“And who are you exactly?” Papi’s voice had a weird, overly protective tone to it.
“Asher Portaine, Brother Gregorio’s nephew. I’m helping Cassie.”
“Helping her with what?” My father’s eyes narrowed. “What have you two done? Do you have any idea the danger you’ve put my daughter in by leaving the monastery?”
“We had to,” Asher explained. “My uncle died and we came because we thought you—”
“Wait. Gregorio is dead?” Papi ran his fingers through his hair, his brow furrowed liked an accordion. “When?”
“Yesterday,” Asher said.
He shook his head. “And you somehow thought bringing her here was a good idea?”
“Seriously?” I shot out of my chair. “You’re going to question him? After lying to me my entire life.”
“Cassie, m’ija.” I could see him looking at me like I was still six years old. “I’m your father and I—”
“But you’re not! You’re not my father!” I spat out the words, wanting them to hurt him as much as saying them out loud hurt me.
“Cassie,” he was begging, “por favor.” He stretched out his arm to reach for me, but I stepped away from him. “I’m trying to protect you. You are and will always be my daughter. Even if we aren’t related by blood. There’s more to family than biology.”
“Yeah,” I challenged. “Something like trust and honesty. Maybe that’s something I inherited from my real father.”
The beeping noise from the heart monitor was now driving me crazy. I spun around, grabbed the cord, and yanked it out of the outlet. It felt like I was pulling the plug on everything from my old life.
“Yo soy tu papá,” he insisted. “No one loves you more than me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I didn’t tell you the truth because I wanted to shield you from all this.” He leaned over and grabbed my wrist, staring right into my eyes. “I’d give my life for you without hesitation.” He took a deep breath. “To the moon and back.”
My bottom lip quivered. I’d never seen my father cry. My heart ached.
Papi tugged on my arm, and I didn’t resist, collapsing right next to him, careful not to touch his chest where he’d been shot.
There was no way I could stay angry. He was my dad … the only one I’d ever known. I just wanted him to hug me and say that everything would be okay. My own tears started to flow as I nuzzled into his neck, and I let all the emotions from the last three days pour out of me.
“I love you, Papi,” I whispered as he stroked my hair. “But who am I?”
He gave me a kiss on the forehead, then pushed me back a little to look me right in the eyes. “You are Cassie Arroyo, the same person you’ve always been.”
But he was wrong. I wasn’t the same girl from three days ago. Everything had changed. And as much as I wanted him to make it all better, I knew that I was the only one who could fix things.
“Cassie!” Asher, who’d been looking out the window, suddenly spun around. “We need to get out of here right now!” He darted to the door and looked down the hallway. “The motorcycle guy from Civita just walked into the building.”
“The who?” Papi asked.
“The Hastati who shot you,” I said, trying to get my dad to sit up. “Can you walk?”
He slapped the side of his thighs as he struggled to move from the bed. “Cassie, I can’t feel my legs!”
“What?” I threw off the blanket and shook his bare legs.
Asher pulled me away from him. “We have to leave!”
“No!” I jerked my arm away. “I’m not leaving without my father. We didn’t do all of this not to have him come with us!”
“I can’t do it,” Papi said softly, a resigned look on his face. “I’d only hold you back. Plus, they aren’t after me, they’re coming for you.”
It all came down to choices.
Both the gypsy in the subway station and Signora Pescatori had told me the same thing … choices determine destiny. It was time I made my choice and embraced my destiny.
“Okay, listen, Papi. You have to make your way to the Knights of Malta compound. Dame Elisabeth, Mom’s mother … my grandmother, is there. We can trust her.”
My father’s eyes grew wider. “How did … ?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Dame Elisabeth at the Knights of Malta. Got it.”
I bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “To the moon and back.”
“Cassie!” Asher was holding the door open. “We don’t have time!”
“Go!” Papi said.
No longer hesitating, I followed Asher down the stairs to the ground floor. Pushing open the door, I noticed that the rain had completely stopped, but the dark clouds remained.
