The skeleton in the closet

by Plotdotcom

Summary:

Being a Hawthorne sucks.
Okay, we all know someone had to say it. But the thing that sucks even more than being a Hawthorne? Is being the Hawthorne that doesn’t get to grow up in a huge secret passageway filled mansion, with riddles upon riddles. And all because you didn’t fit into the plan.
Yep, my life sucks.

Chapter 1

I dangle my legs over the edge on the roof. The moon makes the glass pyramid glimmer. I kick my legs back and forth lazily, lifting the binoculars and studying the people exiting the Luvre. 
    I press the talk button on my earpiece. “Last stragglers just made an exit. It’s go time.”

 

”To a job well done!” 
     I raise my glass to that, staring at the painting across from us. “You really think we shouldn’t just sell this on the black market?” 
    That nearly makes the man across from spit out his wine. “Don’t joke about that.” I shake my head, grinning. 
     “Lighten up.” I take a sip out of my wine glass, the taste of water disappointing. “You know better than anyone that I’d do all this for free.” 
     “Because in the end it’s all for the thrill of the chase.” We finish together. 
     “You truly are my daughter.” He smiles. 
     “You should thank your lucky stars.” I take another sip of water.
     “I hate to bring this up while the nights still young.” I say dryly. “But I’m assuming you’re off as soon as you drop this off?” I tilt my glass towards the framed canvas.
     The painting in question is of a woman in mid-pirouette, wearing a robe of gold. Around the woman trees and a forrest were painted.
     “Ah,” I turn my attention back to him. I know what that “ah” means. That’s the same “ah” he’s given me every time he leaves.
     “If there’s another job you know how to reach me.” I get to my feet, hating myself for giving him that invitation. I should have cut him off years ago, but I couldn’t—obviously still can’t. 
     He’s studying me with apologetic eyes. Fake. I remind myself. He’s not sorry, he’s never sorry. 
     “You’re going to be late if you don’t go know.” That’s the closest to kicking him out I’ve ever gotten. 
     “Right.” He gets up, finishing off his glass. He slips the painting gently into its travel bag, which was the size of a window. He came over, his brown beard scratching my forehead as he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Love you.” 
    Sure you do. “Love you, too.” 
    “Look at you, getting all mushy.” He teases. My heart squeezes. I force on the practiced smile, I can almost convince myself that it’s real. 
    “Ha-ha you’re hilarious.” I deadpanned.
   Then he’s out the door.
   “And this years “Dad of the year” ladies and gentlemen.” I grab myself something a little stronger than water and climb up the stairs. 
     I’ve been in Paris three months planning the heist, but the apartment still smells like the last tenant to live here—cheep-y cigarettes and five-dollar-wine. 
    I collapse onto the bed, crawling halfheartedly into the nest I built out of blankets and pillows.
    I take a long sip of out of the bottle. Now the only thing left to do tonight is: do something self-destructive and spiral until I pass out a 3am. Yep, livin’ the life. 
    Blowing out a sigh as I lift up a pillow and pull out two pieces of crinkled paper. I’d gone exactly 34 hours, and 27 minutes without looking at these.
    I chew my lip as I read, taking more and more frequent sips from the bottle with each re-read. 
    I knew the letter’s message by heart, where every punctuation is, how many times the letter “a” is used. 
    After a while I’m just reading the last line over and over. I dare myself to say the words—to say them for the first time since I got this letter.  
     “From, The Old Man.” I whisper.

Chapter 2

“Hello?” I ask into the phone. It’s been three months since the Paris and job. I’m already on the other side of the world in a new place I’ve never been before, with a new apartment, a new name, and a new look. I tie my loose strawberry-blonde curls back into a ponytail, waiting for an answer.
     “Ariadne Queen?” The voice asks.
     “Sorry, wrong number.” I say smoothly, my brain already making a plan on how to get a new phone.
    “You can dye your hair blonde, and move to Canada, but you can’t change who you are.”
    “I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong number.” I hang up. My eyes dart around the apartment’s living-room. I sprint upstairs, throwing my few possessions into my backpack. I need to get out.
    There’s the quietest of creaks behind me. I spin. A figure in black stands knife in one hand, a burlap sack in the other. “A little overused, don’t you think?” I ask, nodding towards the bag.
    The figure’s face is covered by a black sky mask but it’s a woman, average height. My Dad had trained me for this. I keep talking as I inch my hand slowly towards my back pocket.
    “How do you know my name?” She doesn’t answer. “Only a few people know that name, who told you? Was it Tito? Annie?” I force a gasp. “Don’t tell me it was Sam?” I in fact don’t know anyone by those names, but make a story add emotion, and that equals a distraction. My fingers slip into my back pocket, curling around the object inside.
     Without warning the figure lunges, but I’m ready. I dive and pull out the object: a foldable knife—like a pocketknife or multitool, but bigger and only a knife. It was a gift from my dad for my twelfth birthday. We meet midair. We fall down in a wrestling match.
    She barks out something in a language I don’t recognize. I see the flash of movement, but before I can move the second attacker swings the lamp and hits me in the back of the head.
    Everything goes black.

***

My head pounds. I blink slowly, attempting to remove the black spots from my vision. This isn’t my first time getting knocked out, but I wouldn’t say you get used to it.
    “Look who’s awake.” The voice is unfamiliar and feminine. I lift my chin off my chest, pretending the room wasn’t spinning. The figure was still all in black, face still covered. I glanced around for her accomplice while also taking in the room. It looked like a basic hotel room.
    Holiday Inn, maybe? The curtains are drawn blocking my view of the world. There’s nothing extra in the room—no suitcase, clothes, shoes. It’s just me, her, and the rope tying me to the spinning office chair. A million questions burst into my mind as soon as the fog starts to lift.
    “What? Nothing to say?”
    “I was hoping this was the part where the kidnapper starts explaining there whole evil plot and gives the hero the time to escape.”
    “But you’re not a hero.” They were five simple, truthful words, that cut like ice.
   “No, but nether are you.” I’m not sure the words hurt her as much as they did me, but I wasn’t going to just roll over after the first punch. “What? Nothing to say?”
   I can’t see her face, but I get the sensation she’s smiling—like a cat.
   “Fair enough. I brought you here to give you a job.” I arch a single eyebrow.
   “Let me guess, you brought me here so I couldn’t say no?”
   “You are smart.”
   I purse my lips, at the way she said it. “I don’t usually make it a habit to turn down jobs, so what’s the catch?” I relax back into the chair, working the ropes holding my hands behind the chair. “And how do you know my name?”
   “I know it because I want you to use it?” That makes the other eyebrow raise.
   “Tell me about the job first, then we’ll talk.”
   “As you wish.” The ropes are starting to chafe. I give it a break, if push cam to shove I’d figure something out. “The job is to retrieve something of mine.” I wait for more.
   “Was it stolen? Lost in a bet? Tell me the story.” Stories were the easiest way to get to the root of someone. People don’t realize how much of themselves they put into books, how much the authors put themselves into the main character. Everyone has a pattern when it comes to storytelling, no matter what the genre or subplot those traits never change, and they’ll tell you everything you need to know.
    “I left it.” I could tell that wasn’t a lie.
    “Publish that and it’ll be on the top of New York’s best seller list in no time.”
    “I can’t retrieve it myself, due to…circumstances.” She takes a second to consider her words carefully. “It’s a diamond necklace, it means a great deal to me, and I’ve been trying to find a way to get it back.”
    “Okay, but you still haven’t told me the catch.”
     “It’s at Hawthorne House.” I closed my eyes.
    “Know about that too, huh?” A heavy silence falls over us.
    “Why aren’t you with them, did—”
     I cut her off. “I’m not taking the job.” I reopened my eyes to see she was still sitting there, but she was leaning closer. If anything had anything to do with Hawthornes I’m always going to be out, I’d promised myself that a year ago; and I’ve had to many people break promises I can’t do it to myself.
    “There’s more.” I shake my head.
    “I don’t want anything to do with Hawthornes.”
    “I understand that.” She let out a sigh, that would have sounded completely natural coming out of a queen’s mouth. “I really do. I wouldn’t ask if there was anyone else.”
    I close my eyes again, in what would look like a slow blink, but feel like an hour to me. I pull myself together. “I am not agreeing, but you said there was something else?” My curiosity was eating slowly away at me with each second she took to answer.
    “Answers.”
    “Ooh, I love those.” Adrenaline was starting to melt into my bloodstream. But answer to what, though?
    “Tobias Hawthorne was a man who liked to leave things for people to find.” She shakes her head, seeing something I couldn’t. She gets lost in whatever memory she’s watching.
     My mind mulled over her words. She wouldn’t be telling me this if it didn’t apply to me in some way or another. Did Tobias Hawthorne leave something about me? My stomach flips, and I feel suddenly sick.
     “He wouldn’t.”
     My captor snaps back to the present. “Oh, but he did.”
     “How do you know?”
     “Because I knew him.” I blew out a breath. “I take that to mean you’re in?”
     “I’m in.”

Chapter 3

My captor—now client—didn’t leave her name but a promise that she’d give me a call at the end of the month. She left me tied up, confident I could escape—which I did. She also said the hotel is to be my base of operations for as long as a week.
Once I was out of the rope I searched for bugs and cameras, but found none. What I did find was my backpack—a worn out Vans one I’d got forever ago. Nothing inside had been touched. I took that as an olive branch.
Looking out the window and checking my phone I found out I was in Texas, I’m not sure how I was knocked out that long—they must have given me some sedative.
I was wrong before, when I said there was nothing extra in the room. I discovered a school uniform with a blue and black plaid skirt and blazer.
And I found a stack photos, and a portfolio in top draw of the dresser. The photos showed a diamond neckless, the face of the person wearing it cropped out. Then the outside of Hawthrone House. The last one was of a boy with honey warm brown skin, a baby face, and curly hair.
Xander Hawthorne. He was holding a robot in one hand, he was missing an eyebrow in the picture, I also took note of the school uniform, it was the same as the one I found hanging, but with pants rather than a skirt.
After committing the pictures to memory I read through the portfolio. It was targeted for a school called Height Country Day. It was impressive, the stuff listed. I picked on the recurring theme of Robotics and computers. After a quick googling I realized why I needed it. I spotted the name at the top: Ariadne Elle Queen.
I step out of the shower now, my skin turning cold outside of the warm water. I switch off the water, before rapping myself in a towel. The strawberry-blonde box hair dye I’d used three month ago was only temporary. I’ve just finished shampooing the rest out. Now as I look into the mirror I see the welcoming sight of my natural mahogany brown hair. I had let it grow out, dying the roots as needed, but now it’s time for a trim.
If Ariadne Queen is coming back, she’s coming back in style.
I know how to give myself a decent haircut that would float in public school, but this is a privet school. So, I make a call to a local salon, giving them some sob story about my boyfriend dumping me because he thought I was ugly and wanting a glow-up, the woman ate it up. With that story I was able to get an appointment for this afternoon. I check my phone screen.
The lock screen tells me it’s noon, I set a reminder for the appointment as three. Twisting my hair up in a messy bun, I ready to send in my application to the school when a notification pops up on my phone.
“That little—” I shake my head. Apparently I’m already accepted into Heights Country Day. They love they application I sent in last week.
I guess that explains the uniform. I have to be there in to start the day after tomorrow. Which is great because the sooner it is, the less time I have to talk myself out of this. If Tobias Hawthorne really did leave something talking about me I need to get it, and preferably before anyone else finds it.
I may not like her, but whoever my client/abductor is, she’s got a talent. I try to guess how long she’s been planning this as I pour myself of weak hotel coffee. In order to have everything happen so quickly she would have to have had her eye on me at least a month or two.
Since Paris? Wonder. Before Paris?
I push that topic out of my brain with a few hours to kill I decide to start studying. I formed my plan in the shower: join the robotics club, befriend a Hawthorne, get “lost” in the house, and get out with the necklace and evidence.
Simple. If it didn’t revolve around Hawthornes.
If that plan is going to work I need to actually know more than the robotic and coding basics. As I read I feel myself slowly getting invested, but all I want to do is read the letter from The Old Man.

“This is your bed!” My chipper new roommate announces, bouncing a little on said bed.
“Thanks.” I smile, I have nothing against generally happy people, but at 7:45 in the morning it felt like a bit much. I adjust my uniforms jacket.
“We don’t have to wear the jackets if we don’t want to.” The girl says conversationally. Her round face has elegantly shaped cheekbones and small nose, giving her a queenly appearance.
“Thanks.” I say again, tossing the jacket onto the mattress.
“We’re you from?”
“Minnesota.” I answer automatically, that was on the application.
A bell rang. “I’m going to be late!” She jumps up off the bed and starts running, calling over her shoulder, “it was nice meeting you!”
I watch her go in amusement. I know I should be going to class soon, but if my plan was going to work I can spare a few minutes. I catch my reflection in the mirror. The hairstylist had given me curtain-bangs that fall just next to my eyes, and layers that curl like sea spray between my shoulder blades. She’d said it would make my blue eyes look great. She wasn’t wrong.
I took a moment to study myself, not some character I was playing, but the Ariadne Queen. I have a babyface, pale skin, full lips, but a tiny mouth. I’ve been told I’m pretty and today I think I might believe it.

I run into the classroom just as the final bell rings. “You must be miss Queen.” The teacher greets.
I nod, brushing my hair out of my face. “The one and only.” I grin. As a natural introvert the interaction made me want to scream and hit my head against a wall, but I don’t.
“Everyone this is your new classmate…” he looks down at the sheet of paper in his hand.
“Yeah, it can be a bit of a tongue twister,” I amend.
“I love a good tongue twister!” I glance over my shoulder to see Xander Hawthorne sitting at his desk, an empty seat next to him.
The teacher shoots him a look. “You can just call me Ari.” I supply.
“Alright, this is Ari Queen.” Xander starts clapping, I give him a dramatic bow in return. From my three second interaction with Xander it seems the best way to engage with him is to go along with his bits and games. “It looks like you’ll be sitting next to Mister Hawthorne.” Looking around it turned out his desk is the only one with an empty seat.
“That would be me.” My new desk partner grins. “The handsomest Hawthorne.” I hop onto the stool next to him.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Step one: make friends, is a go.

Chapter 4

It turns out Xander Hawthorne is the easiest person to become friends with. I thought all Hawthornes would be jerks, but I stand corrected. The one thing I couldn’t figure out is how to become the friend you invite to family dinner, or something. If this was any other job I’d ask him out, but that will never happen ever. The idea made me gag and want to vomit.
No, I’d have to do the other option that would give me a much smaller window.
“Pick your partners, you have two days to figure out your projects before you have to present them in front of the class.” Mrs. Prescot, my chemistry teacher announces. I stare down at the notebook in front of me, where I’m doodling little violets in. I’ve been at Heights Country Day three days, and made it a point to keep my head down and eat lunch alone. In the first hour I interacted with him I realized he is the guy that will sit with the new girl and wave to her in the hall, and think it’s his personal job to be her friend.
“Want to be partners?” I look up from my picture. I’m expecting Xander but instead Kally—my roommate—is standing there. I want to say no, but I see Xander over her shoulder talking to I guy I recognize as Colline Price.
“Sure, that would be awesome.” Those would not be my normal choice of words, but that’s how my character talks. I don’t usually change the way I talk—besides accents—for a job, just cause that’s another part of me I have to put back together afterwards, but it was too dangers this time to let any part of me be me.
The bell rings. “We can start planning tonight!” I tell her over my shoulder as I sprint to the door.
“No, running Mrs. Queen!” The teacher calls after me, but I’m already out of sight. Heights Country Day lets its’ students make their own schedule, which means I’m fully booked. I’m only going to be here one month or less, and I can’t exactly go into Hawthorne house in the middle of the school day anyways, so why not?
“Where’s the fire?” You can hear the grin in his voice. I give Xander a smile.
“No fire, I’m just seeing if the shortcut I found yesterday is fast than me running the normal route.” That’s an extra truth. The real reason I’m running is because that would be something Xander noticed.
“So, you teamed up with Kally Meyers?” He asks like we weren’t full on sprinting. Somewhere along the way it turns into a race.
He starts to pull ahead, but I pick up speed. “Yeah, she’s my roommate.”
“I might actually have some competition.” He teases. I smile, maybe teaming up with Kally on the first project isn’t the worst thing that could have happened.
“Be careful what you wish for.” I slow to a stop in front of Mr. Scott’s music room. I check my watch, then let out a triumphant breath. “The shortcut is faster.” I manage after catching my breath.
“So, you still have not told me what this tongue twister of name you have is.” He opens the classroom door with an over-the-top bow.
“Secrets.” I slip into class before he asks anymore questions. The bell rings and I feel a pang of guilt for making him late, but then I remember his schedule, this is his free period.
For the next thirty minutes I let myself slip back into me, absorbing every piece of knowledge I can get my hands on. But when I leave and see Xander talking to a group of guys that I know are in robotics club, I put the mask back on.

 

“We need it to be big, impressive, worthy of a broadway stage.” I tell Kelly.
It needs to beat a Hawthorne. Technically the project would just be shown in front of the class and given a grade, no competition. But I find it more motivating if there’s a chance of winning. Besides that I also need to prove to Xander that I was his kind of smart. I’ve looked up his patents and more than a few of them were Rube Goldberg type machines. That’s what this needs to be to get his attention.
I twirl my uncapped pen between my fingers. “I saw you signed up for robotics club.” Kelly chirps from her perch on the desk.
“Yeah, robots have always been my favorite hobby, though I’m pretty sure I’m better at coding them, than actually building them.” I say lightly. I’m not sure what, exactly, she’s getting at.
“Oh, cool.” She falls quiet. I push the interaction out of my mind as I start sketching out a plan.
“What do you think of this?” I hold up the scrap of notebook paper.
Her eyes widen. “That sure is big and impressive.”
“Perfect.” I grin. The first robotics club meeting is this Saturday—three days from now—the day right after the chemistry presentations are due.
To fool a Hawthorne you have to show that you are one. I think, sketching the final touches onto my very Hawthorne project.

Chapter 5

Today’s the day. Kally and I have spent our free time perfecting this. My body is alive with the buzz of excitement. We’re scheduled to go last. Since this was a school prepping rich kids for Ivy league schools I got to watch more than just Elephant Toothpaste explosions.
“Xander Hawthorne and Colline Price.” Mrs. Prescot says. My phone buzzes urgently. I look down at the caller ID. My heart swells and does a summersault leaving me with an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. “Is that important Miss Queen.” My head snaps up.
“Can I answer it is important…” I ask, my cheeks growing hot pink as all eyes stare at me.
“In the hall.”
“Thank you.” I mumble. I wait until the door is shut to pick up the call. Why does he have to have the worst timing in the world?
“It’s a good one!” My Dad says in way of greeting. I lean against the wall and slide to the floor.
“I’m in the middle of something.” I tell him.
“What could you possibly be in the middle of that’s more important than a job like this? It’s in Rome—you’ve always wanted to go to Rome.”
“I’ve been to Rome, Dad.” I let my hair fall as a curtain covering my face.
“You can never go to Rome too many times!” He switches into his persuasive tone. “The thrill of the chase, remember.”
“I already told you I can’t.” I say, trying desperately to keep my resolve from crumbling. The sound of his voice is partially drowned out by the sound of car horns blaring and people shouting. “Are you in New York?” I ask in a lame attempt to change the subject.
“Yeah, and so the job.”
“I thought you said it was in Rome?”
“Your part is.” Great.
“I’m sorry dad.” I tug on my earing, a nervous habit I’ve built over the years. “But I’m busy.”
“Doing what? What happened to the thrill of the chase?” There was long pause. I want to tell I want to tell him about the job, maybe it would make him proud, but he wouldn’t like that it involved Hawthornes, or that my client forced me to use my real name by putting it on my application. “Please don’t tell me this is about a boy.”
“Dad!” I exclaim. We have never, never, talked about boys. I shake my head even though I know he can’t see me. “I care about more things than just boys.” I hug my knees to my chest, resting my chin on my knee.
“Than what?”
“I’m at school.” Technically a truth.
“School?” He practically screams. I pull the phone away from my ear wincing. I tug my earing harder. “Ariadne, you’re the smartest person I know, you don’t need to be in school. What happened to doing it online? That was what you were doing, right?”
“Yeah, it was, but—”
“But nothing. I can’t believe you’re letting my down like this.” The anger in his voice seeps into my lungs making it hard to breathe.
“I’m sorry. I really am.” I say quietly. My father hadn’t ever hit me outside of a training session, but I’m getting the nasty feeling now would be the first time if we weren’t having this conversation over the phone.
“‘Sorry’ is not going to cut it.” He snaps.
“I’m sure you can do the job by yourself.” I whisper.
He grunts. “Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
He’s about to hang up, and I need to get back to class, my presentation would be starting any second, but I can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “I’m on a job, I can’t say anything, but once I’m done it pays big.”
“How big?” The noise on his end grows, like’s just stepped onto the street.
“Big.” Three-thousand to be exact. Not the biggest payout but for a monthlong job like this, not too bad.
“I want in.” The classroom door opens, and Kally sticks her head out. I hold up my hand asking for a minute.
“You can’t.”
“You have to at least tell me about the job.”
“I can’t.” I repeat, all to aware of Kally’s listening ears. “I’ll talk to you later.” He starts to say something, but I hit the end-call-button.
“What was that?” Kally asks, as I brush the dust off the back of my skirt.
“My Grandma, she hasn’t been doing well,” I fib. “Sometimes when her caretakers aren’t looking she’ll steal a phone, I think I’m the only phone number she remembers.” I study my shoes.
“I’m sorry.” She mumbles. I nod, knowing that by this time tomorrow everyone will know the grandma story.
“It’s fine, lets just do this.”

