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  “You’re the first criminal we’ve ever helped,” Yutika said.

  “Wrongly-convicted criminal,” Kaira corrected. “And no.” She turned her attention on me. “Most of the Mags we help are living in other countries where the Slaughters are still bad. They find out about us, and we help get them to Boston.”

  “It’s not as simple as she’s making it sound,” A.J. said. “We have to create new files for them, fake a tracking history, and then there’s the business of living arrangements and employment—”

  “We get them a house, money, help them with a job, and get their kids into school,” Bri added. “Sometimes, we need to go to wherever they’re from and help get them out of the country. Gangs who are using them for their magic and threatening their kids…that kind of stuff.”

  It sounded like a good deed, but—

  “What makes you any different from Valencia Stark and the UnAllied?” I asked.

  My answer came in a chorus of scowls.

  Valencia Stark, a Level 5 Rain Bringer, was universally disliked by Naturals and most Magics. She had founded a group called the UnAllied, which advocated for Magics to separate from Natural society and enslave any who were less powerful.

  In addition to being completely bigoted and the exact opposite of everything the people of Boston championed, the concept was also ludicrous. Naturals far outnumbered Magics. Not to mention, the US military was composed solely of Naturals. Unless Magics liked the idea of being outnumbered a hundred-to-one and taking on the country’s war arsenal, it was safe to say Valencia’s plan wouldn’t end well for anyone who attempted to see it through.

  The woman was as nuts as the Naturals who still tried to argue that Magics weren’t human.

  The handful of Magics who listened to Valencia were equally crazy. She was arrested just about every other day for making it rain on everyone who came and went from the Alliance building. She liked to stand on the building’s steps and spout nonsense, most of which was inaudible due to her insanely thick Boston accent.

  Her biggest function in Boston society was to be the punchline for late-night comedy.

  “We’re not extremists,” Michael said. “We’re not trying to start any more Slaughters.” His frown deepened.

  “And we don’t want war between Mags and Nats,” added Yutika.

  “What do you want?” I looked right at Kaira.

  “Privacy,” she answered, her eyes ablaze. “The right for Mags to go about their lives without their heart rate and every magical flare showing up on some computer somewhere.”

  “Where that data is just one good hack away from being shipped off to Russia or anyone else who’s willing to pay for it,” added Smith.

  “What if Penelope’s murderer is an unMarked Magic?” I asked quietly. “And the reason he or she got away with the murder is because there’s no way to find them?”

  “I guess it’s possible the murderer was another unMarked Illusionist like me,” Kaira said, sounding doubtful.

  “What reason would a Magic have for killing another Magic and writing those slurs…about Magics?” Bri asked.

  The others shrugged.

  “Penelope Heppurn was murdered by a Nat,” Michael said. “No Mag would have ever done that to her.”

  Before I could reply, A.J.’s sing-song voice called, “Breakfast is served, my lords and ladies and everything in between!”

  A seventh chair flew in from some other part of the house, and we all crowded around the table that was now laden with steaming dishes. In spite of the earlier grumblings about vegan food, no one hesitated to dig in…with the exception of Smith.

  The greasy-haired, hoodie-wearing caricature of a computer geek sat pushed back from the table with a laptop balanced on his knees. He took a case out from under his chair, pulled out an instrument that looked like some kind of sensor, and carefully hovered it over a single-serve vanilla pudding cup.

  I watched in fascination as Smith moved the sensor all around the pudding cup, inspected the seal, and then took a spoon out from his hoodie pocket, which he also scanned. Only after the whole laborious process had been completed did he peel back the lid and take a bite.

  “Seems like a lot of effort to go through for pudding,” I commented to Yutika, who was sitting next to me.

  “Smith thinks the government is poisoning our food,” she said with a shake of her head. “He reads these conspiracy theory blogs and is practically peeing his bed on a nightly basis over everything he thinks the government is planning to do to us.”

