I envy those sheep. They only have one job—follow the crowd.
I made the mistake of following the wrong crowd once before. I can’t do it again. How do I know that the Fifth Column is the right place for me? Then again, what other choice do I have?
“There’s the Severn Valley Railway. And over there, that’s the Whittington Castle, it’s something, huh? Over here’s the Shrewsbury Abbey, very touristy destination. And this is our hotel,” Jonathan announces with a sweep of his hand.
Shrewsbury of Shropshire is made up of old timber-framed, stone and mud-brick buildings all tightly packed together. It’s charming; the perfect setting for one of those old-fashioned, unbelievable fairytales where everything turns out perfect in the end. Each shop and villa, despite centuries of use, still looks invitingly well kempt. And everywhere there are people, shoppers mostly, cheerfully crowding the sidewalks. Lazily they stroll between shops. I’d say it’s the perfect spot for a believable vacation. Our cover story should be exceptionally effective.
“It’s cute,” I admit, as Jonathan pulls up to the valet in front of the Lord Hill Hotel.
Right away it’s obvious that I shouldn’t be here. I couldn’t afford a fancy hotel like this in a million lifetimes. I tug on my jacket collar as a woman with a cat on a bejeweled leash struts by, avoiding any and all eye contact with me.
“It’s like the Twilight Zone in here,” I whisper to Jonathan.
“Just try to look natural. I have to have the right hotel address to give the bank tomorrow.” Jonathan hooks my arm as he pockets the valet slip and confidently marches us into the lobby. You’d think he owned the place.
Maybe he does. I whip my attention to Jonathan. I guess it would be rude to ask.
I try not to fidget while Jonathan checks us in. Chances are he wouldn’t be using a fake name if this were his hotel. Plus, if he owned a hotel in England SEEK would be permanently camped out waiting for us.
I glance over my shoulder. I spot the woman with the cat again. She turns her nose up at me. Jonathan’s right, I need to relax and act natural.
In the elevator as we stop at the fourth floor I ask, “What does that even mean?”
We step out into a gracious corridor. Jonathan leads me to an eight-foot double door marked “Abbey Suite” and swipes his card. “What’s what mean?”
“Act natural? If I’m acting I’m not being natural.” My jaw goes slack as the doors open, exposing a suite fit for the President of the United States.
“It means, don’t act like this is all new to you.” Jonathan laughs, laying a finger under my jaw.
I close my mouth and scowl at him.
“We have reservations at Wroxeter Roman Vineyard. Your things should be in your room through there.” Jonathan points at the French doors across what can only described as a swanky living room.
I take the hint that jeans and a t-shirt are not appropriate dinner attire. Like this hotel, dinner is sure to be equally fussy. I find my duffels on a brass luggage rack in the enormous closet-bathroom combo. I dump the contents of each bag onto the polished floor and dig for the two dresses I was coerced into buying in Lafayette.
I take turns holding each dress in front of the mirror, remembering how I got here. Harnel’s orders to kill Jonathan if he didn’t turn echoing in my head like a bad dream. “Who am I?” I ask the mirror, still clutching the lavender dress.
“It’s not your fault, Keira. You’re not to blame.”
“Who are you?” I glower at my own unnaturally green eyes.
“Did you say something?” Jonathan’s muffled voice hollers from the other room.
“Be out in a minute.” But I don’t move. I ask again, this time a little quieter, a little calmer. “Who are you?”
“I am your reason.”
“My reason? What does that even mean?” As if my life isn’t already weird enough, my eyes begin to transform. A shiver rocks my shoulders. At first it looks like green and black liquid swirling separately in the center of my pupils, like a yin and yang, but then it changes. The liquids burn, as if alive and full of power. Two twin flames—one green, one black—blaze in the depths of my corneas. I drop both dresses. Squeezing my eyes shut, I clamp a hand over my mouth. An effort to keep from screaming my head off.
It’s a good minute before I chance a look again. The flames are gone. Maybe they were never there. Maybe neither is the voice. “Maybe I’m just losing it.” I strip off my clothes in one motion; like that will make the crazy go away.
