would do anything to protect my deepest secrets from mass consumption. As muchas I wanted to resist Nicola’s help, she might be just the shield I needed.
“So let’s formulate a strategy,” Nicola said, “to decide the nature of Logan’s public persona.”
“Hang on.” Logan put out his hands. “Don’t I get a say in it?”
I repeated his words to Nicola, who nodded vigorously.
“This will all be under his direction. If there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that no one tells Logan Keeley what to do.”
He smiled. “Awesome. So I can form a new band?”
“He wants to form a new band,” I said, “with post-Shifters.”
Mickey snorted. “He’s serious about that?”
Siobhan glared at her twin. “I think it sounds cool.”
“It’ll get attention, and that’s all he cares about.”
“Mickey, that’s enough,” Mr. Keeley growled.
I looked at Logan. His expression reminded me of a day at the Keeleys’ house just after Mickey had started high school, and Logan, Megan, and I were only twelve. We were annoying Mickey, and he’d slammed his bedroom door in our faces, calling us “stupid kids.” In the instant before Logan shot back a better insult, his eyes had turned as hurt as a kicked puppy’s.
Nicola clapped her hands once. “A new band is a fabulous idea. It’s the perfect platform to show the world, especially post-Shifters, that the DMP is ghost-friendly.”
I remembered what an Obsidian agent had said last year when he warned me to make sure Logan passed on. Recruitment is our number one priority. In nine months, the first post-Shifters would turn eighteen. Old enough to be dumpers.
So the DMP needed to look good to young people. They would use Logan’s band to advertise their own coolness.
“What’ll they actually do for me?” Logan said, and I relayed his question to Nicola.
She finally looked in his direction. “We’ll manage your PR, handle all your media contacts, and drum up publicity for your gigs.” Her smile slid across her face, smooth as a serpent. “You make the music, and we’ll make you famous.”
I expected Logan to spark with his usual ambition and lust for the limelight.
Instead he seemed to fold further into himself, shrinking under the gazes of those who could never see him.
“I want to talk to Aura and Dylan,” he said. “Alone.”
The three of us stood on the sidewalk outside the pub, near the place where Dylan had raged and mourned Logan’s shading a few months before. I wondered how long the bricks had held the bloodstains from his fists pounding the wall.
“I’ve got a weird feeling about this,” Logan said.
I nodded. “It’s too easy. But we need the DMP to protect us from the media.” And from your big mouth , I wanted to add, but couldn’t without triggering Dylan’s curiosity. He must’ve already wondered why I’d mistranslated Logan’s answer to the reporters.
The younger brother leaned against the building. “It makes sense they’d want to look better after what happened when you shaded. There was a ton of bad publicity.”
“But nothing changed,” I pointed out. “They still treat at-riskghosts the same way. And by February the media got bored, so the public stopped screaming for reforms.”
Logan thumbed his lip, looking pensive. “Maybe if I stay in the spotlight, people won’t stop thinking about it.”
Dylan chuckled. “You’d be like a poster child for at-risk ghosts.”
“Is that a good thing?” I said.
“Yeah, people’ll see Logan and think, ‘He’s not so bad. Maybe we should give them all a second chance.’”
“You believe that?” Logan asked Dylan. “I’m not so bad?”
“Of course, dipshit. You’re my brother.”
“I’m Mickey’s brother, too. Look what that gets me.”
“Mickey’s a douche,” Dylan said. “Just forget him.”
“I can’t forget him.”
“Right, ’cause he’s the cool brother.” Dylan looked past me. “Uh-oh. Aura, don’t turn around.”
Of
“So let’s formulate a strategy,” Nicola said, “to decide the nature of Logan’s public persona.”
“Hang on.” Logan put out his hands. “Don’t I get a say in it?”
I repeated his words to Nicola, who nodded vigorously.
“This will all be under his direction. If there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that no one tells Logan Keeley what to do.”
He smiled. “Awesome. So I can form a new band?”
“He wants to form a new band,” I said, “with post-Shifters.”
Mickey snorted. “He’s serious about that?”
Siobhan glared at her twin. “I think it sounds cool.”
“It’ll get attention, and that’s all he cares about.”
“Mickey, that’s enough,” Mr. Keeley growled.
I looked at Logan. His expression reminded me of a day at the Keeleys’ house just after Mickey had started high school, and Logan, Megan, and I were only twelve. We were annoying Mickey, and he’d slammed his bedroom door in our faces, calling us “stupid kids.” In the instant before Logan shot back a better insult, his eyes had turned as hurt as a kicked puppy’s.
Nicola clapped her hands once. “A new band is a fabulous idea. It’s the perfect platform to show the world, especially post-Shifters, that the DMP is ghost-friendly.”
I remembered what an Obsidian agent had said last year when he warned me to make sure Logan passed on. Recruitment is our number one priority. In nine months, the first post-Shifters would turn eighteen. Old enough to be dumpers.
So the DMP needed to look good to young people. They would use Logan’s band to advertise their own coolness.
“What’ll they actually do for me?” Logan said, and I relayed his question to Nicola.
She finally looked in his direction. “We’ll manage your PR, handle all your media contacts, and drum up publicity for your gigs.” Her smile slid across her face, smooth as a serpent. “You make the music, and we’ll make you famous.”
I expected Logan to spark with his usual ambition and lust for the limelight.
Instead he seemed to fold further into himself, shrinking under the gazes of those who could never see him.
“I want to talk to Aura and Dylan,” he said. “Alone.”
The three of us stood on the sidewalk outside the pub, near the place where Dylan had raged and mourned Logan’s shading a few months before. I wondered how long the bricks had held the bloodstains from his fists pounding the wall.
“I’ve got a weird feeling about this,” Logan said.
I nodded. “It’s too easy. But we need the DMP to protect us from the media.” And from your big mouth , I wanted to add, but couldn’t without triggering Dylan’s curiosity. He must’ve already wondered why I’d mistranslated Logan’s answer to the reporters.
The younger brother leaned against the building. “It makes sense they’d want to look better after what happened when you shaded. There was a ton of bad publicity.”
“But nothing changed,” I pointed out. “They still treat at-riskghosts the same way. And by February the media got bored, so the public stopped screaming for reforms.”
Logan thumbed his lip, looking pensive. “Maybe if I stay in the spotlight, people won’t stop thinking about it.”
Dylan chuckled. “You’d be like a poster child for at-risk ghosts.”
“Is that a good thing?” I said.
“Yeah, people’ll see Logan and think, ‘He’s not so bad. Maybe we should give them all a second chance.’”
“You believe that?” Logan asked Dylan. “I’m not so bad?”
“Of course, dipshit. You’re my brother.”
“I’m Mickey’s brother, too. Look what that gets me.”
“Mickey’s a douche,” Dylan said. “Just forget him.”
“I can’t forget him.”
“Right, ’cause he’s the cool brother.” Dylan looked past me. “Uh-oh. Aura, don’t turn around.”
Of
Similar Books