  “All he eats is ramen and pudding,” Bri added, scrunching up her face in disgust. “And he only drinks grape soda because he says the Alliance is poisoning our water.”

  “I didn’t say they’re poisoning our water. I said they could poison our water. All they’d need to do would be to—”

  He stopped talking as he hovered his sensor over the can of grape soda, bending his ear to it in deep concentration. Once he was satisfied, he inspected the tab, opened the can, and took a long drink.

  “So gross,” Bri said as Smith took another slurp. “You could at least have enough dignity to go for orange soda rather than grape.”

  “Meanwhile, when the rest of you are lying on the floor and foaming at the mouth, don’t come looking to me for help.” Smith raised his soda to the rest of us in either a salute or a farewell—I wasn’t sure which.

  “If I’m foaming at the mouth, how am I going to ask you for help?” Yutika retorted.

  Smith scowled and hunched down behind his computer, clearly done with socializing.

  A.J. sniffed. “Snubbing my food is just ruuude. And do you have any idea how many artificial ingredients are in one of your precious pudding cups?”

  Smith just grunted and slurped his grape soda.

  “Do you have a first name?” I asked Smith. I was trying to get a handle on all of these people and their role in this new life of Kaira’s.

  Smith looked up from his screen and glared at me. “Why you asking? You a Russian spy?”

  “Um…could I do that without speaking Russian?”

  Bri and Yutika giggled.

  “None of us know Smith’s real name,” Kaira said. “He’s very private.”

  “Or where he comes from, or who his family is, or if he owns anything besides solid-colored hoodies,” A.J. said, doling out slices of a vegetable casserole that actually smelled pretty good.

  Smith just squinted at his screen, ignoring us.

  “Our history is our own business,” Michael said from the other end of the table. “It’s the whole point behind what we do for other Mags.”

  “Doesn’t stop the rest of us from being curious about the people we’re living and working with,” Yutika shot back.

  I noticed the confrontational look Yutika gave Michael before they both looked away.

  “My grandparents immigrated from Indian and settled in NYC,” Yutika told me. “I’m the first Level 10 in my family, and when my parents found out my level, all twenty-five Sharmas—I’m talking aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, second-cousins-twice-removed—decided to move to Boston so I’d have access to the best schools.” She smirked. “Grammie and Gramps weren’t exactly pleased when I put my fancy college degree toward illegal work with the Six. Luckily, my Hindi sucks, so I just pretend like I don’t know what they’re saying when they start lecturing me.”

  Yutika craned her head toward the front door and widened her eyes in fake-surprise. “And look at that. No government people breaking down our door now that I’ve spoken my family history out loud.”

  She looked at Michael again. He just shrugged and glared down at the vegetables on his plate. I wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed how the big guy’s cheeks had turned red.

  Conversation flowed easily, and I felt like I was at a friend’s house whose whole family was at home. The Six teased and grumbled at each other, but there was obvious history and trust between them—Smith’s paranoia aside.

  After the last v
egan waffle was gone and there were only crumbs left from A.J.’s “veggie surprise extraordinaire,” Kaira cleared her throat.

  “There’s something I need to say.”

  Everyone went quiet as she pushed away her plate and rested her elbows on the table.

  “I appreciate everything you all did tonight. I couldn’t have done it without you, and I’ll never forget it.” She didn’t look at me as her eyes moved around the table to the others. “I was clear about the expectations when you joined the team, but what you did tonight wasn’t in your job description.” Kaira looked at me then, and I saw my own anger and feelings of injustice reflected in her eyes. “Gray was set up for this murder, and things are going to get ugly before all this gets resolved.”

  I felt overwhelmed as I watched Kaira captivate the room. She had always been a force to be reckoned with, but I had never seen her command a group the way she was now. She was all confidence and business. It was incredibly sexy.