“Gisak is over there.” Asher pointed to the old car parked across the lot. He scanned the area, checking to see if it was all clear.
“Asher,” I said, realizing that my choices now affected him, too. “You need to know that I’m done running.”
“What?” He glanced from me to the car, then back to me. “We have to race over. We don’t know who might be watching.”
“No, I mean I’m not going to run away. I won’t live looking over my shoulder all the time. I’m going to go after them and get the spear.”
“Can we talk about this later?” Desperation filled his voice. “First we need to get out of here.”
“Fine,” I said, but I knew things were going to be different.
I was done being a target.
It was time I returned fire.
Being a writer is such an adventure. From the quiet excitement of discovering an idea that has been lurking in your imagination to the joyful anxiety of having your book shared with the world—it can be quite the thrill ride. But a writer doesn’t do it alone. This story would never have seen the light of day had it not been for the involvement, support, and encouragement of a legion of friends, family, and talented professionals. It is thanks to them that this book exists.
Beginning with my wonderful agent, Jen Rofé, who believed in this crazy story of mine from the very beginning. Thank you for pushing me forward even when I doubted myself. I’m so glad you’re on my team!
As always, my amazing family has my back during the entire writing process. My husband and sons cheered me on—even when that meant listening to my mutterings about urban legends and ancient artifacts during dinner or in the middle of a soccer game. My parents, sister, brother-in-law, mother-in-law, aunts, uncles, and cousins continued to show their love and support by being my “backup” when real life interfered with my writing time. I love you all!
Then there are my incredibly talented writing friends: Danielle Joseph, Gaby Triana, Alexandra Alessandri, Stephanie Hairston, Alexandra Flinn, Adrienne Sylver, Marcea Ustler, Linda Rodriguez Bernfeld, and Lorin Oberweger. These lovely ladies gave me critical feedback and advice. Some of them even heard fifteen variations of the same chapter and still didn’t smack me upside the head! Grazie mille!
To Ed Masessa, your sound advice helped me immensely and your enthusiasm for this book is contagious. May you live long and prosper, my Trekkie friend.
Thank you is not enough for my two fantastic editors, Emily Seife and David Levithan, who helped shape this story into everything I hoped it could be. Another big box of Cuban pastelitos doesn’t come close to expressing my appreciation, but I’ll send them anyway.
Iacopo Bruno and Phil Falco, who created the best cover I could have imagined, thank you for honoring my words with your beautiful illustration and design. It’s perfect!
Finally, but always first in my life, I thank God for all my many blessings, including this dream job where I get to share stories and connect with my readers. I am truly grateful.
CHRISTINA DIAZ GONZALEZ is the award-winning author of The Red Umbrella, which was named an ALA Best Book for Young Adults and called an “exceptional historical novel” by Kirkus Reviews, and A Thunderous Whisper, which was heralded by the Children’s Book Council as a Notable Social Studie
s Book. She lives in Florida with her husband and two sons. Learn more at www.christinagonzalez.com.
Copyright © 2015 by Christina Diaz Gonzalez
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gonzalez, Christina Diaz.
Moving target / Christina Diaz Gonzalez.
pages cm
Summary: Cassie Arroyo is a student in Rome, but her life changes when a secret organization, the Hastati, shoots her father—and she learns that she is a member of an ancient bloodline that enables her to use the Spear of Destiny, a legendary object that can alter the future.
ISBN 978-0-545-77318-8 1. Holy Lance—Juvenile fiction. 2. Murder—Juvenile fiction. 3. Secret societies—Juvenile fiction. 4. Rome (Italy)—Juvenile fiction. [1. Holy Lance—Fiction. 2. Murder—Fiction. 3. Secret societies—Fiction. 4. Americans—Italy—Fiction. 5. Rome (Italy)—Fiction. 6. Italy—Fiction. 7. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.G5882Mo 2015
[Fic]—dc23
2014038851
First edition, September 2015
Cover design by Phil Falco & Iacopo Bruno
Cover art © 2015 by Iacopo Bruno
e-ISBN 978-0-545-77320-1
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Moving Target Page 19