I settle on the slinky purple dress, thankful I remembered to shave my legs, and dig for my hairbrush. My hands won’t stop trembling; doubling the time it takes to twist my hair into a knot. Once I’m dressed—and my hair is just the right amount of messy meets chic—I locate two heels from the same pair and dab on a little lip color. I evaluate my effect in the mirror.
“Not bad. For a tomboy.”
Feeling a little less rattled and a lot more like someone else, I throw open the double doors to the sitting room. Jonathan, waiting patiently in neatly pressed trousers and a sleek gray v-neck, smiles. He’s perfect.
I hesitate—wring my fingers.
Jonathan leaps out of the wingback chair as though it’s on fire.
“Is this okay? Should I change?” I rattle all at once, smoothing the dress over my thigh.
“That’s more than—I mean—it’s fine. It’s good. Yeah. You look—wow!” he stutters, rubbing his chin.
It would be great to be aloof right now and just say ‘thanks,’ but instead my cheeks blaze red. “Good. I know we’re supposed to be, you know, like a couple and…” I want to look pretty. I trace a toe around the circle pattern on the floor.
“You’re breathtaking. Really, Keira, relax,” Jonathan says, tilting his head and watching me chewing my lip. “You very much look the part of girlfriend on holiday.”
***
“This place is fabulous. It’s a little too extravagant, but for this food—I could adapt.” I say, laying my napkin on my plate as the waiter clears it away.
“I’m glad you liked it. The Haggis was excellent too.”
I scrunch my face and stick out my tongue at the thought of eating sheep’s stomach.
Jonathan shrugs me off with a laugh. “You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s delicious.”
“You couldn’t pay me enough to eat that garbage, Mr. Steed.” I fold my arms and toss my nose in the air. My best impression of the cat lady from the hotel.
The dining room is packed—the low hum of voices drowning out individual words—but still I kick myself for using Jonathan’s real name. I glance around to see if anyone’s watching us. Our waiter, standing by the swinging door to the kitchen, is talking to a tall blonde man in a royal blue baseball hat. He glances at our table briefly, but it seems more like it was by accident. Plus he has to be thirty feet away. There’s no way he heard me. No one else seems to even know we exist. They’re too wrapped up in their own conversations or devouring their meals. Still, I whisper, “I’m so sorry.”
Jonathan peeks side to side and smiles. “No harm. I told you no one cares, you can relax. Take off the agent hat for a while. Maybe you’ll even enjoy yourself at our next destination.”
“We’re going somewhere else?”
“Of course, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take my girlfriend sightseeing on our vacation?” Jonathan drops a pile of bills on the table and offers me a hand up.
It’s always when I least expect it that the voice pops in. “See, he’s perfect for you,” it says this time. My jaw goes slack.
“There! That look right there will blow our cover.” Jonathan bursts out laughing.
I drop my gaze. “Sorry. I—”
“You worry too much. Come on,” Jonathan says cheerily, taking me by the hand.
As we leave the restaurant, the evening sky turns bronze with the last of the afternoon fading into dusk. The air in Shrewsbury smells of spring, like wet grass and baby powder. I con
sider the idea that maybe all of England smells this way. Gardens and newborns. Fresh and new. That’s how I’m beginning to feel. Like if I could stay here. Make a fresh start with new friends. I could be content.
My palms sweat as I shake the notion away.
“Paul’s calling,” Jonathan says, reaching in his jacket. “Hello…how’d it go? Yeah? Okay, I’ll let her know…nope, no problems. All right, man. You too.”
“What?” I ask, knowing I’m the ‘her’ Jonathan mentioned.
“Lindy’s surgery got moved up to today. She’s in recovery now and it looks like it was a success. She’s resting peacefully with your parents at her side.”
“What!” I stop in the middle of the hectic sidewalk and smack his arm. That’s it. Just like that my purpose is gone. “You knew all day and you didn’t say anything?”
Jonathan rubs his arm. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d…”
“What? You thought I’d run off to America on an impulse? How stupid do you think I am?” I snarl.
“No, that’s not it at all. I knew you wouldn’t be able to relax if you were worrying about your sister. I wanted you to have a good time, that’s all.”
