by Ally Carter
“I’m going to do it,” Alexei warns. His smile is too bright in the moonlight.
“Do what?” I ask.
“I’m going to make you laugh.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m going to make you laugh,” he says, grinning. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh, Gracie, and it’s time.”
I’m just opening my mouth to protest when he splashes me.
Water gushes over my head. It gets in my mouth and my eyes.
“You —”
He does it again and again.
And again.
And he’s right. I do laugh. I laugh so loudly that it echoes off the hills and drowns out the sound of the rushing, falling water.
I laugh like a little girl who has finally climbed the wall and caught up with the boys.
I laugh because, for once, Alexei chose to run away with me.
When I splash him back, he lunges in the water, wrapping my arms in his own, squeezing me from behind. I squirm and kick and try to break free, but Alexei only holds me tighter, pulling me against his chest as we float, weightless, looking up at the stars.
Slowly, I stop fighting.
For a long time, we are alone and we are silent. I can feel Alexei’s every breath. My head rests on his shoulder and he doesn’t move to push me away. If anything, he holds me tighter.
“The people who are behind this …” Alexei begins, but I just keep gazing at the stars. “Someone put a bomb in a diplomatic car, Gracie. Someone killed a West Point cadet who was a personal guest of the United States ambassador. Whoever these people are, please tell me you’re being careful.”
He squeezes me so tightly that I can barely breathe. The last thing I want to do is stop him.
“I’m okay,” I say, to the boy and to the stars. “I’ll be okay,” I say, praying it’s true.
Embassy Row is dark when I reach it. It’s late enough that if I’m quiet I know that I might just make it inside and up to my room before Jamie or my grandfather or Ms. Chancellor even realizes I’ve been missing. The rain drove most of the protestors away, and now Embassy Row is oddly silent. For the first time in days, the street is at peace.
“You have been careless, Grace Olivia.”
When Dominic steps out from the small crack in the fence between the US and Russia, I almost jump out of my skin.
“You scared me!” I say while I try to force my heart back into my chest.
He doesn’t ask where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. No. It’s worse than that. He looks at me like he already knows.
“Valancia is a dangerous city,” Dominic says, but I can’t help myself. I glance down the mansion-lined street. Armed guards stand approximately every fifty feet; cameras cover every angle.
“Yeah.” It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Clearly the neighborhood is super sketchy.”
But Dominic doesn’t laugh at my joke, doesn’t relax. He doesn’t even scold me like my dad or Jamie would. He just looks at me as if he sees something I don’t. And he probably does. He was some kind of elite soldier once upon a time. It’s his job to look in shadows and see ghosts. Now that there’s no one he’s supposed to be protecting, I guess he’s decided to protect me.
For the first time in my life, I actually feel sorry for the Scarred Man.
“How are you?” I ask.
He looks stunned by the question.
“You should not be concerned about me,” he says.
“But you get to worry about me? That doesn’t quite sound fair.”
“I …” He stumbles, and I know I’ve knocked him off guard, probably the first time that’s happened in decades. He moves out of my way and gestures to the embassy. “Go inside, Grace Olivia. And do not wander the streets alone again. Especially after dark. Especially now.”
The Festival of the Fortnight is just getting started, and as if on cue, some drunks stagger down Embassy Row, proving his point.
I move to the gates but at the last minute turn back and study the Scarred Man. Was he always so dark, so brooding? Did he ever go night swimming with a girl and splash her until she laughed? And did that laughter die the night my mother died? Did I kill his laughter, too, when I killed her?
“Thank you, Dominic. If I didn’t say so before, thank you for saving my life.”
I’m quiet on the stairs of the embassy. I’m like a ghost as I walk down the hall. The light is off in Jamie’s room, but I can’t tell if he’s asleep or out somewhere, wandering through the city. I don’t know, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I just ease open my door and step inside, closing it softly behind me, thankful for the dark.
“It’s about time,” a voice says, and I can’t help myself: I scream and spin.
“Lila!” I try to catch my breath and glare at the girl who is lounging atop my covers, a smug smirk on her perfect face.
“Members of your family really need to learn to knock,” I say, remembering the night when I met Noah.
“I did knock.” Lila stretches and twists across my bed like a very shiny cat. “You weren’t here.”
“And you came in anyway?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. You’re so right. I should have knocked on every door in the embassy looking for you, asking if anyone knew where I could find you. Would you have preferred that?”
She has me and she knows it. When I flip on the light she eyes me, and I see that Megan is asleep in my chair.
“Nice sweater,” Lila says as I strip off my cardigan. That’s also when I realize that I must have put it on inside out.
I could say something, retreat. But I am far more comfortable on the offensive.
“What do you want, Lila?”
I think maybe she’s going to tell me that it’s over, that she’s told her mom or Ms. Chancellor and any moment now an army of lady librarian assassins is going to storm the embassy’s walls and take me away for my betrayal.
But Lila just crosses her arms and studies me. “So how was Alexei?”