  “This is what we do,” Bri said into the silence that followed. “It doesn’t matter that he’s a Nat. He’s being unfairly persecuted by the system, and he needs help. This is exactly our job description.”

  I felt a sudden rush of warmth toward this small, ass-kicking titanium girl who I’d met only a few hours ago. At the same time, I was being buried beneath a crushing sense of helplessness. I never leaned on other people for help. I was the one who solved problems and got things done. Now, though, I didn’t have a choice.

  “This time is different,” Kaira said. “And not just because he’s a Nat.” She looked at each of the Magics sitting around the table. “I’m not gonna lie. Graysen’s important to me, and this is personal. It’s not like our other jobs, and you’ll be more at risk if you help us. If any of you want to sit this one out, I’ll understand.”

  No one moved or spoke. For a group of people who seemed to have no trouble finding their voices, the silence was weighted with meaning.

  “Did you kill Penelope Heppurn?” Michael asked me.

  “No,” Kaira and I replied at the same time.

  There was a fiercely protective look in Kaira’s eyes that warmed me to my core. There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in her rigid posture, like she was ready to do battle with anyone who suggested I was anything but innocent. I appreciated it more than I could have ever put into words.

  “I was set up,” I said in the next pause that followed. “There was evidence…a lot of it. Whoever killed Penelope had the whole thing planned to a T.”

  Fury welled inside me at the memory of the detective’s note pad, filled with damning evidence against me.

  “Did you get a copy of the report?” Smith asked.

  I gave him an incredulous look, but the other guy was serious. “There wasn’t a photocopier in my jail cell,” I replied dryly.

  “Too bad,” Smith said, clearly missing the sarcasm.

  “The only way to clear Gray’s name is to figure out who set him up,” Kaira said. “I’m going to put all of my time into finding the answers he needs. The rest of you can either help us, or you can go somewhere out of the line of fire until this is done.”

  “We’re the Six,” Bri said. “And I don’t scare easily. Count me in.”

  “I, for one, will be glad to expand my resume with saving a Nat,” A.J. announced. “Plus, he’s hot. You know, for a Nat.”

  “Really, A.J.?” Yutika said with a roll of her eyes.

  “Not to mention he’s a Nat,” Bri pointed out. “Just because we regularly break the second high law, it doesn’t make us complete barbarians.”

  “Besides, Gray doesn’t swing that way,” Kaira told A.J.

  “How do you know?” A.J. shot back.

  I had a strangely disembodied sense as I sat and listened to the others argue about my sexuality and the barbarism of people who broke the third high law.

  “Are you gay?” Kaira asked, her voice calm and her expression revealing nothing.

  “No,” I replied, trying my best to keep a straight face.

  “There you have it,” Kaira said.

  A.J. gave me a pitying look.

  “Anyway,” Kaira continued. “What about the rest of you? Are you up for this job?”

  “Yeses” chorused from around the table.

  My throat felt scratchy. “I’m not sure how to thank all of you,” I began, but the others waved away my words.

  “We don’t stand on ceremony around here,” Michael said. “We help people who need it.”

  “And you definitely need it,” Bri added.

  “The manhunt is on the way,” Smith announced.

  Instead of turning his laptop around so we could see what he was seeing, he flicked his hand at the blank wall next to the table. A dozen different images appeared on the wall. They were as clear as if they were coming from a TV screen. Smith waved his hand, and one of the images expanded and moved to the center of the wall.

  It was my dad’s house, surrounded by police. There were two of them standing right outside my front door, and I could see cop cars lining my street.

  Smith flicked the image away with a wave of his hand, and one of the others zoomed to the center. It was a live feed of the hallway of my dorm. There was police tape over my doorway, and cops ducking under the tape as they came and went.

  “Is there audio?” Kaira asked.

  Smith closed his eyes, and then the cops’ voices filled the kitchen.

  “There’s more blood in this room than was left in that poor Mag’s body,” one cop said, kneeling to snap a photo of my bloody clothes.