The pink and blue mist floats around the chaos on the tray in front of me. “I call it explosion art.” I announce taking off my goggles. The tray is covered in what I’m pretty sure would pass as modern art, with smears and splotches of color.
“Thank you Miss Queen and Miss Meyers.” My nostrils sting from the sweet smell of the chemicals in the air.
I wait in my seat, a hum with nervous energy. I’ll get an A, I have too. I mean yeah, the explosions were nothing compared to the one I used in Napol, but still. I tug my earing harder when I’m unable to gage Xander’s reaction from behind.
I should have checked walking back. I reprimand. Whispers float in the air around me. I listen to the closest conversation out of boredom but all I found out is Molly Bryne is failing Geometry.
My earlobe is sore when a piece of paper in placed on the desk in front of me. I pick it up eagerly. An excited squeal builds up in me. “We got an +A,” Kally breaths, staring at the paper like it’s made of gold. “That’s unheard of in this class.”
“Somebody would have to have gotten a little plus drawn in front of their A before us.” I grin, only half serious, secretly liking the idea that we’re the first.
“No body without the name Hawthorne.” She mutters folding the paper into her bag. My excitement dies. Only Hawthornes got +A’s in advanced Chem. I make a mental note of that, not sure what good it will do me.
“That was some Hawthorne level stuff.” Xander declares as I put my Chem book into my locker.
I push away the anger that raises in me. “Just double checking, that’s a good thing right?” No. It is not a good thing.
“Definitely. But I must admit, I pegged you as more of the setting things on fire type.” I laugh. How did he know that? Arson isn’t my usual crime scene cleanup, but it’s my preferred distraction.
“I’m not a big fan of smoke.” I say, clicking my locker shut. “But, I am considering adding a fire element to my next project.”
“Ooh, for which class, because I think it would be a hit in Social Studies.” I chuckle.
“I just joined the Robotics club, so if they have the right parts here…” I shrug. He stops walking. I don’t.
“You joined the Robotic Club?” He catches back up with me.
“Yeah, but computers are more my thing.” Slip in a little truth. I glance up at him. “Why? Is that bad?” His grin comes back.
“That opposite actual.” A mischievous twinkle comes into his eyes. “Now what are your opinion on Rube Goldberg machines?”

Chapter 6

I really shouldn’t. I tell myself that as I pull out the letter. Tomorrow is Robotics club, I’ll have to convince Xander I love robots so much that he’ll want to show me the workshop I’m sure he has. I’d have to around him all day. I should do this. I shut my inner wisdom to shut up.
I hold the paper gently in my hands. While looking for short cuts I also kept track of every security camera on campus. There is one spot on the roof that is blocked from view. My slipper feet pad against the floor silently. “Like a shadow.” I can almost hear my dad whisper.
I slip through the metal door leading to the roof. Sliding along the wall I slid behind a big metal tube I’m not sure what is. I lean my head against it, kicking my legs out in front of me. If I could get away with it I would sit on the leg. I could probably get away with it if they knew who I am. My heart hardens against the that. But if they really knew who I was I wouldn’t be here, I’d be in a big house with secrets upon secrets, and puzzles up puzzle.
My hands tremble with fury. I read the letters with the help of the moonlight.

Dear Ariadne Queen,

You don’t know me, but I’d like to say I know you. If you’re getting this letter it means I’m dead. I’m not sure what your father has told you, he is not the type to keep his promises. If he has told you everything than you can rip this letter to shreds of burn it, but if he hasn’t I wanted to explain.
My youngest daughter getting pregnant again was unexpected, but—I want to make this very clear—not unwelcome. I sent your mother to London to spend her pregnancy in secret. During those nine months I replanned everything. Having another grandchild would complicate things. In the end I realized it was a risk I couldn’t take. You might think me cruel, I am, but you simply weren’t right for the family. Not yet anyway. I had planned to brining you home when you were older and I could see how you functioned.
I watched you grow up from a far. I was quiet impressed. If it wasn’t for your unpredictability I would have brought you back by your second birthday. But when I thought I understood that you would always do the expected you did the expected and vice versa. It was fascinating to watch. You have my mind for puzzles, anyone can see that.
I also feel it important to tell you that your mother had nothing to do with you, as far as she knows it was a miscarriage.
I’ve been trying to piece together how to write this. I’m still not sure I want you to know what you are. Who you are. I’m still not sure what kind of person you are, so it makes this harder, so I’ll write it the way I would have wanted to hear it.
You didn’t fit. That’s why I didn’t bring you home. You don’t fit. The puzzle is fitting together perfectly without your piece. You would get in the way. So, if you do realize who I am, I want to make it very clear you’re not to reach out to anyone.
You are my granddaughter, I truly wish you would have fit on the playing board.

-The Old Man

I stare numbly at the words. The still hurt as much as they did when I first read it. It wasn’t to figure out who the Old Man was. Around that time there was only one man who died around that time and liked to view his world like a chessboard. In interviews his grandsons—my brothers—had referred to him as that.
It feels like a dagger twisting in my stomach as I hit the same domino train of realization. The Old Man is Tobias Hawthorne, the late billionaire. My mother is Sky Hawthorne.
“You’re my granddaughter.” I’m a Hawthorne.
“You don’t fit.” I don’t fit.
Tears roll down my cheeks. I’d been angry at this letter for six-months—I mean where did this man get off telling me “I don’t fit,” the audacity. but the other months have been misery. Why don’t I fit? Did I do something wrong? Questions like that rob my of sleep every night. Why didn’t I fit? I could have learned to fit. My shoulders start to shake, and I bury my face in the paper.
I betray myself by wondering what he’d think of me now. I’m manipulating my brother—who doesn’t even know I’m his sister—so that I can steel something from the house I don’t fit into. “But it’s all for the thrill of the chase.” I murmur into the paper.
I lift my wet face to the stares, but no answer were written in the stars. I sniff, and try to swallow the lump in my throat. I have to get it together. Tomorrow is key. I have to be focused.
No regrets.
I choke out the words I’d been telling myself over and over the past twelve months: “I am not a Hawthorne, I am a Queen.” And as I watch an airplane’s blinking lights pass above, I think a small part of me might actually believe it this time.

Chapter 7

Robotics club is awesome. I didn’t know you got to fight the robots! The way it works is you can get there as early as six on Friday and it ends at the time school usually starts. Since I’m the only one who lives on campus, I had the whole place to myself for half an hour. Enough time to build a new playlist for my new obsession and pieced together a decent battle droid. It’s tiny, the size of a book, with random things to attack with. It’s hard to gage your enemies when you don’t know what they are, what they look at, or what they do.
Xander is the first to show up, a large machine shaped like a dinosaur. He says something. I pop out my earbuds, “what?”
“I asked if I could help.” I appreciate his choice of words.
“Thanks, but I want to see if I can beet a Hawthorne with my own skill first.” I smile. “But,” I add, “after that I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say no to some pointers.”
He slides onto the bench across from me, lifting the robot to sit between us. “Why a dinosaur?” I ask, after a while. Someone without any knowledge of the purpose of all the wires and gears would be impressed.
“Because my girlfriend dared me to.”
“It took a dare to get you to build that?” I raise an eyebrow, leaning sideways in my seat to see him.
“Well, no, but she did dare me.”
“What’s her name?” I tell myself I asked for the job, to get to know anything and everything so I could use it, but a really, really, extremely tiny part of my really wants to know.
“Max, or Maxine as she hates to be called.” He leans in his chair to see past his creation. A grin creases his face when he sees me already leaning.
“Is she into robots, too?”
His grin breaks into a smile. I can see how much he likes her. “She’s into a lot of things, but she is a big fan of Star Wars.”
“Which have droids.” I point out, playing along. “Does she have a favorite?”
“Movie or droid?”
“Both.”
“The Empire Strikes back and R2.” I nod.
“And you?” He shakes his head.
“One does not disagree with Maxine Liu about anything Star Wars.” I chuckle, letting the sound warm my body.
“Sounds like she really likes Star Wars.”
“You should have seen her face when she saw the R2 I built her.”
I nearly tumble out of my seat. My mouth falls open. “Shut. Up.” I put a hand over my mouth. “Are you telling me you built the R2-D2?”
“Yep, that’s the face.”
I quiz him with questions about how he built it, if it could do this or that. I feel my mask slipping. “Is there anyway I could see him?” I ask, forcing myself to get things back on track.
His natural excitement dims slightly as if considering something. I need to put the final nail in the coffin. “I’ll tell you, my name.”
“Deal, but Orien will have to clear you first.” I pretend not to know who the head of Avery Gambs’s security is. I clasp my hands in excitement. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been this excited. The plan is going perfectly, and I’m about to kick robot butt.

Chapter 8

“Daughter of King Monos.” I look up from my book. Usual the archives (that’s what rich kids call a library) is empty, and a quite place to sit and laugh at your own insanity. “The hero who gave Theseus the ball of thread to find his way out of the labyrinth.” Xander continues.
“But alas the love-struck woman was left by her lover on an island, where she was made the wife of Dionysus.” I join in, hating myself more and more with every word.
“That is who you’re named after? The goddess of paths and labyrinths?”
“Give the man his prize.” I smirk.
“I hope you don’t think me nosey.” He says in a way that makes my walls shoot up. “But why that particular goddess, why not Athina, or Artimus? Why Ariadne?”
I feel my shoulders relax. “I’m not sure,” I half lie. “My grandfather named me.” That’s true. “I think he liked labyrinths.” And abandoning people on islands, I silently add.
His phone chimes in his pocket. He pulls it out and reads something on it. I take his distraction as an opportunity to study his face, combing for any resemblance we might share. He’s handsome face is already creased with smile lines. A large grin stretches those lines revealing his dimples, he has two, while I only have one—like my dad. “Are you free tonight?”
I itch to give a sarcastic remark, but settle for a: “Yeah, why?”
“It’s family game night.”

 

I’m panicking. I am not a person who panic or gets in their own heads. But I am. I’m panicking. I’m in my head.
“Family game night!” I mutter shaking my head in disbelief. How am I supposed to find the necklace and the unknown thing that the Old Man left. I rummage through my draws. I only have three outfits with me that aren’t school uniforms. “Why couldn’t that stupid, stupid woman has attacked me after I packed all my cloths?” I curse quietly. Xander said I can just ride with him to Hawthorne House. I tried to say I could find a different way, because I’d need a ride back anyway, but sweet Xander insisted.
Now I have four minutes to figure out what the heck I’m supposed to wear. Jeans? Shorts? This is Hawthorn family game night. My stomach swoops every time I hear the word family. I’ll actually have to be in the same room as all of them.
Why did I think I could do this? I can’t do this! I need to shut up. Kally will be back from her last class any minute, and this is not helping my spiraling.
I need a drink. That would be a great way to meet your family for the first time. Show up drunk, that’s very Hawthorne. But they won’t know you’re a Hawthorne. I remind myself. Because you’re not one. I repeat that over and over, and then some.
Kally has a good fashion sense. So, just wear what Kally would wear. I slip into character and stare at my options with new eyes. “Okay, I can work with this.” I pick up the shorts and red fitted shirt. I’m left with only three minutes to pull my hair into a ponytail and yank my sneakers on. At the last second I slip on my favorite worn-out zip-up.
I slip my phone in my pocket. You don’t fit. You don’t fit. The words root my in the facts. They slowed my pulse and hardened my heart towards the Hawthornes again. Who cares if Xander is the nicest person I’ve ever met, I am not nice, I’m not one of them. I sprint past the last few stragglers as the last bell goes off for the people still in class. My shoes make rhythmic echo; I sync my heart beats with those. By the time I jog out of the front door along with the stream of students I’m composed.
Xander leans against a white SUV, his dinosaur in hand. “Punctual.” He grins—why is he always grinning?
“I try,” I say lamely. I inwardly kick myself.
“He opens the door, and I take exactly two seconds to get my crap together before sliding in. This is a job. It’s nothing personal. You don’t fit.
As soon as he pulls the door shut behind him, we start moving. The inside is all black. The chauffeur is muscular and had a small tattoo peeking out of his suit’s collar. “What game are we playing.” I say, unable to take the silence.
A mysterious smile parts his lips. “It’s a surprise.”
“Love those.” I glance out the tented windows. I mapped it and Hawthorne House is twenty minutes from Heights Country Day. “So, your brothers…” I trail off not sure what I was going to say.
“My brother,” his smile still holds a bit of mischief, but his eyes soften.
“I’m assuming they’ll be there?” It was a dumb question, of course they’re going to be there.
“Yes,” he seems to be weighing something in his head. “Word of advice.” His face turns the most serious I’ve ever seen—which isn’t very. “They play to win.”
Theres a pause. I laugh. “Is that supposed to scar me?” I say through my laughs, forgetting who I was supposed to be. “I play to be the best.” What did that sound too much like a Hawthorne?
His smile is back. “Is that so?”
“I was raised to do things for ‘the thrill of the chase.’” The sound of my Father’s favorite saying jarred me back into character. “Will your girlfriend—Max—be there?”
His eyes turn sad. “She’s at college.”
“Oh,” I hadn’t looked up Max, but maybe I should have. “I really wanted to meet her.” That is definitely a lie—yep…a complete lie…
“She’s coming over her break though,” His eyes light up at the thought.
“Maybe I’ll meet her then.” I smile, knowing I won’t. If this night goes the way I need it to then I’m set to leave tonight. I’ve only been here a week and it’s already starting to feel personal. I don’t fit.
“Do you like riddles?”
That makes the corners of my mouth lift, and I can’t shut my mouth fast enough to stop my reply from slipping out. “I live from ‘em.”
“I have keys but open no locks. I have space but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. What am I?” His voice lilts making me think he was on the verge of singing them.
I play his words over in my head. I have no keys but open no locks. I have space but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. The answer pops into my head, then out my mouth: “A keyboard.”
His grin told me I was right. The SUV makes a turn, and I stare out the window to see a huddled group of paparazzi, good thing Xander insisted on the ride—I don’t know what would happen if a picture of me here got leaked.
The driveway is long and winding. I study the perfectly kept grounds in fascination. “Welcome to Hawthorne house!” Xander cheers as we come to a stop. I step out of the SUV and my eyes go huge. The place is bigger than the pictures could have prepared me for. If it wasn’t for the smell of the freshly cut grass, I’d think I’m dreaming. “Let it sink in.” He grins—always grinning.
I don’t try to stuff down my amazement, it tracks with my character anyway. And this place is just…wow.
I don’t fit. That point is proved when we walk through the large oak doors into the foyer—or whatever it’s called. My eyes are so wide it hurts. The ornate ceiling stretches up two stories. Stone arches line either side of the room. My eyes lock on the tiny square panels the line the wall, I wonder for a second if any of them unlocks a secret passage.
“You don’t fit…You would get in the way…The puzzle is fitting together perfectly without your piece.” The words from the letter whisper in my head, hypnotizing all my thoughts to focus on them. Why did I think I could do this? I think for the millionth time.
I’m about to bolt back out the door when Xander speaks. “This is the Foyer.” I snap back to reality. You're in the belly of the beast now. I tell myself. You just have to keep going. This is the thrill of the chase.
“Everybody should be this way.” He starts leading me under the arches and down a corridor that’s on the other side. It takes all my will power to stop my jaw from dropping.
Our footsteps bounce off the walls around us, filling the silence. My eyes find a door, but it’s different from the others we’ve past. I slow. This door is wood like the other, but there’s something off. I can’t help myself I stop, to get a closer look. Then I see it. Mixed in with the natural markings of the door there are as series of dashes and dots. “Morse code.” I marvel. I rack my memory banks to decipher it. “Behind you to the left.” I read out loud.
“What?” Xander looks over his shoulder. The back of my neck warms slightly at the shock on his face.
“The door.” I point to the door in question. He comes back to look at it. I leave him to find the morse code and turn around and look to the left. It’s another door. This one looks just like the others.
“And to think I’ve walked these halls a million times.” He mumbles.
It can’t be the door it has to be something else. Without second guessing myself I run my fingers up the side of the trim surrounding the door. My search for anything. I crouch going lower. I touch the baseboard. I feel it. A satisfied smirk plays at my lips. I straighten and kick the spot on the baseboard. It bends in and there’s a quiet rustle, like two things brushing each other. My eyes widen again as part of the wall slides open to reveal a tiny hallway.
“I think we can spare a few minutes.” Xander says stepping straight into a cobweb. He bats it away and proceeds with more caution.
My pulse quickens. I knew there are secret passages here, but actually seeing one sends a chill up my spine. Anyone can just show up out of nowhere through one of these. I stay a few steps behind Xander, but if feels like I’m physically dying of curiosity. Where do Hawthorne secret hallways go?
We’re halfway down the narrow path when the rustling noise starts up again. When the secret door is shut, we’re left in total darkness. I pull out my phone and blindly fumble to turn it on. I briefly register the message notifications at the bottom of my lock screen—all from my dad—before I turn off the flashlight.
I wave the right around. A second light turns on. “Where do these usually go?” I whisper, pointing my light at my feet as I we start moving.
“Depends, but they all go somewhere worth going.” I purse my lips. As we fall into silence, I can’t stop my imagination from imagining little me going around this place, would I have already found this? Would Xander and I be close? I shut that thought down.
I don’t fit. I am a Queen, not a Hawthorne. I engrave that into my thoughts, repeating it until it becomes a chant. I am a Queen, not a Hawthorne. I am a Queen, not a Hawthorne. I am a Queen, not a Hawthorne…
Xander holds up a hand, signaling me to stop. I try to look past him, but their no room. “Ooh, it’s one of these.” He whispers.
“One of what?” I hiss, glancing over my shoulder. I tug my earing, remembering the spiderweb Xander walked into. I hate spiders.
“It’s a puzzle, give me exactly one minute and thirty-five seconds, starting…now.”
One minute and thirty-five minutes of keeping a look out for spiders, later there’s a soft click. I can’t see what’s happening, but light starts to fill our surroundings. “I’ve always said the house had a mind of its own.” Xander chirps, stepping out of the new opening in the wall, and into a huge living room.
Five people are waiting for us. I swipe the dust off my clothes as I take in their faces. None of them—except maybe the woman with multi-color hair—seems the appropriate amount of shocked at seeing two people set out of a wall. The woman with rainbow-hair is decked in all black. The coal black eyeliner clashes with her pale skin. All together she’s pretty. She must be Elizebeth Grambs.
Next to her sits a cowboy decked out in a cowboy hat and boots, he’s wearing a worn green shirt. Nash Hawthorne.
Stick with the facts, you can’t feel anything when you stick to the facts.
On a different couch, across from Nash, sits Avery Kylie Grambs. It was funny the anagram you could make out of her name: “a very risky gamble.” That was the thing I was never meant to be, the Old Man’s risky gamble.
I hurry to identify the next person. The young man sitting next to Avery is her boyfriend, Jamison Hawthorne.
Then there’s Grayson Hawthorne, his hair blond, and his eyes blue, like ice—like mine. He sits alone in an armchair.
I glance to our surroundings. There’s a fireplace, the floors are wood. I could see young me playing floors lava on the couch.
Stick to the facts. I keep my arms pinned to my side to keep from pull on my earing. The fact is I can to this. I tell myself. You are Ariadne Queen, you are a master spy, this is your job. You are good at your job. And that is all this is, a job.
“Everyone this is Ari,” Xander, ever the showman points dramatically to everyone in the room. “This is Avery and Jamison, then Nash and his beautiful girlfriend Libby—she and Avery are sisters.” He goes over to the where Grayson is sitting with perfect posture. “And this is the life of the party Grayson.” Xander’s grin grows impossibly wider, and I figure I can be a showman too.
“I have to admit,” I grin, my heart being pinched painfully so. “I was expecting this to be just like the Haunted Mansion.” I look back over my shoulder to the secret passage that’s still open. I walk over and study the puzzle Xander had to solve. It looks like a messed-up Rubik’s cube. “Hold on, I don’t think it’s going to close unless this is messed, and to be honest it’s creeping me out.” I fidget with it, and step back as it closes. I turn back to the people.
“Where’d you find that one?” Jamison asks, his arm around Avery.
“Ari found it in the first corridor.” All eyes shift to me. Curse you, stupid curiosity. I silently seethe. “She found morse code engraved in one of the doors.”
“You know morse code?” I bite my tongue before I can shove all the other languages I know in Grayson’s stony face.
“My Dad’s the kind of guy who forced you to learn something in order to survive, so he’d only talk to me if I knocked in morse code.” I smile a little at the memory. “Rotten week for someone to break in.” I let a laugh escape; it’s a struggle to stop it.
“Well, if that ain’t the most Hawthorne thing I’ve ever heard.” Nash chuckles, low and rumbling, while Libby’s eyes go wide. I take a seat on the only empty couch.
“Were—are—you okay?” She sounds like she actually cares—note to self, Libby Gambs good actress.
“Oh, yeah, I just knocked the guy out and went and told my dad by knocking on his bedframe.” Her eyes grow wider. I shrug. “That was just my life growing up in Minnesota.” I snicker at the own ridiculousness of my own sentence.
“You knocked out the intruder? How old were you?” I could lie, or tell the truth, but where’s the fun in that?
“Age is nothing but a number.” I smile, amused by her act and how unhinged I know this conversation is. “But off topic, was anyone else here left in the dark about what the game is?”
“Ah,” Xander clasps his hands together. “Tonight, we are playing Hawthorne Candy Land.”

