“Before supper I shall introduce you to everyone in the household. The boys, Elliot and Simon, are with the nanny at present, but I shall have Mrs. Dover send word to the cook that they are to dine with us tonight so they might meet you.”

Mrs. Dover inclined her head. “Yes, my lady,” she said, and left.

The lady approached me and smiled. “And tomorrow your new tutor shall arrive, at my husband’s direction. I admit that if he had not asked it of me on his deathbed, I wouldn’t think of it, but I will honor his wishes, no matter how unorthodox. No one must know, however. Do you understand?”

I nodded at her.

“Good girl. Everything has been arranged, and the tutor is eager to meet you.”

“Yes, Lady.”

She smiled. “I should like you to address me as Aunt Sarah. We are to be family, after all.”

“Yes, Aunt Sarah.”

“Clever girl,” she said. “And yet I find I still do not know how to address you. Strangely, my husband never mentioned your name.”

Because when he knew me, I had not yet chosen one.

“And neither did Mr. Barbary,” she finished. “Tell me, dear, what shall I call you?”

Before I could answer, the flock of blackbirds scattered, screaming, into the air, diverting Aunt Sarah’s attention.

I took a moment to think.

“There is power in a name,” Sister had said. I did not want to give out the one I’d shared only with her and Uncle, so I’d given anyone else who had asked a different one instead. The name I had given to my doll, before I’d known what it meant. I decided to give Aunt Sarah the same one.

“Mara,” I told her as we watched the birds disappear into the sky.

21

I WOKE UP WHILE IT was still dark. I dressed in Noah’s clothes—his T-shirt, which hung loose over my narrow shoulders, and his jeans, which I had to roll up before I could walk. I didn’t care how I looked; wearing his clothes made me feel closer to him, and I needed that for what I would have to do today.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I opened his laptop and powered it on. There might have been something on it that would give us some clue, some hint that would help me find him, and no matter what else I found on it, I needed to find that. I needed to know he was okay.

I was prompted for a password, and I guessed wrong once, twice, four times, then eight. Nothing I tried worked—no variations of his name, his pets’ names, his birthday, even my birthday. I slammed the laptop shut, threw it into his bag, and knocked on Stella’s door before the sun rose. She answered it blearily.

“Y’okay?”

Not really. “I want to go as soon as we can.”

She stood there for a minute, as if she were trying to translate what I’d said, but she finally nodded. “Ten minutes.”

Jamie didn’t answer the first or second time I knocked; I stood there for what felt like hours before he finally woke up.

“What?”

“Pack up. I want to go.”

“Why?”

“Because we have to find Noah.”

Jamie blinked, and I thought he would argue, but he said, “Five minutes.” And then he shut the door on me.

We walked out of the bed-and-breakfast without breakfast, and, as Stella complained, without much bed, either, but it would be a while before we reached Miami. Stella could nap in the car. On our way out we managed to steal—sorry, “borrow”—a car belonging to an early-rising guest, thanks to Jamie. It was comfortable and roomy, but Jamie warned us not to get attached to it—we’d be ditching it as soon as we reached Miami. After that we would borrow another one, and pay a visit to Noah’s parents, then ours.

Stella’s mouth hung open when we crossed the bridge that led to the gated island Noah lived on. The farther in we drove, the more extravagant the houses became. Noah’s parents’ house (mansion) towered over the center of a sprawling green lawn dotted with Greek fountains. Palm trees framed the driveway, which was blocked by an iron gate.

The video camera swiveled in our direction. I’d already told Jamie what to say.

“Hi,” he said, as if reading from a script. “I’m here to see Noah? I’m a friend from school?”

There was a click, and then a voice on the intercom. “No visitors are to be admitted at present, I’m afraid.”

I knew that voice. “Albert?” The Shaws’ butler. He’d met me before. I prayed that he would remember. “It’s Mara Dyer—I have something of Noah’s—”

“He’s . . . he’s unavailable, miss.”

Unavailable. Unavailable dead or unavailable alive?

“Where is he?” I asked.

There was a pause. “I’m afraid—” My heart lodged in my throat. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

I tried to stay calm. I had to stay calm, or we would be thrown out of there with more questions and fewer answers than we’d arrived with.

“Can I give you something to give to him?”

There was no answer, but the gate swung open. I leaned my head back against the seat in relief as Jamie drove forward.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jamie said. He’d said that before. Every time, actually.

Watching him exercise his ability was sort of fascinating. He worked himself up into an anxious, nervous frenzy, wondering out loud if he could do it, mumbling to himself about the consequences. It reminded me of something I’d read once, about divers making themselves hyperventilate before they dove, to force more oxygen into their lungs or something. Since we were triggered by stress and fear and possibly pain, Jamie freaking out about whether or not he could work his magic made it more likely that he could.

Albert was waiting for us at the front door when we drove up. His hands were tucked behind his back. I fleetingly wondered how he would react to Jamie vomiting in one of the mammoth potted boxwood urns when he finished with him.

“You can do this,” I whispered to Jamie. And then he did.

“Hi, Albert,” Jamie said in that calm, confident, crystalline voice. “My name is Jamie Roth, though you’re not actually going to remember that, or the fact that we had this conversation, once we’ve had it.”

“Of course, sir.”

“So here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to give me honest answers, all right?”

“All right.”

“Okay, what’s your middle name?”

Stella and I shared a glance.

“Eugene.”

“Do you have a driver’s license?”

“Yes.”

“Give me your wallet, please.”

Albert did so. Jamie checked it. “His middle name is in fact Eugene. Great. Okay, Albert. Now this is where it’s going to get a little weird. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready for weird, sir.”

