Mo looked at me and shrugged, unconcerned by the music, although he leaned a little closer so I could hear him. “C’mon, kid. I know you’ve already started casing the place. What did you take from the library?”
I batted my eyes. “What makes you think I would steal anything from my new boss?”
He arched his eyebrows.
I huffed, but I reached around to the small of my back, pulled up my T-shirt, and grabbed the spoon, fork and two knives I’d swiped from the tea service when no one was looking. I put them on the coffee table.
Mo grinned, then reached into the pocket of his white pants and pulled out two more knives, along with another fork. He arranged them on the table next to mine. “Look. We almost have a whole set between us already.”
I glanced over at the pixie house, but the music was still blasting. There was no way Oscar could hear us over that racket. Good.
Mo nudged the stolen silverware into a precise row before raising his gaze to mine again.
“Being a member of a Family is more than just being a mark in someone else’s game. You should know that better than anyone. It means money, power, prestige, protection. Even a real family, of sorts, if you want.”
“I had a family,” I said in a cold, stiff voice. “I had you and Mom. I don’t need anyone else. I haven’t in four years now.”
Mo kept looking at me, sadness flashing in his eyes.
“Besides,” I said. “You know that I hate the Sinclairs, especially Devon. You know . . . you know he’s the reason my mom was murdered.”
The last few words came out as a choked whisper. Because Devon Sinclair was the reason my mom was dead. One of them, anyway. And now, I was supposed to protect him like he was just another guy. Anger, pain, and bitterness burned in my heart, and a few hot tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes before I could swipe them away.
Mo sighed. “I understand why you feel that way, Lila. But it’s time to let go of your pain and anger and move on. Devon was a kid when your mom died. So were you. There was nothing you could have done to save her. I think you know that, deep down inside.”
I did know it—but that didn’t mean I liked it.
I didn’t tell Mo I’d been so heartbroken by my mom’s death that I never wanted to go through that sort of pain ever again. That that was the real reason I kept to myself and hadn’t bothered to make any friends at school. That I’d been hurt so badly, I thought I would never truly recover from it. Because if someone mattered to you, if you cared about them, if you loved them, then you might as well start winding down a clock to the second when your heart would be shattered when they were taken away from you.
It had happened to me with my mom, and it was going to happen with the Sinclairs, too.
Claudia thought she’d hired me to protect Devon, but what she was really asking me was to protect her from the pain of losing her son the same way I had my mom—to stupid Family feuds, plots, and politics.
“You’ll be kicking ass and taking names in no time, Lila,” Mo chirped, trying to put a bright spin on things the way he would shine up a piece of junk at the Razzle Dazzle. “Trust me on that, and trust me on this—this is what you were born to do. You’re a good thief, but you’re an even better fighter. Just like your mom was. She felt that it was her duty to protect people, to look out for folks who couldn’t take care of themselves, and I know you feel that way, too, even if you won’t admit it to anyone, not even yourself. That’s the real reason why you helped Devon and Felix. Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Yeah,” I said in a snide voice. “And look where it’s gotten me. Smack dab in the middle of a gilded cage, one with spikes around the edges, all pointed in at me.”
“Face it. You’re a fighter, a soldier, a protector, just like your mom, Lila. And if you’re going to put your life on the line, then you should at least do it for someone who matters.”
“And Devon Sinclair matters?”
“You know he does,” Mo answered in a quiet voice. “Especially to you. Your mom would want you to be here, Lila. And not just for Devon—but for yourself, too. This is where you belong—in more ways than one.”
This time, I knew exactly what he was talking about, and I couldn’t quite meet his bright, searching gaze, because he was right. This room, this mansion, this Family was exactly where my mom would want me to be. It’s where she would have wanted me to be for all the years since her death, if things had been different.
If I had been different.
“And Claudia?” I asked, my voice raspy with memories that were better left buried. “Should I be worried about her?”
Mo shrugged, knowing what I was really asking. “I wouldn’t be. You’re just another guard to her. Nothing more, nothing less. Right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Either way, at the very least, she’ll treat you fair,” Mo added. “That’s more than you can say for most of the Families, especially the Draconis.”
I thought of my run-in with Deah. I couldn’t argue with that.
“But what about my stuff at the library?” I asked, still trying to find some way to wiggle out of this, even though the trap had already snapped shut around me. “I can’t just leave everything there. Someone’s bound to find it sooner or later.”
“Actually, I went over there early this morning, let myself in, and packed up some of your stuff. You can get the rest of it later.”
Mo jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and I noticed one of my battered suitcases sitting beside the vanity table. Reginald must have brought it up when I was down in the training room with Claudia. I went over, laid the suitcase down on its side, and unzipped the top.
My mom’s blue, spidersilk coat was neatly folded and carefully nestled inside, along with her ironmesh gloves and her black blade sword. I unzipped the side pocket, which held the one framed photo I had of her, along with her favorite book about old monster traditions, the pages crammed full of notes she had taken about the creatures inhabiting Cloudburst Falls.