Chapter 9

You cross the finish line of Hawthorne candy land. I’m still not a hero. I’m still not a Hawthorne. I still lie. But I feel different, it’s something you can’t really explain, but I think it happened when I had to swing on the chandelier (I can check that off my bucket list).
I sit with my back to the roof’s edge. Jamison won, leaving me second place. I tilt my head back towards the evening sky. I take this peaceful moment to kick myself for not finding a way to look for the necklace. I also probably should have done worse, but I wasn’t lying when I said I play to be the best. Grayson appears. I offer a smile that I don’t want to have to wear.
That’s the difference, I don’t want to have to spend my life faking smiles. Yeah, well you made your bed, now you’ve gotta lay in it, the voice inside my head sighs.
Avery comes up right behind him. She’s laughing, her hair ruffled. Oren is in toe. He’s been by her side since I got here, even in the coach room, though I hadn’t noticed him standing in the corner. I got the feeling that he’s been scrutinizing me this whole time. Good for him, if he gets a bad feeling it means he’s good at his job.
Jamison goes over to her, and they start talking, but the wind whisks their words away from my ears. I stare out over the garden, forcing my back to relax.
Xander is the next to show, he’s—you guessed it—grinning. He still had chocolate all over his face. He says something to Grayson that makes the ghost of a smile fall onto his brother’s face.
I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me as I understand something that hurts more than knots in my stomach. I may be in Hawthorne House, be I’ll never fit in Hawthorne House. I actually don’t fit. These people are each other’s family. I’m not their family, I’m just Xander’s friend from school. The strength of the emotion catches me off guard, and I look quickly back out into the gardens.
Libby and Nash arrive ten minutes later. They’re holding hands, I just know Nash stayed by her side the whole game. Okay, maybe not all Hawthorne are trash. But it only takes one bad apple…
“Mrs. Laflin wants you all to know dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.” Oren announces. I take a second to study him. He seems like he actually cares about his job, for what feel like the first time tonight he doesn’t have me under a microscope.
“That means we have twenty minutes to play another game!” I get to my feet.
“I should go, if I’m not back soon the cafeteria is going to be closed.” I glance at my watch, and realize I lied, the cafeteria is already closed. Well, that’s just perfect. I let out an inward sigh. But hey, maybe this is y chance to get lost.
“Why don’t ya stay for dinner, kid.” I blink. I would have thought the invite would have come from Xander, but Nash is looking at me expectantly.
Should I say yes? I really don’t want to. But…you would get a chance to gain their trust...
“Oh, thanks, that would be great.” I sit back down.
“What game should we play?” Jamison asks, but the spark in his eyes makes me think he has a few ideas, all of which would get our faces plastered all over the tabloids.
“How about truth or dare?” I shift my gaze to Libby, who made the suggestion. She and Nash sit next together, hands still clasped. There’s a small silence. No one objects.
This should be fun, I want to say, but don’t.
“Lib, you go first.” A nickname for a nickname.
“Okay, umm…” Her eyes study the faces around the circle we’d all subconsciously made. “Avery truth or dare?” Her sister, interesting choice. There was a mission in her eyes. I wonder a second later if Avery saw it too, because she said, “truth” which made Libby smile.
“Did you steal my Taylor Swift shirt?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You don’t even like her!”
“That’s two questions.” Avery smiles. “My turn.” It isn’t until it’s Grayson’s turn that I get chosen.
“Ari, truth or dare.” There’s a mission in his eyes too. I take a second to weigh my options. If I say dare who knows what he’ll say—we all saw what Avery made Jamison do—but truth I’m not sure whether or not they can tell when I lie. Build trust.
“Truth.” That answer seems to please him, though his expression doesn’t change.
“Why did you start attending Heights Country Day a few months after the school year started?”
“Well,” I say, thinking quickly. “I didn’t know this school existed until after the school year started, but I applied because I want to go to Cornell.” Kind of true, I mean who doesn’t want to go to Cornell?
He nods but says nothing. “Okay, so…” I look around the circle. It’s stupid how tempted I am to just ask where the diamond necklace is. “Nash,” I say, choosing the first name that pops into mind. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.” There’s a challenge in his voice. I search my mind for a good dare. This needs to be Hawthorne worthy. I don’t fit, but I need them to think I do, so they’ll invite me back.
“I dare you to,” I smile a little. “To climb to the top of that,” I point to one of the towers looking things, next to the part of the roof where we sit. “And sing a Taylor Swift song.” I try to gauge his reaction.
Xander leans past Grayson who is sitting between us and offers me a high-five.
Nash scales up to the top of the tower—the roof of which is flat—with ease and sings the chorus of “Love Story” which I guess is Libby’s favorite, by her cheers.
Everyone’s laughing—even Nash—as he climbs back down. “Good job, kid.” Those words rattle around my chest, making me sick. Nash has a way of making you feel important, or that he cares, which is dangerous. If I start falling into that lie the job would fall apart.
“You don’t fit.” I don’t fit.
“We should go eat.” Libby says.

I was stuffed in the middle of the pack, because they didn’t want me to get lost. I mapped out our route though. The Dining Room is huge! A table lined with antique wooden chairs fills the space. One end of the table is covered in plates. I sit down across from Libby and Nash. Next to me on one side is Xander, and the other Avery. I keep my hands busy to keep from pulling on my earing.
“So, Ari, where are you from?” Libby asks, her voice sweet.
“Minnesota.” Xander has taken the liberty of filling my plate for me.
“And how old are you.” I hide my distrust of all the questions.
“Seventeen.” Yet another lie for the books—I’m actually sixteen. She takes a moment to build up another tower of questions.
“Do you have any siblings?” I nearly cough, nearly.
“No, I don’t have any siblings.” Saying those words out loud to these people, felt like the most truthful lie I’ve ever told.
“What sport do you play?” Oh, yeah, it’s mandatory for every student at Hights Country Day to play at least one sport.
“At my old school I played soccer, but I decided to do something less popular, so I chose fencing.”
“Fencing?” Jamison leaned forward to give me a Cheshire cat grin from the other side of Avery. “Are you any good?”
“Well, I haven’t lost an eye.” I grimace. Add details, make it real. “I was kind of hoping it would be more exciting, but waving little wires around is fun too, I guess.”
“Why don’t—”
“Don’t Jamie.” Nash drawls.
“I was only going to see if she’d like to test her skills against a pro.” He says innocently.
I heard the truth in it, but it’s the part that he didn’t say that made me say, “That would be great, actually.” And that’s how we end up in the Foyer. I’d been giving a spare face mask and foil.
“On your mark,” Xander’s voice echoes around us. “Let the sword fight begin.” It was dumb to expect a simple “go.”
Jamison lunges forward and I jump to the side. Our foil’s clash, and we’re off. I try to find his pattern as I block, and counter. He’s fast, and good, really good. But luckily, I’ve been fencing since my dad saw me take my first steps. This was his sport. The thing—other than his heisting-talent—that he was proud of. He’d gone to the Olympics, when he was younger, a year before he met Sky Hawthorne. I thrust forward, but he’s too fast.
There’s a chorus of noise as he knocks the foil out of my hand, taking it so now he has two. I was going to let him win, but if he’s going to play that way…
I jump back and do a move my dad taught me, the pure excitement on his face when I mastered it is engraved into my memory. I play to be the best. I duck under his next lunge and kick up. The sword flew up I rolled away from his next attack. I reach out and catch the falling sword. I spin and press the tip into his chest.
“That,” I could hear his smirk. “Was a very illegal move.”

Chapter 10

My head pounds. I left Hawthorne House just in time to make it back before curfew. I don’t remember much. My pillow’s wet—when did I cry? I shake away the cobwebs and blink away the sleepiness.
Today’s Saturday. I day off of school and Hawthornes. I want to slip on my rattiest t-shirt—which is also my comfiest—but I grab the blouse instead. I slip on the jean shorts I wore last night, instead of the sweatpants. I need to clear my head. I tug my earing as I walk down the dormitory hallway, earbuds stuffed into my ears, blaring some pop song I don’t remember adding to my playlist. I pass students sitting on the park benches, or at the few tables that are scattered across the grounds. I spot Kally sitting with a group of girls, I duck my head, so she doesn’t see me.
Once I’m free of the school walls I can breathe easier. I pull up my map and try to find something near me. I find myself walking in a small park ten-minutes later. It’s a pretty Texas day, the sun shining for all to see. I let it warm my face through the trees. My footsteps fall into sync with rhythm of the song. My arms swing contentedly at my sides.
My fingers long to hold a cup of coffee. A bird chirps overhead. I walk further down the waling path, feeling all my stress slowly thawing off my weary bones. I clock the man sitting on a bench further up the path.
As I get closer the stress suddenly pinches my muscles. No, no, no. I want to stop, but years of habit force my feet to not miss a beat.
When I’m less than ten feet away there’s no doubt about who’s sitting there. I stomp up right in front of him, putting my annoyance in each step.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” I cross my arms, to cut off the excitement swelling inside my chest.
“Did you know that this is the town the Hawthorne’s live in?” He asks pleasantly, though I know it’s an accusation.
“Who would I be if I didn’t?” I shoot back icily. He motions to the empty spot next to him on the bench. I purse my lips as I sit.
“Last year when you figured out who your mother was—I never did get that explanation,” he says pointedly. He hasn’t changed in the past three-months, he never does. He’s kept his beard the same length but is going for a more graphic-t style now. “You told me you didn’t want anything to do with them.” His eyes search my face.
“We’re a team, Ari.”
We’re not a team.
But I long to be one. I long to not be alone for three-months.
“I need you to tell me about this job. Are they involved?” His blue eyes seem to already know the answer. I meet him head on, the tone from the phone call ringing in my ears.
“They’re not involved.”
“Life’s too short to lie.” I scoff.
“Where was that lesson fifteen years ago?”
“What’s the job?” I cross my arms and lean my back against the cold metal of the bench’s back. There’s no way I’m going to tell him. Nope. For once in my life, I’m going to say no.
“Stealing back a diamond necklace from the Hawthornes.” Rats. I want to bury my face in my hands. How does he do that?
“No.”
“No?” I repeat incredulous. I’m already in too deep. Plus, the woman kidnapped me once, I would be surprised if she isn’t keeping tabs. I glance around, but we’re alone. I’m still paranoid as I refocus. He’s frowning. “I’m already in the middle of it; I can’t just stop.” I mirror his annoyed expression.
“If it involves Hawthornes you can.” My stare hardens.
“No. I can’t.” It’s not like I don’t want to just drop everything and run in the other direction as fast as my knobby knees will carry me. But like I said, I’m in the middle of it. The belly of the beast.
“You’re not one of them, Ari.” He cups my hands in his. “You don’t fit with them.” My fingers ball themselves into fists in his hands. “You don’t fit.”
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that!” I want to scream but it just comes out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t fit. There. I said it.” I wrench my hands out of his to throw up. “Happy?”
“I forbid you from keeping this job.”
“Forbid?” I narrow my eyes. He opens his mouth but I’m already on my feet. “Consider this.” I spit. “My teenage rebellion.”

Chapter 11

How dare he. How dare. He. I grit my teeth. Is this normal father behavior? The stupidity of that man. I turn up the volume of my music, so I won’t hear whether or not he’s calling after me. I know I’m not a Hawthorne. I know I don’t fit; I told him that. My jaw clenches tighter. I know that. I know that. I know that.
Angry tears burn my eyes. My lips mouth silent curses as I cross the street. I really want to break something. No, you know what. I just want to get that necklace and get out, who cares about this stupid evidence, even if they find it, they’ll have to find me. But the client found out who I am, so what would stop a Hawthorne from doing the same. I kick a rock.
The plan: (step 1) Get back inside Hawthorne House. (Step 2) find the diamond necklace. (Step 3) search for evidence. (Step 4) as soon as I have the diamond necklace get out. Easy enough.
I know it’s not going to be easy, but telling myself it would calms the heat in my face.
And after I get out, I can shove it in dad’s face. I want to smile at the thought, but it just makes my heart sink. Would he stop calling me for missions? I bite my lip. It’s all for the thrill of the chase.

 

I spent the rest of the weekend angrily building my robot for the next robotics club meeting Friday.
“Hello, Ari.” Xander grins. He must have had a nice weekend.
“Hi,” I smile.
“Guess what,” his grin turns into a full smile.
“Did you build another droid?” I guess.
“Yes, but that’s not it.”
“What is it?” I ask, knowing it’s not in my character’s nature to guess.
“Nash thinks you should come back to Hawthorne House for Family Game night.” That makes me stop.
“Really?” I force my smile wider. He wants me to come back? I give myself a mental slap. He wants the Ari you created to come back. Not you. I fight an uphill battle to keep my smile bright. “That’s nice to hear, usual social situations like that I’m my strongest point.” I force out an amused huff, like I just remembered something funny—even though the only thing I can think about is my conversation with my dad. I didn’t leave campus again. When I got back, I’d googled my name, nothing came up, but when I tried a few other things, I found me.
“Libby also thinks you should come back.”
Ah, that explains it. Nash wants whatever Libby wants, no matter how ridiculous.
“You’ve known me the longest what do you think?” I force myself to stay in character. You don’t fit.
“I think you should come back Wednesday night.” I force my face to beam.

I’d been right when I thought Kally would spread that story about my grandma being sick, so I chocked up his invite as pity. Which I hate, but for the sake of the job I accepted. Now I have 48 hours to stress, over think.
By the time the last bell rings I’ve stressed myself sick. I’m not usually get this stressed about a job. It’s not my normal response, usually I’m confident—cocky is probably more accurate, but confident sounds less…cocky. Nothing involving Hawthornes is normal. I remind myself.
“Are you going back to the dorm?” I want to groan aloud when I see Kally standing by my desk. I shove my notebook into my bag and nod.
“Yep, I’m going to head start on studying for our Chem quiz.” Write them a story, that’s what my dad told toddler me when he was teaching me to lie.
“Oh,” she purses her lips, and I hope that’s how the conversation will end. I swing my bag’s strap over my shoulder. “I was going to invite you to a party.” She says from behind me as I start to walk away.
I take a second to calculate if this Ari Queen likes parties. I decide not. “Oh, thanks, but I’m not a party person.” I look over my shoulder to give her a small smile.
“Are you sure? Everyone in our dorm is going to go?”
“When is it?” I ask, before I can snatch them back.
“Midnight.”
An idea creeps its way into my mind. And a little smile parts my lips. “Okay, yeah, I should be done studying then.”

Kally went off with her friends, apparently to spread the word about the secret party. I trudged my way back to the dorms. I usually made it a point to walk past Xanders last class of the day and wave, but I went a different way today.
Detoxing from the Hawthornes unfortunately is only a weekend activity which means today I just have to dive deeper in. I flop onto my bed pulling out my little burner phone. It’s a model that has access to the internet. I mainly use it for gathering information (aka stalking).
I do a quick search and find Maxine Liu’s Instagram account. I make a fake user ID and start scrolling. There’s not much, most of her stories are private, the photos she did have public though had thousands of likes and comments—guess that’s a side effect of being best friends with someone like Avery Grambs. There is a picture that seems to be of a book bouquet. Xander’s handy work I assume.
After I’ve seen all the photos there are I switch over to Avery’s account. All her posts are cute, but don’t give away anything of true importance. She must have a social media consultant.
I look for Libby’s. Hers is mainly of cupcakes and cowboy hats with little skulls on them. I close my phone already knowing what the Hawthorne accounts look like. Grayson and Nash’s nonexistent, and the other two keeps their stories private.
My eyes close and I can see the letter as if it’s every word is engraved on the back of my eyelids. I force them to open again. I check my watch. The party is still hours away.
I probably should study for that chemistry test.

