“So you didn’t know …”
“What?” Lila looks at me. “That my mother belongs to an ancient league of secret lady assassins or whatever?”
“They aren’t assassins,” I say. Then I think about it. “Are they?”
“Oh, certainly.” Lila rolls her eyes. “Did you think their battle-ax collection is for when the librarians want to collect late fees?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she shrugs and says, “In answer to your question, no. I didn’t know. My mother told me a few weeks ago. Did yours tell you?” It takes Lila a moment to realize what she’s said. “I mean, before she died?”
She doesn’t sound embarrassed. After all, Lila is the kind of person who isn’t afraid of the truth and doesn’t have time for regrets.
I shouldn’t either, I realize, but all I can say is, “No. I never knew.”
Maybe my mom died too soon. Maybe she didn’t think I belonged here. Maybe it’s just too hard to work something like an ancient family legacy in over breakfast. But no matter why, the fact remains that my mother never told me, and my mother never will. There was a time that would have made me cry, but that’s the good thing about being dead inside, I guess. Dead people don’t feel pain.
Then something occurs to me — something that has nothing to do with my mother.
“Does Noah know?” I ask, and Lila laughs.
“Noah doesn’t have a clue. About anything. Ever. It is safe to assume that Noah is perpetually clueless.”
“I’m worried.”
I don’t know where the words come from or why I say them now. Aloud. To Lila. But I can’t take them back, and it’s too late. Lila’s already looking at me like I’m even crazier than she’d been led to believe.
“What do you have to worry about?”
“Well, let’s see … Three years ago the prime minister ordered my mom’s death, but I accidentally killed her instead. Didn’t remember it, though. And then a few weeks ago the prime minister tried to have me killed, but he ended up in a coma, so we have absolutely no idea who else wanted my mother dead. Or why. Or how it might all tie into the shadowy secret society that my ancestors evidently founded a thousand years ago. So I have worries, Lila. I have plenty.”
The look Lila gives me is so cold it’s like maybe I didn’t say a thing. And maybe I didn’t. I’m starting to wonder when Lila shrugs.
“Fine. Evade my question.” She reaches for the ladder and climbs outside.
I want to yell at her and pull her glossy black hair or force her to break a nail. Most of all, I want to go to Noah and tell him how annoyed I am that his twin sister and I are going to be in the same secret society. But I can’t do that, of course. Because … secret society. I have one more secret now. One more mystery. One more set of lies. But I’m not lying to myself anymore, and that has to count for something.
The sun seems too bright once we make it to the street. I’m still standing, squinting, when Lila says “Don’t look behind you,” which means, of course, I start to turn, but Lila grabs my arm. “Keep walking.”
Lila loops her arm through mine. It’s the way the fashionable women always walk together down the chic streets near the palace. This feels so European, I think before realizing that we are in Europe. We probably look like confidantes. Friends.
Looks can be deceiving.
“What is it?” I ask.
“There’s a big guy with a scar on his face watching us. I think he’s …” She makes a quick glance back. “Yes. He is following us.”
How many times in my life have I thought I saw the Scarred Man? Too many to count. For years, it was just another by-product of my messed-up mind, my fear. My crazy.
Now it’s just one more thing I have to feel guilty about.
After all, the Scarred Man is no longer the Scarred Man. Now he’s …
“Dominic.” I force out the word.
“What?” Lila asks.
“His name is Dominic. He used to be the prime minister’s head of security.”
“Do you think he saw us leave the tunnel?”
I know he saw us leave the tunnel, but that’s not something I can tell Lila. I jerk to a stop and turn around. Dominic is across the street, standing perfectly still. Watching. He doesn’t smile and doesn’t wave. He doesn’t even try to hide or act natural. There’s no denying what he’s doing. He is tracking me.
Lila says something in Hebrew I don’t understand. Or maybe it’s the Portuguese equivalent of creepy.
I should tell her that I know him. Sort of. I should let her know that he and I are … something. Not friends. Not family. We have whatever bond forms when you spend three years shouting from rooftops that the Scarred Man killed your mother. We are bound by whatever it is that lives on long after someone saves your life. Or maybe he’s here because my mother was his first — and maybe only — love.
I killed the love of his life, I realize with a start. And, suddenly, Dominic’s glare has an entirely new meaning.
“Sorry, Lila. I’ve got to —”
Go.
Run.
Scream.
I have to get away from here before the guilt makes me throw up all over Lila and her perfectly polished toes.
“Where are you —”
“Bye, Lila. Just tell Noah I said … bye.”
Then, before my new sister can see through me, I’m gone.