There came a sharp knock at the door. We turned around to find Corrine entering, Ibrahim at her side.

“Derek,” she said, looking straight at my grandfather.

“What is it?” my grandfather asked.

“We have a visitor. A human requesting entrance to The Shade.”

“Human?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Ibrahim responded, exchanging a weary glance with his wife. “A gentleman in his mid to late forties… A Mr. Atticus Conway.”

Grace

My jaw dropped.

Mr. Atticus Conway.

Corrine went on, “He claims his son is here. The boy we took from The Woodlands. He claims he urgently needs to see him. That the boy’s life is at stake. Lawrence, he called him,” she added. “He’s waiting outside the boundary, near the Port.”

“Take us to him,” my grandfather said.

Corrine and Ibrahim grabbed me, my parents and grandparents, and we vanished along with the rest of the witches and jinn. We reappeared at the end of the jetty. It had started to rain.

Corrine pointed into the distance, beyond the boundary. Squinting, I could just about make out the shape of a small boat and a tall figure standing in it, facing our island.

“Well, that’s him,” Corrine said, looking from my grandmother to my grandfather. They and my parents would be able to see the man in detail from this distance, though I couldn’t.

“More than likely an imposter,” my grandfather muttered.

“He could be a hunter pretending to be his father,” Shayla said.

“Whatever the case, now you’ve had a look at him,” Corrine said, “do you want to go and speak to him? Or should I just tell him to get lost?”

“We should speak to him,” Shayla answered before anyone else. “We should be able to detect within a matter of minutes whether he is genuine or not.”

The witches moved us closer with the jinn until we had shot out from the boundary. We hovered in the air above the man’s boat.

Now I could see him clearly. My stomach dropped. It was impossible to miss the resemblance. The man shared the same chin as Lawrence, the same slightly triangular jawline, the same dusty blond hair. Though this man’s irises were icy blue, rather than tawny brown.

He gazed up at us, his eyes shining with anxiety.

“My name is Atticus Conway,” he introduced himself in a nasally voice. But… it was not a British voice. This man had an American accent. Despite his likeness, this sent alarm bells ringing. “I have come for my son, Lawrence Conway. You must let me take him, or he will die. It might even already be too late.”

I narrowed my eyes on him even as his words flamed my angst. My gaze roamed his boat. A speedboat. I half expected to see the letters IBSI painted on the side of the vessel. But I did not.

“Why do you say that he will die?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “What is wrong with your son, exactly? What did the IBSI do to him?” And who are you?

The man’s face tilted to me, his expression earnest. “The IBSI is in the process of developing a formula that, if realized, will enhance a human’s prowess to levels never reached before. Its purpose is to enhance abilities in combat, but also self defense…”

“Levels never reached before?” Derek interrupted. “I have seen for myself heightened abilities in IBSI members. Have they not already developed such a formula?”

The man shook his head. “It sounds like what you have witnessed is just the early stages. They are developing something much more powerful—though,” he added quickly, “I have not been privy to any further details about it.”

“What was your son doing with them in the first place?” Corrine asked.

“He was a test subject,” Atticus replied. “A willing test subject, I should add.”

Willing?

“W-Was—Is—he an IBSI member?” I choked.

“He was, and is, not,” Atticus replied. “And neither am I. We are citizens of Chicago… or what’s left of it.”

“He doesn’t sound like he’s from Chicago,” Corrine countered.

“No, he does not,” the man agreed. “His mother was British.”

The fact that Atticus used the past tense while describing Lawrence’s mother barely registered in my brain. I was still in shock.

“Why would he be willing to undergo something like that?” I asked.

Atticus’ expression darkened. “He did it for his mother.”

My face scrunched in confusion. “Huh?”

“IBSI’s pay was high. My wife was dying of lung cancer. We needed money to treat her… The cruel irony is, she passed away last week, before Lawrence could have ever made it back.” He paused, his voice catching in his throat. “But I had no idea about any of his plans. If I’d known that Lawrence had been planning to apply for the position, of course I never would’ve let him do it. He left without my consent. I only found out where he’d disappeared to, and that he’d been selected, when I was contacted by the IBSI less than twenty-four hours ago… explaining to me that the procedure had been sabotaged and if I did not manage to reclaim him from you, the consequences of the half-completed procedure would kill him within a matter of days. I need to return him to IBSI Chicago headquarters. They’re the only ones who know how to fix him.”

“B-But why would they select Lawrence for such a test in the first place?” I stammered. “Isn’t the point to enhance humans’ capabilities? He’s not even a human. He is a half-blood, right?”