 

I pull my hair back into a ponytail. Kally is waiting for me by the door, poking her head out into the hall every now and then. I wanted to tell her to knock it off, but that’s not something my character would say. I lift my backpack onto my shoulders and go to stand by her.
“Do you need to bring that?” She asks cocking her head at the bag.
“My inhaler.” I fib. It’s a simple lie, and not one people question.
“You have asthma?” She sounds disappointed. “Guess you won’t be smoking anything tonight.” I wrinkle my nose when her back is turned.
“Oh, there’s Sarah from English, she’s giving the all-clear.” I slip out behind her, shutting the door softly. I notice the cameras don’t have their blinking red light anymore. Guess these rich brats know what they’re doing.
We steal down the hall, and I force myself to stay behind Kally, instead of taking the lead. I’ve barely been here a week; I’m not supposed to have the whole place mapped out like I do. Anything involving Hawthornes isn’t normal. I clench my fists. You are not a Hawthorne, I think forcibly. Are footsteps fall silently onto the floor. Sarah from English is holding open the door to the roof open. Sarah and Kally whisper about something as the door swings shut behind us.
“Are we the last ones.” Kally.
“Yeah, but the boys are still showing up. I can’t believe you convinced her to come.” I naturally assume they’re talking about me. “Now Logan owes you big time.”
I wrinkle my nose. If I’d come to make friends that would have hurt. If I really wanted to be here that would hurt. But it doesn’t hurt. Instead, it makes me eager to get on with my plan.
I tune out their gossiping. When we reach the top, I push open the door and am met by loud cheering. It looks like even the Freshmen got an invite. An Eminem song plays over some invisible speaker. The people are either in a cluster talking or walking over to another group of people. Almost all of them have red cups in their hands. I adjust my fitted shirt; this isn’t my character’s show—or mine for that matter. I prefer doing stupid things alone, thank you very much.
I turn around, my mouth opens about to ask a question, but she’s not there anymore. I spot her talking to a guy with sandy blonde hair. I recognized his face, but don’t know his name. Logan? I guess.
I start towards table lined with more red cups and a few bags of chips. I hesitate in front of the cups, thinking I might need an extra push to do this. I tuck my hands in my pockets, remembering I’m stupid enough to do this sober.
“Hey,” I turn around to see a tall boy, who looked similar to the guy I guessed to be Logan, but with a big nose. I glance around to make sure he’s talking to me.
“Hi.” I frown, hoping that would be enough of a hint.
“I’m Charlie, you’re Ari, right?”
I give him a quizzical look. “Uh, no, my name’s Oliva.” That confuses him; I have to hold back a laugh at the look on his face.
“Oh, sorry, I—”
“Whatever.” I toss my ponytail with as much annoyance as I can and walk away, hoping he won’t follow.
The interaction made me pick up the pace. I slip behind the big vent thing I’d used that one night to shield me from the cameras. I’m relieved when I see that no one else seems to know this spot is here. I pull off my backpack. I unzip it and pull out a black jacket I’d stolen from Kally’s closet, and a ski mask. I slip on the jacket, zipping it up over my shirt. Stuffing the ski mask in my pocket.
I make my way to fire escape. Relying on Xander to get into Hawthorne House is the easiest option, but I’m starting to doubt the wisdom in that. Orean is good at his job, anyone can see that if you look at his past record, so getting in from the outside, uninvited is much harder—and stupider—but not impossible. I case the high walls.
I should probably also have an escape route. I run my gloved fingers over the brick searching for any discrepancies. It’s unlikely that the Old Man would have put in a secret entrance that could be reached from the outside, but the man did disown his only granddaughter and told his daughter she had a miscarriage, so who knows what level of crazy he is.
I want to take my time, but if I want to go all the way around, I have to run. The cold night air is dry, but my lungs pull it in. The only sound in the still night air is the conversation of crickets and cicadas. I think it goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway, running in a ski mask is not fun, but I can’t risk any of the cameras seeing any part of my face. I’m sticking close to the wall, moving with the shadows, but taking it off is a risk I’m not going to take.
I try not to match which part of the wall goes with which part of the pictures I saw. I force my feet faster, just ready to get the running over with. When I finally turn the fourth corner I stop. There’re more security cameras around the gate, than anywhere else on the outside of the property.
My heart is still pounding as it sinks. This would have been so much easier if there was just a secret entrance. But there’s not. I huff and force my legs into a jog. When you’re trying to scout out a place behind armed walls, my dad had said, you have to be able to go far enough to see above them. That hadn’t really made much sense to me until now. I scale a tree about thirty yards from the East wall. My backpack bounces gently against my back as I scale higher.
Once I’m as high as I can I position myself. I take out the night vision binoculars I’d bought right after my appointment at the hair salon. From this vantage point and with my binoculars I can see directly into the Hawthorne’s little slice of heaven. My first observation is that someone’s swimming. I can’t see who, obviously, but can see the lights surrounding the pool are on.
I wonder who would be swimming this late? I turn that thought into a little game as I scowler the rest of the visible grounds. Nash doesn’t seem the swimming type. Xander and Jamison both seem the type to be doing something more…adventurous. Grayson is the most logical guess, but it could be Avery. She seems like the type to take out her stress through something like that, but if she didn’t seem stressed when I met her. Grayson however…
His cool calm demeanor might seem emotionless to everybody else. But I know what it takes to make a person learn how to perfect that demeanor. I square my shoulders to better hold the weight of that thought, and the memories. The memories of all the lessons with my dad.
“I can’t believe you were serious.” I nearly topple out of the tree. I tell myself I wouldn’t have if it had been anyone else’s voice.
“Of course I meant it.” I lower my binoculars to give my dad a hard stare.
“Don’t go giving me that look.” He scolds, his faint British accent coming through—which means he’s seriously annoyed. “I came here to give you one more chance.”
“Oh, I thought you came to give me my birthday present.” I reraise the binoculars.
“Is it your birthday?” I wince at that verbal blow.
“Not for another three months, dad.”
There’s a tiny silence and I think he might actually be sorry, or disappointed in himself, until he starts up again. “Weird, I thought it was closer to Christmas.” I pinch my lips. “But I’m serious, this is your last chance.”
“Or what?” I whisper, letting the crickets re-dominate the conversation.
His voice is hard. “Or you’ll leave me no choice.” I force my hands steady, even as I feel my face pale. I’m sure he won’t hurt me, and kidnapping me would be to much of a burden, so what?
“No choice but to do what?” I question, lacing my voice with steel.
“Are you still going to do this job?”
I don’t hesitate, relishing the adrenaline that fills me—maybe this really is my teenage rebellion. “Yes.”
“Then you’ll found out.”
“That’s very ominous of you.” I turn to gage his expression, but he’s gone. I look down, but he’s disappeared. “Great.” I say on an exhale. I tuck my binoculars back in my bag, suddenly questioning my guess about the kidnapping thing.
I mutter wordlessly to myself the whole way back to Hights Country Day. I reclimb my fire escape, to the roof. The party has dwindled slightly, and everyone’s a whole lot more drunk, but it looks almost exactly the same. I slip off the ski mask and jacket. As I pass, I swipe one of the red cups and down it before heading for the door. The Taylor Swift song fades away the more steps I go down. I wonder how all those drunks are planning to clean up the mess before the teachers see it tomorrow. But I also wonder how the Deans haven’t heard all the racket.
As I slip into pajamas, I feel my whole body start to ache. I groan a little as I try to get comfortable under my comforter. But it’s hard with my sore muscles and the question that is on loop in my head.
What is dad going to do?
I drift into a fitful sleep, my dreams trying to answer that question. But out of all the answer they offered me none of them ended well.

Chapter 12

It’s Wednesday. My stomach has been in knots all day. I’m not sure if I’m more stressed about going back to Hawthorne House, or the fact my dad hasn’t come through on his threat. Both secretly terrify me. I’m not sure what my dad can do on his own I’ve always been helping him since as long as I can remember.
I tug my earring nervously. Xander said he’d give me a ride again today, but I’d made some excuse, so he’s sending a car back for me. It was really nice of him, but I feel bad as I slip into the back seat and feel a cooling wave of relief that he’s not here. The driver starts driving. The car looks exactly the same as the one I’d road in last time. I tug my earring so hard my earlobe starts to hurt, but I can’t stop. I have to get it all out now, because once I’m inside I’m the Ari Queen they know, not me.
They don’t know you. That thought grounds me. I’m not sure why, but it helps me let go of my earring. I suddenly understand why as something that my dad said comes back to mind. “They can’t you, Ari, if they don’t know you.” That’s so far proven true, and I pray that it stays that way. I’ve already been hurt by a Hawthorne I didn’t know, but who, apparently, knew me.
We drive past the crowd of paparazzi, which seems to have doubled since my last visit. My forehead creases slightly. There’s definitely more. I purse my lips as we leave them behind us. The winding driveway feels twice as long now that I know what to expect—who to expect.
“Thanks.” I say, as I push open the car door. As soon as the door clicks shut the car drives away. I’m left standing in front of the castle-like fortress. I don’t allow myself a second to panic, instead I slip into character; putting a small smile on my lips and a bounce in my step as I walk up to the large doors.
Before I can lift a hand to knock the door opens and Nash is standing there. I’d hoped Xander would be the one to answer, I’m already used to being in character with him. But I don’t let my smile falter. “Hi Nash.” I say.
“Hey, kid.” He steps back and I walk into the house I don’t fit in. “Glad to see we didn’t scar ya off.” My smile widens, but I wish I could grimace. “Everyone’s out in the gardens this time.”
He starts leading the way and I trail after him. My footsteps echo behind his and I have to tense my shoulder to keep from flinching at how out of place they sound.
You don’t fit. I let out a silent sigh. I don’t fit. We don’t talk as we walk. I’m grateful for that, but I also wish there was some kind of noise to drown out my thoughts. My stomach is full of unwelcome butterflies as we step through a door and out onto a patio. Everyone sits around a metal table with matching black chairs. I stare up at the sky. It was still warm despite it almost being Halloween. I’m wearing leggings and I band-shirt. Different from what I wore last time, but going through one Hawthorne game gave me a glimpse of what I should have worn.
Xander waves with all his usual energy. Jamison and Avery—who are sharing a chair—say hi. Libby uses my name in her hello, which makes my nerves skyrocket. Grayson nods. And Nash sits in the empty seat next to Libby. I slip into the one next to Grayson, which is the only empty one. It is also—thankfully—the one farthest from Libby. She seems the most talkative, therefore the one most likely to think they “know me” and Libby is too sweet to hurt when this is all over.
“Greetings!” Xander says to the people around the table like we haven’t already said hello. “Here in my pocket I have,” he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a hat, “The thing that will decide who you can trust.” A flip inside me flips and I’m suddenly a hum with energy. I remind myself I have to stay in character, even if it means loosing, but my heart doesn’t listen.
It’s all for the thrill of the chase. “I have half of your names in here, the other half will draw out of it. Whomever you get,” he announces grandly, “will be your ally in this game.”
“And what exactly would this game be?” Nash drawls.
Xander only grins and stuffs the hat under Jamison’s nose. A smirk crawls across Jamison’s face, and I get a deep suspicion he got exactly who he wanted. “Announce to the group who you got.” Xander orders.
“Heiress.” I glance at Avery, who Jamison calls Heiress. An almost identical smirk is on her face. Xander proceeds to stuff the hat under my nose. I study it for a second before sticking my hand in. I grab the second scrap of paper my hand touches. I pull it out and unfold it. Before I read the name I glue my smile to my face. I read the name.
“Libby.” I tell the table. I give Libby a wider version of my smile. She returns it brightly. I’m slightly disappointed, but also intrigued to see how I’d win with her on my team. Because I am going to win.
The hat gets stuffed under Nash’s nose next. “There’s an uneven number.” Grayson says, a eyebrow arched.
“Ah, but there’s not.” Xander says. I know there’s an odd number, but I do a quick recount.
“Is someone else coming?” I ask, seconds before I spot the girl with red hair. She comes around the corner. She has short red hair, unevenly cut, like it was a DIY job. I pretty sure if anyone else had done that it would have looked terrible, but on her it looked like the most beautiful haircut a person could get. Her eyes are the size and color of a large emerald.
“Hey, Rebecka.” Avery smiles. I mentally wrote down the name. Nash holds up his paper and on it is scribbled Rebecka’s name.
“Has he told us what the game is yet?” Rebecka asks, taking the seat Xander has vacated. Everyone shakes their head.
Her eyes turn on me. Still in character I smile. “Hi, I’m Ari.” Xander took that as his cue to officially introduce us.
“And this is Rebecka Laughlin.” I recognized the name. I’d done some reading and the Laughlin’s were the groundskeepers and housekeepers. “She also attends Hights Country Day, but has but she just got back from a trip.” I nod.
“Now I guess this leaves me with Grayson.” Xander grins, not looking disappointed in the slightest.
“What’s the game Xan.” Grayson demands, not putting it as a question.
“Ah, today we are playing hide and sneak.” I blink. Jamison cheers and Rebecka groans. Libby looks around.
“If we’re playing hide and seek why do we need ally’s?”
“No, it’s hide and sneak.” Avey corrects. I wonder if she’s played this game before.
“Yes, Hawthorne hide and sneak.” Xander clarifies.
Like we’d play any other version. I muse. Xander starts explaining the rules. Apparently This game was similar to a game my dad and I used to play. Everyone and their ally were given a water gun, and would sneak around taking out the other players.
“But the twist.” Xander tells us dramatically. “Is that you have to get another teams artifact from their base.” I mull that over, already thinking through a strategy.
“Here are each of your artifacts. He pulls out four silver statues from out of nowhere. “You’re team one,” He places one of the trofie looking things in front of me.
“Team two.” Avery and Jamison.
“Team three.” Him and Grayson.
“Team four.” He puts the final artifact in front of Nash. I pick up mine up. It looks like one of the participation trophies you can pick up at the dollar tree. At the base where there’s usual a total there’s a number one. “You are not allowed to burry your artifact, but I do suggest hiding it. There are three rounds.” Xander continues. “For each artifact you have safely back at your base is worth three points. If you still have yours it’s worth five points. If you steal an artifact but do not get it to back to your base, or it gets stolen from your base, than it does not count. Which ever team has the most points at the end of all three rounds wins.”
“How do we know when each round ends?” Libby asks.
“Each round will be a half-hour.” He explains. Three rounds, one and a half hours. I just have to make it that long. My spirits start to raise as I realize this could be the perfect opportunity to look for the necklace. “All bases have to be outside, anyone who goes inside will be disqualified.” My heart sinks. “You have ten minutes to find a base, make sure to mark it with something.”
He goes over to a nearby bush and pulls out eight water guns. I’m impressed he got them all to fit in the tiny shrub. He passes them out. I take mine, and my figure slips comfortable around the trigger.
“If you get hit you have to stay frozen for three minutes.” He smiles like that idea somehow pleased him.
“I’ve also wired speakers through out the yard, when you hear,” he presses something on his phone and a pop song I don’t recognize plays arounds us, “that it means the round is over. But this one,” he presses another button, and Taylor Swift’s “Are you ready for it…” plays, starting at the part where she says, “are you ready for it.” I has to admit, it fits pretty well. “It means a round is starting.”
We all get to are feet. “Let the games begin!” Jamison and Avery take off, and so do Xander and Grayson. Nash leads Rebecka off, clearly having a place in mind for their base.
I turn to Libby. “You have any base ideas?” She nods. “Then lets go.” We start running. She leads the way towards the flowerbeds. I follow close behind. I’m suddenly glad to have a guide. The Gardens are a mix of twists and winding turns. I spot something in front of us.
“Is that a hedge maze?” I ask, trying to figure out how I’d missed it during my scouting trip. She nods. “Is that where we’re going?” I ask dubiously. It would be to obvious. She shakes her head. We turn so that we were running along side the maze.
Where are we going? We’re still in the garden, but this part seems less traveled. We turn past a bed of tulips and into what a circle. Inside is a Zen garden. I blink. “I was thinking,” Libby says running over to a spot in the back. “This rock tower has always been here, but it’s hollow.” I blink.
“How do you know it’s hallow?”
She blushes a little. “I kinda knocked it over once.” She starts taking rocks off the top of the pile.
“Does anyone know about this place?” I ask, doing a quick perimeter search. We seem pretty hidden, and the access seems pretty guardable.
“Not that I know of. The few times of been here no was around, and I’ve never told anyone about this place.” I nod.
I find myself saying, “This place is perfect, Libby, good job.” I wonder why I said it, but a lump swells in my throat as I realize why. That was what I always wanted my dad to tell me when we played secret base. I swallow the lump and push it down.
Libby turns to me with a big smile. “Thanks. I had a lot of free time to wonder around here.” A distant expression crosses her face, and she turns back to the tower. I go over to her. The hole inside the tower is wide enough to drop the statue in. I help her restack it.
“Since you know so much about the grounds I think we should travel as a team.” I tell her. She looks up from where she’s placing the final rock.
“Who’s going to guard?” I shake my head.
“Having a guard will just give away that are base is here, if anything we should have a fake base.” I take a second to consider it, but save that thought for later. “It will be better to go out and take the artifacts.” She nods. “Do you have any idea where Nash’s is?” I ask. He’s the only one we might be able to track down easily. She stares down at the racked rocks for a second before nodding.
“I think I have an idea.” I smile, and the Taylor Swift’s “are you ready for it…” plays over the hidden speakers, distant but distinct.
“Let the games begin.”
***
I sprint, winding through the trees. This is just like Amsterdam.” I pant to myself. I spot Libby up ahead. I wave to get her attention. When she’s facing I raise an eyebrow, and she nods. I take quick aim and throw Nash’s and Rebecka’s artifact to her. She catches it and starts running. With my hand free I spin with the water gun. Nash is close behind, his gun raised. I fire just as he does. I dive but he’s not fast enough. He gets hit in the arm.
I don’t stop to see, I start running after Libby. She doesn’t seem like the cardio type. I catch up to her on the other side of the slope, out of the woods. I take the trophy. “Find a place to hide, and see if anyone comes back, I think our best bet is to follow someone back to their base.” She nods, and split up. I sprint back to our base, being careful to look for a tail. Once I have the artifact hidden I make my way carefully back to where I left Libby.
Adrenaline makes it easier to catch my breathe. Nash will be unfrozen by now. I glance down at my watch. There’s around twenty minutes left in the round. I spot someone running. Jamison. Then a flash of blonde hair. Grayson. They’re running towards me. I crouch behind a large Mum bush. I can see the silver artifact in Jamison’s hand. I aim, and as soon as he’s in range I fire, hitting Grayson, square in the chest. Jamison looks over his shoulder. I don’t hesitate. They’re both frozen. I don’t know where Avery or Xander are, but if they’re not frozen they can’t be fa behind. I run past yanking the artifact out of Jamison’s hands.
It would be too risky to run back the way I came and give them a place to start tracking me, I’ll have to go the long way. My feet carry me into the woods. I see a flash of blue. “Libby?” I hiss.
She comes out from behind a tree looking relieved. “Oh good it’s you.” She looks down at the trophy in my hand.
“Come on.” I whisper, not explaining how I got it. We start sprinting. She pants.
“I’ll meet you back at base.” She says slowing, but I grab her wrist and start dragging her.
“No way, we’re in this together.” The words felt sticky and awkward in my mouth, and I realize I’ve never said that before. We make it back to the garden without running into anyone. I keep glancing over my shoulder.
Libby is panting heavily as we run past the topiary bushes. A pot breaks in front of us. Libby screams. I knock her to the ground as another pot breaks. My brain works to figure out what’s happening. Someone’s shooting at us. My blood turns to stone. No, someone’s shooting at me. I go into autopilot. I get off of Libby. She tries to grab me, but I’m already army crawling away.
“Stay.” I hiss. The pots stop braking around us, and we’re left in silence, the only sound the spilling of dirt out of the shattered pots.
I suck in a breath before jumping to my feet and sprinting. Everything is in hyper focus, I can see a bee flyby in slow motion, but I keeping running. The shots had to have come from the Northwest corner of the wall. I sprint in that direction.
Who the heck would have the audacity to shoot at me? I seethe. This isn’t my first time being shot at, and I’ve come to realize it’s easiest just to catch the guy first try and get it over with. So, yeah, I’m running in the direction of the shooter. I see something, black. I pick up speed. No one in the game was wearing black.
My feet barely have time to touch the ground before I switch to the other. I’m gaining on the figure. They’re in all black. “Hey!” I shout. They stop and turn. I see the shine of the gun in their hand and spin behind a tree. I move fast, using a technique my dad taught me. I dodge between trees until I was right next to him. I grab the end of his gun, which is attached to the silencer and pull down kicking up as I topple to the ground. The gun goes flying.
“Who are you?” I ask, coldly. He’s wearing a black face mask. Instead of answering me he kicks, his boot flying towards my face. “Fine.” I mutter, ducking. “We can do this the hard way.”
Whoever this person is they know how to fight. I wonder why he came onto the grounds, even as his fist came at my face. It would have been easier to do it from the top of the wall. There shouts to the left. I make the mistake of glancing towards Nash, who has come into view. He’s shouting something I tune out. I feel something hard make contact with my head. I stumble backwards. As soon as I can get my head to move again I look around, to see the man running full tilt towards the wall. I start to run after him when someone grabs me from behind. I’m still in fright mode, as I swing my elbow back and slam my foot down onto theirs. Nash lets out a grunt of pain.
“Let me go!” I seethe. “He’s getting away!” The guy is scaling the wall, he seems to have a little trouble, and I feel a sweet satisfaction as I remember the shot I got to their knee. I squirm roughly. “Nash!” I say frustratedly. “I can still get him!”
“No.” Nash says. His voice is sharp and firm, not his usual calm self. They shooter disappears over the wall, and I grimace as I see the gun in their hand as they disappear. I let out a frustrated closed lip scream.
I put all my strength into violently jerking forward, breaking his hold. I stare at the wall a second, but the guy is probably already in a car by now, and Nash would just grab me anyway. Instead I reluctantly turn my back and start running back the way I came.
“What is going on kid?” Nash demands, coming up alongside me, but I just run faster. I’m practically falling forward with momentum as I turn down the path with all the topiaries. Libby is on the ground, arms over her head. I take a quick search of her surroundings.
“Libby.” I say calmly. Her head doesn’t lift. I can hear Nash coming around he corner. “He’s gone, and Nash is here.” Her head lifts at that. Nash barrels around the corner. He’s at Libby’s side immediately. “She fine.” I whisper quietly. I take a few steps back.
“Stay.” Nash growls. I shake my head.
“The trail’s still warm.” I start running again. My lungs screaming hatefully at me. Grayson, Avery, and Jamison come around a corner.
“Oh, there you are!” I say faking relief. I need to get out. “Nash wanted…me to go find you, he said he’d explain what…happened.” I pant. Avery takes off running, and everyone follows. I don’t take it personally that no one asks if I’m okay. As soon as they’re out of stight I start running again. The quickest exit would be through the main gate, but there’s too many camera’s. My best chance is to get out the same way the shooter did. Plus then I can find that son of— I think angrily.
Whoever shoots at me has some nerve, but whoever comes onto Hawthorne grounds to do it is just stupid. Or paid. The two run hand in hand. I’m at the base of the wall when a voice stops me.
“Ari.” I turn to see Oren, gun drawn. I sigh, shaking my head.
“There’s no need for a gun Oren.” I chide. “I’m leaving, I think we can both agree that’s for the best.” His face doesn’t give anything away.
“I think what would be best is an explanation.”
“I don’t have one.” I bite out, my frustration slipping into my voice to show him I’m telling the truth. I bottle it back up.
“We both know he wasn’t aiming at Libby.” He states. “You have to know something.”
I shake my head. He still has his gun aimed at me. I grit my teeth when he doesn’t lower it. “Fine, here’s what I know.” I spit. “The guy obviously wasn’t a professional.”
“And why is that?”
“You know dang well a professional wouldn’t have missed like that. This guy is new to being a hit man, my guess is he real talent is a thief.” My mind flashes to my dad, but I push that thought away. “He got past your security and onto the grounds, my guess it you can see the spot we got shot at from the top of one of these trees.” I point upwards.
“And why would someone try to kill you?”
“Why are you aiming a gun at me?” I shoot back.
“You’re a flight risk.” I purse my lips. It’s true, but it’s just easier when people don’t know that. “Why would someone try to shoot you?” He repeats.
I let out a tiny chuckle. “That Oren, is a multiple choice answer.” I shake my head a little as I consider all the possibilities. My mind kept coming back to my dad. I know he’d made a threat, but my dad wouldn’t have missed, and the guy didn’t use his fighting style. Hiring the guy would have left a trail, and my dad would never to that.
“Why are you here?” My shoulders slump at that, and I let my exhaustion show through my masks. I do some quick calculations.
“Look, I promise I did not mean for any of this to happen, I just came here for school.” He doesn’t seemed convinced. His eyes narrow. I bite my lip knowing what I’m going to have to say. “Okay, I didn’t come here just for school. I wanted to meet my family.” I drop my gaze. “I was only going to stay here a month, I promise, then I was going to walk away like nothing happened.”
I hear the gun lower. “You’re a Hawthorne?” I flinch like I’ve just been slapped.
“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone.” I look up desperately. “I don’t fit here, anyone can see that, I just…” I trail off.
“How are you related?” He asks calming.
“Granddaughter.” I mutter.
Oren doesn’t say anything. I look up to see him nodding. “Ariadne.” My eyes narrow.
“Did Xander tell you that?” He shakes his head.
My blood turns cold with sudden understanding. “You knew.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t answer. I shake my head in disgust. “Can I leave now?” Xander bursts through the trees before Oren can reply.
“Ari!” He calls. “Are you okay?” I blink at the question.
“Umm…yeah.” It felt like the wrong answer, but Xander doesn’t seem to notice. He turns to Oren, a look of deep concern where his grin usually sits.
“What happened?”
“A shooting.” Oren answer.
“Well I knew that much, what I meant was why?” Oren looks at me, and I’m not sure what he’ll do so I start talking instead.
“You know that robbery in Paris three months ago?” Xander turns to me, looking confused. “Someone stole the painting of a girl dancing in the forest?” He nods. “Well I’m looking for the people who did it, we don’t need the painting just the thief.”
“Who’s we?”
“I’m with a branch of the CIA, I’m in deep training to become an agent, and this is my first solo mission.”
“The CIA?” Xander repeats. I nod, believing the lie. This was a cover I’d used a while back in Gorgia, I still have the fake little badge and everything. I pull out the badge, grateful for my forgetfulness. I’d forgotten these leggings have pockets and I’d worn them on the case. I hold up the badge, silently grateful it was the one mission my dad wanted me to use my real name. Xander takes it and studies it. I refuse to look at Oren. “Why are you here then?” Xander asks, curiosity filling his face.
“I thought you and your brothers would want to help.”
“And the shooting?”
“Trying to take me off the case.” He looks at Oren, and so do I. He hands the badge to Oren. Oren takes it and studies it.
“I really am with the CIA Oren.” I say, hoping I could pull this one over him. He studies my face and hands back the badge. I stuff it back in my pocket.
“Let’s go back inside.” Oren says. I feel my heart lift slightly. But as soon as Xander’s back is turned he gives me an annoyed look. I shrug.
“Like I said I no one can know.” I whisper as I walk past. As we make our way away back to the house I work on spinning my story. I know I’m just digging myself a deeper hole I’ll have to climb out off, but in all honesty this whole plan is so unhinged I can actually see it working.

