Page 37 of Real

I sit back in my seat. Manny’s plan is great, there’s just one problem. “What if we get disconnected, and I can smell and taste that he’s gone? What then?”

“You said he had an ankle tracker, right?” Manny suggests.

“Yeah, but they can cut it off.”

Manny bites his lip. “They could, but I don’t think they will. The trackers Illusors wear are magical. They kill anyone who tries to remove them.”

“Aren’t those trackers welded by polar bear shifters? That must mean they’re metal. Buddy’s is plastic. They’ll be able to tell the difference.”

If they cut his tracker off and disappear with him, everything will be over for Buddy.

Buddy reaches over and grasps my forearm. “Manny said their trackers ring every time they take a step. That means wherever they go, people know they’re Illusors because of their tracker.”

“Right. That’s the point.”

He looks away from me. “If people won’t trust Illusors or give them a job, they must hate that tracker more than anything in the world.”

I wish I could take away the sadness in his voice. Buddy relates far too much with the Illusors. His plastic face is just as bad as a bell. It makes people treat him differently too.

“I think cutting off a tracker will probably feel like a big deal to Illusors,” Manny says. “I don’t think we should worry about it. Visiting the Den will have risks no matter what. All we can do is try to minimize them.”

The whole point of this is the hope that the Illusors will have a solution for Buddy. I have to remember that. There’s no point in protecting Buddy from the Den of Dreams, only to take him to court tomorrow still made of plastic. Like Candlewick said, this is our Hail Mary.

All Hail Marys come with a bit of risk.

16

Buddy

The New York City on TV has cute coffee shops on every corner and taxi cabs that stop for you when you raise your hand.

The real New York City smells like car exhaust and isn’t romantic at all. Everyone seems to be wearing the same black coat, and they’re all walking too fast like worker bees that are part of the same hive. They mutter swear words and shove their shoulders into us as we keep a much slower pace on the sidewalk. Walking with my right foot taped to Timothy’s left foot was difficult to get used to at first.

I’m back in my hoodie. Manny said it would be safer for me to travel around the city that way. At least this time I’m wearing a scarf and a face mask, so I don’t have to keep my head ducked.

Unfortunately, the cabs only stop for you if you pay them money. Timothy is using the rest of his savings to get us into the Den of Dreams, so we took the subway. I don’t like the subway. It gives people too much time to look at me. A woman took a picture of me with her phone. It was probably because Timothy and I had our hands and feet taped together, but it might have been my plastic forehead.

Hopefully Dorian won’t figure out where I am.

“Are you sure you want to spend all this money?” I ask Timothy as we approach a tall building with a pair of muscular alpha men guarding the door. They are both wearing blue eye masks and have metal anklets with a big metal box hanging off the side on their right legs. Their suits seemed to be designed to tuck into the tracker, like they want them to be visible.

Maybe they don’t hate them after all.

Timothy squeezes my hand and leans down to whisper, “You’re worth all the money in the world,” into my ear.

Butterflies dance in my stomach. Does he really believe that?

We couldn’t make love again before we left for the city. Timothy had to transfer funds to his checking account, and it took time to travel to Manhattan. I’m worried Timothy will be left penniless after this. He’s already offered me so much.

Maybe if the Illusors can help me, I’ll be able to pay him back.

Above the thick metal doors guarded by the two Illusor men, there’s an awning lined with jingle bells. I assumed there would be a sign saying Den of Dreams or maybe some fancy lights. Instead, the building looks like a standard skyscraper. The windows are all dark with black-out curtains, but otherwise, it would be impossible to guess that we’re about to walk into an illusion den.

“Name,” the man on the right says. Both of the men are blond and have blue eyes.

“Timothy McCall and Buddy… just Buddy.”

“I need to see both your IDs and faces,” The man says.

---