing in front of the door between the hallway and the backstage area was a uniformed DMP agent.

Watching us.

On reflex, I checked my wig, then realized that looked suspicious.

“Follow my lead.” I took her arm and scurried up to the agent. “Um, hi? We’re supposed to meet the singer backstage. You know, for after the show.” I bit my lip and giggled.

He looked down his long, crooked nose at us. “I’ve heard about you ghost groupies. That’s necrophilia, you know.”

“Necro-what?” Megan piped, her eyes as wide as a manga heroine’s.

“Never mind,” he said. “Look, no one’s allowed backstage but the band, and they’re already there. The show starts in two minutes.” He squared his stance in front of the door, to drive home his point.

Megan sidled forward, stroking her hair in front of her shoulder. “You know, if you let us in, we could find a way to thank you. Later.”

“Miss, I am not some bouncer you can flirt your way past. I am a law enforcement official.” He pointed to the hallway behind us, like he was banishing a pair of naughty dogs. “Out.”

In the auditorium on the other side of the wall, the PA music faded out, and the crowd started to roar.

I’d have to find another way.

Megan and I squeezed through the mass of flesh to the front row. I hugged Siobhan and then Dylan, who tapped his watch and raised his eyebrows at me. Ten thirty. He didn’t know that we had twenty-one
minutes until the solstice—twenty-one minutes until his brother would be solid again.

The three human members of Tabloid Decoys came onstage, looking slightly terrified at the size of their audience. Logan’s high school auditorium was the largest venue he’d ever played during his life, which was why he’d chosen it. Like most public schools, it wasn’t BlackBoxed.