I could deny it. I could fight it. But I have learned to pick my battles wisely, and under any circumstances, Lila is a worthy foe, so I say, “Fine.”
“What is it?” Megan is still half asleep, but she’s pulling herself together.
“Also, your hair is wet,” Lila tells me, then looks at Megan. “Grace came home.”
“Was there something the two of you needed?” I don’t mean to snap, really I don’t. But I’m too tired and it’s too late. I’m too hungry and worried and I don’t know what just happened between Alexei and me, but I know that something’s different now. We are different. Lila and Megan would probably know about boys. They could probably tell me what happened, but that would be betraying Alexei and whatever our private moment meant.
If Megan and I were alone, I might ask, but Lila and I aren’t friends. I know it. She knows it. If it weren’t for the Society and Alexei and all the drama of our lives, we would exist in completely separate social spheres.
But I can see something changing inside of Lila. Her features shift as she climbs off the bed and walks to the window. The moon is bright and full, and its light slashes across her pretty face. There was a time, not long ago, when that would have reminded me of a scar. But Lila’s skin is perfect. It’s what’s in her eyes that scares me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Lila turns to Megan, and something passes between them. Megan’s fully awake now, and I can tell that she’s almost afraid.
“You two are scaring me,” I say.
Megan reaches down and picks up her laptop. “You know how you told me to — and I quote — do my computer thing and find out all I can about that night?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I did.”
“That was fast. What did you find?”
“This.” Megan sounds like she’d give anything to take it back, but it’s too late. For a lot of things.
She turns the laptop around. It takes a moment to recognize the scene that’s
playing out in black and white. The footage is from one of the embassies. I can tell by the fences that line the street. It’s dark and the night is clear.
“It’s from the night of the party,” Megan says. “Most of us were still on the island — it wasn’t that late. And then …” Megan trails off but gestures to the screen, where Spence is walking down an alley that’s just off Embassy Row. He’s covered in dust and his hat is missing, but it’s definitely him, and he’s definitely 100 percent alive.
“Isn’t there a tunnel entrance around that corner?” I ask. Megan nods.
“Yeah, but —”
“Well, that’s good, right? This is more proof that he made it back to the mainland alive?”
“Keep watching,” Lila says.
On the screen, Spence turns, walks out of sight.
Then, ten seconds later, Alexei appears as well.
And follows.
I’ve been wrong, and I’ve been crazy. But this is the first time I’ve ever truly felt like a fool.
I keep thinking about the way Alexei held me and looked into my eyes while he lied. It makes me want to take a hot shower, scrub off every inch of skin he might have touched. It makes me wonder how a person can be so wrong so often. It makes me realize I’m the last person on earth anyone should ever trust.
That’s what keeps me up all night.
That’s why I can’t relax long enough to close my eyes or sleep or eat or do anything but stare at the walls of my mother’s bedroom, rocking and wondering exactly when and how everything went so wrong.
That’s why, when morning comes, I know exactly what I have to do.
There’s no answer when I knock on the door, but it’s unlocked, and as I push it open just a crack I can hear the water running in the bathroom. I let myself in and stand at the window.
You can see Russia from here. I’d almost forgotten that. But now I remember stories about flashlights and Morse code, a long-running debate about the wisdom of stringing a laundry line between the two embassies so that no matter what — day or night — messages could be passed in between.
I hear my mother’s laugh when I think about it. I can almost see her close this window, blocking out the rain and the sun and the boy next door.
When the bathroom door swings open, the small bedroom floods with steam, and I hear my brother gasp. “Gracie! You scared me half to death!”
Jamie’s hair is wet, and he’s not wearing a shirt. He’s always been my big brother, but it’s hard to disguise the fact that, now, he’s even bigger. His arms are huge and his chest is broad, and it feels like he’s grown a foot. Or maybe I’m just smaller. It feels like I shrink a little more every day.
“You’re up early,” my brother says. He digs around in his dresser and pulls out an ARMY T-shirt, pulls it over his head. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him that I never went to sleep.
“How far did you run?” I ask instead.
“I did the circle,” he says. I don’t have to ask which circle. He means he looped the city, ran all the way around Embassy Row. Five miles. It’s barely six a.m.
“Is that all?” I tease.
Jamie shrugs. “I did it twice.”
Of course he did. It used to bother me, having a sibling who was so perfect. But now I’m glad Dad has him. I’m glad not all of our family’s expectations have to land on me.
“Gracie?” Jamie’s closer than I remember. I can see his reflection in the window as I look out at Russia. The sun’s just coming up.
“I’m sorry, Jamie.”
He turns to me. “For what?”
“For killing your mother.”
The wall that runs around Valancia is high and wide and strong enough to stand for a thousand years, but it’s nothing compared to the one I’ve built inside me. In the haze of early morning, though, I can hear it start to crack. I can feel my defenses crumble. And when the tears come they don’t slide down my face in slow motion. No, my grief comes out in wails and sobs.
