by Ally Carter
"Haven't you learned yet, Cam?" Abby's voice was softer now, as if she were being dragged back into a dream. "There are some things you don't want to know."
I could feel the train—or maybe just the world—slowing down as she stepped toward the door and whispered, "Stay away from that boy, Cammie." It wasn't an order this time, it was a plea.
"Zach?" Macey asked, as if there could possibly be anyone else. "He's from Blackthorne. We know him."
Then Abby looked at me. For the first time, it seemed like she wanted to smile, but there was no joy in her expression as she asked, "Do you?"
I love the Gallagher Academy at night. There's beauty in the shadows—the only time when the outside really reflects what's going on inside. Nothing is truly black or white. The whole world in shades of gray.
And that night was no different.
"What does that mean?" Liz asked, and Bex paced, but I just stood at the little diamond-shaped window in our attic suite, looking out at the dark grounds, letting the story I'd just told wash over me.
"Wait, you mean Zach got to jump out of a moving train?" Bex asked, not even trying to hide the envy in her voice.
I looked at Macey, who shrugged.
"I still can't believe you left the mansion like that," she said, examining my short skirt and tall shoes.
I tried to smile. "Originally, there was also a wig."
I expected her to laugh. I wanted her to roll her eyes or say something about the world of synthetic hair and people fashion-deprived enough to actually utilize it. I wanted it to be funny. But it wasn't.
"So Abby was really…" Liz started, then lowered her voice, "mad?"
I nodded. The word didn't do it justice, but at the moment, it was the only one I had.
"You're not going to get into trouble, Cam," Bex argued. "Abby's cool."
But she hadn't seen the change in Abby on the train. She hadn't heard the tremor in my aunt's voice or seen the look in her eyes as she strolled through the Hall of History and into my mother's office and closed the door, leaving Macey and me to make our way upstairs alone.
"What?" Bex asked, proving that she knew me maybe better than I knew myself.
"He …" I struggled with what I wanted to say, what I wanted to believe. "He didn't kiss me."
Yes, I'd just been severely reprimanded by a member of the United States Secret Service. And yes, I'd been caught sneaking out and violating about a dozen school rules. And yes, my elbow was totally swollen from where Zach and I had landed on the floor of Macey's compartment.
And yet that was the thing that worried me most.
"He didn't flirt," I said finally. "He didn't tease me … I mean, once I figured out I'd seen him in Boston—"
"Wait," Bex said, moving closer, completely ignoring the big pile of junk food that she and Liz had smuggled back into the school after their road trip home. There was something new in her eyes as she said, "Zach was in Boston?"
"I kept thinking I saw him there," I said again, calmer now. "But I thought that I was…you know …"
Bex and Liz looked at each other as if they totally didn't know.
"She thought she was only seeing him because she wanted to see him," Macey explained.
"Ooooh," Bex and Liz sighed together.
"It's a by-product of very dramatic kissing," Macey went on like a doctor identifying a common side effect. "Go on."
"So I didn't think anything about it. But today I saw him again. And he was in the same disguise, and I knew it was him in Boston." I looked down at the pile of candy wrappers and half-eaten bags of chips and thought about how, a year ago, we'd huddled together in that very room, going through Josh's trash, but there was a lot about boys and their dirty little secrets that we still had to learn.
"So he followed you before?" Liz asked. "So what? He's probably just doing what we're doing—tracking Macey."
And then she stopped. And realized.
"In Boston, there was no reason to track Macey," I said, just because I needed to say the words out loud. I looked back at the grounds that seemed darker than usual. And colder. Somehow when I wasn't looking, fall had fallen, and I shivered a little, still chilled from the rain.
"Maybe he knew what was going to happen," Macey
said.
"Or maybe he was one of the people doing it," Bex said, the old skepticism coming back to her voice.
"Or"—Liz's eyes were the only ones shining as she said—"he wanted to be near Cammie!"
Macey shrugged as if to say that our little blond friend had a point.
Whatever the case, that didn't change the fact that a very cute, very mysterious spy boy was either out to save us, or kidnap us, or date us.
And I wasn't sure which one we were best equipped to handle.
I don't know about normal girls, but for spy girls, there are few things as scary as a closed door, a locked room, and a whispered conversation you can't quite hear. Well, the next day my life was full of all three.
The Hall of History remained dark. My mother's office doors remained closed (and, unfortunately, soundproof). I thought about the passageway that led behind the room, but then I shook the notion from my head. I didn't know what my aunt had told her. I didn't know what kind of trouble I was in.
All around me girls worried about tests and projects. People opened letters from home and continued the debate about whether or not Mr. Smith's new face made him as hot as Mr. Solomon. But I couldn't help but think about how the world is just a web of secrets. I kept wondering if there was any way to break free.
That Sunday night I walked toward my mother's office, thinking about Abby and Zach, Philadelphia and Boston— all the questions no one ever answered, but as I stepped foot inside the Hall of History, I found myself looking at Gilly's sword.
I heard myself whisper, "Someone knows."
As I knocked on the door to my mother's office, I knew it wasn't going to be an ordinary Sunday night supper…
Because Macey was already there.
