The Becoming of Noah Shaw (The Shaw Confessions #1)(45)

“Thanks for coming,” he’d said. “We really appreciate it.”

Home to whom? Stella’s missing, Felix is dead—who’s we?

Mara almost seems as though she knows what I’m thinking. “Was this house always like this?”

Leo shakes his head. “A lot of people come and go.” He pauses before saying, “Came and went, more accurately, I guess.” His expression darkens, and if I hadn’t been watching him so closely I’d have missed the way his eyes flit to Mara.

Fuck this guy. “Let’s skip the bullshit, shall we?” I say. “Why did you want us to come?”

He raises his chin, turns to Mara. “Because I think you know where she is.”

“You’re mistaken,” I say for her.

“Am I?” He’s still talking to her. She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t defend herself. So of course, I do.

“I don’t know what Stella might’ve told you—” I start.

“Everything,” Leo says. “She told me everything.” He looks at Jamie then. “Which makes me pretty wary. And she’s not here to read your minds to tell us whether you’re lying or not.”

“Why would we lie?” Mara asks, but her voice sounds strange.

“Why would Stella leave you and be willing to go back home to a stepfather who abused her?”

My conversation with her bobs up in my memory like a dead fish.

“Leo found me, told me I had a choice—he’d help me get home if I wanted to go, but also said I had a place with them if I ever wanted it.”

“So you went home with a perfect stranger?”

“Safer than staying with my so-called friends.”

“And your family?”

“Not everyone has a perfect home life.”

Fuck. Fuck.

But Mara’s voice is even, not the least bit thrown. “Because she disagreed with a decision I made.”

“To kill people.” The words slither out of Leo’s mouth.

Mara simply shrugs. All the jittery chattery energy she’d had in our flat is gone. She’s completely calm.

“Right,” Leo says derisively. “Forgive me if I’m kind of concerned that you might not have her best interests at heart.”

Mara’s face is stone smooth, expressionless. “I wouldn’t kill Stella, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I try and listen to Mara’s heartbeat—it seems loud, clear, steady. She’s not lying. I’m surprised—and disturbed—by my relief.

“We want to find out why this is happening as badly as you do,” I say.

“Really?” He rounds on me. “How’s that?”

Forget this afternoon. Forget the professor. Forget my father. “Because every time one of us commits suicide, I fucking feel it,” I say, aiming my mind on that. “Their suffering and regret and fear. You think that’s fun, do you?”

Leo pauses before asking, “Have you seen Felicity since—did you see her . . . ?”

I supply the word for him. “Die?” I say, and he nods. “No. Nor Stella. As I said, I can’t find anyone for you.”

“He’s not a precog,” Jamie cuts in, to my surprise. He’s been playing at casual, hanging back, leaning against one of the French doors, but now I notice that he’s hyperfocused on Leo, tense and attentive. “But you know one, don’t you?” Jamie asks him.

Leo’s face pinches a bit. “Yes and no. There was someone here who could do that, but they’re gone now.”

“Gone where?” I ask.

“Went looking for a cure, I think. Mentioned Europe.”

“Then let’s hear about the rest of your friends,” I say, leaning back and stretching my legs as far as I can without kicking him. “And figure out which one of them might actually be able to help.” If Leo wants to work, then let’s get the fuck to work.

“My friends can’t help us,” he says, those watery blue eyes on mine. “But your father can.”





27


ONLY WHAT THEY AIM AT

I NEARLY LAUGH AT MYSELF then. Here I thought I was well shot of this shit.

Goose is the first to speak. “Your father?” He turns to Leo. “Noah Shaw’s father?”

Leo seems to have a little speech already prepared. “Noah now owns a building that his father used to own. It was filled with files on everyone he had ever paid to have experimented on—”

Goose laughs. “David Shaw? Some sort of big bad supervillain mastermind? That’s your theory?”

Jamie makes a cringey face. “It’s . . . pretty much true, actually.”

I snap back to attention. “Jamie.”

“Dude, he already knows. Stella reads minds—whatever she knows about us, he knows.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

“The archives,” Leo says. No one else speaks. “Stella told me about them.”

“And?” I say, “is there a question in our future?”

“I want to see our files. I want you to take me there.”

“Why don’t you sit on Santa’s lap and ask for a pony instead?” I suggest. “That would be more likely.”