  “Sick son-of-a-bitch,” another replied, studying the tape outline of Penelope’s body on the floor.

  I clenched my jaw until it ached.

  The next screen Smith enlarged was Memorial Drive, where police cars were flying through traffic, their emergency lights flashing.

  And the last image was a live NBC news feed. I flinched when my picture flashed across the screen. It was the picture that had been taken at the party—had that really been just last night?—except Penelope and Director Remwald were cropped out. The news anchor was telling viewers to call 911 if they caught sight of this “armed and extremely dangerous criminal.”

  “That’s enough, Smith,” Kaira said, her tone sharp.

  I blinked, and then the wall was blank again.

  “Keep track of what’s happening and let me know if they figure out we’re involved,” Kaira said to Smith.

  He nodded and then ducked his head behind his screen again.

  “Alright, everyone,” Kaira said. “Let’s all get a few hours of sleep. We’ll meet back up in the afternoon and start working through the evidence we have. I want Graysen exonerated as soon as possible, so it’s going to be a hard push until this mess is cleaned up.”

  “Where are we putting the Nat?” A.J. asked.

  “There’s the office off my bedroom, and I have an air mattress he can use,” Kaira said.

  For the second time today, I had the sense that I was listening to a conversation about some stranger. Who was this person who was causing so much trouble?

  For as long as I could remember, I had been in control of my life. If I wasn’t happy about something, I made a change. If something wasn’t going right, I fixed it. It was such a foreign experience to be dependent on other people. I hated it.

  “It might be better for him to stay down here,” Michael said. “Bri and I can take turns keeping an eye on him.”

  “We didn’t break Graysen out of one prison to turn him into a prisoner in our own house,” Kaira said, her voice low and dangerous. “I thought I was clear on that point.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “No, you aren’t.” Kaira glared at him until the big guy visibly shrunk down in his seat. She turned her scalding gaze on the rest of the Six. “Graysen is innocent. We’re going to figure out who killed Penelope so Gray can go back to his life and the real killer can get what he deserves.”

  The Six clearly knew better t
han to try to argue with her.

  “Now, we’re going to get some rest,” Kaira said, inclining her head at me. “I suggest the rest of you do the same.”

  Kaira headed for the stairs, motioning for me to follow. A.J. muttered something about how messy it would be to have to clean up all of her blood, which she ignored.

  “My room’s at the end of the hall,” Kaira told me in a voice loud enough for the others to hear.

  I knew which room was hers. It was the same one that used to be ours.

  CHAPTER 12

  When I stepped inside the room, the first thing I noticed was that my old stereo was still there. The bed, however, had been replaced by a larger, non-tilted one. The rest of the room was decorated with ballet posters and family photos. Kaira’s clothes were everywhere. They were draped over the desk and chair and piled on the window seat.

  Kaira had always been messy and had more clothes than she could wear in a lifetime, a fact I had never hesitated to tease her about. I almost smiled, remembering how I was always tripping over her shoes and finding parts of her outfit strewn around the house. I’d once found one of her belts in the refrigerator.

  “Make yourself at home,” Kaira said, shutting the door and locking it.

  I turned to face her. I felt…odd. I had never expected to be back here, with her.

  Kaira put the back of her hand to my forehead. Her touch was cool and comforting, and I had to stop myself from leaning into it.

  “You have a fever,” she said, going over to the bathroom and rifling through the medicine cabinet.

  She came back with two ibuprofen and a glass of water. She handed them to me without a word.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, taking the pills.

  Kaira was the only person from whom I’d never tried to hide the effects of my disease. Even my dad didn’t know about how frequent my joint pain and fevers were. But even though Kaira knew how bad the pain sometimes got, she’d never fussed over or pitied me. She’d just given me ibuprofen or drawn me a scalding hot bath and let me get on with it. It was one of the things I had always loved about her.

  I looked at Kaira, who was watching me.