by Ally Carter
“What paintings?” April asked, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
“The ones that burned up in the museum. You heard about the museum, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” April muttered. “I heard about that.”
Suddenly, April’s skin felt too hot—like she was back in the fire. Because Colin wasn’t just looking at her—he was seeing her, and April didn’t like it one bit. And when he asked, “You okay, April?” she honestly didn’t know what to say, because he’d known when the Fake Fiancée was lying, but he hadn’t known when April was telling the truth.
Or maybe he just hadn’t cared.
“I’m—”
“There you are!” Sadie’s voice came echoing down the hallway. “Where were you? We looked everywhere!”
“Just wandering around,” April blurted, sounding a little too defensive.
“Well, now that we’ve found you, we can start!”
“Start what?”
“Movie night!” Sadie looped her arm with April’s and started down the hall. “That’s my big surprise. Gabriel Winterborne had a room turned into a theater!”
“He did?” April asked, because that didn’t sound like the man she knew at all. But she didn’t actually know Gabriel Winterborne, did she? And that was just part of the problem.
“The bad news is that the movies are really old, but that’s okay. A lot of them are classics now. Smithers let me make popcorn! And there’s candy and . . .” Sadie trailed off, and when she spoke again, the words were almost a whisper. “Are you okay? You aren’t embarrassed, are you? About . . . before?”
Well, April hadn’t been, but she was now, and that made her feel even worse than usual.
“It’s like Colin said. Gabriel’s just kind of a sore spot. Everything’s going to be okay, though. You’ll see. We’ll watch some movies and eat some popcorn, and it’ll be fun.”
And it probably would have been, except, at that moment, April saw something out the windows.
The mansion sat in a cove, rocky cliffs forming a kind of horseshoe on either side with the cold gray water stretching out to the horizon. The sun was getting low, so at first she thought her eyes might have been playing tricks on her. But, no. A door was swinging open. Except it wasn’t a door at all. It was more like a section of stones that moved. Just like the fireplace. And then someone emerged, hunching low and running fast, skirting over the edge of the cliffs.
“April?” Sadie’s voice was louder.
“Sorry,” April said. “I’ve got to . . . I’m not feeling very well. I think I’ll go to bed.” She started down the hall, but something made her stop, turn back. “Have fun with the movie.”
And then she was gone.
20
The Mini Mansion
April ran to the closet by the front door and grabbed a dark coat and a black beret, pulled them on, then darted outside before Smithers or Ms. Nelson could catch her, before Colin or Tim or Sadie could tell her that she was being stupid. But April wasn’t stupid. April was desperate.
If Gabriel Winterborne was taking her key somewhere, then April had to know, and there wasn’t a moment to lose.
The sun was dipping low on the horizon, and soon the sky would be totally dark, but that was Future April’s problem, she decided. Present April had more important things to worry about.
As it was, Gabriel had a head start. And he was . . . you know . . . a grown man with way longer legs. Plus, he’d been raised on that rocky shore. So Gabriel had an advantage, no doubt about it. But April had never let being at a disadvantage stop her, and she wasn’t about to start now.
She stayed low as she skirted along the cliffs. Every now and then, she could hear a skittering rock or flapping bird, something to tell her that she wasn’t alone, even though the mansion was lost on the other side of the twisting ridge and the sound of Sadie’s voice was just a memory. April wasn’t enjoying movie night. April felt like she was in movie night, and she wasn’t going back. Not until she had some answers.
She’d find out where he went. She’d see if he used her key. And then she’d go get Ms. Nelson and Smithers and all of the kids. She’d show them that Gabriel Winterborne really was alive, and no one would call her a liar ever again.
When she crested the next ridge, she saw it. Lights growing brighter as the sky grew darker, and April’s first thought was to stop and look behind her, to wonder how she could have gotten so totally turned around because she’d just left Winterborne House. How in the world had she walked down the coast for twenty minutes, only to end up right back at Winterborne House?
It didn’t make any sense! But then she remembered what Sadie had said—that Uncle Evert lived down the shore in a house that looked a lot like Winterborne House, only smaller.
So April lay on the ground at the top of the ridge and studied the mini mansion. It looked almost like a dollhouse perched at the edge of the world. The fog was a ghostly white veil that was floating on the wind, and April knew she wasn’t supposed to be there. But she also knew it would be impossible for her to be anywhere else—not when Mr. Winterborne might be in the mini mansion right that moment using her mother’s key and taking away April’s birthright.
So April didn’t turn around and go back. Nope. April crept closer.
The wind was cold, and she pulled her coat tighter and her beret lower. She needed to be warm, sure, but she needed to be invisible even more.
She wasn’t really thinking as she ran, clinging to the bushes and the rocky ledge until she reached the side of the house. The other kids were probably eating popcorn with all the butter they wanted. They were no doubt drinking the bubbly lemonade and watching movies about singing squirrels or whatever. April didn’t much care for singing squirrels, but she loved butter and lemonade, and she hated being cold and . . . worrying. April was so very worried. But that didn’t stop her from creeping closer.