Mo had packed all the important things—the only possessions that really mattered besides my sapphire ring. I trailed my hand over the glass frame and my mom’s smiling face, blinking back the tears that scalded my eyes.
More tears. I really was going soft.
“Thanks, Mo,” I whispered.
He cleared his throat, and the two of us made sure not to look at each other. “You’re welcome.”
I grabbed my mom’s coat, pulled it out of the suitcase, and hung it on one of the bedposts. I wanted it where I could see it and be reminded of her. I arranged the gloves on top of the vanity table and propped the sword up next to the nightstand beside the bed. I left my mom’s photo buried in the side pocket of the suitcase, though, and zipped it back up, hiding the frame from sight. No one here needed to see her picture but me.
From the pixie house, another song blared out at the same loud volume as before. Seemed like Oscar really loved his country music.
Mo stood up. “I should be going. Let you get settled into your new space.”
“You . . . you’re going to leave me here? Just like that?”
“Well . . . yeah,” he said, shifting on his feet.
Of course he was going to leave me here. He had to. Because this was my room, not his, and I was the bodyguard now, not him. I was the one bound to the Sinclair Family. In more ways than one, just like he’d said.
Still, I couldn’t help the hot, sweaty, stomach-churning panic that spiked through me at the thought of Mo’s leaving. Sure, I might have been on my own for the last four years, but I’d always known that I could go to him if I ever really needed help and that he would come through, no matter what. I could brave the streets of Cloudburst Falls any time, day or night, with no worry. Break into rich folks’ houses, be chased by guys with swords, and pay lochness tolls with no fear. But to be here, in this place, in this Family . . . it was like I had been transported to another planet, one that had rules, languages, and customs com
pletely alien to me, ones I didn’t want to learn.
And people I especially did not want to care about.
“But don’t you worry,” Mo said, picking up on my uncertainty. “You won’t be getting rid of old Mo that easily. You come on down to the Razzle Dazzle any time you want. And any time you want to make some extra cash running errands for me, you just let me know. Claudia asked you to be Devon’s bodyguard, but she never said you couldn’t freelance, too.”
He gave me a sly wink, and I had to laugh.
Mo hesitated, then reached out and hugged me. I hugged him back.
“You call me day or night if you need anything,” he whispered. “Anything at all.”
I nodded, trying to swallow the emotions that choked me from the inside out.
Mo drew back. “Be good, Lila. Or be really good at being bad. I’ll leave it up to you which one it is.”
He winked at me a final time, then turned and left the room.
Despite the music still blasting from Oscar’s house, I could have sworn I heard the soft snick of the door shutting behind Mo. Somehow, it seemed as loud as a gong, marking the end of my old life—and the beginning of something new.
CHAPTER TEN
It wasn’t all that late, but I was exhausted by everything that had happened, so I grabbed some pajamas out of my suitcase, stepped into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me.
I spent the next two hours soaking in the tub. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a hot bath, and I relished every single second, washing my hair three times, until I felt cleaner than I had in months.
I’d never considered myself a girly-girl, but I let out a little squeal of delight when I opened the bathroom closet and saw row after row of expensive soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and lotions lining the shelves. I opened bottle after bottle, sniffing them all, until the sweet, floral, and fruity scents all melted together and I couldn’t tell one from the other. It was almost like staying in a hotel, something that I occasionally sprang for after getting a good payday from Mo. But this was much nicer than any hotel I’d ever been in.
Maybe the spikes in my cage would be worth it after all.
But the water in the tub grew cold, and I got tired of opening bottles, so I dried myself off, put on my pajamas, and padded back into the bedroom. I glanced over at the pixie house, but the music had finally stopped and no lights were on inside the trailer. Tiny the tortoise hadn’t stirred from his nap, despite the fact that his sunspot had faded away. I’d have to wait until tomorrow to officially meet him and Oscar.
I opened one of the doors and slipped out onto the balcony. The sun had set while I was in the tub, and the long summer day was slowly giving way to night. Stripes of bloody orange sliced across the sky, but even those were beginning to fade to softer pinks.
After living down in the city for so long, it was odd viewing things from this angle. This part of the mansion overlooked one of the many forested ridges of Cloudburst Mountain, the trees and rocks resembling a carpet of sharp, pointed, green and gray jewels. Farther down the slope, lights burned a steady silver and gold in the compounds of the other Families. Far, far below, in the center of the valley, lay the Midway.
From this distance, the circular area looked like an enormous Ferris wheel that had been laid flat on its side, the shopping squares branching off like the cars people would sit in to go around and around on the wheel. In the growing darkness, neon lights lit up the Midway, pulsing and flashing like a rainbow of falling stars, streaking from one side of the circle to the other and back again, adding to the Ferris wheel illusion.
I laid my hands on top of the balcony ledge—the warmth from the stones seeping into my palms—and breathed in, wondering how much my life had changed in a day. This time yesterday, I would have been prowling the Midway, looking for an easy pocket to pick and trying to steer clear of the Family guards before I went back to the library for the night. Now, here I was, staying in a Family mansion, surrounded by the best things money could buy, the things I’d swiped from so many people.
