***
I race up to the front door of the Ryder mansion and slam on the bronze knocker. I am so freaking late meeting Cissy and Zeke, it isn’t even funny.
The pristine white door whips open, revealing a blissful Cissy. “Welcome to the Ryder mansion.” The way she works the entrance, you’d think she and Zeke had dated for years instead of weeks.
“Hey, Cissy.” I step into the reception hall. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Betsy broke down again.” Over the years, carburetors, wadget screws, and manifolds have all become my personal bitches. Normally, I appreciate the extra smoke, drama, and grease, but today it was a big hassle. I loathe being late.
“No worries.” Cissy makes goo-goo eyes at Zeke. “We were just chatting.”
I scan the reception room. It’s two stories tall and filled with ornate golden furniture and matching nick-knacks. Normally, it contains Zeke’s parents, too. “Where are the Ryders?” To say Zeke’s parents took an instant liking to Cissy is the understatement of the millennium. For the last two weeks, Zeke’s Dad has been hovering beside the pair of them, glaring at his boy with a look that says ‘don’t screw this up, literally.’ Today’s the first day I can actually play chaperone.
“They’re playing tennis.” Cissy wraps her arm around Zeke’s. “Do you want to join us in the West Wing?”
Ah, no. I see enough of the ‘Cissy and Zeke Love Show’ at school. My goal here is plain and simple: get some intel on my dad. “Thanks, but I thought I’d check out the East Wing today.”
Cissy leans her head against Zeke’s shoulder. “Are you sure? We’d love to hang with you.”
Ah, sure you would. I appreciate Cissy trying to be nice, but I couldn’t be more of a third wheel if I were a tricycle. “Thanks, but I’m good. I honestly want to check out the East Wing.”
Cissy tilts her head to one side and frowns. “What aren’t you telling me, sweetie?” She elbows Zeke in the ribs. “I told you, she’s hiding things from me lately.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” Cissy’s mouth curls into her ‘thinking frown.’ That means she’s debating about making it a group field trip to the library. Searching my ghoul heritage is nasty enough on its own; I’d rather not have an audience.
“Really-really.” I shoo them toward the opposite hallway. “You kids run off and have a good time.”
Cissy stands frozen, her forehead creased with worry. Zeke sets his hand on her shoulder, guiding her about to face him. Once they’re eye-to-eye, he shoots her a come-hither smile. “I’d love to show you our stables today.”
Cissy blushes. Oh, yeah. She’s coming hither. “That would be great.”
I wave goodbye as the pair turn toward the West Wing. They step away, their footsteps clacking down the marble hallway in perfect sync. As they stroll along, Cissy stays snuggled into Zeke’s side, his arm wrapped firmly about her shoulders. Something in the movement makes my throat tighten. Will I ever feel that way about someone? At this rate, probably not, unfortunately.
A shiver rattles my shoulders. Maybe my ghoul heritage means I can’t love any guy who still has a pulse. Yuck, that’s a depressing thought.
Shake it off, Myla. You’ve work to do.
Turning about on my heel, I face the long hallway to the East Wing. It’s all gleaming marble floors, tall gilded mirrors, and anxiety-inducing mysteries. Mom said it held a ballroom, offices, and library. My mouth twists as I consider the options. Nodding to myself, I decide to start my search in the fourth-floor library. From what Cissy’s said, that’s always open and usually deserted.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and march up to the fourth floor. The library’s a labyrinth of tall wooden bookshelves. The scent of dust and old parchment fills the air. I scan for other visitors, but the place is empty. Good.
I find a section marked ‘history’ and haul out a particularly large, leather-bound volume. Bay windows with cushioned seats line the library’s far wall. I slide into the nearest window seat, open the book in my lap, and gaze through the glass to the mansion’s grounds outside. Far below me, figures mill about the hedgerow maze. My tail flips to the title page:
Quasi Diplomacy: A History
A rustling sound echoes from the other side of the library.
“Cissy, is that you?”
Silence.
Shrugging, I return my attention to the book:
Introduction by Sanctus Lewis
I stare at the words again. Sanctus Lewis. I have Mom’s last name, and Sanctus Lewis was her mother. Could be a coincidence. I read on: