"Would it be okay if I stay here until you're finished?"

I heard her take a deep breath. "Sure," she said on the exhale.

"My father will have you fired if he finds out." It was only fair to warn her.

"That's okay, honey. Some things are more important than a job."

I found a chair and sat with my forehead resting on the edge of the embalming table and one hand on my brother's cold arm. I honestly thought I might die on that spot. The only thing I'd ever really believed in was Jude. He was my evidence that our father was full of shit. That you could choose to be something other than weak or strong. But it turned out that my father had been right from the start. You're either one or the other. There are no alternatives-and no space in between. Jude died because he had one fatal flaw. A chink in his armor. A soft spot that he couldn't keep hidden. Jude was killed because his weakness was me.

That night was the first time he appeared to me in a dream. He wasn't the dead sixteen-year-old with the broken face. He was the ten-year-old Peter Pan. Impish. Immortal.

"Jude, please don't leave me here," I begged him.

"This isn't goodbye," he insisted. "You know that place between sleep and awake? The place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll be waiting."

"That's not f-ing good enough!" I shouted, almost choking on snot and tears.

"It's not good, but it's enough," he said. "You'll see. Did you get my gift?"

"Gift?"

He wiggled his fingers at me. "Use them wisely, and you'll have everything that you need."

The makeup lady shook me. "It's morning," she said. "You need to leave before my boss gets in."

"Did you fix him?" I asked. "Jude has to look like himself when he gets there."

She must have thought I meant heaven-not Never Never Land. She didn't realize I'd lost my mind. "I worked on him all night. Would you like me to show you?"

"No," I told her. "I have to keep him alive."

It was as simple as that. I began to believe. That Jude wasn't gone-just far, far away. And that as soon as I'd punished the man who had murdered my brother, I'd finally be able to join him.

There's a bear standing over me. I'm a goner for sure. That's okay. A bear attack is a perfectly dignified way to die. There are probably bears in Never Land too.

"Can you carry him?" I can't see Joi. She must be standing in the bear's shadow.

"Yeah," says the bear.

"Be careful, he likes to fight," some kid offers in the background.

"He's not going to be doing any fighting tonight," says the bear with a chortle.

When he bends down to pick me up, I recognize the man in the North Face coat who'd been watching me. He's even bigger close up. I almost throw up when he tosses me over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Joi says.

"Anything for you, baby," the bear replies.

"Don't call her baby." I try to sound tough. Everyone laughs.

When I come to, I'm under Joi's sheets. She's taken off my clothes and put a bucket next to the bed. I have a pounding headache, and my mouth is parched. But I'm sober enough to see that there's someone sitting in a chair across the room.

"Jude?" I whisper.

"Who's Jude?" It's Joi in the chair.

"My brother." I know I'm still drunk when I hear myself say it.

"You have a brother?"

"I had a brother."

"Oh," Joi says, as if that explains it all. She's smart, so I guess maybe it does.

"I'm sorry about what I said to you yesterday."

"Good," says Joi. "So can I ask you something, Flick?"

"What happened to 'Always listen, never ask'? Are you breaking your own rules?"

"Just tonight," Joi says. "Just for you."

"Okay, then."

"Are you in trouble? I mean, some guy in a sports car drops you off yesterday, and you get out looking like hell. Tonight you were roaming the projects dressed in head-to-toe Prada. Jimmy said your bottle of Scotch must have cost two hundred bucks."

"That Jimmy really knows his Scotch," I say.

"Don't f-ing joke about this! You could have frozen to death out there!" She probably just woke up everyone in the colony.

"Why are you shouting at me?"

"Because . . ." She shakes her head. We both know why she's so angry. It doesn't need to be said.

"I came to the city to find something, Joi. I didn't even know what it was at first, but I think I just found it. So I won't be getting drunk anymore."

"I'm glad to hear that 'cause the next time I have to go save your ass . . ."

"There won't be a next time. I promise." There won't be. That's one promise I'll keep. "Come here. Please."

She crawls into the bed beside me. Paradise must smell like cocoa butter and jasmine. It feels and tastes like Joi's kiss.

"Can I ask you a question? I swear it's not about heaven."

Joi laughs. "Shoot."

"Why do you love me?" I ask her.

"Because you love me back," she says without hesitation.

"You have no idea how much," I tell her.

"Yes, I do," she says.

It's the first time I've seen Peter Pan so pissed off. He's pacing the room and muttering to himself.