I couldn’t help wondering what my mom would think of all this. No doubt, she’d be happy, like Mo had said. Happy that I’d saved Devon, happy that Claudia had strong-armed me into protecting him, happy that I was working for the Sinclairs.
Even if she was dead because of the two of them.
As I stared down at the Midway, the neon lights flashed like stars, faster and faster, brighter and brighter, bigger and bigger, until they pulsed together into a solid wall of white in front of my eyes. I blinked, and I was suddenly seeing another scene, from another place, another time. One I desperately wanted to forget. But I couldn’t block out the memories. I’d never been able to do that . . .
I was in the Midway with my mom, sitting on a bench in the park and eating ice cream. We were laughing and talking, until Mom noticed something out of the corner of her eye. I followed her gaze and realized that she was staring at another woman, one with pretty auburn hair, and a boy a couple of years older than me, who were both strolling through the park.
I rolled my eyes. Boys were so gross, although this one was cuter than most, with bright green eyes and a cowlick that made his dark brown hair stick almost straight up in the back.
A wistful smile flitted across Mom’s face. “They look happy, don’t they?” she murmured.
“Not as happy as we are,” I replied in a proud, stubborn voice.
Mom squeezed my hand, her dark blue eyes glinting with laughter. “No. Not as happy as we are.”
Mom continued to watch the other woman and the boy, who had stopped to buy gooey caramel apples from one of the food carts. The boy and his mom were flanked by a Family guard who was wearing a black cloak and a sword on his hip, but that didn’t bother me. Half the adults in the Midway were wearing a sword or brace of daggers around their waist today. So I went back to my dessert, sighing as the cool, sweet, strawberry cheesecake ice cream filled my mouth.
Everything was fine until Mom started frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Your ice cream is melting.”
The chocolate scoop was dripping all over her hand, the chocolate chips sprinkled on top sliding down the melting mound before plop-plop-plopping to the ground.
But Mom didn’t answer me. Instead, her head swiveled from side to side, slowly at first, then faster and faster. I leaned forward, scanning the crowds of tourists, workers, and guards. And I finally realized what she was staring at—five men with red cloaks and swords, all converging on the mom and the boy, who were eating their caramel apples, oblivious to the danger.
“Lila,” Mom whispered, squeezing my hand tight. “Stay out of the way and out of sight as much as you can. And give me your ice cream, please. ”
I froze, wondering what she was going to do, but her gaze cut back to the men with the swords, and I understood. Mom held out her hand. I sighed, took one more lick of my ice cream, and handed the cone over to her. We both slid to the edge of the iron bench, ready to move.
By this point, the auburn-haired woman had stopped to talk to someone, while the boy had wandered over to a cart that sold sparklers. The five men drew their swords. But they didn’t move toward the mom like I thought they would. Instead, they crept closer to the boy . . . and closer . . . and closer still . . .
Mom leaped off the bench, her black ponytail flying out behind her. She surged forward and smushed what was left of our ice cream cones into the face of the nearest man. He let out a surprised snarl, but she was already plucking his sword out of his hand and slicing it across his chest before whirling to face the next attacker. I ducked down behind the bench, watching through the slats.
The fight was a blur. Angry shouts. Slashing swords. Blood spattering everywhere.
Somehow, Mom got her hands on the boy with the green eyes, who had stepped up and raised his fists, determined to protect his own mother. But Mom grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him in my direction.
“Take him!�
�� she barked.
I darted out from behind the bench long enough to grab the boy’s hand and yank him back around it, out of the way of the fight.
“Devon!” his mom screamed, even as her guard tried to shove her behind him. “Devon!”
The boy started to run over to her, but I tightened my grip on his hand and made him hunker down beside me.
“Stay here,” I whispered. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
Fear and mistrust flashed in his eyes, as bright as the neon lights around us, but he stayed with me. His free hand clenched into a tight fist, and his gaze darted left and right, searching for more attackers, ready to fight anyone who charged at us.
But no one did.
As quickly as it had begun, the fight was over, with the five men lying dead on the ground. Mom stood in the center of them, a bloody sword clutched in her hand, breathing hard. She used the point of the sword to slice through the sleeve of one of the dead guy’s shirts. A gold cuff glinted on his right wrist, and Mom sucked in a breath.
“Devon! Devon!”
The other woman kept screaming and screaming, and the boy finally wrenched his hand free of mine and ran over to her. That was all that I saw before my mom threw down the sword, darted over to me, and grabbed my hand.
“We have to run, Lila,” she whispered in an urgent voice. “We have to run—”
A mosquito whined around my head, snapping me out of my memories. The park vanished, and the wall of white in front of my eyes drew in on itself and misted away like fog. In an instant, my vision was clear, and I was staring down at the real Midway again.
I shuddered out a breath and slumped over the balcony ledge. That was the other tricky thing about my soulsight. Not only did it let me peer into people, but sometimes it dragged me back into the past and let me see things that had happened.
All the memories I wanted to forget.
Like how my mom had saved Devon—and all the terrible consequences of her actions.
Cold Burn of Magic Page 10