Sister Assassin (13 page)

“When?” she asks, and her voice is breathless and hopeful. I'm drowning. I'm losing her, and I don't know how or why.

“How soon can you pack?”

She jumps up with a squeal and I hear her run out of the room. “Just the basics,” James yells. “We can buy anything you need.”

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“What you can't.” I hear him stand. He walks closer to me, puts a hand on my shoulder. “I'm going to make her better.”

I shrug his hand off, glare up at his voice. “How? By making sick jokes about things no one should ever have to remember? And why do you want her ‘better'? So you can use her again? You saw how well that turned out for the last person in charge here.”

“Careful there, Annabelle. You can't
pretend
to not care about what Fia did. You've either got to really not care at all, or you've got to care. She knows you're somewhere in between, and her own guilt is already more than she can handle.”

“Don't act like you know her! She's my sister!”

“In case you haven't noticed, you lost your claim to her as soon as you accepted the Keane Foundation's generosity. She's not yours. After your desperate call to my father, he decided to give me a bigger role in his work. She's my responsibility now. Don't worry. I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

It can't be my fault that he's here. That's not what I wanted when I talked to his horrible father. “I won't let you have her.”

“You don't have any choice.” He sounds almost sorry when he says this. He is a liar.

“If you touch her—if you so much as touch her—” I am trembling with rage. “Don't you dare. Don't you dare ever forget how young she is or how broken she is.”

His voice isn't sorry anymore. “How could I? And how could she, with such a kind sister to remind her that she is hopelessly broken.”

“I'm ready!” Her voice is bright. I hear something thunk to the ground. Her bag.

I whip around. “Don't go! You can't go!”

“Aren't you coming?” she asks.

“I'm sorry,” James says, and he walks away from me. Is he touching her? Is he touching her? “But my father would only agree to let me take you if Annie stayed here and kept up her studies. And she needs to be here in case they have a breakthrough for her eye treatments.”

“Oh.” There's a pause, and then her voice . . . oh, her voice is dead again, it's coming from somewhere so deep inside and far away I can barely tell it's hers. “I guess I'll stay then.”

“No.” I choke on the word, paste a smile on my face, glad I can't see what she looks like, wishing she couldn't see me, either. She'll know I'm lying. She always knows when I'm lying. So she knows I'm lying every time I tell her that what she did doesn't matter, that we're going to be okay, that we're going to get out of here eventually. Please, Fia, believe this lie. “You should go. You've earned a vacation. Just bring me back a present. Besides, I'll have Eden.”

“Afraid not,” James says. “She's coming, too.”

Alone. He's stealing my sister and my only friend. I'm going to be here all alone. I force my smile even bigger. “Well, then they'll both owe me a present.”

“Are you sure?” Fia asks.

I am not sure. I don't trust James. I think he's even more dangerous than his father because he is bright and handsome and funny. I'm trying to draw her out with love and hope, but this place kills those. His voice has those extra layers, that anger simmering under the surface. I know Fia connects to it. I know it draws her in and comforts her in a way I never can. If I let her walk out that door with him, I'm worried I'll never get her back.

But James was right. I lost her the minute I brought her here with me. And if he can salvage something of who she used to be, no matter what his game is, I have to let him. I won't waste this time. I'm going to figure out what, exactly, is going on here. Because if I understand the what, I can understand the why, and if I understand those I can figure out the way to get us both free to a better future.

“Have fun. I love you. Don't forget your promises.” I jerk my head in James's direction. No kissing. No drinking. She'll remember. “And don't plan anything without me.”

She runs and hugs me—she hasn't hugged me in so long, and she is too thin, and taller, and I don't recognize her body anymore but maybe, just maybe, her voice will come back—and then she is gone and I am alone.

JAMES. (MY HEAD, MY HEAD, IT HURTS SO MUCH.)

James.

Where is James?

Where am I?

