“Our genetic mutations give us special abilities.”
“Like what?”
His eyes darted from one table to the next as he withdrew a small, worn book from his pocket and slid it across the table.
She wiped the grease from her fingers before reaching for the tattered hardback. Why the heck was he giving her a copy of Peter Pan and Wendy?
And why did it look so familiar? Some long-forgotten memory prickled at the recesses of her mind. She traced the golden lettering embossed on the green leather.
“This is your explanation,” he said. “This holds the answers to all your questions.”
She lifted the book and turned the soft leather between her hands. “A fairy tale?”
“A fairy tale that explains how I survived the jump from your window—and the reason you’re in grave danger.”
There was only one ability that corresponded with both the story and the leap he had taken earlier, but it was too ludicrous to say aloud.
Deacon leaned forward and whispered, “I can fly.”
Vivienne snorted. When he remained stone-faced, she sobered. “Wait. Are you…you’re serious right now? Come on. That’s absolutely crazy. It’s insane. It’s—”
“Vivienne?” He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “You can fly too.”
How could he say that with a straight face? You can fly. Like it was nothing more than a passing comment about the weather. Vivienne searched his serious expression for some indication of a joke but found none. “You’re kidding, right? Like…you have to be joking.”
“I’m not kidding or joking or lying or any of the other things your rational mind is thinking right now.” Deacon ate a spoonful of whipped cream and closed his eyes with a sigh of satisfaction.
“I’m out.” She balled up the napkin on her lap and tossed it on the table. “I have listened to every other crazy thing you’ve said, but this is too much.”
Deacon’s spoon clattered to the floor, and he caught her hand. “Please, don’t go until I’ve finished. I understand it’s hard to believe—”
“It’s impossible.”
He squeezed her hand. “Will you please sit down? What’s the harm in indulging me for a few more minutes? You haven’t even finished your lunch.”
After a sidelong glance at the exit, Vivienne silenced the warning in her core, sat down, and resumed eating. “You need to see a psychiatrist.” Maybe she did too.
“How do you think we got off that hospital roof?”
The fry in her hand fell back into the basket. “You’re telling me that we flew off the hospital roof?” It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep her volume at a level whisper.
He could have dropped her. She could have died. She could have—wait. She didn’t honestly believe him, did she?
Vivienne flashed back to the rooftop, trying to make sense of things. She remembered him asking to see her arm and then a pinch and then . . . nothing. “You drugged me, didn’t you?”
“A necessary precaution. The moment we were in the air, you would have panicked and endangered both of us.”
She forced her gaze from him to the book on the table, willing some logical explanation for the very illogical things he was saying. “You’re claiming to be some sort of flying mutant who spends his free time saving people.”
“We aren’t mutants, Vivienne.” Deacon pushed his sleeves over his forearms and rested his elbows on the table. “We possess a genetic mutation, the Nevergene, that gives us the advantage I spoke of, along with a few others.”
“What else is there?” Could he walk through walls or blend in with his surroundings like a human chameleon? Or did he have x-ray vision? She crossed her arms over her chest just in case.
“Most of us don’t age.”
“Flying immortals. Why not?” If Vivienne chose to believe the first, she may as well go along with the second.
He drummed his fingers against his glass. “The term ‘immortal’ implies we cannot be killed.”
“Who’s going to kill you? Captain Hook?” The idea of a curly-haired, one-handed pirate chasing Deacon around an exotic island made her chuckle.
Deacon’s expression hardened. “HOOK is real.”
She stopped laughing. “He is?”
“HOOK stands for The Humanitarian Organization for Order and Knowledge, and they are bent on destroying every single one of us by stealing our DNA and deactivating our gene. HOOK agents were the ones who came for you at the hospital. Which reminds me…” He checked the fancy silver watch on his left wrist. “We need to be going.”
“Going where?”
A smile. “To Neverland.”
“Yeah…I’m not going with you.” She had followed him onto a roof and into a diner. But she drew the line at Neverland.
“Why not?” He frowned at what was left of his milkshake.
Where did she begin? “It should be pretty obvious. But the turning point for me was when you claimed you could fly.”
“I can prove it to you.”
She nearly choked on the last bite of burger. “You’re going to show me?”
He slurped the dregs of his milkshake through the striped straw. “Will you come with me if I do?”
“Well, I’m not coming with you if you don’t, so…”
“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”
After paying the bill—and leaving the waitress a hefty tip—Deacon steered Vivienne out the exit by the elbow.
Surveying the street, he escorted her down a gloomy road to the right of the diner. After about five minutes of searching, they ended up in an alley in the warehouse district, surrounded by low, windowless brick buildings.
A nervous prickle against her skin warned her not to follow him into obscurity, so she waited closer to the sidewalk.
Deacon walked to the farthest, darkest corner until she could barely see his outline. “Are you coming or not?” he called.
Part of her wanted to run back to Lynn’s and lock her door—and barricade her window. But Deacon had gotten her off the roof somehow.
If she didn’t go with him now, she would never know the truth.
Her skin started to itch, but she ignored the warning and followed him into the darkness. “Okay, I’m here. Now what do I do?”
“You?”
“You said I could fly, didn’t you?”
He raked a hand through his dark hair and started pacing. His footsteps crunched on the gravel. “Can’t I just show you?”
She had seen illusionists on television. If he wanted her to go anywhere else with him, he had to do better than some cheap magic trick. “Nope. I want to do it myself.”
She couldn’t wait to hear what excuse he came up with—
“Fine.” Deacon winced and rubbed his ear like it was sore, then started digging through his pockets.
“What do I do?” she asked again, flapping her arms up and down because . . . well, it made sense.
“First”—Deacon reached out to stop her—“you need to get rid of all your skepticism. And then you need to take this.” In his palm sat a dark pill, about the size of a vitamin.