Sister Assassin (16 page)

I drop onto the couch. “But she should know.” It makes it better. It does.

“I think you're the only one whose guilt is eased by knowing about Clarice. Don't pretend it will help Fia. Now, she's sleeping and I hate to wake her. Is there a message you want me to deliver?”

“No,” I whisper, and hang up the phone.

I'M SITTING IN A LOBBY LIKE ROOM (FIRST FLOOR,
two exits—one we came through, the other probably leads outside faster—five windows, freestanding chairs that can break a window or a head) on a couch with Adam. Sarah—brown hair brown eyes is named Sarah—brought me a cup of coffee, a muffin, and some aspirin. No one has a gun on me. No one is expecting me to run.

And . . . I don't feel like I should.

“Well, I'm confused.” I lean back into the corner of the couch and tuck my feet up underneath me. I see Adam's eyes flick to my legs and then away as his face reddens because he is embarrassed he looked, and it is adorable. Also it makes me wish I had a longer skirt on. Or pants. Then he wouldn't have to be embarrassed. I want to be a girl he doesn't have to be embarrassed around.

I wonder what it would be like to be with a boy who blushes when he looks at my skin.

“I was confused when they found me, too,” Adam says, grinning. He grins with his whole face. It's kind of beautiful.

“Yeah, about that. What happened to being dead?” I narrow my eyes and punch him lightly in the shoulder. “I want a refund. I gave you all my money.”

“Oh!” He reddens further and stands up. “It's in my bag, I'll go—”

I roll my eyes. He's so sincere. “Kidding. Sit down. I didn't want you dead. This works, too, I guess. I just want to know how you got here. You had very specific instructions.”

“We found him yesterday afternoon. I was watching very closely for him, and I saw him going to the Chicago library constantly to check his email.”

Dumb Fia. DUMB. I can't believe I forgot to tell him not to plan anything and not to be predictable. Tap tap tap my finger on my bare leg, I am so glad he's not dead.

“So you guys weren't trying to kill him in that alley.” I glance over at Cole (sitting in a chair—not close like Sarah but near one of the doors—watching the whole room like he isn't watching it). “Sorry about that.”

He smiles, but, unlike Adam's, his is a lie and doesn't touch his eyes. “You didn't know. And you weren't the only one who drew blood.” He looks pointedly at my bandaged shoulder, which still hurts but not as much as my head and my head is entirely my own fault.

“Lucky shot.”

This time his smile does touch his eyes.

“So, what do you want with Adam?” I ask.

“We're very interested in his brain research. Why did the school want him dead? This seems like the exact thing they would be interested in, too. Right now they're hit-and-miss with finding girls, but if what Adam is working on pans out, it will give us a direct link to women with psychic abilities. It doesn't make sense for them to order a hit.”

Because Keane wasn't behind the hit. Annie was. “Keane's going on advice from psychics. They aren't exactly reliable.” I don't mean it as a dig against Sarah and cringe after I say it, but she nods.

“James Keane?”

I frown. “No. His dad.”

“His dad?”

“Yeah, his dad. James isn't in charge.”

It's Sarah's turn to frown. “You mean James doesn't run the school? He inherited it when his mother died, and we thought . . .”

Oh, perfect. They have no idea just how far and deep Keane's reach goes. They're still focused on the school. What about the stealing, the spying, the blowing people up? I don't have time for this. “I want to know who you are and why you're following James and looking for me.”

Sarah crosses her legs and clasps both her hands around her knee. She has pretty hands, safe hands. “As you already know, I'm a psychic, or a Seer. When I was fifteen, a woman named Dayna Keane found me and invited me to attend her school. That night I had a dream that horrible things would happen if I went, so I declined. But I kept seeing the school and the changes there in visions. I've made it my goal to disrupt their operations, to rescue girls from them, and to prevent new girls from being manipulated. I think Adam can help me with that. And I'd like you to, if you will.”

“How much good do you do?” They don't know nearly enough, but I want her to be real and honest and right. I want this to be true. But it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel wrong, not the way the school always felt wrong wrong wrong, but it doesn't feel right. I don't feel sick, my heart isn't racing, I'm not falling. But I'm not . . . sure. If this was right, wouldn't I be sure? Wouldn't I know in my core? Wouldn't I feel that invisible something tugging me this direction?

“As much as we can,” Sarah answers. “We're still trying to figure out exactly how far the school's reach extends. We don't know what their agenda is; we've never been able to track a girl once she leaves the school, though we suspect high-level placement through money and networking. We're focusing on prevention now, mostly. Keeping girls out to begin with.”

“That's nice.” I stand and walk to the window. It's a beautiful day outside. Clear and blue, and the trees have almost finished budding with new green life. The street is wide and lined with other blank office buildings and the odd chain restaurant. “Can I leave?”

“What?”

“Right now. Can I leave? Can I walk out the door?”

Sarah's voice is soft. “Do you want to?”

“I'd like a hot dog. Adam? Will you go for a walk with me?” I turn and look at him and hope. Hope that a boy like Adam will go for a walk with a girl like me.

“Oh, uh, sure.” He stands, sticks his gentle hands in his pockets.

“Would you like a jacket? And shoes?” Sarah asks. I smile and nod. She takes her own off and hands them to me. The jacket is black and warm. The shoes are too big but only just. She is really going to let me walk out. Free and clear. With her prize Adam, no less.

