See How They Run (Embassy Row, #2)

“Hooks up where?” Rosie asks, and I can’t help myself. I look at Lila.

“No!” Noah yells. He points between me and his twin sister. “Don’t think I don’t see you two. Whispering and giving each other looks. You’re working together now? You two? In case you have forgotten, you don’t like each other! You barely know each other. And now you’re acting like best friends and I don’t like it. I know something is going on, and I want to know what it is. Now.”

I think about what Noah’s asking me to do — what I want to do. If Ms. Chancellor was right, the Society has existed for a thousand years; I’ve been a member for less than a week, and already I’m about to crumble.

“Grace.” I can hear the worry in Megan’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

When I start to shake, I tell myself it’s because of the rain, so I push my wet hair out of my face. Water runs down my cheeks, and I remind myself that I’m not crying — that crying is a luxury I’ll never have again.

No. It’s a luxury that Spence will never have again. And Mikhail, the Russian driver. And maybe Alexei if we can’t make this stop.

What harm would it do to tell my friends? I wonder. Then another thought cuts through me:

What harm did it do Caroline?

The words chill me like the wind, and only one thought remains: This is happening. I’m going to have to face it one way or another. The only question now is whether or not I’m going to face it alone.

“We need to go inside. Let’s go meet Alexei, and then I’ll tell you.” I look at Lila, but I can’t read her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything.”



It’s not hard to find a tunnel entrance and, from there, to make it to the north end of Embassy Row. As soon as I push open the doors into the basement of Iran it feels, shockingly, like home. This dingy basement with its hot springs–fueled swimming pool and ornately tiled ceiling is as comforting as anyplace else. For the first time since I heard the temple door closing behind us, I let myself relax.

“Where are we?” Lila asks, stepping inside.

She’s taking in the long room with its domed ceiling, the moldy lounge chairs and water-stained walls when Rosie says, “Iran.”

Lila almost knocks her down as she spins. “Where?” she shouts, and I remember.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot you didn’t know. Sometimes we hang out in Iran.” I’m so matter-of-fact that it takes a moment for her to hear what I’m saying.

Lila is a blur as she whirls on her brother and starts shouting at him in a steady stream of Hebrew. But Noah throws his hands in the air — the universal signal for don’t blame me — and fires off a reply.

It might go on forever if not for the dark shadow that appears in the stairway, the deep voice that says, “Is someone going to tell me what has happened?”

And just that quickly Lila forgets all about her brother and runs to Alexei as fast as she can. He throws open his arms and practically swallows her whole.

“I was so worried,” she says as Alexei speaks softly near her ear, his voice so low that I can’t hear it. And the whole scene makes me feel … angry. And sad. And guilty.

But mostly it makes me want to pull Lila out of Alexei’s arms and toss her in the pool.

I have no right to feel this way, but that’s the thing about feelings. You never get what you deserve.

When Megan clears her voice, “Ahem!” Lila peels herself off of Alexei and turns back to us. Her mascara is smudged and her cheeks are too red.

“Now, will someone explain where the two of you went?” Noah points to Alexei and then to me. “And what the two of you” — this time he points between me and his sister — “have been keeping from us?”

“Grace,” Lila starts, my name a warning. We should talk about this, it says. We should think. We shouldn’t throw a thousand years of secret sisterhood out the window just because one of us is having a really messed-up summer.

But this isn’t my summer. It’s my life. And I don’t know how much more I can take.

“You can leave if you want to, Lila. You can go tell your mom or Ms. Chancellor what I’m doing right now. You can. It’s your right, and I won’t try to stop you. But don’t try to stop me.” I look at my friends. “They’re already involved with this, one way or another. They have the right to know.”

My mom was obsessed with something once, if Ms. Chancellor and the prime minister are to be believed. Just a few weeks ago I was obsessed with the Scarred Man and justice and proving to the world that I’m not crazy. I was wrong, of course, about so many things. And I may be wrong about this. But if there’s something worse than knowing an awful thing, it’s knowing nothing at all.

I look at my friends and then to Lila.

“Go ahead,” she says. “I won’t stop you.”

Maybe this means she believes me. Maybe she trusts me. Or maybe Lila is just smart enough to know that, given enough rope, eventually, I am bound to hang myself.

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