Chaz:

The marker lay on the table between us, a small chunk of glittering hardware that suddenly seemed more important than the trillion-dollar resurrection monopoly that surrounded us. For some reason I flashed on a Babysitter mantra that one of my teachers had drilled into me years ago.

Trust nobody during Week One.

I watched Angelique from the corner of my eye, saw her fumble at the controls, her hands slipping and her eyes blinking. I could already tell that she was going to fail this test—the easiest of the bunch. Last night she had almost wandered off with a meathead stranger who probably would have sold her before the sun came up. This was beginning to look almost as bad as a black-market jump. I wondered if she might have been involved in one of those suicide cults in her previous life—those bottom-feeder freaks who loved dancing on the knife edge between death and resurrection.

Meanwhile, my brother frowned and pulled the marker closer. He put on a pair of glasses. “What do you mean this marker isn’t one of ours?” he said. “We’ve got a patent, nobody else is allowed to—”

“It was made by the government.”

I continued to watch his face, saw his brow furrow, saw something resolute in the angle of his jaw.

“Where did you get this?” Russ demanded. “Chaz, you’re not involved in something illegal, are you?”

“Are you crazy? I got it off my Newbie. I thought these clones were supposed to be wiped clean before your boys turned them over to me.”

He studied me for a long, silent moment. “They are.”

“Well, this one’s on Day Two and she had government hardware jammed neat and pretty in her hand. On top of that, that jughead from the bar followed us last night, like he was after something.” I paused, leaning closer. “And believe it or not, his trail ended right here. At Fresh Start. So why is the government suddenly interested in what we’re doing?”

Russ crossed his arms, let a slow grin slide over his cheeks, brought his I-should-have-been-a-politician dimples out of hiding. “Do you seriously think this is the first time that the government, or any of the myriad resurrection cults, have tried to get a piece of what we have?”

“Not like this,” I said. I decided to toss in a wild card, see if it would shake him up. “Is there some sort of secret project going on here? Something I should know about?”

He shook his head, then laughed. For a brief, surreal moment all my fears bobbed to the surface like dead bodies after a shipwreck. I wondered if he had sold us all out, if everything Mom and Dad had worked for was going to vanish in an instant, if the Feds were going to walk in.

If life and death as we knew it was going to change. Forever.

But that was ridiculous. I mean, Russ cared as much about Fresh Start as Dad ever did. At least, that was what I’d always thought.

“Where y’at, Russ?” I said finally. Then I repeated my question. “Is there something you want to tell me?” I tried to read between the lines, tried to figure out if his deep, dark secret was life threatening.

“No.” His eyes met mine. “I mean, we’re knee-deep in a senate investigation about that Nine-Timer claim that society is going to collapse in on itself in a few years. And we’re getting pressure from the Right to Death committee—they want a census to track the success rate of jumpers. And there are a number of hot pockets in the Middle East, places where almost anything could trigger a Nine-Timer scenario if we can’t get it contained in time. But it’s really all just life-after-life business as usual.” He paused, suddenly reflective. “What did your Newbie say about the chip?”

“Angelique. Her name’s Angelique Baptiste, and I decided to ask you about it first.”

“Good idea.” He pursed his lips, then stared down at the marker again. “Why don’t you leave this with me? I’ll look into it.”

I forced a grin, not quite ready to turn this over to him. I picked up the bag, stuffed it back in my pocket.

Then Russell took a sharp breath, as if he just remembered something. “Sorry, with everything going on the past couple of days, I almost forgot.” He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it on the table—an envelope with almost illegible printing.

To Uncle Chaz

“What’s this?” I asked as I picked it up.

“An invitation to Isabelle’s birthday party. She wanted to have it early this year, didn’t want to share it with all the monsters on Halloween.”

I hesitated. I loved my niece like she was my own kid, but after last night I wasn’t sure if my Newbie was ready for social gatherings.

“Go ahead and bring the Newbie—I mean, Angelique,” Russ said with a flippant wave of his hand. “She may as well learn that families aren’t as wonderful as everybody thinks. Maybe it’ll even make her glad she doesn’t have one.”

“Maybe she does have one.”

“Yeah, and maybe I have an island off the coast of India. Look, just be there tonight at six and let’s not fight, okay?”

I could tell that there was more he wanted to say, saw a flash of emotion, heard his voice catch in his throat. I pretty much had it figured out, but I gave him some space. Let him say it.

“Mom’s gonna be there,” he said finally, “and I think she’s bringing Dad with her.”