I think it's all true. Everything she said.

Adam and I walk down the street; the breeze is cool but the sun is delicious. Adam tells me how he was so scared when Cole walked up behind him in the library that he tripped over his chair and fell in a huge heap and the librarian got mad at him.

I laugh. It doesn't feel like a lie bubbling out of my throat.

We buy hot dogs and they are disgusting but it was our choice to buy them. Adam talks nervously and quickly about where they're going. Sarah moves around a lot, but she said there's a bigger, permanent house with lots of medical research equipment. I like the way he gestures, forgetting his hands are full and flinging relish from his hot dog onto the sidewalk. Other normal people doing normal things pass. I steal a phone out of someone's pocket (I feel like I should have a phone), and we find a bench on the edge of the grassy area surrounding the arch. It's huge and silver, dancing through the sky, and I cannot tell if it is taller than it is wide or wider than it is tall.

I tap tap tap on my leg because I am not sure what I am supposed to be doing.

I am not sure.

Nothing is right or wrong here. How am I supposed to make a decision when nothing is right or wrong?

“. . . and they're getting funding for new MRIs in hospitals around the country so we can run tests. With real-world data, I could do so much.” His voice gets faraway and dreamy. I laugh. I am sitting next to a cute boy on a bench and he is dreaming of MRIs and research data.

He smiles, and then he reaches out and takes my hand. I look at our hands, together. He has seen some of what my hands can do. He is still touching me. “Fia, I . . . I think you should stay. You don't have to go back. Ever. You never have to work for this Keane again. We'll figure out a way to get your sister out, and you can both stay with us, with Sarah and the Lerner group. We could help so many people.”

I can see it. I can see a happy life with a happy boy. I can see the person he thinks I am when he looks at me—this wonder, this strong and brave and strange girl. He is half in love with his idea of me, and if I stayed . . . Maybe I could heal. Maybe I could turn back into the sister Annie wants me to be. Maybe I could leave the last five years behind me and never have to think about them again. Never have to be that girl again. Maybe, maybe, maybe I could really be loved by someone like Adam.

That would be nice. And easy.

I can't feel, though. There is no right or wrong. What am I supposed to do when there is no right or wrong?

I look at our hands again and I know my hand doesn't fit in his like it should. Someone else's will. Someone else whose hands aren't impossibly broken. Someone else whose soul isn't impossibly broken.

But I want to pretend to be her.

I take my hand out of Adam's, smile at him, and I don't know if the smile is a lie or not. “I'm going to walk around for a little while. To think. I'll meet you back at the building, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and his eyes, his mouth, his words are hope.

As soon as he is gone I pull out the phone and dial Annie. It rings and rings and I tap tap tap and no one answers. I dial James. It rings and he picks up.

“Who is this?”

“Is Annie okay?”

He swears, and it makes me feel homesick. “Fia? Where are you? We know you're in St. Louis. Give me a location.”

“Is Annie okay?”

“She's fine. I wouldn't let anything happen to her.”

“Bring her with you.”

“What?”

“I'm not going to do anything unless I can see that she's with you and she's safe. If I see you here and she's not with you, I'll disappear forever. You know I can.”

“Fia, please.”

“Please nothing. Do you know what they're offering me? They're offering me
me
. Free. Whatever, whoever I want to be.”

He is quiet and I wonder what his face looks like right now, whether he can still feel my lips on his like I can feel his on mine. “You can't have that.”

“I could.”

“No, you can't. You don't get to choose that. I need you.”

“You use me.”

“I—yes. I use you. I need to use you. I can't let you go; I can't do this by myself.”

“I think we both know you are never by yourself.” The words come out stinging and petty and I hate hate hate the jealousy ringing in my voice.

“That's not what I mean. I need your help. You aren't like whoever these people are. You can't just get out, pretend like none of this happened, pretend like you aren't so far gone you can't ever go back.”

“I won't help your father anymore,” I say, and I know it's true.

“I'm not asking you to help my father. I'm asking you to help me. Why do you think I've trained you to lie, to cheat the Readers and the Feelers and the Seers? Do you really think I am working
for my father
, the man who destroyed my mother? The man who destroyed you? Is that what you think of me?” He sounds hurt.

“I don't know what to think of you.” I close my eyes, squeeze them shut, try to clear my head. I have too many feelings for and about James. “I could help people here. They're going against your father. I could help them.”

“They're barely scratching at the farthest parts of his reach. They know nothing about what's going on. Do you really want to help?”

I wish he were here so I could see him to know if he's lying. But he's right about Sarah and Lerner, I know he is. She's too happy, too calm. She doesn't understand anything about what's really going on. She hasn't seen anything. “Yes. I really want to help.”

“Then help me destroy my father from the inside. You're the only one who can. I've been building toward this for years.
Years
. I need you, Fia. I can't plan things, I can't decide things because if I do, one of his Seers might see. But they can't see you. I've wanted to tell you so many times, when you'd ask me why I was working for him. It killed me that you think I'm like him. I want you to—
I want you
. I always have. But I couldn't be sure, couldn't know if you'd agree. For this to work, no one can know. They can never suspect I am anything but loyal and that you are totally mine.”