I don’t deserve a good time.
“Oh.” My voice cracks, blood pressure returning to normal. “But what if something had gone wrong? Would you have told me then?”
“Yes. I would’ve told you, but I wouldn’t have let you fall for SEEK’s trap. They’re trying to draw you out of hiding by keeping their end of the bargain. They figure your family loyalty will bring you in. SEEK will stop at nothing to get you back. You’re the agent who wasn’t supposed to live.” Jonathan pulls me toward the shops, out of the foot traffic path.
“But I should be with my family.” My stomach ties in.
“You’re right where you belong,” the voice says.
“But you’re missing the big picture here. Lindy has had the surgery that you worked so hard to get her. You did it!” A huge smile beams across Jonathan’s face.
My pulse quickens. He’s right. I got Lindy an operation to undo that awful accident, fix my mistake. That’s all I need. But the last few weeks flash before me; when I attacked my fellow SEEK agents and left Cord dead in the woods. I’m an awful person. “How could SEEK want me back? They know it was my gun that killed Cord. I’m sure Martin’s told them I shot her and Jackson. Did you check on Jackson? How is he?”
“That’s the other news. I looked in to see how your friends were, like you asked, and—” Jonathan trails, wrinkling his upper lip.
I inhale, clamping a hand over my mouth. “Oh God! Great. Double murder.” I throw my hands in the air.
A couple glances nervously over their shoulders, walking faster.
“No, no. Seth Jackson and Jennifer Martin are both fine, and so is Thomas Corduroy,” Jonathan says, grabbing my arm.
“What?” I gasp. Jonathan’s words slowly work their way to my brain. “Wait so—I’m not wanted for murder? I’m just AWOL as far as SEEK’s concerned? Well, that and a few dozen minor infractions, but no murder?” I ask.
Maybe there’s a way I could go home. Maybe I could forget any of this ever happened. I could see my family. I could sleep in my own room. But as I peer into in the smiling eyes of the man before me, I know that’s not possible. Not only because SEEK will never set me free—I know too much—SEEK wants me in their possession, or dead.
And what of Jonathan, Rose, Irkalla, and the millions of other endangered Khayal? Could I really just walk away?
No. This will never be over.
“You can end it,” the voice says.
“Yeah, you’re just the agent who violently attacked her team and aided and abetted a traitor.” Jonathan slings an arm playfully around my shoulder.
“Cord is alive, you’re sure?” I confirm.
“Alive and working. He’s on special assignment. He’s been advanced from hunter to Ops.”
I can practically hear the chains of guilt breaking free from my heart. I feel twelve tons lighter. “Cord is perfect for Ops. He has that look. It’s a good match. I’m happy for him.” I shake my head, disbelievingly.
“Really? Are you okay with all of this?” Jonathan asks. “I thought you’d be more upset. After how much you’ve punished yourself for what I did.”
“We’ve been over this. It was my fault you shot Cord. You warned me you didn’t know how to handle a gun. And of course I’m okay that he’s alive. I love Cord like a brother.” I peer through the window of Ye Old Stein Haus, a shop packed with every type of beer stein imaginable. “In fact I’m more than okay. I’m happy. Let’s go in. Shop for souvenirs like real tourists.”
Jonathan checks his watch.
“Do we have time?”
“About ten minutes.” Jonathan nods, opening the shop’s door with a curious glance.
He’s probably wondering if I’ve finally cracked. Shopping is not my favorite hobby. But I want to remember this moment. This newfound freedom. For the first time in too long, I am guilt free.
Inside, it’s warm and cheerful. Bavarian polka music plays in the background. I stroll the aisles, Jonathan looking amused with me for picking up practically every mug. Eventually, I settle on one with pointy-eared elves dancing drunkenly. “What? They remind me of Khayal.” I shrug.
At the counter, I’m pulling bills out of my wallet when I notice the man in the blue baseball hat ducking out of the store. It might just be my training making me paranoid, or it really is unusual to bump into someone who’d just been at our restaurant talking to our waiter. Whichever the case, my pulse quickens.
