“No, I think he broke into Na’s room looking for something, but I don’t know if he found it. Maybe he’s going to try again. I thought if I followed him, I could find out.” But as soon as I say it, I realize how ridiculous I sound. Security at the Chinese embassy will have been beefed up after the first break-in. Callahan would have to be either incredibly stupid, or incredibly desperate, to try again.

  I halt on the sidewalk, cold sweat starting to bead along my spine. “Maybe we should just go back.”

  Up ahead, Callahan disappears down a staircase in the sidewalk.

  “It doesn’t look like he’s going toward the embassies,” Ricardo whispers.

  “Where does that lead?”

  “The subway.” A beat passes with his eyes on mine. I wish I could curl up into a ball of mortification on the sidewalk. I never should have told him my theory. He probably thinks I’m paranoid.

  “Come on.” Ricardo waves me forward. “Let’s go see what he’s up to.”

  A relieved sigh escapes me.

  We run, feet pounding on the pavement, toward the subway station. Our shoes thud down the stairs to the subterranean platform.

  The black-and-white tiled space is mostly empty since it’s after 10 at night, so we scramble behind a wide, gray pillar to keep Callahan from seeing us. We stand shoulder to shoulder, not saying anything as we wait. I’m breathing hard, my chest heaving from running.

  After several minutes, the overhead sign changes, stating that the next train will arrive in two minutes.

  My pulse is thundering in my ears as I peek around the pillar at Callahan. He’s standing on the platform with his hood up and his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A crossbody bag is slung over his shoulder. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have it with him the first time he snuck out, but I’m not positive.

  He turns to look up the tracks and I duck behind the column.

  Inexplicably, Ricardo is smirking.

  “What’s so funny?” I mouth. I just know that if we weren’t trying to be quiet he’d say something dripping with snark and innuendo right now.

  He gives a slight shake of his head. “Later,” he mouths back.

  The train whooshes into the station and comes to a stop. An automated voice emanates from the speakers, giving its safety spiel.

  Callahan steps into the nearest car.

  “Go, go,” Ricardo whispers, pushing me out from behind the pillar to the next train car.

  We hurry inside just before the doors slide shut, taking seats against the wall. The train jerks forward and I slip to the side, my shoulder jostling Ricardo’s.

  “Where is he going?” I ask, peering through the window in the door between the cars in an attempt to catch a glimpse of my stepbrother.

  “I don’t know, but you have to admit this is a lot more fun than studying diplomacy.”

  A smile plays at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

  “If this is only kind of more fun than my helping you study, I’m not doing this right.”

  I snort, and then clap my hand over my mouth, chagrined at the piggy noise I’ve just made.

  Ricardo laughs. “Don’t be embarrassed. It was cute.”

  We fall silent, and I look around the train car. I’ve never been on a subway before, and it’s actually pretty fun. There are only a couple of other people in the train car with us, which is nice. Across from us, a clear plastic case displays the headlines of the day’s newspaper. Talks Between US Senators and African Block Stall As Oil Prices Rise. I’m pretty sure the senator is on that committee. I’ll have to ask Charlotte about it later.

  After two stops, Callahan gets off, and we follow him.

  The streets are busier here, wherever here is, so it’s easier to track my stepbrother without being spotted. Ricardo and I jostle into an easy rhythm, my feet taking two steps for every one of his. The fresh, brittle air makes me burrow deeper into my sweatshirt and pull the sleeves down over my hands.

  We walk a couple more blocks, and then Callahan opens a door and goes into a building.

  Ricardo and I draw up close and notice that it’s a shared office space, but instead of cubicles it’s got what look like mini artist studios. Each one is fenced in with chain link. Through the metal grid I can see some of the small spaces are filled with painted canvases. Others are littered with bits of paper and wire. Still another is piled with trash bags full of recycled aluminum cans, and a partial statue of some type of mythical creature is rising from the floor, its circular soda-can scales glinting in the overhead lights.

  “What is this place?”

  Ricardo gestures to the sign hanging above the door of the next business. The Art Institute.

  “What would Callahan be doing here? He’s not an artist, is he?”

  Several people come out of the institute door and step around us to enter the studio space. “Can we help you?” one of them asks, pulling her bright orange beanie down over her ears.

  Ricardo gives her an easy smile. “No, thanks. We’re just out for an evening stroll.”