I know Jamie’s arms are around me. I know that’s the reason I haven’t already fallen, broken, to the floor.
“I did it,” I say. “It was me. I did it. I …”
“Shhh, Gracie. Shhh. It’s okay.”
“I killed her. I killed Mom. I shot her, Jamie.”
“You didn’t mean to. It was an —” He stops himself before he says the word accident. “You didn’t mean to do it. It’s okay,” my brother says, like that will make it better. He doesn’t know that that’s maybe my least favorite lie of all.
Jamie drags me to the bed and makes me sit on the edge, his arms around me like a vise. He’s not going to let me split into a thousand pieces no matter how much I want to. He is going to hold me together.
“I was wrong,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he tells me. He has no idea I’m talking about Alexei.
“I was so stupid!” I say, then my anger shatters, fractures into tears. I’m not really mad, I realize. I’m betrayed. Like it or not, I know I’ll never trust again.
I’ve been quiet for a while now. Jamie must think it’s safe to speak again because he presses a kiss to the top of my head just like Mom used to do.
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
I can hear the tension in Jamie’s voice, the worry. He’s already wondering if he should call Dad, what he’s supposed to say to Grandpa. He wants to know how bad I am. He doesn’t even know the half of it.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He rubs my back, mutters, “Man, you’re thin,” and I know it’s not a compliment. My brother is worried about me. It’s not his fault he isn’t a fool.
My sobs have turned to silent tears. The only motion is the feel of my brother rocking me as if I were still a little girl who’s had a bad dream. But this is one nightmare from which I will never, ever wake.
“Is this the part where I sing?” he asks me. “Mom always sang.”
“Hush, little princes, dead and gone —” I start softly, but Jamie pulls back and looks at me. He’s smiling.
“What?” I ask.
“You. You always get the words wrong.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes,” he says in that tone that must come standard in the Big Brother package. “You do.”
“No. I … never mind.”
“Fine,” Jamie says, and for a long time, he just hugs me. But I can hear him humming under his breath. And when the humming stops, his words are almost a whisper.
“What if I stay?”
“No.”
I push away and rub my nose with my sleeve as he tells me, “I could defer. Go back in a semester or two.”
“No!” I’m shouting now. Grandpa might hear us, get worried. Come to see what has become of his only grandchildren. But that’s not likely, and we both know it. “I’m not going to let you throw West Point away.”
“West Point isn’t going anywhere.”
“I’m not going to be responsible for ruining anybody else’s life. I can’t … I won’t do that.”
There’s nothing my brother can say to that so, to his credit, he doesn’t say a thing.
“Get some sleep, Gracie.” He pulls me to my feet and pushes me toward the door.
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re exhausted,” he says, and a part of me has to admit he might be right because, when I reach the door, I sway a little. I have to hold on to the frame when I turn.
“Jamie?”
My brother looks up at me.
“Alexei is in a cave in the hills, three clicks north of the Iranian embassy.”
It takes a moment for the words to register, for their meaning to land. I can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed when he shakes his head.
“You don’t want to tell me that.”
“He’s not far from the hot springs where the two of you used to sneak off and swim. The cave’s pretty well hidden. There’s just a narrow crack. But you can find it if you’re looking.”
/> “Why are you telling me this?”
“Tell the cops. Don’t tell the cops. Tell Grandpa. Swarm the place with a SWAT team, I don’t care anymore. It’s your choice. I’m through.”
With Alexei?
With drama?
With taking foolish chances all on my own?
I don’t stop to specify because, in truth, I really don’t know. I’m just through. With all of it. Most of all, I’m through with trusting my own judgment because, clearly, it’s as messed up as my mind.
Lila and I aren’t going to storm the Society. They are welcome to their secrets, and as far as I’m concerned it can stand for another thousand years. When I go back to my room I fall onto my bed and deep into sleep. I don’t even dream. The embassy could go up in flames around me, the neighbors could start World War III … I wouldn’t notice anything. I’m dead to the world.
Or at least it feels that way. I tell myself that’s why I don’t notice when my door opens. I don’t feel the mattress sag. And when a hand presses against my mouth it’s why it takes a moment for me to swallow down the instinct to scream.
“Wake up, you little traitor.”
I bolt awake and realize Alexei’s blue eyes are staring into mine. His face is inches away. “We need to talk.”
I’m not afraid.
That’s the first thing I realize, aside from the obvious. That Alexei is in my room. That Alexei is in the US embassy. That Alexei knows I told someone his location, and now Alexei has fled his hiding place and come to me.
And Alexei isn’t smiling.
It’s been days since he’s shaved, and dark stubble covers his strong jaw. But his blue eyes are clear and alert as they stare into mine. Alexei is wide awake, but he’s not wild. His breathing is slow and even. He’s almost the boy I know. Or, at least, the boy I thought I knew.
“If I take my hand away, are you going to scream?” he asks, and, slowly, I shake my head.
“Don’t lie to me, Gracie.”
And that does it. I wrench myself away from him and roll off the other side of the bed.