"What?!" I demand.

He attacks, holding the blade of his wooden sword to my throat. "I won't let you do it. You can't take it away from her."

"She'll find another good thing," I say, pushing the sword back. "And I can't let her get in the way. Girls like Joi make you soft and vulnerable. Remember Lois Lane? Why do you think the comic guys invented her in the first place? 'Cause they needed Superman to have a weakness other than kryptonite."

"You've lost your mind."

"Tell me something I don't know, Peter Pan. And then let me finish what you sent me to do."

He's stunned. "You think I brought you to New York for my sake? I brought you here to find Joi, you idiot. Who else is going to sew your shadow back on?"

"I haven't lost my shadow, Jude. It's the rest of me that's missing."

"She'll help you find it! I bet she knows just where to look!"

"I don't want to look. I want to deal with Dad, and then when I'm done, I'll come be with you."

"What if I don't want you in Never Land?"

"You can't keep me out."

Peter Pan stamps his feet. "I don't want your company! I want you to stay here and be happy!"

"I don't deserve any of this, Jude. I was the reason you died."

"No, Dad was the reason I died."

"And Mandel has the proof! He said he'd give it to me!"

"If you let him turn you into our father."

"How else can I be strong enough to beat Dad? You have to let me do it, Jude. Please don't try to stop me."

Jude doesn't look pissed anymore. He looks like a terrified ten-year-old boy. "If you go, I won't be able to go with you. You saw for yourself-all of the building's windows are sealed shut. There's no way for me to slip inside."

"There must be . . ." I start to argue.

"No," Jude insists. "I can't go with you. You'll have to leave me behind."

"Just for a little while, then. It won't be forever," I promise. "I'll see you as soon as I'm done."

"How can you be so sure?" he asks.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE INCUBATION SUITES.

The chip comes first. There are six new students-five others and me. I don't have a chance to learn their names or commit their faces to memory. We're met at the academy's entrance and immediately ushered downstairs. I'll admit it's a bit of a shock. I wasn't aware that there was a downstairs. It wasn't on the tour I was given. I start to wonder what else Mandel didn't tell me. But then I remind myself that it doesn't make any difference. The only thing that matters is that he has proof that Jude's death was no accident. I'll go wherever Mandel wants me to go, as long as I get it.

Three stories underground, we enter a long hallway. A sign reads infirmary. To our right is a white wall with six doors. The left wall is raw Manhattan bedrock. The hall ends at a pair of steel doors that are secured by a biometric lock. There's an unlabeled buzzer beside it. I'd love to find out if anyone's home.

One by one, the five kids ahead of me disappear to the right. The white doors close before I can figure out what lies beyond them. Finally it's my turn. The room I enter looks like a doctor's office.

A man in a lab coat and surgical mask is scrolling through a file on the computer screen that's anchored to the wall. "Take off everything from the waist up and sit here," he orders, pointing to an examination table. Then he disappears and a woman enters carrying a metal tray. It holds a scalpel, a computer chip, a needle and thread, and a few other instruments I don't recognize. She straps on a pair of plastic goggles and begins to swab my forearm with iodine. The operation can't be as simple as Mandel made it sound if the lady's worried she'll get blood in her eyes.

"Are you allergic to lidocaine?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say.

"We'll find out soon," she responds.

The anesthesia numbs my left arm from the elbow down. I watch as she chooses a scalpel from the tray. I plan to observe the entire operation.

"You're not squeamish?" the woman asks before she makes the first incision.

"No," I tell her, and she pauses to make a note on the office computer.

It takes about ten minutes to insert the chip. When she's finished, I examine the three stitches in my forearm and the small, square bump beneath them.

"Keep it clean. Don't try to remove the chip. You could rupture an artery and bleed to death."

"Okay."

She leaves the tray and instruments in the sink. As soon as she washes her hands, she passes me a paper gown. "Take off your pants, shoes, and underwear. Dr. Giles will be back shortly."

I'm pretty sure that the strip searches in Singapore prisons are less thorough than the examinations here at the Mandel Academy. After the probing I receive, I half expect the doctor to climb onto the table and cuddle up beside me. But he's not done yet. The first thing I thought he'd check, he seems to have left for last. He peels the filthy bandage off my cheekbone and begins to clean the gunk from my wound.

"Didn't the doctor at the hospital warn you about infection?" he asks.