I looked from my mother, to my roommate, and finally to my aunt. I expected yelling. But when my mother whispered, "Cammie," it was worse. Way worse. The door closed behind me, and I saw Mr. Solomon standing there. I didn't know what to expect anymore.
"Mom, I—"
"I was told that Liz and Bex were out testing a prototype of a new piece of equipment for Dr. Fibs during your little…mission last night?" Mom asked.
Her eyes seemed to be warning me not to argue. "Yes," I quickly answered.
"Very well."
For a second I thought that might be all of it, but of course the lecture wasn't over. "Cameron, I trusted you to believe me when I said that Macey's safety was no longer your concern."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I trusted you to know that security protocol is not something that should be interfered with on a whim."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I trusted you, Cammie." My mother's voice was softer then, so that was the hardest part to hear.
"I received a call from Bex's mother last night," Mom continued, and I braced for the wrath of two spy moms scorned. "The Baxters would like for you to spend winter break in London—"
"Really?" I asked in surprise.
"And if I hear," Mom spoke over me. "If I see … If I even suspect that you have been out of these grounds again without permission, then that will not happen. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes," I said, feeling the weight of the situation settling down on me.
"The latest polls have the race neck and neck," my mother said. She was too calm. Too easy. "It's understandable then that Macey's parents are going to want her with them as much of that time as—"
"No!"
"—possible," Mom went on as if I hadn't said a word.
I glanced at Macey. She'd been quiet all day, but standing in my mother's office, her silence seemed infinitely louder.
"That will, of course," Mom said slowly, "be something we will not allow."
I'd already opened my mouth to pr
otest when I heard her and stopped short.
"You mean," Macey was saying beside me, "you mean I won't have to…go?"
"No," Mr. Solomon said. "Frankly, Ms. McHenry, the risk is too high. We want you at home where you belong."
I've lived with Macey for a long time, but one thing every spy learns eventually is that you never know everything, and I'd never seen Macey look like she looked then. I thought about the girl who had crawled out of the limo, and the girl she had become before this crazy election started changing her back. It was as if the word "home" was a code— a signal—and that alone told her she was safe and she could lower her guard.
"Assuming that's okay with you?" my mother asked, and Macey nodded.
Mr. Solomon stepped away from the door, so like any good operatives (not to mention teenage girls in trouble), we bolted for it.
"Oh, Cammie," Mom called for me, and I stopped while Macey moved on ahead. Mr. Solomon and Aunt Abby followed my roommate outside and closed the door as my mother stepped closer. "Don't worry about Macey, Cam." But it wasn't a soothing phrase. It was an order. "The Secret Service is very good at what they do. For all our differences, my sister is very, very good at what she does. I do not want you worrying about Macey."
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"So do I," I said. And in that moment, I really did.
"I knew you were in the compartment." Macey's voice sliced through the Hall of History. Down in the Grand Hall, girls were eating, people were gossiping, but Macey just sat on the top step looking into the foyer as if she didn't have the strength to stand.
"I didn't hear you or anything," she went on as I walked closer. "It was just a…feeling." Then she looked at me. "You know?"
"Yeah," I said, and I did.
"The top sleeping compartment was hanging too low, and the magazine on the bench had shifted, and I just…knew."
Then she looked at me. "I'm good at this, right?"
"Yeah. You are."
"When your mom called me in, I thought… I thought she was gonna kick me out." She shrugged a little. "Usually that's when I get kicked out."
I've seen Macey without makeup and in her fat jeans. I've heard what she says in her sleep and seen the way her lips move when she's reading and the words just won't sink in. I know Macey McHenry, but that night, sitting on that staircase, I realized I'd never know what it's like to be her.
The McHenrys have five houses, but this is Macey's only home. She's the most famous daughter in America, but Liz and Bex and I are her only family.
"No one's gonna kick you out, Macey." I tried to laugh. "You know too much. By now we'd have to kill you."
It took forty-seven seconds, but eventually Macey smiled. Eventually she laughed.
"So, Preston?" I said, because, honestly, I was sort of about to explode. And…okay … so it had taken me practically twenty-four hours to mention it, but I'd had other things on my mind. Like my sanity, my future, and whether or not Zach's sudden disinterest in kissing had anything to do with the fact that my hair tends to get frizzy when it's raining. But that didn't stop me from leaning closer and whispering, "Did I or did I not hear you kissing Preston?"
"There are people I could hire to kill you and make it look like an accident."
I gripped the banister and propelled myself up a couple of steps. "He's not so bad."
"Seriously. There wouldn't even be an inquest." Macey took a step then added, "Besides, do I have to tell you that secret boyfriends are the hottest?"
In spite of everything, I smiled. "Point taken."
Chapter Twenty-one
I still remember the day—the moment—when I found my very first secret passage. I had been at school three days. My mom had just started her job. My dad had just died. And I'd just arrived at the school I'd heard about my entire life (or, well, the parts of my life that came after the part where I figured out that my mom and dad had more covert reasons for missing my kindergarten graduation).