Chapter 13

“You really expect me to buy that there are kids in the CIA?” Nash asks pointedly.
“No, but I also planned on telling you differently.” I cross my arms and lean back into the overstuffed couch. “Look I have the case file, do you want to look it over or not?” I hold out my phone which is open to the case file. (My dad makes me hack a copy to make sure there’s no evidence left behind; I just haven’t gotten around to deleting this one yet.)
Nash takes the phone. Grayson stands behind him. He’s been giving me the death stare since I came back with Oren. Xander and Jamison look over Nash’s shoulder. Avery hesitates at the edge of the group. “You can look too if you want.” I offer. She glances up giving me a calculating stare, that I meet head on, before she goes over and takes the phone from Nash.
“I’m still not buying it kid.” I sigh, exasperated.
“What do you want from me?” I demand. “I’ve shown you the badge, I’ve shown you the file.” I narrow my eyes at him. “And you saw that if you had let me go after him the guy wouldn’t have gotten away.” I cross my arms tighter. He meets my eyes, looking like he doesn’t regret a thing. Libby is at his side. She’s shaken but fine. I turn to her.
“I really am sorry Libby, I don’t know how anyone knows I’m here.”
“I think I can answer that question.” A woman comes into the room, her hair in a perfect bun. “I’m Alissa Ortaga, Avery’s lawyer.” I’m assuming by her superior demeaner I’m supposed to be impressed, or intimidated.
“Nice to meet you. So, how do people know I’m here?” She holds up a tablet. On it is what appears to be an article, but I don’t have time to read the cover because the first and only thing my eyes notice is the picture of me plastered on the front. I’m in my Hights Country Day uniform. I grit my teeth. “Dad.” I mutter under my breath.
“What?” I get to my feet, snatching the table as I go out of the room. “I’ll be back.” I tell Oren. I take my phone back too. I storm out of the room ready to commit murder. I walk a few rooms down and go as far away from the door as I can.
I don’t have to wait long before he picks up.
“I’m guessing you saw it then.”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t your plan for me to get shot at?” I really hope it wasn’t.
“No, I—”
“No what? What did you think would happen dad? Huh? You’d think I’d see the picture of myself and run back to you with my tail between my legs?” My anger threatens to break down the walls I’d work tediously to build.
“Look, you obviously can’t stay on the job now, people know where you are.” I want to punch something.
“Actually, dad I can and I am.”
“How?” The cockiness from words before is gone, replaced by annoyance.
“Nonna beeswax.” I say petulantly.
“Ari I am your father—” I stare down at my picture on the tablet, and something inside me snaps.
“Really? What type of father makes their daughter have to lie, telling everyone she’s a teenage agent for the CIA, huh? Do you know how worthy of physic ward you’ve made me? Huh, dad? Because normal teenagers don’t have a fake CIA badge in their pocket. Normal teenagers don’t have to be like, ‘oh, yeah, it’s no big deal, it’s not my first time being shot at!’ Normal teenagers,” I all but shout, “shouldn’t have to worry about their fathers sending a photo to a tabloid so hitmen can track them down and for them into hiding!” I rip the phone away from my ear, hitting the hangup button.
I don’t know what I was expecting from the call, but whatever it was this made me feel better. Yelling at him made me feel better. “Now to pretend to be a member of the CIA.” I laugh a little, unable to stop it. I stop in front of a mirror. There’s a large bruise blooming on one side of my forehead where they guy had kick me. I mutter a little to myself as I slip into character. I walk out the doors and back into the room with everybody as Ari Queen a freakin’ CIA agent.
“Here you go.” I hand the tablet back to the lawyer. She studies me. I don’t shrink away from her stare.
“Oren and I need to talk to you in private.” She orders. I hand my phone back to Avery, the case file filling the screen again.
Alissa leads the way down the hall and into a different one then I’d made the call in. Before I even take a seat, she starts drilling me with her lawyer talk. I just nod and pretend like I’m listening. When she’s finally done, she looks at me expectantly. “Okay.” Is all I say. She seems to ruffle her feathers at that. Oren gives her a look, and she spins on her heels and walks out of the room high heels click-clacking.
Oren waits a second before sitting across from me. “Here.” He holds out a white piece of paper folded in half. I lean forward and take it giving him a questioning look. I unfold the paper, to see all too familiar handwriting. The first part of the letter was just about Mr. Hawthorne asking Oren to be head of Avery’s security. But the second part…
“You remember the girl I mentioned years ago. I told you I had a granddaughter. I didn’t tell you why at the time, but some things should be explained. I wanted to tell you in person so you would take my next words seriously. My granddaughter’s name is Ariadne Queen. She’s had quiet the life, and I’m not quite sure who it will shape her to be. I’m not asking you to keep an eye on her, in fact I’d suggest the opposite, it is only if she comes to the House that I want you to keep an eye on her. I’ve left her a letter, and I made it clear she is not to come to the House; she does not fit. But if she does, I ask that you protect her. She is my granddaughter, whether I raised her or not.”
The letter ends with his signature. He signed this one with his full name, not “The Old Man” like in mine. I stare down at it for a second, before turning my expression hard.
“Why are you here.” He asks. I shove the letter back at him.
“Look I may not be CIA, but I really am looking for whoever pulled that job.” Lies upon lies. He searches my expression. I don’t know what he sees there.
“I owed Mr. Hawthorne a lot, so you will stay here until we catch the shooter.” I want to laugh; he’s giving me exactly what I need. I’ll find the diamond necklace and get out.
I look down. My character would object. “But what about Avery. Me being here will put her in danger, it almost got her sister shot. I’m here to protect Avery, and a whole security team.” I throw my head back resigned.
“Can I at least get my stuff from school?”
“I’ll send someone to get it.”
“No.” I say firmly. “I’m going. You send one of the guys with me, but they stay outside. The cover story is my grandma has taken a turn for the worst and I’m going to visit her.” I raise an eyebrow waiting for him object. He nods, not looking happy about it.
“Did you ever look into me Oren?” I ask, trying to act like I don’t care about his answer.
“Only enough to know you were in Paris three months ago.” My smile doesn’t faulter.
“They need a distraction.” He takes a second before answering.
“Anymore lies and I will tell them.” I purse my lips knowing he’s not lying.
You just have to get the necklace and whatever evidence the old man left and leave. And never look back.

Chapter 14

“Is that a yes?” I’m back on the couch, being stared down by Grayson, scrutinized by Jamison and Nash, and—as always—finding a grin on Xander’s face.
“We just have some questions kid.” I purse my lips at the ‘kid’ I’d kinda hoped once he bought on to the whole CIA thing he’d drop that. “How did the CIA start making it okay to use kids?”
“And how did they not recruit me?” Jamison asks lazily.
“It started out as a self-defense class for the agent’s children,” I say, reminding myself this is the exact same story as Gorgia. “Because more often then they’d like to admit the children were used as leverage.” I feel like a robot repeating the same lies. “So the CIA started a self-defense class, but one agent discovered the potential and ended up using children on a case he was working on, and since then over the years we’ve come from consultants to full on agents.”
“Did ya’ll get a say in the matter?” I want to laugh at that. Since when does anyone get a say in anything. It’s the same story, don’t over think it.
“When you turn eighteen you can decided whether you want to stay on as an agent, or if you want to retire.” I wait for another question, but when they all stay silent I repeat mine from earlier. “Is that a yes?”
They all exchange looks, even Avery somehow seems to understand the unspoken language and nods. “It’s a yes!” Xander says happily. I find myself gauging Libby’s expression. She looks worried, but other than the small crease between her eyebrows she doesn’t show too much concern. I let myself wonder for a second if this is a normal thing around here.
“Okay kid, now that we’ve agreed you’ve got to agree to somethin’ else.” I narrow my eyes at Nash. “You have to stay here until we catch the shooter, ya hear?” I blow out an annoyed huff, acting like he didn’t say almost the exact same thing as Oren. I figure it will be best to let them believe that it was Nash’s idea. “Ya can’t say no.”
That makes me bristle. Just watch me. Watch me say no. “Fine.” Nash nods and I turn to Oren. “I’d like to get my stuff now.”
I stare at the dorm room around me. This is the first time I’ve been alone since the shooting. I glance at the desk. I sigh a little as I remember telling myself it would be a quick in and out job my first night here. I force my limbs to move again. I stuff my clothes into a bag along with all the other random junk I’d brought with me. I keep my eyes on the ceiling as I stuff the letter into my legging pocket.
I already cleared everything with the principle, so this was my last stop before getting back in the SUV. I really don’t want to, but if I run I’d be doing exactly what my dad wanted me to. I now I can’t really afford to stay here a second longer than I already have. I was wearing my uniform in the picture my dad sent to the press. I still haven’t gotten a chance to read that article, or see if it’s been posted anywhere else. I’ve been ducking and dodging students as best I could—which was made easy by the fact most of them were at dinner anyway—but I’d gotten a few curious stares, but I kept my head down.
With a long sigh I swing my bag over my shoulder and click the door shut behind me. The person I most want to avoid is Kally. I’m not sure why, her knowing the story about my grandma taking a turn for the worst would probably be beneficial, but I also don’t want it to seem like an excuse. She’s probably already seen the pictures. I grit my teeth as I brace myself against the sunlight. My sneakers don’t make a sound as I hurry back to the SUV.
The empty grounds are more vulnerable now than when they were filled with people I’m lying to. I glance over my shoulder as my hand goes for the car door’s handle. My fingers wrap around the could metal just as there’s a loud crash. I drop into the fetal position, waiting for something else to happen. My hearts beats so loud in my ears it drowns out my thoughts even as they scream for me to run. I lower my arms from where they were covering my head. My eyes search for any discrepancy in my surroundings. But everything’s the same.
I keep my back close to the black paint of the car as I get into a crouching position. I tell the voice in my head—who’s shrieking at me to run—to cut it out, and my racing heart to knock it off. They don’t.
I peek my head around the front of the car. I half crawl to the next corner. Oren’s guy is lying on the ground. My blood runs cold at the sight and the part of my that is still a teenager whimpers at the thought of him being dead. I lock that voice in a closet and throw away the key. I grit my teeth, leaning over the motionless body. I check for a pulse. My shoulders don’t relax, but my heart unsqueezes as I feel the faint pumping beneath my fingertips.
My nerves are still undone, waiting for another attack. My eyes fall on the object a foot away from the not-dead-man’s head. I stretch my hand out cautiously. I scrutinize the thing for a few seconds before picking it up. It’s lumpy like a rock, but the outside is all white, except for one spot which is red. I study the red spot. It looks too similar to blood to be anything else.
The sight of it makes my fight-or-flight instincts kick in and I open the door leading into the back seat quickly. I drop the rock in a cupholder, and toss my bag onto the seats, before squatting back down by the man. He’s face down which makes lifting him into the car a lot harder.
The sound of voices makes my pulse quicken into an unhealthy speed. Adrenaline teases my thoughts with the idea of staying and finding who through the rock. I grunt as I finally get the guard into the car. I shut the door and am about to open the driver’s side door when I remember the loud BANG I’d heard earlier. I bite my lip. The guy getting hit by that rock wouldn’t have made that noise. I bite my lip harder as I make a decision.
The voices are growing very close, and I’m sure any second someone is going to burst out through the front door. My feet move tread as quickly as they can around the car. Luckily I don’t have to go far. At the back of the car sitting in a small dent in the trunk were shards of thick glass. I grind my teeth, my eyes narrowed.
This is so stupid. I silent mutter, as I pick up the scrap of white paper resting in the middle of the glass graveyard. I don’t look at it before shoving it in my pocket.
I’m driving the car out of the school’s front gates when I glance back in the rearview mirror to see a group of students and a few teachers standing around the pieces of glass that fell off the car when I started driving.
“What—” I cut him off, not a task for the faint of heart.
“He got hit by a rock, isn’t dead, and you’re car has a dent because a cannonball of glass fell on it.” I curl my fingers into fists to keep from fidgeting. I meet Oren’s stare head on. “You’ll want a first-aid kit.” I say with more sass than I meant.
I lean down and snatch my bag from where it had fallen onto the floor. The not-dead-guy lets out a moan. I ignore it and walk past Oren. “I’m not done talking to you yet.” Oren says, not raising his voice, but still putting just as much force into his words I’m intrigued to see if I’d be affected if he had yelled.
“I’m a target, Oren.” I say innocently, not missing a step. I hop up the steps to the door. “I shouldn’t be out in the open. I hear muttering, but it’s cut off by the door clicking shut behind me. I brush a stand of hair behind my ear as my footsteps echo, announcing my arrival.
“How’d it go, kid?” I glance sideways at Nash who appeared out of nowhere.
“Great!” I say cheerily. I’m still debating whether I should continue to be the fake Ari Queen I have been for the past two weeks, or make a new character for CIA Ari.
“Any problems?”
“Not a hitch.” I assure him, with a smile to back me up. I stop t the stairs. I have my stuff now, but I’m not sure where it’s supposed to go.
“I’ll show you your room.” Nash starts up the stairs. I take a second to breathe before following. I study the walls and mirrors around me. Part of my ached to touch the mirror that could only be there to lead to a secret passage, but that might be too much. I’ve already found one secret passage I shouldn’t. It’s almost painful not to tug on my earing, but I keep my hands firmly at my sides.
“This is it.” Nash opens a door into a bedroom big enough to fit a small house in. It’s not exactly a secret that people with money like to have things way too big, but my mouth wants to fall open. I step through the doorway like I’m facing a lifelong prison sentence in here. The floor is plushy white carpet that makes me regret not leaving my shoes by the door. There’s a large bed, the mattress has to be bigger than King-sized. It’s covered in a fluffy blue comforter, and matching pillows. At the end is a bench thing, with overstuffed cushions and backrest. I drop my bag onto the bed, doing a small spin. My mouth does drop open when I see the chandelier high above me.
I look back to where Nash is leaning in the doorframe. “Avery’s and Libby’s room are right ‘cross the hall.” He points to each of the visible doors in turn.
“Oren always stands guard at night, so if ya need anythin’ he’ll be right out there.” I nod like the thought is comforting. It’s not. If Oren is right outside my door that means I can only search for the necklace during the day.
“How is Libby?” I hear myself asking. Ooh, yes, pretend that you care, I think, even as part of me waits for his answer nervously.
“Good, just a little rattled, nothing she can’t handle.”
“Nothing she should handle.” I mutter turning so he couldn’t see the frustration in my face. I force my poster to stay relaxed as I unzip my bag.
I don’t look up from re-folding my two shirts as the bed creaks. “This type thing ever happen to you before, kid?”
“I’m not a kid.” I manage cooly. I’ve suddenly lost the urge to have a conversation with Nash Hawthorne.
He let’s out a soft chuckle, before repeating his question. “This type thing ever happen to you before?” I don’t even fully process that he didn’t use the word ‘kid’, the question filled me with a caged frustration.
“Does what?” I spit, dropping the shirt onto the bed. “Getting shot at? Yeah, but life is life, but it’s mine. You may think it’s weird or ‘not right’, Nash, but it’s mine. My life.” I meet his eyes. “I may not like the hand life delt me, but I’ve learned how to play them.” I meet his searching eyes for a second after the last word leaves me but drop them again.
Now is not the time to plant your flag. I tongue itches to add on to my statement. I bite down on it hard enough to taste blood. I give up on folding shirts and move onto fidgeting with the book I’d brought.
“Where are your parents, kid?” I roll my eyes at ‘kid’, but I’m not sure he saw me, I hope he did.
“In the CIA, remember?” I try flattened a dogeared page.
“Do you need to call them?” I scoff. I got the feeling he’d actually understand if I told him about my dad, but I don’t ever plan on spilling my ‘daddy issues’ to Nash Hawthorne.
“There on a mission, won’t be back for three months.” I answer smoothly. I’m used to the feeling of a lie slipping out before I even have time to think it, it just kinda becomes second nature after a while.
“Is there anyone you need to call?” His questions are starting to annoy me.
“I’ve already called my superiors; they’re going to look into the shooter from afar.”
“And they’re fine with you staying here.” I really want to say no, maybe then he’ll kick me out or something.
“Yes, as long as you and you brothers are helping with the case this is just a business vacation.” I smile ruefully down at the still bent corner of the page.
There’s a tiny silence before he speaks again. “This is my number kid, call or text if you need anything.” He puts a piece of paper with a string of numbers scrolled neatly crossed it, before getting to his feet. He leaves giving me one last tip of his cowboy hat before walking out the door. I watch from where I stand as he strolls away down the hall. Once he’s out of sight I turn to glare back down at my bags. Theirs is no way I’m going to unpack. Instead, I stuff my shirts and book back into the bag.
I stare at the room one more time. I don’t know how long I can stay in here, but I’m also not sure where to go. I could go look for the necklace, but in a house like this I’d have to have a place to start. I square my shoulders as I stuff the paper with Nash’s number on it in my legging’s pocket, which is getting uncomfortably full.
With an exhale I walk across the hall and knock on Libby’s door.