  The girl eyes us for a second before going inside, and the glass door swings closed.

  “Out for a stroll?” I giggle. “Is that the best you could come up with?”

  Ricardo shakes his head, amusement making his mouth twitch. “I didn’t hear you coming up with a fabulous excuse.” He peers through the window again, standing up on tiptoes to get a better look. “I don’t see him. Let’s go inside.”

  My eyes go wide. “What if he spots us? What if we run into that girl again?”

  “Relax, chouchou. What’s the worst that could happen? Don’t answer that.” With a light tug at the sleeve of my sweatshirt, he leads me in. A girl is talking on the other side of the room, but I don’t see anyone else.

  “Let’s see if we can figure out if one of these is Callahan’s,” I say, pointing to the nearest cubby.

  “Lead the way.”

  We walk up the first aisle, pausing at each mini studio to look at its contents. I realize pretty quickly that even if one of these spaces is Callahan’s, it’s going to be nearly impossible to tell. It’s not like each space is labelled with a student’s name, and neither is the artwork. The only distinguishing feature of each space is the art itself, and I have no idea what sort of medium Callahan would be interested in. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d be more inclined toward digital art based on the amount of time he spends using devices.

  A memory flickers to the front of my mind. That day Gul told us about the break-in at the embassy, Callahan was showing Asif something on his tablet. Maybe he was showing him his art?

  I run headlong into Ricardo’s back. He’s stopped in front of one of the stalls, staring at something.

  My eyes follow his gaze, and I freeze. Inside the space is a large poster of a girl with recycled paper skin and large, dark chocolate wrapper eyes. Black hair plumes out behind her as if being blown by the wind, and large, inky black, feathered wings span out over her arms.

  It looks exactly like Na.

  But the thing that gets me even more is the crimson blood that’s flowing from a wound in her neck.

  We turn to each other, our faces masks of surprise and horror.

  “Wasn’t that—”

  “What happened to Na? Yes.”

  Ricardo looks back at the painting, aghast. “Wow,” he mouths.

  Footsteps sound in the next row of cubicles, making my pulse jump. “Let’s go,” I mouth back, tugging on his arm.

  We tiptoe out of the building and break into a sprint toward the subway station. Once we’re safely inside a train car hurtling back toward the academy, I turn to Ricardo. “Do you think Callahan is capable of murder?” Because I’m not sure, and I’d really like some reassurance right now that my stepbrother isn’t a monster. If he is, he’s got way too much freedom at the academy. Freedom to kill again.

  The next evening, I’m still freaked out about the painting, and what it means. My stepbrother painted Na with a gruesome neck wound, which means… what? Either he was the one who stabbed her, or he heard the rumors and wanted to paint it for some reason? The thoughts swirl around my head, making me question every little thing I know about Callahan, and it’s not much.

  A knock on my door makes me jolt out of my thoughts. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Cal,” comes my stepbrother’s reply. “We’re supposed to study together. Remember?”

  Crap. I was hoping he’d forget, because I have no clue how to act around him now.

  “Um, okay. Hold on.” I climb off my bed and open the door.

  Callahan is standing in the hallway, his bag slung over one arm.

  Now that he’s here, I can’t think of an excuse to get out of studying. I do not want to be alone with him in my room.

  Callahan scratches his neck. “Can we go up to the lounge to study? It’s too quiet in here.”

  I smile in relief. There are always people in the lounge, so I won’t have to be alone with him. “That sounds good. Let me get my stuff.”

  Five minutes later, I’m curled up on the couch in the fifth floor student lounge off the kitchen, and Callahan is in the plush chair next to me.

  In the corner, a bunch of guys are corralled around the air hockey table, talking trash and laughing. It makes studying nearly impossible, but I’m hoping they’ll stick around for a while.

  Callahan and I agreed to read through the notes and then quiz each other, but I can’t keep from sneaking glances at him.

  This time when I look up, he catches me. Sighing, he asks, “What?”

  I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I don’t want to make him mad at me. I don’t know what he’s capable of, and I don’t want to find out.

  “Come on. Spit it out.”

  I look into his blue eyes, and find my courage. I won’t ask him about the painting, not yet. But I can ask about other things. “Dali told me you and Na were together last year, and I’m just wondering… how that happened?”

  A muscle in Callahan’s jaw ticks as he looks at me, his emotions unreadable behind his eyes.