I open my eyelids; they are sticky and they don't want to open and they hurt and the light—

Stabs of pain. Nausea roils through me. I don't want to feel like this, I can't feel like this, I can't remember why I feel like this. If I feel like this, I can't tell if something is wrong.

James.
Oh, no
. James.

I force my eyes open. I'm in a room. Alone. No windows (no escape points, no glass to use as a weapon), no furniture (maybe they have heard of my reputation with furniture), just smooth white walls and hard, dark-gray industrial carpet. And a door.

I stand. My head swims and the room tilts and swirls around me, and Annie was right, she is always right—I should not have gone dancing, I should not have gotten drunk, I should not have kissed James.

James said he loves me. He was probably lying.

I do not regret kissing James.

If they have hurt James, I will kill them.

Kill them kill them—wait. Annie. If I'm gone, Annie's not safe. What if James is with me? What if he can't tell them that I was taken, that I didn't run? Oh, no, Annie. Annie!

The door is locked. I scream and smash my hand against the handle, then slam my shoulder into it. I careen off, the room still spinning, but I have to get out. I can't lose Annie because I wanted to dance and kiss James. How could I have been so stupid and selfish? Everything was already screwed up; we were already in trouble. I can't believe I did this. I did this. Again. How many times will Annie have to see her own death because of me?

And Adam. I picture him checking his email, frantically, never hearing from me. He'll give up on me. He'll go back to his old life, and they'll find him, and they'll kill him. I've failed Annie and I've failed Adam. I destroy anything that's good.

Door opens inward. Can't break through. If I kick the doorknob off (no shoes, I will break a few bones in my foot), they'll have to take down the door to get in. Lots of advance warning, and they can't keep the door shut again.

The hinges. I drop down and look at the bottom one. Simple straight metal pin down the center. I tug. It's painted shut. I can probably break the seal with my fingernails, but it'll take a while. I wish I had a tool. Something. Anything.

My fingers go to my hair, to the tiny bobby pin I tucked in last night to keep a twist of hair back from my face. I smile. I knew that was a good idea.

The top hinge pin will be a problem; I have nothing to stand on to reach that high. If I can get the bottom one out, I'll have options, though.

Break the doorknob, pull on the door to warp it, maybe make enough room to crawl out? It would take a lot time. If they're watching, they will know before I finish.

Stop! Stop planning. Just get the pin.

My fingers hurt and my head pounds and Annie, oh, Annie, I'm so sorry. How many ways can I fail you in one lifetime before it's too many, before I can't fix it? I sit back, lean my head against the wall, let myself cry. The weight of Annie's life pushes my shoulders down, wraps itself around me, sneaks into my heart and my lungs until I am suffocating.

I wipe under my eyes, wipe above them, try to get as much of the makeup off as I can. Try to look like a seventeen-year-old girl who is scared and alone and helpless.

Only one of those is a lie.

I get the pin out just as I hear the click of the lock on the other side of the door, then the slide of a dead bolt (dead bolt, glad I didn't try to kick in the doorknob). Rush or play dead? Rush or play dead?

I hide the hinge pin in my fist and scramble backward into the corner. They'll be most ready, most wary when they open the door. I'll have another chance. I curl into a ball, hug my bare legs to my chest. I'm glad I was crying, it will add to the look.

I stare up with my big, innocent eyes (they don't know about my hands; my eyes are my best liars). The door opens.

It's the girl, the one with brown hair whose car I stole. And behind her the man with the stubble. Cole. So much for feigning helplessness. I stand, keeping my hands fisted. They both walk into the room; neither has weapons. That was smart of them. Too bad. Cole has a slight limp (I wonder where my knife went; I liked that knife).

“Hello, Sofia.” The girl has a soft voice. It's kind and cautious, but she's still looking at me in a strange way, not the way she should. She should be scared or angry. She has—what? A sense of wonder? Compassion? And still that recognition.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say. “I kind of had a lot to drink last night.” I take a step forward, let myself wobble as much as I should.