She heard a door open. A light flicked on. And then Evert Winterborne was stepping out onto a wide stone patio, checking the pocket watch that he wore on a chain and looking out over the water at the fog that was rolling in like a wave. He seemed impatient. And nervous. And he should have been. Because he definitely wasn’t alone.
April might have thought it was a gargoyle perched on the eaves of the house, but gargoyles don’t have coats that billow in the wind. They don’t fidget. And they’re almost never holding swords.
Moonlight glistened off the blade, and April’s heart went from pounding to not beating at all. She couldn’t breathe. Maybe because she didn’t want to risk someone seeing the way her breath turned white in the chilly air. Or maybe she’d just forgotten how. All she really knew for certain was that Gabriel Winterborne had his uncle in his sights, and April didn’t know what to do.
On the patio, Evert checked his watch again. Gabriel looked ready to pounce. And April heard footsteps.
Someone was walking around the side of the house. Coming closer and closer. April looked from where Gabriel crouched on the roof to where Evert waited, both unaware of the person approaching in the darkness.
Gabriel shifted. April saw him start to jump. And for some reason, her fingers reached for a small stone and threw it before she could think about what she was doing.
The stone pinged off the terrace, and Evert spun, searching the night. “Who’s there?” he called.
And the night called back, “It’s just me, Evert.”
April crouched down behind a big rock as Ms. Nelson walked across the long dark lawn and into the circle of light. Overhead, Gabriel stilled, and Evert called, “Izzy! To what do I owe the honor?”
He glanced back at the sea, then said, “Come inside. Let’s get out of this cold.”
He held open the door and ushered her into the house but paused to take one last look at the night.
He didn’t see Gabriel. He didn’t see April. And he was already inside by the time the deep, gruff voices came drifting up from the water.
A
pril heard them, though. Someone was down there. Someone was coming. But Gabriel was still crouched on the rooftop, and April didn’t know if she should warn him or warn the strangers. She didn’t know who she should trust. But it didn’t make any difference, April remembered. The only person she could really count on was herself.
She just had to keep low. She just had to be quiet and careful and—
It didn’t matter, because the next thing April knew, she was falling into the night.
* * *
Well, probably—technically—falling wasn’t the right word.
It was more like sliding.
If you were on the World’s Worst jungle gym.
April’s butt was on the ground, and her legs were out in front of her. Her hands tried to stop her descent, but the more April clawed and kicked at the steep, rocky soil, the more noise she made, and the more noise she made, the more the men’s shouts turned from “What was that?” to “Who’s out there?”
When April finally crashed down on the rocky shoreline, her butt hurt and her hands burned, but April didn’t dare make a whimper. She clung to the shadows and tried to stay still. She could hear the inky black water lapping up around a boat that was parked at the dock. She could see the silhouettes of the men who stood staring into the darkness, frozen in the act of carrying big wooden crates from the boat and down the dock and up the twisting stairs toward the house.
She didn’t know who they were. She didn’t know what they were doing. But something made her grateful that the moon had gone behind a cloud. They hadn’t seen her. If she was quiet—if she was careful—she could slink away, down the shore and back to her hot shower and soft bed.
She didn’t know who those men were or why Ms. Nelson was there or what Gabriel planned to do with April’s key, but none of it mattered right then, so she turned and started to run, but unfortunately for April, she ran right into a very hard, very broad, very smelly chest.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Strong hands gripped her arms, but this time they didn’t belong to Gabriel Winterborne.
“Hey, boys,” the man yelled, “we’ve got us a stowaway.”
Which didn’t make any sense because April wasn’t on the boat. But he pushed her toward the dock, and April stumbled, falling hard. Her hand hit the water, and it was so cold. It was so dark. And April wanted to run, but when she looked back, she saw the gun.
“Move,” the man told her.
“Gladly,” a voice said.
And then something fell from the sky.
Except not something, April realized. Someone.
It all happened so fast. One moment, April was standing there terrified. The next, she was standing there mesmerized as Gabriel dropped onto the big man with the gun.
He turned to her and shouted, “Run,” as another man rushed toward him. “Now!” he yelled as he dodged and kicked, swerved and stabbed.
Yes. Stabbed!
Faint traces of moonlight flickered off of two shiny blades—a longer sword in his left hand and a shorter blade in his right. He used them both like they weren’t just weapons, they were second limbs. Limbs that were sharp and strong and deadly.
One by one, the men fell or stumbled or ran back to the boat. He was too fast—too fluid. It was all too crazy. They were so confused and it was so dark and soon he was the only one left standing. He looked around, checking to see that the men on the ground were going to stay down.
And then his gaze flickered back toward the rocks, and April. “Get out of here!” he called to her just as the boat roared to life, the engine loud in the darkness.
It charged down the length of the dock, shooting out to sea, and Gabriel was running after it, then diving onto the boat’s deck as it pulled away.
He went for the man behind the controls first, and the boat slowed when Gabriel threw him across the deck, sending him crashing into the crates that went tumbling like a house of cards. One fell into the dark water with a splash. Gabriel turned at the sound, and that was his first mistake.