Chapter 15

Libby’s room is just as big as mine but looks more lived in with scattered clothes and what looks like polaroid pictures covering a coffee table.

Libby takes a seat on one of the sofas. I move to sit on the one directly across from her. Her colorful hair hangs in a curtain so that I can’t see her face. I probably should have thought through what I was going to say, but at least I’m good at improv.

“Have you tried crying?” That makes her look up. The fresh coal black eyeliner around her eyes makes me wonder if she had, but she shakes her head.

“I’m not really the type to cry,” I tell her, “but you don’t seem the type who would want to run until they collapsed.” I give her a soft smile. She smiles ruefully as if remembering something. I push myself forward. “It is okay to cry Libby.” I wait a beat before continuing. “I’ve been through a lot and sometimes all you can do is cry.”

“But sometimes,” She sniffs. “You want to be strong enough not to.” That makes my smile wilt.

“I’ll tell you the same thing my dad told me.” Before he was such a jerk. I take a mills-second to gather myself and make sure I’m calm enough not to let my anger at my dad show.
“He told me that when you cry, you’re releasing all your weakness, so you have to cry or else you’ll have all this weakness pent-up inside you.”

A small voice in the back of my mind reminds me that I didn’t believe that stuff when I heard it, but maybe Libby will.

Her eyes revealed something I don’t know if I have the right to understand. I give her what I hope is an empathetic smile.

“Look, I don’t know you Libby, and I know it’s hard for you to trust me since you don’t know me either.” I take a minute to stare down at my hands. “Growing up in the CIA, gave me a lot of things to cry about.” I let out a quiet laugh. “And trust me, it’s easier to just get it all out.” I keep the corners of my mouth up, so that they won’t reveal anything she shouldn’t know.

I may not have grown up in the CIA, but I did have a childhood that made me want to cry. My Father told me how to lie, how to stick up for myself, but he also taught me—purposely or not—that some people (people like me) aren’t allowed to cry.

Libby sniffles again, drawing me out of my self pity. “The best part about crying is once it’s over you can move on, and you also have people to talk about this, Libby.” I force my shoulders to stay relaxed as I say the next words “You have Nash, and he seems like a great guy.” That makes a smile visible on her face.

“He is.” I keep my expression together, even as a voice in my head singsongs about how all this is a lie and, in the end, I’m going to put a metaphoric knife in their backs.

“Well, I just came over to tell you that…” I wait for anything else to say to pop into my brain. When nothing does, I get to my feet. My feet walk me out of the room without another word.

Chapter 16

I have to admit, talking to Libby, bad idea. I can feel my insides squirming whenever I remember the way her eyes lit up at the mention of Nash. It shouldn’t bother me. It has nothing to do with the job, but my heart still aches.
I stare up the ceiling; my hair smashed between the back of my head and the mattress. Sitting in silence is weird. I usually have music blaring, or a movie as white noise. But here I am, in Hawthorne House, sitting in silence. My fingers feel too heavy to try to fidget with my earing.
You’re a complete jerk. Is the only thing my thoughts are telling me. I know it’s true—especially when I picture Xander’s grinning face. Oren knows I’m a snake. He has to, especially if he knows I was in Paris. If he’d done any digging, he’d know.
There’s a knock on the door. I close my eyes for a second, before putting on a mask. My legs feel like heavy weight led as I walk to the door. The person knocks one more time before I open the door so that they can see my smile.
“We set up operations in the Old Man’s office.” Xander announces.
Oh, right…that. “Good, I guess that means we should get started?”
“We started the second you showed us the file.” He grins widely. “But we are ready to start working together.”
“What have you done so far?” I inquire as we start down the hall. While he starts talking, I memorize the route to the Old Man’s office. If he has anything on me, it will be in there.
“We’ve mainly been reading articles for the past two hours.” I nod.
“That’s a good start.”
“I’m assuming,” Xander grins. “You’ve already read them all?”
“I know ‘em by heart.” I fib.
As we walk Xander tells me facts about the things we pass. It’s interesting, everything in this House, it seems, has a story.
Nobody looks up from the iPads in their faces. Avery and Jamison sit at the desk. You could see the gears turning in their head. The next person I find is Grayson sitting like a statue in a chair, a laptop balanced on his lap. Nash sits with his feet propped up on the small coffee table between him and Grayson. He’s the only one without some sort of electronics, instead he’s studying a stack of papers.
Xander bounds into the office, throwing his arms open dramatically. “Welcome!” I give him a smile that I know doesn’t look as weak as it feels.
I stand just outside the door, the tips of my shoes almost touching the office’s part of the hardwood floor.
You don’t fit.
My eyes take a minute to study the place. There’s a huge desk, I saw that already, but the thing I missed was the wall lined with trophies and plaques. I don’t know why my heart rate is so high as I walk towards the wall, like the trophies are on fire.
You don’t fit.
My eyes flick from thing-to-thing never truly seeing anything. The room is starting to blur. The trophies a sparkle and the patents—all with Xander’s name on them—scream at me.
You don’t fit.
The Old Man must have set this up. He was so proud of them. That’s what the plaques keep mocking me with. He wanted everyone to know how great his grandsons were—are.
You don’t fit.
My eyes acknowledge the comic books on one shelf, each one with a Hawthorne brother’s name on the by-line.
I don’t fit.
“Kid, kid?” I blink, turning my back on the wall.
“What? Sorry,” I put a sheepish grin on my face, so I won’t start crying.
I breathe in, then out. In. Out.
“We asked if you wanted,” Nash drawls, “if you wanted to see everything we know.”
“See?”
Grayson clears his throat signaling that he’s going to answer. “We made a diagram.”
One of my eyebrows shoots up, and my temporary meltdown building inside of my if numbed a by the buzz of amusement running through me.
“Let’s see what you got.”
Xander patted the spot on the couch next to him. I sat down as Avery and Jamison brought over a huge bulky shape covered in what looks like a white sheet.
Jamison kicks Nash’s boots off the coffee table. Nash grumble something and readjusts the sheets.
Avery helps slide the thing onto the table in front of me. With a dramatic bow and flick of the wrist Jamison Winchester Hawthorne revealed the diagram that showed everything they knew about the crime I committed.
The whole Luve is made out of white plastic (on a smaller scale of course). I study it thoughtfully, secretly impressed. The big pyramid in the from holds me attention for a second before I shift my gaze to a little red line that clashes painfully against the white. I trace that line with my eyes. It leads to the gallery the painting that had been stolen (by me) had been kept. The access points were highlighted in the same red.
“The red line marks the possible routes the person took to get to the painting.” Jamison explains. He pointed to the red line I’d been looking at. “We believe this on is the most likely route they took based on the acritical mentioning…”
He goes on a whole lecture on each route and the probable cause they used to discover them. Of course, I already knew those routes, I’d studied all of them almost six months ago. I got the annoying feeling I might have less time to find the necklace, and evidence and get out, before they solve this case.

Chapter 17

“It would make sense.” Grayson agrees, his voice so confident you would have thought it was his idea.
“But that still doesn’t lead us anywhere.” Avery points out. I lean back, letting my body fade into the background.
“But look at this.” Jamison points to something—another, diagram maybe? —scribbled on a piece of paper.
Avery shakes her head. “But this,” she points at her own piece of paper, “would be more efficient and track with this article.” She holds up a printed article as evidence.
“What do you think, Nash?” Xander interrupts, a grin still on his face.
Nash leans lazily forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. “I think,” he drawls easily, even as Jamison and Grayson glare at each other, “the first thing we should do is find the shooter.” I nod absently.
I haven’t had a chance to try and figure out who’d found me, but I could use that to my advantage, so I spoke up. “They could be the guy.”
Nash gives me an approving nod, that confirmed that’s what he had been thinking.
Avery stares down at the news article in her hands. “I suppose if we have the who we can fill in the how later.” She murmurs, already getting lost in the words she’s reading.
“Anything on the cameras, Oren?” Jamison questions. Oren steps out of the corner he’d been observing us—me—from.
“No, he was in all black, and we only ever got him from the back.” His eyes slid to mine in a pointed look that told me there might be more to this story.
Nash gets to his feet. “Well, I’ll leave y’all to this, I’m goin’ to go check on Lib.”
“I’d check the kitchen.” Avery says, moving to get to her feet. Nash held up a calm hand to stop her.
“Let me go first.” Avery’s mouth rests in a frown as the cowboy leaves the room.
Grayson and Jamison are already doing some sort of research on their own laptops. I glance from them to Avery.
“I’m going to go take a nap.” I let out a yawn, that feels a little to real. No time to sleep. Oren gives me a sideways look as I walk to the door. I return it with a challenging raise of my eyebrows.
Lucky for me no one finds it necessary to walk me back. I turned one corner and came to a stop. Where should I go from here? If I go back to my room, I’ll be able to map everything from there. I nod to myself grateful to have a more solid plan then the one I’d been working on for the past two weeks.
I take the turns Xander had shown me earlier. I was surprised by how close my room is. Which thinking about is good since I’ll need to search the office soon. I stand with my back to the door and lock in. No time for naps. You need to get out of here.
I stride purposely down the hall in the opposite direction from the way I’d come. My feet take a right and I follow them, my eyes taking in everything there is to see. Everything in this house is elegant, making my street clothes feel inferior. I keep my arms swinging at my sides as my shoes tap softly against the floor.
I come to a stop in a random hallway five right, and three left turns from my room.
My hand lifts to a knob of the door closest to me, and I twist. I push and the door creaks inwards. I step forward. The room inside is too dark to see anything. My fingers trace the wall inside the door searching for a light switch. When I find it a flip it on. My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open.

Chapter 18

Everything sparkled, rainbows shoot across the floor hiding all traces of wood. The crystals prisms hang everywhere. I step into the room. My sneaker is immanently striped with color. My eyes grow wider still as my brain tries to process every detail into my memory.
There seems to be a skylight of some sort high above me, with the prisms hanging from it on fishing wire, giving the illusion that they’re floating. There’s a large circular stained-glass window in front of the room, leaving just enough room between it and the floor for a little bench. The walls to my either side hold a row of bookshelves.
It looks too much like something in a storybook, a place that people write about because it shouldn’t be real. But as I reached out my hand a rainbow lands on it, and I can feel the warmth of the fading sunlight through the colorful window.
A vibration from my back pocket shakes me from my awe. I pull it out to see an incoming call from “DAD”. I hesitate, my thumb hovering between the accept button and the one to decline the conversation I can predict word for word. I tug my earing as I stuff my phone back in my pocket. I’ll call him later. I promise myself, unexplained guilt churning in me.
I blink, and still tugging on the tiny piece of jewelry bring my attention back to the room. I take in a breath. I’m here on a job. I remind myself. Focus.
I walk to the bookshelves on my right. Most of the shelves are filled with books, but a few hold picture frames, or tiny glass figures. I run my finger over the wood. It comes up with a thick layer of gray dust. I wipe it off and study the pictures. There’s one with a young woman an older woman, both strongly resembling the other. My eyes slid to the next. The glass protecting the photo had a think layer of dust resting on it, tenting the white dress the woman in the picture is wearing. The woman looks like the one from the first frame. Her hair is piled up into a bun at the top of her head, and in her hands she holds a bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers. Next to her stands a man with a face that I recognize. I feel my gaze turn hard. I realize now who the woman is.
“Alice Hawthorne.” I muttered. I glanced between the two faces of the young newlyweds. Did she know what kind of a monster he was? Did she know what he did to people? Did she care? The thoughts swirl around in my mind creating a mirky black, blocking out all other thought.
But that blackness evaporated as soon as I saw the necklace resting on Alice’s Hawthorne’s collar bone. It matched perfectly with the picture I’d been given. I pulled out my phone again. It started vibrating as soon as it was free. I didn’t hesitate this time, my thumb going directly to the red hang-up button. I swipe to the camera and take a quick photo of the wedding picture.
I’ve just saved the photo to my “hidden” folder when another call comes in. I roll my eyes and move to hang up again, when I read the caller ID.
“Xander?” I asked, even though it had been his name on the screen.

“Where are you?” His voice sounds so concerned, the complete opposite of his normal chipper tone that I have to pull the phone away from my ear and double check that it actually is him calling. “Hello?”
“Sorry, I was going to the kitchen to get some water.” I lie into the phone, hurrying to the door. “I guess I should’ve taken into account that I don’t know where the kitchen is.” I force out a laugh that at least sounds real. I walk back into the hall and start retracing my steps. “Did something happen?” I ask, my fingers lifting to my earing.
“No, I just came to bring you some dinner, and you were gone.” The concern in his voice is replaced with relief. I purse my lips.
“Why were you bringing me dinner?” I question, forgetting to erase the confusion from my tone.
I hear him laughing through the phone. “Because we’re friend, and friends don’t let friends starve.” I stop walking. I feel like a ram has just been thrown into my stomach, making me sick.
We’re friends. The words echo in my brain, causing chaos in every corner of it. The most pathetic thing about it, the part that made me feel even sicker, is that I want to agree with him. I want to start laughing and say something like “of course we are” or “duh” but I couldn’t. Because we’re not friends. I use that truth to propel my forward.
He wouldn’t be friends with the real me, and I can’t be friends with a Hawthorne.

Chapter 19

Xander is waiting outside my door when I turn the corner. My eyes fall to the tray he’s holding. My stomach betrays me by letting out a loud growl, that I hope he didn’t hear. A grin spreads across his face. “Libby made cupcakes!” He lifted the cover of one of the dishes to show me the beautifully frosted cupcake. My stomach growled again.
“Thank you.” I say, not finding the strength to meet his eyes. I open the door to my room, before turning back to face him. I wait expectantly holding out my hands. He pretends not to notice and walks into the room. I close my eyes for a second, just taking half a second to reclaim my sanity. I reopen my eyes reluctantly, turning to face him. Somehow in the one second I’d taken for myself he’d managed to set the tray down on the table, and sit himself on the bed.
I hold in a sigh, walking to the couch, because if I have to suffer through social interaction I’m going to eat.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, lifting the cover off of the plates to find steak and potatoes. I can’t stop a blink of surprise. I’d been expecting sandwiches or something, but how stupid was I, rich kids never eat sandwiches.
I set the lid-thing to the side. Locating the knife and fork I ignore Xander, hoping he’d get the message. But if he did he left me on read, because he starts talking.
“If you need to find something just call me,” his tone is serious again. I glance up, not lifting my head. “You have someone trying to kill you, you can’t just disappear like that.”
My eyes fall back onto the steak. His concern stings. As my brain scrambles to find a response that wouldn’t sound like a promise, but also not an apology, when there’s a sudden ringing. I roll my eyes and pull out my phone. But I’m not the one getting a call this time. I look up to watch Xander’s face light up the brightest I’d ever seen it as he saw who was calling. He bounced off the bed and started to the door.
“It’s Max,” he explained, excitement filling the room with his words. I nod, trying to hide the fact that I was curious. He’s one foot out the door when he looks back. “Don’t disappear.” I couldn’t tell if he is joking or not, because a grin is still taking up his whole face.
As I watch the door click shut, I’ve lost my appetite. I set the fork back down on the tray with a small clink. Leaning back I fall into the back of the couch, and cover my face with both my hands.
“Don’t disappear.” “You don’t fit.” The two thoughts race each other around my head, creating a monster of a mess.
Max. I blink against my fingers as that name pops into my head. But my stomach sinks as my brain explains it to me. What does Max think of you? She doesn’t know you’re his…that you and Xander are related. What if she think you like-like Xander?
“But I don’t even like him!” I groan out loud, exasperated. I tilt my head back, the top of it brushing the wall. I can’t get my hands to uncover my face, knowing that when I did I’d see that I really am in Hawthorne House, and I really am in this mess.
I’m not sure how long I stay like that, but not long enough.
Knock, knock. The rapping at the door makes me groan. My hands slide of my face and fall to my side. I take a second to wake up my exhausted limbs, but apparently that was too long because there’s more tapping at the door.
I hold in my groan this time as I shuffle to the door. I brace myself for an attack, as I open the door a crack.
“Oren?” I ask, almost relieved. Has he come to kick me out. I open the door wider to see a man standing next to him. I stiffen again.
“Ari, this is Marcus, he’ll be your bodyguard.”
“I don’t need—”
“He’ll be your bodyguard.” Oren repeats. I purse my lips.
“Fine.” I slam the door in both their faces, anger and annoyance giving me enough energy to make it back to the couch and eat everything on the tray.
“I don’t need a bodyguard.” I mutter, slamming my fork onto the table. I use my last but of rage driven energy to put on my baggy t-shirt, and jean shorts.
Not the most comfortable pajamas. I admit to myself, moving all the things I’d had stored in my legging pockets into the short’s pocket. The truth is I’m used to sleeping in daytime clothes, especially on jobs. “You never know when someone’s going to try to kill you, so you have to always be ready.” I say along with my dad’s voice in my head.
I snatch up one of the pillows, and my jacket. Regretfully I move to the closet. I repeat my dad’s teaching again as I toss the pillow onto the floor and step in after it. It made my life just a little bit better that it is a walk-in closet. After closing the door until there is only a small crack, I pick up the pillow and move to the very end of the closet. I position the pillow before resting my head on it. I curl my knees up to my chest, before draping my jacket over me.
I close my eyes and relax my muscles. The exhaustion of the longest day of my life hit me like a semitruck, knocking me into a deep sleep.

Chapter 20

I woke up to a cramp in my neck. With a small grunt I force myself into a sitting position, massaging the sore muscle.

I tapped the face of my watch, causing it to light up. I wince, blinking the exhaustion out of my eyes so I can read the time. When the numbers finally register, I let out a groan. “5:30.” I grumble, to myself. “I should just go back to sleep.” I complain as I get to my feet.

Stretching my arms up over my head, I leaned to either side. Stretching is the most consistent part of my routine. The familiar movements forced out all lingering thoughts of sleep. I run my fingers into my hair.

“Today is the day. I’m going to find it today.” I blew out a breath and walked out of the closet.

