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Winterborne Home for Vengeance and Valor

Page 19

by Ally Carter


  “What is this place?” Sadie craned her head back and looked around. “Some kind of gym?”

  “Then why keep it locked up down here all secret-like?” Colin asked as he picked up a wooden sword and whacked the head off an old dummy.

  “I don’t know,” Gabriel said, but something in his tone made April think he had his suspicions.

  “Why was Evert willing to kill to find it?” Tim asked.

  “I don’t know!” Gabriel said again. “I don’t . . .”

  But he trailed off when Violet threw open the doors of a huge armoire, revealing a black hat. And several swords. And an honest-to-goodness cape—but not the superhero kind. The antique kind. It reminded April of the clothes in the museum, but also of the docent’s story and the Sentinel’s statue. And the whispers of a dozen kids who had grown up hearing that, once upon a time, the Sentinel had been real.

  “Gabriel . . .” April started slowly. “If this is the secret your father and grandfather were keeping from Evert . . .”

  “No.” He was already shaking his head, like it couldn’t possibly be true.

  But April was nodding right back. “Think about it! They made you learn how to use a sword. They called it the family legacy, right? Isn’t that what Evert was rambling about? He said there was the Winterborne fortune and then there was this.” She threw her arms out wide. “Evert thought it was some kind of treasure because Evert’s a greedy moron, but what if it wasn’t? What if it’s more than that?”

  “What if it’s what?” Sadie asked, and she didn’t like not knowing the answer for once in her life. She didn’t like it one bit.

  But it was Violet who picked up the hat and said, “It’s the Sentinel.”

  “The Sentinel’s a myth,” Gabriel snapped. “A legend.”

  “No.” April shook her head and tossed a sword—which should have been dangerous, but Gabriel caught it and held it like a second limb. “It’s a Winterborne.”

  * * *

  Eventually, Colin stopped climbing on the ropes and Sadie and Violet stopped playing with the capes and everyone made their way upstairs. Smithers brought out the sparkling cider and set up an old record player in the library, and April watched her friends singing and dancing because Isabella Nelson was alive and Evert Winterborne was in jail. Kids like them weren’t very used to victories, so they made the most out of this one.

  But Gabriel didn’t dance. Or sing. Or eat or drink. He just drifted back to the windows, Ms. Nelson’s letter tucked in his pocket, right over his heart.

  April told herself she shouldn’t bother him. But there was something she needed to tell him even more.

  “I never did say thank you. For saving me.”

  “Well, one might say that makes us even.” Gabriel glared down at her, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Just don’t do it again.”

  “Okay. I’m pretty sure I’m ahead anyway. I mean, I did pull you out of the water—”

  “Which I wouldn’t have been in without you.”

  “And nursed you back to health—”

  “Which wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t gotten me stabbed.”

  “And I was instrumental in making sure Evert will probably die in prison,” April teased. Then grew serious. “But I owe you for the museum, so I guess we’ll call it even.”

  She didn’t expect him to laugh or smile back. He was still Gabriel Winterborne, after all. But she wasn’t ready for him to look so confused as he said, “What about the museum?”

  “You know, when you carried me out of the fire?” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I guess that means I owed you first, but . . .” She trailed off when she saw his expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “April, I wasn’t at the museum.”

  She thought she’d misunderstood him. But he must have misunderstood her. “I know you weren’t there during the day. I’m talking about that night. I would have died, you know? I was too busy looking for the key and the smoke was so thick, but then you were there and you found my key and carried me . . . What?”

  “April, I haven’t been to the museum in fifteen years. Whoever carried you out of the fire, it wasn’t me.”

  There were so few things that April knew for certain. Not her birthday or her mother’s name or how she’d ended up with a key that unlocked the Winterborne family’s greatest secret. But she’d known that Gabriel Winterborne had been there—that Gabriel had saved her. April had been so certain. But April had been wrong.

  “If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

  Gabriel looked back at the windows that had become a mirror with the fall of night. Her friends were still dancing on the other side of the room, but Gabriel didn’t smile or laugh. He just stared into the darkness and said, “That is a very good question.”

  No one noticed the breath that fogged the glass. No one heard the low laugh that filled the air. Not a single resident of Winterborne House saw the figure who was running along the cliffs, blending into the shadows and the night, disappearing into the darkness like the wind.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m sincerely grateful to all the people who helped make this book possible. The team at HMH has been phenomenal, and I can’t imagine better champions, with a special thanks to Catherine Onder and Gabriella Abbate.

  As always, I could not have done it without Kristin Nelson, literary agent extraordinaire.

  I’m overwhelmingly grateful to my very kind, very wise, very patient friends who helped me talk it through a million times, especially Carrie Ryan, Sarah Rees Brennan, Jennifer Lynn Barnes, Rose Brock, and Bob.

  Special thanks to Shellie Rea, who keeps the real world running so I can focus on the fictional.

  And, last but certainly not least, my family. Thank you and I love you.

  About the Author

  Author photo by Liz Ligon

  ALLY CARTER writes books about spies, thieves, and diplomats. She is the New York Times best-selling author of the standalone novel Not If I Save You First and three YA series about the world’s best teenage art thieves (Heist Society), the world’s coolest spy school (Gallagher Girls), and the granddaughter of a diplomat who has to find her mother’s killer (Embassy Row). She lives in Oklahoma, where her life is either very ordinary or the best deep-cover legend ever. She’d tell you more, but . . . well . . . you know . . .

  Learn more at www.allycarter.com

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