“You all right?” Jonathan asks, tapping my shoulder when it’s my turn.
I nod and pay the woman twenty American dollars. She gives me back some coins. They look to be equivalent to pennies. I guess the conversion rate isn’t in my favor. I wait, drumming my fingers on the counter, while the shopkeeper wraps my mug in bubble paper.
“Thanks,” I say, stuffing the package hurriedly in my purse.
“I can carry that for you,” Jonathan offers as we merge back into the street with the other late-night shoppers.
Jonathan looks happy right now, playing tourist and being normal. I don’t want to ruin it. I’m being paranoid, seeing danger where there probably is none. I glance at the other faces in the shop. There are probably ten other people who also dined at our restaurant. “No thanks.” I smile earnestly, patting my bag. “It’s not heavy, just poofy.”
“Well, if you change your mind.” Jonathan says, doubtfully eyeing my gunnysack purse.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I ask, reading the signs for the Victoria Quay pier.
Jonathan nods, but answers, “No” with a twisted grin.
“No—yes? Never mind, you’ll only think I’m silly.”
“I already think that. Let’s hear it anyway.” Jonathan chuckles.
I elbow him. Jonathan, being melodramatic, hunches at the waist and gives an exasperated grunt.
“This is important.” I snort, unsuccessful in my attempt at seriousness.
“Okay, sure. What’s up?” Jonathan straightens his face. He lips gather together thoughtfully as he looks me in the eye.
I chew a cuticle. “Your eyes, have you noticed anything strange about them?” Do you have two flames—one green, one black—burning in your pupils? I say on the inside, too scared to speak the words out loud.
“Strange how? Like being obnoxiously too green? Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Jonathan widens his eyes.
“You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m just being ridiculous.” I laugh gravely, skipping a few steps ahead and feeling like a complete lunatic.
Not far up the old cobbled road, harbored along the pier, floats a majestic wooden ship. Its decks and cabins have been whitewashed, its railings polished to gleaming, and its length strung with clear lights from bow to stern. At the very top of its highest point the Union Jack Flag waves in the breeze. The moon, peaking through sca
ttered clouds, is the ship’s only backdrop. The world seems to fall away behind the vessel.
“Wow.” I blink.
A satisfied grin lights Jonathan’s face. “Finally. You’re not easy to impress.”
Understanding floods me. All of this was for me. Not just this cruise—though he picked a spectacular ship—but everything from the hotel to dinner, that was all for me. Not for giving the bank the right address. I’m not here solely because Paul wants me to join the Fifth Column. I’m here because Jonathan doesn’t want me to leave.
I think he’s trying to woo me. I slip an arm under Jonathan’s, leaning my head against his shoulder.
I can feel the smile spread across his face. We reach the loading dock and merge with a steady flow of other cruise goers. “Just trying to blend in,” I say. Really, I’m happy for the excuse. Pretending to be Jonathan’s girlfriend isn’t the worst thing I could do.
A plump man in a black overcoat and bowtie hollers over the roar of embarking passengers. “Welcome to the Ghostly River Cruise!”
I raise an eyebrow, peering up at my escort. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in ghosts,” Jonathan says, fake shocked.
“And you do?” I ask, carefully watching the steps in my heels as we climb to the second level. We settle at a table lit only by a singular votive candle atop a white linen tablecloth.
“We can’t rule out the existence of anything, remember? Now, what was it you were trying to tell me, something about your eyes being silly?” Jonathan’s expressing turns teasing.
I shake my head. By candlelight he’s even cuter. It’s hard to think straight when he’s looking at me like I’m his most favorite person. “I think you’re the one who’s silly.”
“Just give the ghosts a chance. It’s all for fun and who knows maybe you’ll even enjoy yourself.” Jonathan waggles his eyebrows.
Just then, a fanciful waiter swoops over to our table. “Good evening. Welcome to the Ghostly River Cruise. We’re glad you’ve come to hear tale of the dastardly medieval pirates who haunt the Buildwas. As we make way ‘round the loop you’ll need some liquid courage. What might I bring you to boost your bravery tonight?” The tuxedo wearing waiter asks in thick English brogue.
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