I dangle, the grip in my fingertips slipping. I tense and release tumbling through the air and hitting the ground in a roll. Dusting myself off I look back up to the window I just fell from. First things first, I need to look at the wall the shooter used. I start walking, sticking with the disappearing shadows.

I have no doubt Oren has already taken apart the wall searching for…well anything. But he also wasn’t me, and that was probable cause enough to go see for myself. If only Nash hadn’t gotten in the way. I let out a little sigh as I weave my way through the garden. I grind my teeth as I played out how things would have gone if Nash had just minded his own business.

The wall towers over me like a prison wall. I see the little camera in the corner of the wall. Just in case Oren’s watching I give a little wave.

Moving on I focus on the wall itself. It wasn’t too high to scale (the shooter proved that much), but falling from it would have been hard, and he definitely didn’t have any broken bones when he hit me in the head. I touch the bruise absentmindedly as my eyes take in the surrounding areas. From my scouting of the outer perimeter, I knew there are no trees on the outside to clime to get over, but there are plenty of dead trees here.

I go to the nearest one to the wall, easily climbing it. It was close enough that I’m able to simple step onto the wall. Both feet firmly planted I lean a little to the side to see to the grass not belonging to the Hawthornes. It’s so tempting to just jump down and run until I’m somewhere were everyone equally hates the name Hawthorne.

Putting on a show for the cameras I start walking, not letting the hope of escape linger. Stop being dramatic. I order myself. I put one foot in front of the other as I make my way down the wall, carefully taking in every chip in the brick. There’s a soft breeze and a beautiful view of the sunrise. I tuck my hair behind my ears so the wind will stop blowing it into my face.

I stop as a thought surfaces. If he was going to use a long-range rifle—which he would’ve had to in order to reach the garden—he’d have to have a notch to rest, it on. Which he wouldn’t have had on the wall. I spin back around. He would have had to use a tree.

I throw caution to the wind (as I so often do) and start running back to the tree. But then why was he on the ground? If he would have been able to simply scale the other wall and use this tree’s branches, why was he even inside the wall? Stepping back into the tree I visualize the spot where I’d seen him. He’d been running in this direction. Why did he scale the wall instead of tree, it would have been a whole lot easier. I lean onto the tree focusing on the spot I’d caught up to him. We were right by this tree. I nod to myself as I piece it together. He scaled the wall, climbed down the tree, then proceeded to go to the tree he fired from. It couldn’t have been by the wall. I reason. Or else he would have just started with that tree. That makes sense. I return to the ground and start walking. I inspect the branches above.

I’m about to call it quits when a patch of black catches my eye. I stare at the spot. It looks like a scrap of fabric. Excitement shoots through me. I scramble up the tree plucking the evidence from where it snagged. Rubbing it between my fingers I study the branch it was caught on. I move one branch higher and see it a smile spreading on my face. There you are. A small V shape had been carved out of the branch. I imagine the weapon in my hand resting it in the notch and looking down it to see it pointed directly at the spot in the garden where Libby and I had been standing.

How did he know we were going to be there? My smile turns hard as a thought crosses my mind. Is Libby working with them? I consider the theory carefully. I was the one who led us onto that pathway, and unless she’s a better actress than me, she wasn’t expecting those shots. The tightness in my chest lessens a tiny bit with that reasoning.

I settle onto a branch, swinging my legs lightly as I turn my eyes back on the fabric. It’s black, the texture ribbed, but other than that there’s nothing special no matter which way I turn it. My mind turns back to what I told Oren. “The guy obviously wasn’t a professional.” I still believe that a professional wouldn’t have missed. And If I was right about them being a thief than maybe it was someone, we stole business from? I sigh, the hard part about thieves is you don’t really get a name.

The sun is fully up now. I take that as my sign to go back inside. Even as I walk, bracing myself for whoever I might run into my mind keeps running in circles. That person attacked me twice in the same day, or they were two different people. I really should ask about that guard that got hit with that rock. I pivot. The rock! I start running.

Chapter 21

“Morning!” I greet Marcus at his position outside my door as I hurry into my room. He blinks and opens his mouth to say something, but I’ve already shut the door before he has the chance. I excitedly hurry to my duffle and pull out the rock. It drops it on the bed before yanking my legging from yesterday out of the bag.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I mutter to myself. “You are so stupid.” I dig through the pocket until I feel the tiny scrap of paper. I bring it out and stare at it for a second before unfolding it. In bright black letters one single word is scrawled out across it.

REVENGE

With that cryptic message ringing in my ears, I move onto the rock. The small bloodstain still disturbs the white. Picking it up I flip it around in my hands taking in every angle five times. When I don’t find anything, I grab one more thing from the duffle before moving to the light switch making the room go dark.

The room isn’t dark enough with the light coming through the window I escaped out of earlier. I shut myself in the closet, clicking on the flashlight I’d brought with me. Its blue light lights up the dark space. I train it on the rock. Nothing shows up and I swear a little under my breath flipping it over. Satisfaction filled me for exactly two seconds before the words register, and it all melted into fear.

BERLIN

That one word made my heart have a panic attack trying to get away from the memories. I shake my head stumbling sideways as I’m attacked on all sides by images.

“Shut up. Shut up.” I order weakly. My chest becomes tight, and I feel as if I’m slowly being strangled into blackness. I fumble desperately with the door’s nob trying to escape for my life.

When the door finally opens, I tumble out scrambling to my feet ready to run. I shut the door leaning my back against it to keep the bad memories inside. I don’t fit. I have to run. Berlin. You don’t fit. REVENGE. Shooter. Hawthorne. Berlin. I don’t fit. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run…

The thoughts repeat over in over, tumbling over themselves, making my panic levels skyrocket. “I have to get out.” I choke out to the ghosts in the room. My hands are shaking as I my heart punches the inside of my chest too fast, too hard.

Window. Door. I don’t give myself enough time to actually think it through. There’s a knock. The sound sent another shock of panic my body can’t handle. I don’t fit. I have to run. Berlin. You don’t fit. REVENGE. Shooter. Hawthorne. Berlin. I don’t fit. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run…

I dive out the window, rock and flashlight forgotten in the closed closet. I hear the door opening as I’m falling. I use my last bit of sanity to remember to tuck-and-roll. But as I get to my feet, I throw all caution to the wind and sprint, keeping along the wall and turning the nearest corner so no one will see me if they look out the window. My breaths are shaking as I keep running, willing for my feet to go faster, faster, faster. I don’t fit. I have to run. Berlin. You don’t fit. REVENGE. Shooter. Hawthorne. Berlin. I don’t fit. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run…

I fly towards the nearest piece of wall I see, my feet barely taking to time to touch the ground. The running, and heavy breathing doesn’t shut up my mind. It won’t stop giving me the same memories over and over. Forcing me to run faster. But I can’t outrun them. I don’t fit. I have to run. Berlin. You don’t fit. REVENGE. Shooter. Hawthorne. I don’t fit. Berlin. I don’t fit. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run…

I’m too in the open, I need cover. I know that as I run across the driveway and through the neatly cut grass. The sky’s a beautiful blue, but I don’t register it. The wall seems to be getting farther not closing as I chase after it. I just need to get over the wall. Over the wall. Having a goal doesn’t help like it usually does.

Berlin. Berlin. Why did it have to be Berlin? There’s a shout from behind me. The last bit of sense in my mind registers that it’s Oren’s voice. Crap.

My heart beats harder trying to force my legs faster.

I’m almost there. I can almost touch the brick.

Without warning I’m hit from the side. I fall to the ground someone on top of me. I scream as the memories catch up with me. I squirm under the persons weight, my eyes firmly squeezed shut. I don’t fit. I have to run. Berlin. You don’t fit. REVENGE. Shooter. Hawthorne. Berlin. I don’t fit. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run…

Someone’s saying something, but all I can see it the city, the museum, the glass… I let out another scream. Shaking my head frantically this way-and-that, doing my best to dislodge the images, the memories, the feelings, everything.

My eyes are sill squeezed shut as a pair of hands press down on my shoulders. I squirm harder trying to get out. Angry frustrated tears well up behind my eyelids. I don’t fit. I have to run. Berlin. You don’t fit. REVENGE. Shooter. Hawthorne. Berlin. I don’t fit. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run…

“Ari!” The sound of my brain breaks through my panic. My eyes snap open and I see Nash. His usually relaxed face filled with concern that might make people think he actually cared.

“Get off me.” I whisper, even though I meant it to be a scream. You have to get out. I glance to the side to see Oren and a few of his men a few yards away coming towards us. “Get off me.” I repeat again. A tiny part of me knows I’m not really in Berlin. But the bigger part of me knows that that’s not the real problem. Nash doesn’t move.

“Kid.” One word. One word brings me back to reality, anchoring me there. My body relaxes and I give up fighting. “Breathe.” I didn’t want to, but I did. I breathed until all the flashbacks faded.

Once he sees I’ve calmed down he cautiously gets off of me. Run! a little voice inside my head still screams. I tune it out, knowing I’ve caused enough damage already.

“What happened kid.” It isn’t a question.

“PTSD.” I groan, staring up at the blueness of the sky. “I’ve never realized how soothing the color blue is.” I say lightly, trying to figure out how to do damage control. I turn my head to look at him. “Have you?”

“Kid.” Also, not a question.

I turn my head away from him so that I can see Oren and his men are still out of earshot. Turning my head back to him a mix the truth with just enough lies for it to all be fake. “I told you Nash. I know how to play my cards, but sometimes you can’t win no matter how you play it. And it’s those games that haunt you.” I look him dead in the eye, making sure my words land. “I know I probably looked crazy, but I’m fine Nash.” He raises an eyebrow showing me he doesn’t by it.

I look back at the sky. “I know who the shooter is.”

Chapter 22

Now how to explain this without getting arrested. I fiddle with the grass next to me.

“What are talking ‘bout kid.”

“I thought I told you I’m not a kid.” I object, trying to buy myself a few more seconds to think.

“Ariadne.” Oren says, clearly giving an order.

I roll my eyes but give in, turning serious. “A few years ago, I was working with my mentor on a case in Berlin. We had evidence that one of America’s-most-wanted was going to rob the Neues Museum. It was a delicate job with it being international. I was the first in my year to go on a mission abroad.” I lie, allowing a proud smile at the grass to sell it. I went on to prattle off random bits of information that would make the story sound real.

“We were there that night.” I sigh, the smiling fracturing off my face, as the night came back with a cold force. “Our confidant who’d been tipping us off was there too. Only…” I trail off for a second, searching for the words. “He was with him.” I spit. “Apparently,” I continue letting my caged frustration surface. “He’d been feeding us lies—or more accurately me.”

There’s a tense silence as I think through the rest of the story, adapting the truth to the lies. “My mentor was in on it too.” I made the words mean something to me. I made them real so that they would sound that way. “The knocked me out, but I came too sooner than they expected, and I got away long enough to call for backup.” I grimace rubbing my shoulder as the next memory floated to the surface. I push past it and continue the story. “All of them were arrested except for my Mentor and…” I realize I can’t get my tongue to form the name, “him.” I finish, studying the grass to avoid looking at anyone.

After a second Oren keeps things moving. “Which one is it?”

“Well, he, is dead, so you’ll be looking for a Daniel Sportsman.” I say, giving him the name of the x-CIA agent my dad and I had worked with a few times. Never liked that guy.

“I’ll need a description.” I give it too him, not wanting this conversation to last a minute longer than it has to.

Oren gives a whispered order to the men he’d brought with him, and they go off with an obvious purpose. I watch them go until Oren speaks again. “What did you find at the wall?” He phrases it as a question, but it’s plain as day that he knows I did find something.”

In need of a distraction, I fain confusion. “What wall?” I glance behind me pointing. “This wall?” I question innocently. His expression is hard, and I know I’m draining any sympathy I’d gained from my minor breakdown. Good, I think. I don’t need his sympathy.

I blink a few times forcing him to show his cards. “I saw you on camera.”

So, he did see my wave. I grin, the expression filling strange. Words feel too much of a hassle, so I just pull the scrap of fabric from short’s pocket. I hold it out to him. He takes it with interest. “It was in the second tree I climbed.” I told him forcing the words out.

“I have some more questions for you.” I wince. Nash—who I’d forgotten was even still here—picks up on my reaction and steps in.

“Not now Oren.” Oren’s hard gaze shifts from me to Nash. With no one looking at me, I can finally breathe. “I’ll make sure she answer your questions later, Oren.” Nash drawls.

Without another word Oren nods and turns abruptly around, walking back to the House. I take one last second to gather myself and stuff down the memories.

One…Two…Three…

I get to my feet. “Sit.” Nash says, calmly. I look back at where he’s still sitting in the grass. I debate too long, and he says, “It’s either that or I find a way to contact your parents.”

Nash stupid Hawthorne, I think childishly, even as I sit back onto the grass. I wait stubbornly for him to speak.

“I know ya want to show that you can take on the whole world on your own,” he begins lazily. “And most of the time ya’ve got the lot of us fooled, but you’re just a kid.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean back, keeping my arms straight to prop me up. I act calm, because if I’m acting than he’s not really talking about me. Because he doesn’t know me.

We fall into silence. I know he’s waiting for me to speak. “Sometimes Nash,” I say, letting my teenaged angst out, “you don’t have a choice. You have to take on the world; your age doesn’t change that.” I can’t escape meeting his eyes now. I focus on the concern behind his eyes to keep myself from searching for any resemblance between us.

“Your parents agree with ya?” I laugh, the sound to cheery for the conversation.

“Are you kidding me, they’re the ones that taught me that.” I can’t read Nash’s expression, and he doesn’t tell me what he thinks of that. I sigh, letting down my mask for a second, just long enough for him to take me seriously. “It’s not your place, Nash, to worry about me.” My words are gentle but hold a hard undertone. “I can ‘take on the world’ by myself just fine, thank you.” I bring the mask back on, and raise my walls back up so they stand firmly between us.

The Old Man’s letter is playing in my head as I get to my feet and walk away. He doesn’t stop me, and I don’t look back.

Chapter 23

I’m only five steps in the House before Xander’s standing there. Stuffing down the emotions welling up inside of me I put on a smile.

He grins. “A little birdie texted me that you are in need of a distraction,” he grins, “it just so happens those are my specialty.”

Xander’s idea of a distraction involves imaginary lava, a surprise appearance of Grayson, and scones—apparently.

“A floors lava scavenger hunt?” Grayson repeats dubiously. His blue eyes as icy as ever, and I wonder just a second too long who it would take to thaw them. It’s none of your business, I reprimand.

As Xander begins a lively rant about the importance of having a little harmless adventure in your life I study Grayson, who’s sitting across from me in an under-stuffed armchair like it’s a throne. Not a single piece of his platinum blonde hair out of place. If anyone could take on the world on their own my money would still be on me, but he’s a close second if not a tie.

But I know the whole put-together-perfect act. No one is perfect. No one is put together like that.

“Everyone’s got a chink in their armor.” I can hear my dad whispering in my ear. “What’s his?” In my mind I’m transported to that little café in London.

My dad is pointing to a man with a newspaper held loosely in his hands, a steamy cup of coffee on the table in front of him. I look at the man taking note of every detail my eye finds. “Well?” dad asks after a few seconds.

I don’t look away from the man as I give me answer, my fingers crossed under the table in hopes I’m right. “He’ll believe anything he reads.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He’s reading the gossip column and nodding slowly.”

“Exactly, and that’s how we’re going to get him.”

“All for the thrill of the chase.” I say currently, unaware I’d said it out loud until Xander agrees with me.

“Exactly.” I blink, Hawthorne House coming back into focus. I nod along with Xander not remembering a word of what he just said.

“The thrill of the chase?” The blue eyes are on me. I don’t miss the accusation in his voice, but I only shrug, not bothering to give him a verbal response.

“Okay let’s start!” Xander says excitedly. Too excitedly. He hands us both a card. I take it, flipping it over to see a list of items.

“Wait, Xander,” I say, playing my character, “did you hide these?”

Xander shakes his head. “I asked Nash too.” I look back down at the list with new interest. He didn’t have a whole lot of time. I hope that means I’ll be able to get this over with fast.

“Then how did you get these made so fast?”

“Oh,” Xander smiles, like I just as him his favorite question. “I always have a list of things for a scavenger hunt; I just sent Nash a picture and the rest is history!” He explains enthusiastically. Why am I not surprised?

“Do we have a perimeter?” Grayson asks. I’m fully aware that Hawthornes play to win. No matter what the cost, I’m sure. I push that thought away and focus on Xander’s answer.

“Nash said he and Libby hid them all across the first floor.” I wonder just how big the first floor is. “I also took the liberty of asking Mrs. Laughlin to provide as many pillows Hawthorne House has to spare.” Grayson raises an eyebrow, and I try to calculate how many pillows a mansion of this size would have. “So, shoes off!” I comply without complaint.

Grayson hesitates for exactly five seconds before revealing his socks. Xander stands up on a chair, and I notice his socks have little scones on them.

“Ready, set, Lava!” Xander cheers. I quickly yank my feet up off the ground.

“Everyone take a scone for the road!” Xander orders as he snatches a pastry himself. I do the same. Grayson doesn’t.

My nervous system is injected with the thrill that can only come from a little competition. I cram the scone—which turns out to be lemon— in my mouth, freeing my hands to throw the little decorative pillow on the floor about a foot or two away from me. Snatching my shoes I jump squarely onto the pillow, stuffing the card in my back pocket, already have the items on it memorized. I’m careful not to wrinkle it in case Xander wants it back.

I only have to give up one shoe to make it to the door. Once out I found a pillow waiting for me. Nash Hawthorne was here. I laugh a little at the ridiculousness of that thought, before snatching it up.

Switching between it and my last remaining shoe I make it down the hall and around the corner, where find another pillow to replace the shoe. As I go, I’m torn between playing to win and using this opportunity to look for the necklace.

I manage my way through the nearest door.

My phone begins to buzz, and I pull it out without a second thought. I stare down at the caller ID. It’s my dad. Crap I need to tell him it’s Berlin. Fidgeting with my earring I listen to one to many of my negative thoughts. It’s all his fault. He abandoned you enough times, it’s your turn now. I’m about to stuff it back in my pocket when some behind me asks, “Are you going to answer that?” I whirl around to see Grayson standing there.

My throat tightens, but I force my voice to sound natural as I tell him, “Unknown number.”

“I saw the caller ID.”

Crap.

“My dad calls me when he’s on a mission. I’m not supposed to pick up, it’s just to show he’s alive.”

“And what if your mother calls.” I’m about to tell him it’s none of his business when I remember that’s not something my character would say.

“Then I know it’s an emergency, or they’re back home.”

“And how do your parents feel about you being on dangerous missions?” I narrow my eyes. Why does he care?

“You're starting to sound like Nash.”

His voice is cold as he states, “I don’t trust you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” I assure him, my voice steely, making the words hard to form.

“Then why did you bring the case?” He says it like he knows something I don’t.

“Because I trust you enough.” He doesn’t seem convinced.

My phone starts up buzzing again, the screen lighting up. Grayson looks down at it. I do the same, expecting to see my dad again. My mouth goes dry when I see the number. I know that number. He must have seen something on my face because he says, “who is it?”

I force my face back to neutral. “That’s classified.”

I don’t pick up, not yet. The game forgotten I step off my pillow and into the hall. I walk a good way, then into a room, and out the window. When I’m sure no ones around I answer on the last ring. I don’t speak, only listen.

“I want it back.” The voice is low and commanding, just like I remember. It takes the fight of my life to keep my mask on for the cameras. My eyes rake over my surroundings. “You have until Friday.”

There’s a small pause, where I can only hear the faint sound of breathing through the phone. “Tell your father I said hello.” Anger flairs up inside me burning off the rage.

“Isn’t it a rookie mistake not to change your number.” I spit. If this man wasn’t so cowardly he’d have this meeting in person, and then I’d really be able to give him a piece of my mind.

The voice lets out a laugh that bleeds wealth. I’m waiting for another threat, but my heart misses a few beats with his next words. “I can see you.” The voice taunts.

A chill rips through me. If my blood wasn’t still boiling It would have frozen over in fear.

I rip the phone away from my ear hitting the big red button hanging up on him. I stand my ground, just daring him to try and shoot me again.

I count the seconds in my head to keep the terror at bay. When I reach 40, I make a call of my own, my eyes still searching my surroundings.