“Look out!” April couldn’t help but shout when she saw another man moving toward him.
Especially once she saw the sword.
Gabriel must have dropped it at some point, because it didn’t belong in the big man’s hand. His motions weren’t smooth, but the sword was very, very sharp. And Gabriel had turned too late.
He stumbled and looked down, almost insulted to see his own sword sticking out of his body as the men on the boat started closing in.
One of them took over the controls, and the boat shot off, water churning behind it in frosty waves, while Gabriel stood near the rail, looking between the dark water and the men and their crates.
April heard their laughter get fainter and fainter as the boat moved farther and farther down the shoreline. She wanted to scream again as she started to run, but the boat was too fast. The men were too strong. Mr. Winterborne must have known it because he took another step. Then another. And another. And then he fell over the railing, splashing into the dark, freezing waters below.
21
Spat out by the Sea. Again.
April ran until her lungs felt like they were going to burst. “Come on,” she said to absolutely no one but the darkness. She was shaking, radiating with cold and fear, and so she didn’t talk anymore.
She screamed.
“Come on!”
The boat wasn’t even a dot on the horizon, long since swallowed up by the night and the sea. The mini mansion was behind her, lost behind a curtain of fog. And April stood, looking out at the place where she thought he’d gone into the water.
“Gabriel . . .” The word was almost a sigh. “Come on.”
Surely sword-wielding billionaires know how to swim, April thought. But just that quickly, she remembered black-and-white headlines and old grainy photographs—stories of a boy who had washed up on the rocky shore, alone and afraid, spat out by the sea.
She just had to hope that the sea would spit him out again. She hadn’t found her mother yet. She needed her key. She was still mad at him but also grateful because he had just kinda sorta saved her life, and she kinda sorta felt like it might be her turn.
So she walked down the rocky shore, calling, “Mr. Winterborne!” even as a little voice in the back of her head whispered that he’d been in the water too long.
It was starting to look like maybe the ocean wanted him back.
April wasn’t a very good swimmer, but she could dog paddle and she could float.
She could fight.
When she saw something bobbing in the water, she ran into the waves, pushing against the current, screaming, “Mr. Winterborne!”
But absolutely no one shouted back, and when she realized the thing in the water was just the big, flat crate that had fallen overboard, she almost wept. But she didn’t have time for weeping, so she yelled, “Gabriel!” then threw an arm over the crate and kicked, trying to reach the place where she thought he’d gone in. She tried putting her head underwater, but it was too dark. It was too cold. She’d stopped shivering, and something told her that was a bad thing.
“Gabriel?” she whispered, like maybe the whole thing might have been a very bad dream.
She could feel her grip on the crate slipping, her hands too cold to hang on. The shore was too far away. Ms. Nelson and Evert Winterborne might as well have been on another planet, and April knew she was on her own.
Like always.
Maybe it would be okay just to close my eyes for a little bit, a little voice inside of April said. Maybe it would be okay just to let go of the crate.
But something was shimmering in the distance. Like a mirage. Like that lady who lived in a lake—April thought someone was trying to give her a sword. Which seemed silly until she remembered: sword.
So April started kicking and praying and pushing the big crate until she reached the dark figure floating on the waves, the hilt of the sword still sticking out of the place where chest and shoulder meet.
“April.” His voice was faint, his face an eerie, ghostly white. Even as she reached for him, he seemed a million miles away. “Save yourself.”
“No!” April shouted, pulling him closer. “I’m gonna get us to the shore and then—”
“No. Just you, April.” He choked and gagged, the words ragged and as cold as the water. “Only you.”
“No! I’m gonna get help. I’m—”
But then he surged, grabbing on to her with a power she didn’t know he still had. “Let me go, April,” he choked out. “Let me go, and save yourself.”
“Please,” she begged as his arms went slack and his strength seemed to ebb away like the tide. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
“No one knows . . . alive. Can’t tell. Secret.” His eyes fluttered closed, and the last word was nothing more than a ragged breath: “Safe.”
His grip softened. His head fell. Had she not heard his ragged breath, she would have sworn that he was dead. And, sadly, that wasn’t their only problem.
The current was strong, and the fog was growing thicker by the moment. April was so turned around she didn’t even know which way to kick. All around her, there was nothing but water, and for a moment all April could think about was what ten-year-old Gabriel must have felt the first time he washed ashore. Cold and lonely and afraid. But he hadn’t died then, and he wasn’t going to die now. April wasn’t going to let the ocean win.
She just had to get him out of the water. She just had to get him warm. She just had to keep him from bleeding to death. But April was so cold and so tired.
“Wake up, Mr. Winterborne.” Her teeth hurt as they rattled together. “Please. You have to give me my key back. You have to tell me what it fits. You have to tell me what to do. I need you to wake up!” Then a cold, hard fact settled down on April, heavy enough that she was half afraid that it might sink them. “I need you.”
And then lights broke through the darkness: the shoreline, the cliffs, and a mansion bright in the distance.