Between Shadows (7 page)

That these people are professionals makes it all the more real—and terrifying. At the Academy, I’m the best. But out in the real world? I don’t know.

I punch in the code to our room, my finger jabbing at the numbers. I swing open the door—

Grace lies in bed, her back to me.

I look down at my watch. It’s eleven-thirty p.m.
I completely forgot about the ice cream. I sit down on the edge of my bed, staring at my sister’s sleeping body. Minutes pass while I sit there watching her. She looks so young, so innocent, incapable of the things I’ve done.

If Luke’s right, then it’s only a matter of time before Grace’s life will be in danger. If those men were there for me, her life already is. But if he’s wrong and I go up against the Academy, there will be no place on Earth for us to hide.

I sit there for hours watching her sleep.

###

I’m in the room again. Fear slides down my spine like a snake slithering its way through my body.

I hate it here. It’s cold and dark. There’s a musty smell in the air and something metallic that I’m afraid to identify—afraid to claim as mine.

I’ve bled in this room.

Without any sunlight coming into the room, it’s impossible to know what time it is. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be here forever. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been here forever. Sometimes I wish I would die here.

I can’t cry. He told me not to cry. But that was hours ago. He knows I hate the dark, knows the fear that fills me. It’s always so silent—like a tomb. The silence is my punishment, the darkness my hell.

He is the devil.

I bite down on my lip, my arms reaching down to grip the sides of the chair. The cool metal is familiar, too familiar. It’s always the same room, always the same chair. Dried blood crusts against the metal, rubbing against my fingers.

My blood.

I fight back against the scream, trapping it in my throat. It’s worse when I make noise. I have to obey him, do exactly as he says, or she will be punished. And he’ll make me watch.

I grip harder, welcoming the feel of the metal cutting into my skin. It’s the only thing that blocks the numbness. The only thing that makes me feel alive when death is all I know. Sometimes I want to give in to the death; sometimes I wish that life would slip from my body so I can escape this hell that he has created. But sometimes I yearn to fight—to inflict pain and exact revenge.

Sometimes I yearn to kill.

My stomach groans, the sound echoing throughout the room. How long has it been since I’ve eaten? Breakfast? I can’t even remember. It’s all just a gaping hole, a yawning memory.

Time stops in the darkness. The only currencies here are pain and fear.

I struggle to conjure up the image of my last meal, to remember the details, but the memory slips out of my grasp.

The door opens with an ominous creak.

And all I feel is fear.

I wake, my body covered in sweat, the sheets tangled around me. My heart pounds as my gaze jerks to the alarm clock next to my bed. 

It’s two a.m.

Across the room Grace sleeps soundly, her body curled in a peaceful pose. 

I sit up, struggling to push the dream out of my mind. It’s not the first time I’ve had it, and it won’t be the last. I’m not even sure “dream” is the right word. I fear “memory” is more appropriate.

I always wake up at the same moment, just as the door creaks open. Just before the darkness consumes me.

I was Alexandra then. I just wish I knew who was on the other side.

Chapter Eight

The dream leaves a chill in my body that’s still there the next day.
I can’t help myself; I go to Knightsbridge.

“Excuse me—can you tell me where Father Murphy is?”

The nun smiles at me, her expression kind. “He’s in the back office.”

Face-to-face? Definitely not an option.

“Could you ask him to meet me in the confessional?”

“It’s not his confession time, dear.”

“Please.”

A soft smile slips onto her weathered face. “I’ll see if I can find him.” 

“Thanks.”

I walk to the confessional booth, struggling to ease my nerves. Three women pray in the pews; an altar boy lights candles in the back corner. No one looks my way. I open the door, closing it behind me with a soft click. I sit down on the hard bench, keeping my eyes trained on the partition. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not sure if what I’m about to do will even work. But I have to try. 

A scuffle sounds on the other side. 

Familiar Irish brogue fills the confessional. “You asked to speak with me?”

“I need help.”

He releases a deep sigh that tells me all I need to know—he recognizes me. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not me. My sister.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen.”

“Your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Do you have guardians?”

“That’s not important.” There are some rules I’m not prepared to break.

Never talk about the Academy.

“Are they a danger to you or your sister?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

I’m not entirely sure. Being here—this conversation—is immensely dangerous. Yet here I am.

“If I brought my sister here…if she was in danger…would you be able to protect her? Is there somewhere safe she could stay?”

“What kind of danger are we talking about?”

“I can’t say.”

“Physical?”

