I huffed, but I reached around to the small of my back, pulled up my T-shirt, and grabbed the spoon, fork and two knives I’d swiped from the tea service when no one was looking. I put them on the coffee table.
Mo grinned, then reached into the pocket of his white pants and pulled out two more knives, along with another fork. He arranged them on the table next to mine. “Look. We almost have a whole set between us already.”
I glanced over at the pixie house, but the music was still blasting. There was no way Oscar could hear us over that racket. Good.
Mo nudged the stolen silverware into a precise row before raising his gaze to mine again.
“Being a member of a Family is more than just being a mark in someone else’s game. You should know that better than anyone. It means money, power, prestige, protection. Even a real family, of sorts, if you want.”
“I had a family,” I said in a cold, stiff voice. “I had you and Mom. I don’t need anyone else. I haven’t in four years now.”
Mo kept looking at me, sadness flashing in his eyes.
“Besides,” I said. “You know that I hate the Sinclairs, especially Devon. You know . . . you know he’s the reason my mom was murdered.”
The last few words came out as a choked whisper. Because Devon Sinclair was the reason my mom was dead. One of them, anyway. And now, I was supposed to protect him like he was just another guy. Anger, pain, and bitterness burned in my heart, and a few hot tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes before I could swipe them away.
Mo sighed. “I understand why you feel that way, Lila. But it’s time to let go of your pain and anger and move on. Devon was a kid when your mom died. So were you. There was nothing you could have done to save her. I think you know that, deep down inside.”
I did know it—but that didn’t mean I liked it.
I didn’t tell Mo I’d been so heartbroken by my mom’s death that I never wanted to go through that sort of pain ever again. That that was the real reason I kept to myself and hadn’t bothered to make any friends at school. That I’d been hurt so badly, I thought I would never truly recover from it. Because if someone mattered to you, if you cared about them, if you loved them, then you might as well start winding down a clock to the second when your heart would be shattered when they were taken away from you.
It had happened to me with my mom, and it was going to happen with the Sinclairs, too.
Claudia thought she’d hired me to protect Devon, but what she was really asking me was to protect her from the pain of losing her son the same way I had my mom—to stupid Family feuds, plots, and politics.
“You’ll be kicking ass and taking names in no time, Lila,” Mo chirped, trying to put a bright spin on things the way he would shine up a piece of junk at the Razzle Dazzle. “Trust me on that, and trust me on this—this is what you were born to do. You’re a good thief, but you’re an even better fighter. Just like your mom was. She felt that it was her duty to protect people, to look out for folks who couldn’t take care of themselves, and I know you feel that way, too, even if you won’t admit it to anyone, not even yourself. That’s the real reason why you helped Devon and Felix. Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Yeah,” I said in a snide voice. “And look where it’s gotten me. Smack dab in the middle of a gilded cage, one with spikes around the edges, all pointed in at me.”
“Face it. You’re a fighter, a soldier, a protector, just like your mom, Lila. And if you’re going to put your life on the line, then you should at least do it for someone who matters.”
“And Devon Sinclair matters?”
“You know he does,” Mo answered in a quiet voice. “Especially to you. Your mom would want you to be here, Lila. And not just for Devon—but for yourself, too. This is where you belong—in more ways than one.”
This time, I knew exactly what he was talking about, and I couldn’t quite meet his bright, searching gaze, because he was right. This room, this mansion, this Family was exactly where my mom would want me to be. It’s where she would have wanted me to be for all the years since her death, if things had been different.
If I had been different.
“And Claudia?” I asked, my voice raspy with memories that were better left buried. “Should I be worried about her?”
Mo shrugged, knowing what I was really asking. “I wouldn’t be. You’re just another guard to her. Nothing more, nothing less. Right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Either way, at the very least, she’ll treat you fair,” Mo added. “That’s more than you can say for most of the Families, especially the Draconis.”
I thought of my run-in with Deah. I couldn’t argue with that.
“But what about my stuff at the library?” I asked, still trying to find some way to wiggle out of this, even though the trap had already snapped shut around me. “I can’t just leave everything there. Someone’s bound to find it sooner or later.”
“Actually, I went over there early this morning, let myself in, and packed up some of your stuff. You can get the rest of it later.”
Mo jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and I noticed one of my battered suitcases sitting beside the vanity table. Reginald must have brought it up when I was down in the training room with Claudia. I went over, laid the suitcase down on its side, and unzipped the top.
My mom’s blue, spidersilk coat was neatly folded and carefully nestled inside, along with her ironmesh gloves and her black blade sword. I unzipped the side pocket, which held the one framed photo I had of her, along with her favorite book about old monster traditions, the pages crammed full of notes she had taken about the creatures inhabiting Cloudburst Falls.
Mo had packed all the important things—the only possessions that really mattered besides my sapphire ring. I trailed my hand over the glass frame and my mom’s smiling face, blinking back the tears that scalded my eyes.
More tears. I really was going soft.
“Thanks, Mo,” I whispered.