“Is Noah Shaw alive?”

It took an eternal, agonizing second for Albert to answer.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Noah’s alive?”

“Yes, he is.”

I wanted to do cartwheels on the lawn. I wanted to fly. I wanted to rocket into the sun.

“Where is he?”

“At the Horizons Residential Treatment Center, sir.”

No. No.

“Are you sure, Albert?”

“Yes, sir. I drove him there myself.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

That was shortly after I’d been dropped off myself.

“Do you know if he was there just for the retreat or if he’d been admitted long-term?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“Aren’t his parents worried about him?”

“Not particularly, no.”

No surprise there.

“Are they home?” Jamie asked. “Can we speak to them?”

“I’m afraid they’re in Europe at the moment.”

“What about Katie?” I asked. Jamie repeated my question.

“Her as well,” Albert answered.

Jamie looked at me and shrugged. “What next?”

I didn’t know. But at least we had one more answer than we’d had when we’d arrived; there had been no funeral. Which meant his family believed he was alive. But they also thought he was at Horizons. Noah had gotten himself thrown in there for me. To be with me. And now—

Now he was nowhere. Because of me.

22

JAMIE AND STELLA TRIED TO cheer me up when we got back into the car. “It’s not hopeless,” they said. “We’ll find him.” But I began to feel hopeless and doubt that we would find him. I had nothing to hold on to, so I held on to myself. My arms crossed over my stomach, pressing his clothes against my skin as I tried to think about what he would have said if he’d been there. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine him, what he would have looked like, sounded like, if he’d been in the seat next to me.

I pictured his face, careless and unworried, his hair a tousled mess as he reminded me that his parents were idiots. That they never knew where he was, even when he was home. He would tell me not to believe something unless it could be proven. Once, I would’ve said that just because you couldn’t prove something didn’t mean it wasn’t real. But I wouldn’t say that today. Today I needed to believe he was right.

Jamie came up with the implausible explanation we would offer to each of our respective families when we showed up on our respective doorsteps. We’re still at Horizons. Everything is fine. We’re going on an extended wilderness retreat up north, where we can sing with all the voices of the mountains and paint with all the colors of the wind. I’d seen Jamie work miracles, but this was my mother I had to convince. I did not have high hopes.

But we didn’t end up visiting my house first. My mother and father would have been out working, and Joseph would have been at school. Stella’s mother worked the night shift, and her dad had left when she was little, so it was just her and her mom. Jamie talked to her mother, which seemed to go well, and then he went to talk to his own parents. I have no idea how that went because he didn’t invite us into his house. He walked out carrying a bigger duffel bag with “provisions.” For what, I didn’t ask. On his way back to the car (our third), he wiped his mouth and gave us the thumbs-up. I started the car. “Shotgun,” he said to Stella.

“But I’m already sitting here.”

“But I’m the one who got us the car. And the one messing with our parents’ memories. Come on,” he whined. “It’s hot in the backseat, and I don’t feel well.”

“How did it go?” I asked him.

Jamie shrugged. “Okay? They were surprised to see me at first, obviously, but I fed them the bullshit and they swallowed it.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

“Like that,” I repeated. “You’re proving to be quite handy.”

“Yeah, I am. And you’re next.”

I was, finally. The afternoon light filtered through the palm trees and oaks that dotted the cul-de-sac we lived on, and I did a quick car check when we drove by the house. Mom’s, Dad’s, and Daniel’s cars were all there, which meant Joseph would hopefully be there too. Jamie said that would make this all easier—feed everyone the same lines at the same time, and there’s less chance that an inconsistency will crop up later and conflict with what they remember.

But for this visit both Jamie and Stella would need to join me. Because it wasn’t just my parent problem we needed to fix; we needed to get New Theories in Genetics from Daniel too. While Jamie was talking, Stella would entertain my brother, and I’d fetch the book. Lemon squeezy.

I realized when I walked up to the house that I didn’t have my key, and my parents didn’t keep a spare in any obvious places, like under the doormat or a decorative rock or something.

I looked at Jamie and Stella. “So what, I just knock?”

“I’d suggest it,” Jamie said.

“And then?”

“And then I’ll tell your family what I told my family, and Stella’s mom.”

Stella put a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

It sounded easy enough. But my hand still shook when I lifted it to knock on the door.

My mother answered it. Her eyes went wide when she saw me. “Mara! What are you doing here?”

I don’t know why, but my eyes began to fill the second I saw her. I wanted to throw my arms around her and hear her tell me she loved me. That everything would be okay. But I couldn’t move, and I didn’t say a word.

Jamie did, though. “Everything’s okay,” he said smoothly as my mother ushered the three of us in. I watched her face as he spoke to her, told her the fake story of what had happened to us, why we were there, and why we’d be leaving again soon. My mother looked completely untroubled by all of it. Relaxed, even. She urged Jamie and Stella to sit at the kitchen table while she made us something to eat, and Jamie continued to talk. It all seemed so normal, except for the fact that it wasn’t, at all. I knew why we had to do this, but I still felt the urge to take my mother by the shoulders and scream that everything was not okay, that I was not okay, and that I would probably never be okay again.

When Joseph and my father walked into the kitchen, Jamie went to work on them, too, repeating the story word for word. He made Horizons sound like camp. He left out the fact that I had killed the counselors.

I braced myself for my suspicious, questioning mother’s reaction, but she didn’t find Jamie’s explanation at all strange. His words cut through any resistance my parents might have had, erasing my future absence from their future memories like it was nothing. More than anything else I’d seen, that unsettled me.