The noose tightens. “Yes.”

“Is her life in danger?”

There’s a pressure building in my chest, squeezing in the vicinity of my heart. “It may be.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t trust me. I need more information about your situation. Who are you afraid of? Who do you need protection from?”

“I can’t.”

The Academy has powerful connections. I can’t risk of alerting the authorities.

I gather my bag, frustration coursing through my body. I knew this was a long shot; I expected him to ask questions.

“I’m sorry I bothered you. I shouldn’t have come here.” Shouldn’t have brought the danger to Grace. I can’t afford to tell him more than I already have, even if it’s not enough.

“I want to help you, but you’re not giving me anything to go on. You talk about needing to protect your sister. What about you? You tell me the danger could endanger her life. Are you at risk as well?”

At this, I almost laugh. “I don’t need protecting.” At least, not the kind of protection he could give me.

“Don’t you?”

I doubt he can imagine what I’m capable of. “I’ve been on my own for a while now.”

“You told me your parents died. Do you think this is the life they would have wanted for you? For her?” His voice is low, now, soothing almost.

They taught us all about this in interrogation class years ago. He’s trying to make me comfortable, attempting to lull me into giving away more information than I should. Maybe it would work if the mere mention of my parents didn’t send a chill down my spine.

Do I remember them?

Fire.
I remember fire. The heat of it—like sticking my body in a furnace, sweat dripping down my back. The smell of it—oak and smoke, the smell of burning wood, papers, lives.

“I don’t want to talk about my parents.”

I
can’t
talk about my parents.

###

The air is crisp when I step out of the church. I bundle deeper into my leather jacket, using the collar as a block against the chill. My pace quickens as I walk down the steps. It’s still early out, but I only have two hours before I have to be back at the Academy. Just enough time to do a little research.

I walk over to the lot where my motorcycle is parked. The Knightsbridge church has the added advantage of being just a mile or two away from Arnoff’s school. Even if Luke is telling the truth, I need to proceed like everything is business as usual until I can come up with a better plan. I can’t afford for the Director to get suspicious.

I hop on my motorcycle, pulling the helmet over my head. I look around, searching for anyone who seems out of place. London is remarkably quiet.

I ride past a glitzy department store, swiveling my head to gaze at the big window displays. I’ve never been inside, but I can only imagine the kind of people that must shop there. Everything in the windows is glossy and shiny, the kind of slick elegance that makes me nervous.

I ride on past shops and restaurants, watching as a few people trickle down the street. One girl walks down the road in a black coat and high-heeled leather boots. Her red hair is tied back in some kind of complicated twist. She looks a few years older than me. As I pass her, I wonder what it would be like to be that girl, to just be out shopping rather than on my way to case a job. Whatever she’s going to do, I doubt it involves plotting to kill someone.

I turn left on Kensington Road, passing the park on my right. I veer off the road, through one of the gates leading into Hyde Park. A motorcycle hanging around Arnoff’s fancy school will be noticeable. A girl on foot? Not so much.

I ride to the edge of the park, leaving my bike near one of the large iron gates. I lock up my bike helmet next to it and grab the camera out of my messenger bag, hoping I look like a tourist before I set off in the direction of the school.

“I wondered when you would show up.”

I whirl around, my heart racing in my chest.

There he is.

###

Luke sits on a bench, his elbows propped against his thighs, his dark hair covered by a baseball cap. Clearly he’s going for the tourist look. A sophisticated camera dangles from his wrist.

“What are you doing here?” For someone who was just stabbed, he seems remarkably together. 

“I said I’d help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it can’t hurt.” 

“How’s your injury?” I ask, gesturing in the direction of his stomach.

“Better.” Luke hesitates. “Thanks.”

The word hangs between us, both of us seemingly taken aback by it. Gratitude isn’t an emotion frequently expressed at the Academy—there’s little need for it. We’re assets, which means everything about us—our bodies, our minds—is designed to handle our assignments. There is little-to-nothing left over after that.

“After what you said last night…” My voice trails off. “I didn’t think you would be interested in helping.”

Luke shrugs, his gaze hooded by dark sunglasses. My fingers itch to remove them. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

“You’re not angry anymore?”

“Oh, I’m still angry. But right now you’re the lesser of evils. And you did help me last night. I’m ready to call it even for now if you are.” He extends his hand to me. “Deal?”

If Luke is right, he’s a dangerous ally to have. If someone is after him, the last thing I need is to attract attention by being linked to him. But he’s also the best asset I know. I need to find out if the Academy is a safe place for my sister and I’m running out of options.