I was wandering the hallways, wondering about this building that was bigger and older and more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. Wondering how long it would take for me to realize that my mom would never go away again and my dad would never come back.
Wondering if I really belonged at the Gallagher Academy and if I was truly worthy to carry both the Morgan and Cameron family names.
But then I stopped in the hallway by the library.
A window was open. The school still had the stale feeling of a building that had been underoccupied for a long time, and I watched as a breeze blew through the windows and pushed some dust along the stone-tiled floor, rolling dirt through the cracks like water in a river. But at one point, instead of rolling along, it dropped out of sight as if there were a waterfall in the grout that could barely be seen by the naked eye, disappearing beneath a wall of solid stone.
I pushed and pulled for five minutes before the wall slid open, and I found my first way of disappearing in plain sight.
Three days before I'd found it. Three days I'd been at this place I loved. Three days…
And already I was looking for ways out.
And that was before I was forbidden to leave.
PROS AND CONS OF BEING GROUNDED INSIDE THE MOST AWESOME GROUNDS IN THE WORLD:
PRO: It's a lot easier to protect your roommate from the people who want to kidnap her if she spends most of her time in your room.
CON: When Mr. Mosckowitz asks you to help him proof his paper for the Excellence in European Encryption seminar on Friday night, you can't say "Sorry, I'm going to be out of town."
PRO: Staying out of secret, ancient tunnels means you don't get nearly as many questionable stains on your white blouse.
CON: When your roommate tests a landmark discovery in clean-fuel technology (that happens to reside inside a Dodge minivan), you don't get to ride shotgun.
PRO: You don't have to worry about running into the boy who may or may not have been stalking you.
CON: You don't get to run into the boy who may or may not have been protecting you. (Even though you don't really need protecting, it totally is the thought that counts.)
PRO: You have plenty of time to think.
CON: You don't always like what you're thinking about.
Zach hadn't tried to kiss me.
Of course, there are bigger mysteries in the world, and I'm sure the CIA would have classified that information as a low-level concern (I know … I asked Liz). Maybe it was the way the walls felt close and the grounds felt small, but for some reason that fact kept pressing down on me, day after day.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think I'm so completely kissable (because, believe me, I don't), but every morning I walked past the place where he had dipped me in front of the entire school. In the Grand Hall every night I ate in the exact same place where we had danced. And every day, with every step, new questions filled my mind:
• Why had Zach been in Boston (among other places)?
• What had he meant when he'd said that he was someone who didn't have anything left to lose?
• Who had set all this in motion? And why?
For three weeks I wandered the halls, wondering about people who had hurt me and a boy who hadn't tried to kiss me: two great mysteries. But there was only one of them that I had any hope of solving.
"Did you check again?" I asked Liz as we left Culture and Assimilation. "Professor Buckingham told me that MI6 registers a dozen new terrorist groups in their database every week."
"I know," Liz said. "But Cam, there's nothing there. I've run the image of that woman's ring through MI6, MI5, CIA, NSA, FBI. Believe me, if they've got initials, I've hacked them, and that image isn't anywhere."
"I didn't make that symbol up! It's got to exist …" I snapped, but the look that my three best friends in the world were giving made me stop short.
"Cam, darling," Bex said. "Is something…bothering you?"
"Well, I …" I started, but Macey was the one who answered.
I may be a pavement artist, but Macey McHenry will always know more about boys and all things boy-related than I can ever comprehend.
"What?" Macey asked with a shrug when I stared at her. "I'm intuitive." She took a step. "Plus, you talk in your sleep."
She was right. Zach and I had fallen out of that train berth together, and the world had been upside down ever since.
"Boys!" I cried, but luckily the halls were loud, and girls were hurrying, and the word got lost in the crowd. Would we ever understand them?
"He can't be…bad?" Liz asked softly. "I mean, didn't we establish last year that Zach is not bad?" She wasn't asking as a girl, she was asking as a scientist who really didn't want to reevaluate her models, duplicate her research, and change any of the things that she thought she'd once proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.
But she hadn't been on the train. She hadn't seen with her own eyes that Aunt Abby knew something about Zach. And Zach knew something about Boston. And someone knew something about that emblem. As Liz started for the labs and Macey started for Encryption, Bex and I boarded the elevator to Sublevel Two, and I couldn't help but ask, "What good is it having elite spying abilities if the people who have the highly classified information are even more elite?"
Bex smiled at me. "Because where would be the fun in that?" The spiraling ramp seemed steeper as it carried us deeper and deeper into Sublevel Two. When we reached the bottom, she stopped and looked at me. "And maybe there are some things"—she spoke slowly, and I knew the words were almost painful as she said—"we aren't supposed to know."
"Motivation," Mr. Solomon said as we settled into our chairs around the old-fashioned tables of the Covert Operations classroom. For weeks I'd been coming to that room, studying our teacher, trying to find some clue in his eyes about Zach and the train and a million other questions that swarmed my mind.
"It's why people do the things they do," our teacher said, the sentence as simple and basic as any lesson we had ever learned; and yet something in Joe Solomon's tone told me it was also the most important.