Her eyes flew to Deacon’s. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
He winked at her and offered a silent, “You’re welcome,” in return.
“Last week you said we would cover the shot,” Cole said, shifting in his plastic chair.
Thankful for the abrupt change in subject, Vivienne tamped down her rising panic and focused on the most important part of completing a successful mission.
“That’s right. Once the mark has his or her episode, you have seventy-two hours to inject them with this bit of magic.” Albert picked up a small vial that, to an unsuspecting individual, would have looked like a ballpoint pen. Vivienne recognized it as the device Deacon had used on the roof of the hospital. “It ensures the Nevergene remains active,” he explained. “An injection into the thigh is the easiest to take. But you could also inject the subject in the shoulder or somewhere on the arm.”
Cole asked what it did.
Ethan made his hands into wings and “flew” them toward the ceiling. “It keeps the Nevergene active.”
“I know that,” Cole mumbled. “But how does it work?”
“Magic.” Deacon waved an imaginary wand and bopped Vivienne on the head with it.
She rolled her eyes. “I assume Peter and the lost boys didn’t have that when they turned.”
“You’re right.” Albert spun the injector between his fingers. “We estimate that five percent of PAN have a Nevergene strong enough to sustain the change without assistance.” Albert replaced the injector on his desk, using one finger to keep it from rolling onto the floor. “Without the injection, nature takes hold of your mark’s fate.”
Vivienne drew a handful of consecutive circles on the blank page in front of her. Quietly, she asked, “And if they don’t activate, what happens to them?”
The recruiters looked between one another, daring someone else to answer her question.
“We find a different way to welcome them into the family.” Albert rounded his desk to stand in front of her. “Kensington College accepts PAN who have not turned and provides graduates with exceptional employment opportunities both within and outside of Neverland, depending on individual situations. We look after our own, even if they’re grounded.”
A busy January spilled into a busier February. Vivienne found herself enjoying class more when Deacon was in town, which wasn’t as often as she had hoped. The two of them hadn’t been alone at all since he had come to her apartment to give her the letter.
On the last Thursday of the month, Albert approached her and Cole on their way out of the classroom. “I think the two of you are ready for a round of tag tomorrow.”
“Yes!” Cole punched the air, then dropped his hand and bowed his head toward Albert. “I mean, thank you, Albert.”
“Tag?” Vivienne repeated, gripping the straps on her backpack to adjust its weight. “Like the playground game?”
“Play is the work of childhood,” Albert said with a nod. “What better way to test your skills than a friendly game of tag with your classmates? Tomorrow you’ll receive a text with the location and your role in the game as either Recruiter or Agent.” Albert pressed a button on his phone and the screen came to life. “Then you’ll be given a mission and the name of your partner. The objective is to complete the mission and arrive at the checkpoint without being caught by any of the faux agents.”
“That sounds simple,” she said.
“Your job as a recruiter is simple. You cannot fly in front of a bunch of outsiders, so practicing the skills you learned in your other classes is essential.”
“I can’t wait.” Cole checked his own phone.
“Me either,” she said with a grin.
When the text came the next morning at ten o’clock, Vivienne’s enthusiasm for the evening’s activities quadrupled. Deacon was going to be her partner. They would be playing recruiters at the Walmart on Tobias Boland Way in Worcester at 4:30 p.m.
Shortly after two, someone knocked on the glass door.
“Hey, partner,” Deacon greeted, sweeping past her without an invitation.
At least, she thought it was Deacon.
“What in the world are you wearing?” she asked as he walked to the kitchen and sat down at the table.
He was unrecognizable in a pair of slouchy sweatpants and a heavy, fur-lined coat accompanied by a Red Sox baseball cap over a blond wig. The whole look distracted from his handsome features.
“This is my disguise,” he said, removing his hat and wig and tossing them on the seat beside him.
She picked up the hat so she could sit down and traced the white S on the front. “Why do you need a disguise for a friendly game of tag?”
“There’s nothing friendly about tag.” He frowned at her ponytail and pinched the loose material of her Kensington sweatshirt in disapproval. “You aren’t wearing this, are you?”
She swatted his hand away. “I thought I would. But now I feel like I should change.”
“Yes. Go change.”
She left him in the kitchen to search her wardrobe for an appropriate disguise. “What should I be looking for?”
Deacon barged through her bedroom door, and she fell into the closet in fright.
He was in her bedroom. Deacon Ashford was in her bedroom.
It didn’t matter. They were just friends. Friends went into each other’s bedrooms all the time.
“This isn’t quite the disguise I had in mind,” he laughed, lifting a sweater off her head. “Need some help?”
She pushed the rest of the clothes onto the floor and grabbed hold of his fingers. His tall frame made the room feel too small for the both of them.
Aaand he was on her bed. Sitting on her bed. Smiling at her.
“Let’s see what you have.”
She forced her eyes away from him and grabbed the first thing she saw. “How about this?”
“How is that sweatshirt any different from the one you’re wearing?”
She swayed the hanger in front of him. “This one’s blue.”
He rolled his eyes. “I know it’s a different color, but it has the Kensington badge on it as well.” From his perch, he was able to snatch the hanger from her and toss it onto the desk. “We need to find something normal that you wouldn’t usually wear. Something that won’t make you stand out from the other patrons in the glorious Walmart.”
She picked up the shirt and replaced it in her closet. “Glorious? Walmart?”
“It’s by far my favorite place to play tag.” He came to her side and scanned the handful of other options left on the rail. “I have a secret weapon.”
When she asked what it was, he pulled a CD from his coat pocket, along with a crumpled receipt, and handed both to her. “Our mission usually consists of having to buy some random object. Most of the time, the agents hang out near the checkout counters. I go in early, buy something, then go straight to the customer service desk to make an exchange.”
“Avoiding checkout altogether.” She returned the CD and receipt. “You really take this seriously, don’t you?”
“It’s a game, but it also helps get you into the mindset of a recruiter, knowing your exits and maintaining a low profile. Now, let’s find you a disguise.” He lifted a neon pink bra by the strap and grinned. “I think we should start with this.”