I reach my hand out, a jolt hitting me at the touch of his skin against mine. He knows I hate being touched, but instead of removing his hand, he lingers there, his fingers stroking the inside of my wrist. Despite the crisp air around us, his hands are surprisingly warm, and despite the strength in his body, his touch surprisingly gentle. For one moment, I pretend everything is different between us. But it’s just a moment and then it’s gone.

I pull my hand away, my eyes narrowing slightly.

He jerks his head toward the street running behind Kensington Palace. “Ready?”

I follow him to the edge of the park. “How are we going to play this?”

“We’re tourists taking photos. From what I remember from our photography class, your skills aren’t great. I’ll play the doting boyfriend and take your picture. If we stand over by that tree, I should be able to get some good shots of the school.”

I ignore the jab about my photography skills, my gaze scanning the area. He plays it exactly like I would, minus the boyfriend part. We walk toward the edge of the park, barely a foot of space between us. The school looms ahead.

It’s pretty much what I expected. Big. Fancy. Secure like a fortress. I note everything—things that may be important, things I will dissect later and analyze for potential security weaknesses. There’s always a way in; you just have to find it.

They start us off on memory games when we’re young, when we first come to the Academy. Our memories are our most useful tools; sometimes our minds see things our eyes miss. We’re trained in the art of deception; we’re also trained on how to avoid being deceived.

“They have cameras on the roof,” I murmur to Luke, turning my head to the side in an attempt to avoid the cameras getting a full-on shot. Living in a city like London with cameras on practically every street corner is the bane of any asset’s existence.

The Academy teaches us all about camera angles.

“Got it.” Luke’s tone is clipped, his attention focused on the building ahead of us. He’s in assignment mode now. Whatever issues he may have with the Academy, he’s too good of an asset to forget his training. We both are.

Despite the tension between us, there’s something comforting about working with an asset like Luke. I always know what to expect with him; I know he’ll do a good job. He’s the kind of asset you can rely on—with an assignment, at least. Life is something else entirely.

He nudges me forward, continuing our security sweep of the perimeter. I spot a camera on each of the front corners of the building. There are probably two more on the back of the building. The cameras rotate, sweeping to capture the students’ movements in the courtyard below. I count off in my head, marking the time between each of the camera rotations. They’re fast. We’ll have to be faster.

We walk slowly. Luke closes the gap between us, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He tucks me into the curve of his arm.

“Security’s tight,” he whispers against my ear. “Did you notice the guys on the ground?”

I did notice. I also noticed that he keeps touching me. 

I turn my head away from him, my eyes hidden by a pair of dark, oversized sunglasses. He continues whispering in my ear, empty words meant to appear like we’re just a normal couple out on a date. Sure enough, six guys dressed in plain clothes surround the building. They’re clearly meant to look ordinary and blend in, but they couldn’t stick out more if they tried. Muscles bulge; earpieces are tucked discretely in their ears.               

“Must be the school’s private security force,” Luke comments.

“I bet some of the higher profile students have their own security.”

His breath ghosts against my skin. “Definitely.”

Luke pulls away from me. His voice carries loudly. “Go stand over there, babe. The light will look great in the photos.”

I’ll definitely have to pay him back for his “babe” comment later, but the space between us is welcome. I move to a spot on the other side of the street opposite the school.

“That’s a great pose,” Luke calls out, his voice doing some strange parody of my American accent.

I snort.

I stand with my hand on my hip, allowing Luke to snap away. And with that snap of the camera, I’m someone else again. I flip my hair over my shoulders, straightening my back and thrusting my breasts and hips out, mimicking the pose I see on all the girls shopping in Knightsbridge with their glossy carrier bags and expensive coats.

Luke coughs.

I ham it up for the camera. Luke calls out to me, encouraging me to keep posing, teasing me, and I can’t help but wonder what role he’s playing. Does he slip these other identities on over his skin like I do?

My gaze wanders through the park, memorizing escape routes, acclimating to my surroundings. At the end of the day, no matter who I’m pretending to be, I’m never anything other than who I really am—

An asset. An assassin.

A boy runs on the path in front of me, dressed casually in gray sweats and a ragged gray T-shirt. Two men run behind him on either side, their bodies bulky, their gazes moving from side to side, assessing the park’s inhabitants much as I do. They couldn’t be easier to spot if they wore flashing signs proclaiming them bodyguards.