“Well, let’s see … Three years ago the prime minister ordered my mom’s death, but I accidentally killed her instead. Didn’t remember it, though. And then a few weeks ago the prime minister tried to have me killed, but he ended up in a coma, so we have absolutely no idea who else wanted my mother dead. Or why. Or how it might all tie into the shadowy secret society that my ancestors evidently founded a thousand years ago. So I have worries, Lila. I have plenty.”
The look Lila gives me is so cold it’s like maybe I didn’t say a thing. And maybe I didn’t. I’m starting to wonder when Lila shrugs.
“Fine. Evade my question.” She reaches for the ladder and climbs outside.
I want to yell at her and pull her glossy black hair or force her to break a nail. Most of all, I want to go to Noah and tell him how annoyed I am that his twin sister and I are going to be in the same secret society. But I can’t do that, of course. Because … secret society. I have one more secret now. One more mystery. One more set of lies. But I’m not lying to myself anymore, and that has to count for something.
The sun seems too bright once we make it to the street. I’m still standing, squinting, when Lila says “Don’t look behind you,” which means, of course, I start to turn, but Lila grabs my arm. “Keep walking.”
Lila loops her arm through mine. It’s the way the fashionable women always walk together down the chic streets near the palace. This feels so European, I think before realizing that we are in Europe. We probably look like confidantes. Friends.
Looks can be deceiving.
“What is it?” I ask.
“There’s a big guy with a scar on his face watching us. I think he’s …” She makes a quick glance back. “Yes. He is following us.”
How many times in my life have I thought I saw the Scarred Man? Too many to count. For years, it was just another by-product of my messed-up mind, my fear. My crazy.
Now it’s just one more thing I have to feel guilty about.
After all, the Scarred Man is no longer the Scarred Man. Now he’s …
“Dominic.” I force out the word.
“What?” Lila asks.
“His name is Dominic. He used to be the prime minister’s head of security.”
“Do you think he saw us leave the tunnel?”
I know he saw us leave the tunnel, but that’s not something I can tell Lila. I jerk to a stop and turn around. Dominic is across the street, standing perfectly still. Watching. He doesn’t smile and doesn’t wave. He doesn’t even try to hide or act natural. There’s no denying what he’s doing. He is tracking me.
Lila says something in Hebrew I don’t understand. Or maybe it’s the Portuguese equivalent of creepy.
I should tell her that I know him. Sort of. I should let her know that he and I are … something. Not friends. Not family. We have whatever bond forms when you spend three years shouting from rooftops that the Scarred Man killed your mother. We are bound by whatever it is that lives on long after someone saves your life. Or maybe he’s here because my mother was his first — and maybe only — love.
I killed the love of his life, I realize with a start. And, suddenly, Dominic’s glare has an entirely new meaning.
“Sorry, Lila. I’ve got to —”
Go.
Run.
Scream.
I have to get away from here before the guilt makes me throw up all over Lila and her perfectly polished toes.
“Where are you —”
“Bye, Lila. Just tell Noah I said … bye.”
Then, before my new sister can see through me, I’m gone.
I run until my lungs want to burst and my legs turn to noodles. I hear nothing but the pounding of my feet against the hard-packed dirt. I feel nothing but the stinging slap of the tree branches and thorny vines that swipe against my face and scratch my legs. But I can’t stop. I have to go faster, higher, stronger.
I have to outrun the past.
Even after I break free from the brush that covers the path I keep running until I literally cannot run anymore. I skid to a stop, kicking at pebbles that tumble down the cliff and splash into the sea. Only then can I let myself breathe.
At the top of the cliffs, the air that blows off the Mediterranean is warm and wet. It pushes my hair from my face as I stand here, hands outstretched, desperate to fly. But I can’t fly. And I won’t jump. No matter how much I want to, regardless of how deep I know the water off the shoreline is.
I am not supposed to jump off the cliffs anymore. I’m not supposed to take chances or tempt fate. Besides, my grandfather and Ms. Chancellor have been watching my every move for days. If I come back to the embassy with bruises, they’ll see them. If I pick at my food they’ll ask why. And so I stand on this ridge, high above the city, hiding in plain sight, pretending to be an ordinary girl.
Just your average teenager who recently learned she shot and killed her own mother.
“Grace!” My name comes flying on a breeze that smells like smoke. When I close my eyes I hear glass shatter, a woman scream.
“Grace! No!”
The cries haven’t changed in years, but now I know what they mean. Now I know she’s not trying to make me run. She’s trying to make me stop — to put down the gun I’m holding. She is trying to tell me that it’s okay and that the Scarred Man — that Dominic — isn’t trying to hurt her. But it’s too late. In every sense of the word.
I shake my head, try to clear away the smoky haze. But the words come again.