The Conspiracy of Us (The Conspiracy of Us 1)

As if to confirm that, he blew a stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, then stamped out a cigarette, right there on the gym floor. No wonder everybody was staring. How had he not been caught by a teacher? There didn’t seem to be any around.

The guy’s eyes continued to roam the crowd. And then they got to me. His face broke into that slow, lazy grin again.

I held my breath as he pushed off the wall at half tempo, so the strobe lights seemed to move entirely too fast. Half the dance watched him watch me. Was he mistaking me for someone else?

A slow song started as he stopped in front of me. “Avery West.”

I took a step backward. How did he know my name? He had a light foreign accent—maybe Russian? That would fit with the jaunty blond hair and the high, sharp cheekbones. It made my name sound exotic, like a Bond girl. Ay-veery.

“Lovely to see you, sweetheart,” he continued, plucking the napkin out of my hand with a frown and dropping it to the ground. “A dance?”

He slipped one cool, sure palm into mine before I had a chance to respond.

“Um,” I said. He settled his other hand on my lower back and drew me close. EmmaBeth Porter, dancing nearby, stared from him to me with a look halfway between appalled and so jealous, she could throw up.

I brushed back a strand of dark hair that had escaped its bobby pin and stared up at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you.”

“You don’t.” He smiled. “And even more interestingly, I do not know you. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me who you are, and we can skip this little charade?”

He squeezed my hand.

EmmaBeth and her date had moved toward the stage, where last year’s prom court was assembling, leaving me and Crosswalk Guy by ourselves on the far edge of the dance floor. Even though all he’d done was say things I didn’t understand, I suddenly did not want to be alone with him.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I said, pulling at my hand. He held on tighter, and alarms went off in my head. “I’m going to go—”

“Stellan,” came a quiet voice from behind me.

Crosswalk Guy—Stellan—rolled his eyes. “Oh good,” he said. “You’re here.”

I ripped my hand out of Stellan’s, turned around, and was hugely relieved to see Jack.

He wore a perfectly fitted black suit over a crisp white shirt and a thin tie. He met my eyes for just a second, then looked past me at Stellan. He scowled. Even that brought out a hint of the deep dimple in his right cheek.

“Stellan, get away from her,” he said. His British accent was back. “Avery, come here.”

I was headed toward him anyway, but stalled at the command. I looked between them. Compared with Jack’s slim but solid frame, Stellan was taller, sharper, almost gaunt in that ethereally beautiful way you see on runway models. And while Jack looked like he might punch someone, Stellan wore the kind of patronizing smile adults get when kids are fighting over a toy.

I wrapped my arms around myself. “What’s going on?”

“So who is she?” Stellan said to Jack. He unbuttoned his gray suit jacket. “If you weren’t here, I’d think I had the wrong girl. She’s so . . . ordinary.”

I looked down at my punch-stained dress and sale-rack strappy sandals.

“Not that you’re not pretty.” Stellan smiled thinly down at me. “You are.” He turned back to Jack. “As I can see you’ve noticed. And such a little thing. I could snap her in half with one finger.”

Jack growled low in his throat, and Stellan laughed. “You make this too easy.”

“Excuse me, I’m right here,” I said. “And this is really . . .” Bizarre? He had to think I was someone else, right? But then how would he know Jack? “Jack, let’s go—”

Stellan stepped between us, loosening his tie. I suddenly realized he wasn’t getting comfortable. He was getting ready for a fight. Sharp slivers of alarm pierced my confusion. Maybe it was time to let go of the idea of Jack as a prom date.

I started to inch away.

“What do you even want with her?” Jack said. His voice was low and dangerous, with no trace of the anxiety I’d heard while he was on the phone earlier. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

I stopped. The memory of the phone call flooded back. He had asked the caller what they wanted with “her.” And when “he” was coming. And had mentioned “tonight.”

“Jack, seriously, what is going on?” I said, but my words were drowned out by the electronic screech of a microphone.

“And now, it’s time to announce your new prom court!” said a senior cheerleader. On either side of her, last year’s court lined up, holding sashes and crowns.

“If it isn’t obvious,” Stellan said, a lock of blond hair falling in his face, “we want her because you want her. And we’d like to know why.”

Jack stared him down. “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

“Ah, but it is our business when Alistair Saxon sends a Keeper to attend high school classes halfway across the world while every other family is using their resources on more essential tasks.”

It felt like I was watching TV in a foreign language. I was about to make Jack fill me in when Stellan continued, “So the reason I’m here is to figure out why this girl is more important to the Saxons than the mandate.”

CHAPTER 7

The familiar word struck me like a slap to the face. “Wait,” I said. “Did you say mandate?”

Jack glared at Stellan, and Stellan rolled his eyes. “No one can hear us. Relax. And she must know about it, so it doesn’t matter.”

I knew about the manila envelope on our dining room table, but I highly doubted my mom’s work orders had anything to do with two strangers fighting over me at the Lakehaven High prom.

“This year’s prom queen,” said the cheerleader on stage, “EmmaBeth Porter!” Her friends, lining the stage, squealed prettily. A loud “booooo” sounded from where the stoner kids were gathered at the edge of the bleachers, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Stellan put his hands in his pockets in a way that could have been casual if the rest of him didn’t look like a tightly coiled spring. “So she has information on the search?”