When my dad picks up, I only give him one word. “Berlin.” Then I hang up on him too.

I breath in to calm myself, before I chuck the phone as hard as I can at the nearest tree on the exhale. It hits the trunk with a small thud, the screen shattering.

With that all said and done I walk slowly back to the House, practically feeling his eyes on me as I do. Chin up, show no fear. I hate how much the sound of my dad’s voice helps me.

I hold myself together as my footsteps echo off the stairs, as I walk with my head held high past the mirrors I avoid looking at; and the open door where I can see Libby and Nash watching a movie, I hurry past, so they won’t see me.

I keep it all together, all inside of me until I shut the door to my closet. But then I can’t stop the tears, as I slide to the floor, the sobs coming embarrassingly big. The tears burn trails into my skin.

I cry until my head hurts. I cry until I drain out everything inside of me.

The realization of how alone you are hits you differently when you’re in the middle of a crying session you’ve forbidden yourself from having.

But with every tear the only thing I can think about is that if I went to find Nash, he would listen to me. Truly hear me like no one has ever bothered to before. I know that. But I also know I can’t.

I’m supposed to be strong—strong enough not to need Nash Westbrook Hawthorne as a brother. I know I’m also not allowed to cry on missions. And I know I’m not allowed to cry when my dad leaves.

 I don’t want to cry.

I want to be the strong one. That’s what I have to be.

I allow myself three more seconds before pulling it back in.

“I just have to suck it up.” I say the words on an exhale, forcing my voice not to shake. “Because I’m Ariadne Queen and I don’t get to cry.” I wipe the tears off my cheeks, before walking out of the closet like nothing ever happened.

Find the necklace, get out before Friday.

With the new plan in place, I open the bedroom door and go to step out when I see Oren there, his fist raised to knock. He lowers it and steps inside.

“Come in.” I mutter dryly. I shut the door and gesture for him to take a seat on the couch. He doesn’t but moves to stand by it. “Shouldn’t you be with Avery?” I question, crossing my arms.

“I’m here to talk to you.” The way he says it reminds me of the threat he’d made.

Anymore lies and I’ll tell them. I make sure my panic doesn’t reach my face. “May I ask about what?”

“You lied.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” A smile plays across my lips. Because I’m Ariadne Queen and I’m proud of my lie count.

“About the Berlin.” I raise an eyebrow.

“Which part?” I’m intrigued to see how far he’d gotten.

“All of it.” Anymore lies and I’ll tell them.

“Are you going to tell them?” I don’t know what I’ll do if he does.

His face doesn’t give me an answer as he lets silence fill the room around us. I feel like I’m being dangled off a cliff. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll let this one slide.”

I keep my arms crossed so he won’t see my hands shaking. “No.” I brace myself.

The silence pressures an explanation out of me. “I can’t talk about it. All you need to know Oren is that I’m going to deal with the shooter and be out of your hair by Friday.”

“If you don’t give me the truth I am going to tell them.” He warns.

I give him my most charming smile, channeling a new character to get me out of this mess.

“How about we make a different deal.” When he doesn’t object, I give him my proposal. “I’ll let you read me letter.”

The air seems to still as he considers. I don’t have to wait long before he folds. “Deal.” I pull the folded pieces of paper out of my pocket.

My fingers hesitate, holding the letter right above Oren’s outstretched hand. Giving this up is giving up a piece of my armor. I don’t want Oren—or anyone—to know what the Old Man thought of me. “You are never to breathe a word about anything in here, do you understand?”

I only release my hold on the letter when he gives me a nod.

I can’t show weakness know. I have to keep my face blank as he reads some of the only words that have ever made me cry.

Seconds seem to take an eternity to pass as I wait. When he’s finished, he looks up slowly. He looks at me as if for the first time. I roll my eyes, snatching back the letter before he has the chance to say something I don’t want to hear.

“I’ve kept up my end of the bargain,” my voice cuts through stillness, bringing time back up to speed. “I’ll expect you to do the same.”

He nods. And maybe he does see something in my face because the next words out of his mouth are, “where are your shoes?”

I look down at my purple socks. I slap a hand to my forehead. “Xander!” I promised I wouldn’t just disappear without telling him. “Oren, can you have one of your men tell him I’m okay, I just had to take a call from my superiors or something?”

He doesn’t look happy that I’m already lying again. “Please?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” I whisper, going back to examine my socks.

“I’ll have someone bring you back your shoes.” I nod a sudden lump in my throat stopping any and all words from coming out.

With that he goes to leave. When his hand is on the knob, I swallow down the lump and whisper, “not a word Oren.” I don’t know if he heard me, but his shoulders seem to stiffen enough to make me think he did.

When the door clicks shut, I look at the letter still clutched in my hand. I fold it again, carefully putting it back in my pocket.

Now where do rich people keep their jewelry?

 

Chapter 24

Berlin, Germany,
Three years and five months ago…

“Security is down.” Bonnie reported a strand of her red frizzy hair escaping from the black beanie. With all clear we enter through the third story window like we’d been planning for the past three weeks.

I follow behind my dad, uncle Stephen pulling me through, when my dad didn’t offer.

He wasn’t really my uncle, but he felt like one. He and my dad had grown up together and gone into the same profession. He was always there for me whenever my dad left so I wouldn’t be alone and was always helping me through museum windows at the witching hour so we can steal some crap.

“Come on Little Queen, you don’t want to get us caught.”

“Thanks.” I whispered, rolling my eyes. We move through the exhibits we had no interest in.

“This reminds me of when we were kids and used to sneak into your dad’s workshop.” My dad said nudging uncle Stephen. Both laugh at the memories I have no part in.

I exchange a look with Bonnie shaking my head, though a smile slid onto my face.

“Good times.” Uncle Stephen clapped my dad on the back.

We arrived at our target. I trained my flashlight’s beam on the bust of some old man with a bold head and long beard. “This is it.” I muttered.

“Let’s get it and get out.” My dad said, moving closer to glass box the bust is protected inside.

“About that,” Uncle Stephen said from behind us.

With out warning Bonnie has my arms pinned to my side. My flashlight clattered to the ground, sound echoing off the tall ceilings. I squirm but her grip was stranger than I would have guessed for a computer nerd.

My dad let out a cry of protest. I looked on in horror and confusion as Uncle Stephen tackled my dad knocking him onto the floor. I’d never seen my dad lose a fight before, but I realized that’s what had just happened. My heart plummeted, shattering into pieces as it hit the floor.

“Uncle Stephen?” My wide eyes stared at the man tying my dad’s hands behind his back. “Why are you doing?” My sounded too much like my actual age.

He got to his feet honking my dad up after him. “Sorry Ari, but you know this business.” The water building up in my eyes threatened to spill out. My brain couldn’t keep up with what was happening.
He would never do this. But he was.

“Stephen.” My dad’s face was red in the dim light.

“You don’t have to do this.”

That made Stephen laugh, though he forgot to clue the rest of us in on the joke. “Unfortunately, Danny I do.”

A lump was forming thick and sticky in my throat making it hard to breathe. “Let’s tie ‘em up.” Bonnie obeyed, dragging me next to my dad. We were both forced to sit back-to-back.

“What’s your big plan Stephen?” There was something in my dad’s voice I’d never heard Berlin, Germany,
Three years and five months ago…
“Security is down.” Bonnie reported a strand of her red frizzy hair escaping from the black beanie. With all clear we enter through the third story window like we’d been planning for the past three weeks.
I follow behind my dad, uncle Stephen pulling me through, when my dad didn’t offer.
He wasn’t really my uncle, but he felt like one. He and my dad had grown up together and gone into the same profession. He was always there for me whenever my dad left so I wouldn’t be alone and was always helping me through museum windows at the witching hour so we can steal some crap.
“Come on Little Queen, you don’t want to get us caught.”
“Thanks.” I whispered, rolling my eyes. We move through the exhibits we had no interest in.
“This reminds me of when we were kids and used to sneak into your dad’s workshop.” My dad said nudging uncle Stephen. Both laugh at the memories I have no part in.
I exchange a look with Bonnie shaking my head, though a smile slid onto my face.
“Good times.” Uncle Stephen clapped my dad on the back.
We arrived at our target. I trained my flashlight’s beam on the bust of some old man with a bold head and long beard. “This is it.” I muttered.
“Let’s get it and get out.” My dad said, moving closer to glass box the bust is protected inside.
“About that,” Uncle Stephen said from behind us. With out warning Bonnie has my arms pinned to my side. My flashlight clattered to the ground, sound echoing off the tall ceilings. I squirm but her grip was stranger than I would have guessed for a computer nerd.
My dad let out a cry of protest. I looked on in horror and confusion as Uncle Stephen tackled my dad knocking him onto the floor. I’d never seen my dad lose a fight before, but I realized that’s what had just happened. My heart plummeted, shattering into pieces as it hit the floor.
“Uncle Stephen?” My wide eyes stared at the man tying my dad’s hands behind his back. “Why are you doing?” My sounded too much like my actual age.
He got to his feet honking my dad up after him. “Sorry Ari, but you know this business.” The water building up in my eyes threatened to spill out. My brain couldn’t keep up with what was happening.
He would never do this. But he was.
“Stephen.” My dad’s face was red in the dim light. “You don’t have to do this.”
That made Stephen laugh, though he forgot to clue the rest of us in on the joke. “Unfortunately, Danny I do.”
A lump was forming thick and sticky in my throat making it hard to breathe. “Let’s tie ‘em up.” Bonnie obeyed, dragging me next to my dad. We were both forced to sit back-to-back.
“What’s your big plan Stephen?” There was something in my dad’s voice I’d never heard before. Hatred.
One of his lessons came back to me. It’s easier to hate than to hurt.
I let those words take over me. As Uncle Stephen explained, his fingers tugging a neat knot securing the rope around us. “I need that bust, along with a few other things. And unfortunately, our client is a very powerful man who will need someone to blame. That’s where you two come in.”
“Why not Bonnie?” I glared at the woman remembering how we had both laughed over the ridiculousness of our fortune cookie’s prediction only the night before. She wore a poker face keeping me out of her thoughts as she walked around the large room cutting through the glass boxes and pulling out the contents.
Uncle Stephen places a hand on my head, something he’d always done, but then it felt patronizing. “I really am sorry.” He ruffled my hair. “You will always be my Little Queen.” I wanted to rip him apart so he could understand the pain tearing through my chest at his words.
He starts helping Bonnie gather whatever caught his eye.
“Ari,” my dad whispered, his voice hard. “I need you to untie my hands.” His voice was so hushed I barely hear it. They hadn’t bound my hands, so I had a little wiggle room to fiddle with the knot binding his hands together.
My chest was numb with only a dull pain of my heartbeat.
I got the knot loose. “Good, now I need you to pull on the ropes.” My brain picked up his idea. He was always bad at tying knots.
My dad’s request isn’t too hard. I let out a tiny breath breaking the dam that had been holding back my emotion. I whispered. “We trusted you.” My voice get’s louder with each reiteration. “We trusted you!” I’m screaming now.
“I trusted you!” I threw myself forward, my dad grunting as the ropes pulled him backwards after me. “How could you do this?” My throat was growing sore from the power of my screams.
“You were always there for me!” I shrieked wriggling under the ropes. I glared fire at his back. I wanted to break out of these ropes so I could rip him limb from limb.
My mind played me a movie of all the times he’d been like a father. When he taught me how to ride a bike. When he baked me a Birthday cake. When he bought me my first (and only) Ken and Barbie dolls so we could play spy.
The memories are like logs being thrown into that was exploding from inside my chest. I threw myself back and forth screaming every insult in my arsenal at him. The ropes chafed my exposed arms, burning red marks into them.
When he finally turns to face me, I see the little statue held tightly in his hands. His face is hard.
“Little Queen, you were always the smartest out of all of us, can’t you see?”
He came over holding the state in front of me. “Do you know how much this is worth?” His eyes stared greedily at the chunk of plaster.
“I have been searching for this,” he told me, “For longer than I’ve been alive, my Little Queen.”
I flung myself at him. “Is that statue more important to you than us, than family?”
He didn’t answer. An angry sob slipped out, and I bit it back, refusing to cry over this man. This traitor.
With out warning the ropes went slack. Uncle threw himself backwards just in time to miss getting tackled by my dad.
I get to my feet. A steely calm had seized my rage holding it by the throat, keeping it at bay.
I left my dad to deal with him and went after Bonnie. She sets down her satchel of goodies and pulls out a gun pointing it at me.
“Fire that and the police will have the building surrounded in minutes.” I warned, never missing a step.
She hesitated and took my chance kicking the gun up. It skidded on the floor away from us.
She puts up her hands and falls into a fighting stance. “You wouldn’t hit a twelve-year-old, would you?” I tilt head to side taking her in. “Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to.”
The fight didn’t last long. I get in a kick to her head, and she crumpled to the ground. I checked the pulse. Alive, but out cold.
I wheel back to my dad and X-uncle Stephen, just as my dad got pushed the ground. I ran to help.
My dad got up swiftly, pushing back. X-uncle Stephen grabbed an artifact and swung it at my dad who ducked just in time.
The artifact slammed into a glass case instead. The shards exploded out into the room. I let out a scream as the come at me. I covered my head. Something sharp sliced through me.
I let out a cry of pain. My head lifted to see a shard of jagged glass soaked in blood in my shoulder.
“Ari!” My dad exclaimed. They’d both stop fighting staring at me.
I waved him off. It’s fine. I knew it was probably a lie, but hate was a good pain killer.
My dad blocks the punches sent his way. I knew I wouldn’t be any good with a chunk of glass in me, so I stay put until my eyes found the little statue.
I snatch it up. “Hey!” I screamed. They both turned to see me holding the statue above my head. “One move and I’ll break this into a million pieces!” I threatened.
“You wouldn’t dare.” X-uncle Stephen narrowed his eyes.
“Funny thing is I would have said the same about you twenty minutes ago.” I spat. Keeping my eyes on the backstabber I said, “dad grab the bust. We’re out of here.”
My dad didn’t turn his back on his lifelong best friend.
With the bust in our possession, we started to slowly back out of the room. X-uncle Stephen was seething mad. “Not a move.” I warned.
“Emergency exit.” My dad murmured. I nodded numbly. The pain in shoulder made breathing hard.
“Mention us to the police,” my dad said taking back control, “and I will be the one to smash this into a billion bits.”
As we walked backwards through the emergency exit the alarm sounded. We bolted down the three flights of stairs. We sprint out into the night.
***
From the rooftop of the next building, we have a perfect view of commotion at the museum.
When the authorities dragged him out, I had the perfect view of his stupid face. The sight of it filled me with that same blood boiling heart exploding hate.
I promised myself then and there as I watched him that I will never trust anyone enough to get burned like this ever again.
“Let’s keep the jobs just between us from now on.” My dad said next to me, his voice hoarse. “It’ll be us against the world.”
He was gone the next morning, and I was left to cry alone before. Hatred.

One of his lessons came back to me. It’s easier to hate than to hurt.

I let those words take over me. As Uncle Stephen explained, his fingers tugging a neat knot securing the rope around us. “I need that bust, along with a few other things. And unfortunately, our client is a very powerful man who will need someone to blame. That’s where you two come in.”

“Why not Bonnie?” I glared at the woman remembering how we had both laughed over the ridiculousness of our fortune cookie’s prediction only the night before. She wore a poker face keeping me out of her thoughts as she walked around the large room cutting through the glass boxes and pulling out the contents.

Uncle Stephen places a hand on my head, something he’d always done, but then it felt patronizing. “I really am sorry.” He ruffled my hair.

“You will always be my Little Queen.” I wanted to rip him apart so he could understand the pain tearing through my chest at his words.
He starts helping Bonnie gather whatever caught his eye.

“Ari,” my dad whispered, his voice hard. “I need you to untie my hands.” His voice was so hushed I barely hear it. They hadn’t bound my hands, so I had a little wiggle room to fiddle with the knot binding his hands together.

My chest was numb with only a dull pain of my heartbeat.

I got the knot loose. “Good, now I need you to pull on the ropes.” My brain picked up his idea. He was always bad at tying knots.

My dad’s request isn’t too hard. I let out a tiny breath breaking the dam that had been holding back my emotion. I whispered. “We trusted you.”

My voice get’s louder with each reiteration. “We trusted you!” I’m screaming now.

“I trusted you!” I threw myself forward, my dad grunting as the ropes pulled him backwards after me. “How could you do this?” My throat was growing sore from the power of my screams.
“You were always there for me!” I shrieked wriggling under the ropes. I glared fire at his back. I wanted to break out of these ropes so I could rip him limb from limb.

My mind played me a movie of all the times he’d been like a father. When he taught me how to ride a bike. When he baked me a Birthday cake. When he bought me my first (and only) Ken and Barbie dolls so we could play spy.

The memories are like logs being thrown into that was exploding from inside my chest. I threw myself back and forth screaming every insult in my arsenal at him. The ropes chafed my exposed arms, burning red marks into them.

When he finally turns to face me, I see the little statue held tightly in his hands. His face is hard.
“Little Queen, you were always the smartest out of all of us, can’t you see?”

He came over holding the state in front of me. “Do you know how much this is worth?” His eyes stared greedily at the chunk of plaster.

“I have been searching for this,” he told me, “For longer than I’ve been alive, my Little Queen.”
I flung myself at him. “Is that statue more important to you than us, than family?”
He didn’t answer. An angry sob slipped out, and I bit it back, refusing to cry over this man. This traitor.

With out warning the ropes went slack. Uncle threw himself backwards just in time to miss getting tackled by my dad.

I get to my feet. A steely calm had seized my rage holding it by the throat, keeping it at bay.
I left my dad to deal with him and went after Bonnie. She sets down her satchel of goodies and pulls out a gun pointing it at me.

“Fire that and the police will have the building surrounded in minutes.” I warned, never missing a step.

She hesitated and took my chance kicking the gun up. It skidded on the floor away from us.
She puts up her hands and falls into a fighting stance. “You wouldn’t hit a twelve-year-old, would you?” I tilt head to side taking her in. “Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to.”

The fight didn’t last long. I get in a kick to her head, and she crumpled to the ground. I checked the pulse. Alive, but out cold.

I wheel back to my dad and X-uncle Stephen, just as my dad got pushed the ground. I ran to help.

My dad got up swiftly, pushing back. X-uncle Stephen grabbed an artifact and swung it at my dad who ducked just in time.

The artifact slammed into a glass case instead. The shards exploded out into the room. I let out a scream as the come at me. I covered my head. Something sharp sliced through me.

I let out a cry of pain. My head lifted to see a shard of jagged glass soaked in blood in my shoulder.

“Ari!” My dad exclaimed. They’d both stop fighting staring at me.

I waved him off. It’s fine. I knew it was probably a lie, but hate was a good pain killer.

My dad blocks the punches sent his way. I knew I wouldn’t be any good with a chunk of glass in me, so I stay put until my eyes found the little statue.
I snatch it up. “Hey!” I screamed. They both turned to see me holding the statue above my head. “One move and I’ll break this into a million pieces!” I threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare.” X-uncle Stephen narrowed his eyes.

“Funny thing is I would have said the same about you twenty minutes ago.” I spat. Keeping my eyes on the backstabber I said, “dad grab the bust. We’re out of here.”

My dad didn’t turn his back on his lifelong best friend.

With the bust in our possession, we started to slowly back out of the room. X-uncle Stephen was seething mad. “Not a move.” I warned.

“Emergency exit.” My dad murmured. I nodded numbly. The pain in shoulder made breathing hard.

“Mention us to the police,” my dad said taking back control, “and I will be the one to smash this into a billion bits.”

As we walked backwards through the emergency exit the alarm sounded. We bolted down the three flights of stairs. We sprint out into the night.

***
From the rooftop of the next building, we have a perfect view of commotion at the museum.
When the authorities dragged him out, I had the perfect view of his stupid face. The sight of it filled me with that same blood boiling heart exploding hate.

I promised myself then and there as I watched him that I will never trust anyone enough to get burned like this ever again.

“Let’s keep the jobs just between us from now on.” My dad said next to me, his voice hoarse. “It’ll be us against the world.”

He was gone the next morning, and I was left to cry alone.