“Please stay where you are.” Cole's voice is no-nonsense, and he . . . Hmmm. I don't feel any threat coming off him, not like before. He's not dangerous to me right now. Interesting. In fact, the only thing I'm worried about right now is Annie.

“Okay.” I lean back against the wall, narrow my eyes at both of them. “I don't have very much time. Why am I here? Where is James?”

“We left James on the street.” Cole sees the shift in my expression and quickly adds, “Alive.”

So they weren't after James. It was about me.

“We found you because of James,” the woman says. “We linked him to the school and have been tracking him for a while. So when I saw him at the club and recognized you, we finally had the break we needed.” She pauses, frowns. “You're very hard to see.”

Well, that's wonderful. She's a Seer. I should have known. “It's a talent.”

“What are you? We know you're with Keane's school. And that you don't want to be. We know about your sister—”

“You know nothing about my sister,” I snarl.

She continues on, softer. “We know that you were both taken five years ago. But in your case we don't know why. I've seen you. A few times. Just flashes, just enough to know you're important without knowing why. What do you do?”

“You mean am I a Seer or a Reader or a Feeler? They'd be the eyes, ears, and soul of an operation? I guess you could say I'm the hands.”

I spring forward, grab the woman, spin her around between Cole and me, the pin out of my hand and pressed against her neck. (Can't tap tap tap my hand—I don't want to add another tap but I will; if it saves Annie, I will.) “It's not sharp but I can push it in, all the way. She'll bleed to death.”

“It's okay,” she says. She sounds remarkably calm. I kind of like her, actually. Cole raises his hands and backs a step away.

I angle us toward the door, keeping her body between Cole and me, always between us. “I don't want to hurt you. But my sister needs me. If I don't get back there, they'll hurt her. So we're going to go now.”

“You're safe here.” She is a remarkable liar. Her pulse isn't even fast. She's not panicking. I realize with a start she isn't lying, or at least she doesn't think she is. “I promise. And I'm watching for Annie. I'll know if she's in trouble. I would never risk her.”

“She's not yours to risk. She's my responsibility.” I back us through the door, fast, look both ways down the hall. It's clear. Blank. Fluorescent lights' monotonous hum the only sound. Right, I should go right. “Where are we? Are we still in Chicago?”

“No, we're in St. Louis.”

I swear. That'll take longer. But as soon as I get out, I can call James and tell him (he knows, he has to know that I didn't do this, it wasn't my idea) and I'll email Adam and get back and Annie will be safe and I have no plans at all until something works to give us a way out.

“Sofia,” she says as we walk, body to body, around a corner. There's a door with one of those small brown signs indicating it's a stairway. This place looks like an old office building, but no one is here. “I want to help you.”

“Generally I prefer my help not to come in the form of being attacked, knocked out, and thrown in the back of a van.”

She laughs. Why is she laughing? She's crazy. “You'll have to excuse our caution. After our last encounter with you, we thought it best to talk in a controlled environment.”

(Control, control, control. Control got Clarice killed.)

(Control didn't get Clarice killed. I killed Clarice.)

“How's that working out for you?” I say. I look behind my shoulder again—Cole isn't following us, that's bad, I'd know where he was if he were following us. Then the door to the stairwell opens and I pull back against the wall, press the pin against her neck.

And Adam—big smile, gray eyes, soft fingers, gentle Adam, safe and hiding in Chicago Adam—walks out into the hall.

He actually smiles when he sees me—his first reaction is to smile, what is wrong with him? I am so shocked that I drop my hand. I don't want him to see what I would have done to this woman, don't want him to see my hands any more than he already has.

“Fia!” He closes the few feet between us with his arms out and I tense (I don't want to hurt him, I never wanted to hurt him), and then he wraps his long arms around me in a hug. And my head doesn't scream
wrong, wrong, wrong
.

Oh, Adam. When will you stop messing everything up? And why do I keep letting you?