  I shouldn’t have asked. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “You’re wondering why I was with her, since she was such a snob, right?”

  I was wondering that, before I saw the painting. Now I have a lot more questions, but this one seems like the safest line to follow. “Yes.”

  “You have to understand something. Na was like that because she was insecure. She felt like everyone judged her right from the start, so she just went along with how everyone expected her to act. But she wasn’t really like that, at least not with me.”

  “So, she was nice to you?”

  “Well, yeah. She understood the pressure I’m under to act a certain way, you know, and she let me be myself.”

  Emboldened by his honesty, I push further. “If you guys understood each other, then why did you break up?”

  Callahan’s expression darkens. His mouth thins, and his eyes smolder. “Let’s get back to studying.”

  It’s a clear shut down. This conversation is over, but I won’t soon forget the anger in his eyes. Anger at Na, and maybe even me.

  A week later, I’m once again made up to within an inch of reality, only this time I’ve got more than stage fright on my mind. Nerves ripple along my spine, making me shift in the back seat of the limousine. I’m trying to pay attention to the questions Charlotte is asking the senator about the oil drilling in Africa situation, but I can’t focus with Callahan sitting across from me, staring blankly in my direction.

  I squirm under his unfocused gaze, wondering if I’m being watched by a murderer. I can’t stop picturing the poster Ricardo and I saw in the studio that night. Even after asking Callahan about Na, I still don’t have a good grasp of who he is, really. Or what he’s capable of.

  “You look pretty tonight, dear,” Mrs. Cavendish-Holt leans toward me, looking over the deep plum-colored dress Charlotte helped me pick out. My hair is swept up in an elegant half up-do that makes my neck look longer. I don’t know how Charlotte did it, but I need to learn her tricks.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, nervous.

  “You’re going to do fine.” Unexpectedly, she pats my hands where they’re clasped in my lap.

  It’s been a month since the party convention, and the senator has already briefed us that there may be cameras. “Smile politely, but don’t say anything,” he ordered, his gaze roving over the three of us as we stood in the foyer of the academy. “Now that I’ve been tapped by Allegra as the party’s vice presidential candidate, the press will be all over us. If any of you have any secrets you’re hiding, now would be a good time to disclose them. We don’t want any surprises.”

  “I don’t have anything to hide,” Charlotte had said, and her voice was so steady I almost believed her, even though I can think of at least one tall, questionably charming secret she’s keeping. And I’m sure she has more.

  Callahan grumbled and scuffed his shoes over the carpet. I barely heard it, but I’m pretty sure he said something along the lines of, “This is so stupid.” The hunched way he held his shoulders and his refusal to meet the senator’s eyes made my pulse race.

  “No surprises here,” I murmured, giving a faint smile. But of course that was a lie. All three of us have secrets. No one’s hands are totally clean.

  Now, the car pulls into an alley behind a fancy Chinese restaurant, and our family is escorted in the back door. I’m relieved to see Mikhail climb out of a second car and follow us inside. He lowers his chin in greeting when he sees me looking. At least I have one friend here tonight.

  “Welcome, Senator Holt. We’re thrilled that you’ve chosen to eat with us this evening. Right this way.” The host leads us to a dimly lit, private room surrounded by thick, navy velvet curtains. The round table is set with a pristine white cloth, and an ornate, blue and white ceramic teapot is steeping in its center.

  After the host takes our drink orders, he rushes out of the room to fill them.

  The senator clears his throat. “Adrienne.”

  I look up at him, squirming under the intense weight of his eyes on me. “Yes?”

  “I know you’re not used to this amount of attention, so I had my campaign manager draw up some talking points for you. If anyone approaches you, a journalist or anyone else, you can use these to answer their questions.” His mouth splits in a disarming smile that makes me want to smile back.

  “Thanks.” I take the piece of paper he’s slid across the tablecloth toward me and hold it up to read. Immediately my cheeks flame. The answers they’ve written here for me to give are outright lies. My parents mutually agreed not to marry once they found out they were expecting. I’ve had a close and loving relationship with my father, even though I live an hour away in Wood View. One of my favorite memories of my father was the time he took me to a fancy restaurant so I could try crème brûlée for the first time. Who wrote this crap? My father did take me to a fancy restaurant, but I had already learned how to make the custard dessert at home.

  But why am I surprised? If I told a single journalist the truth about any of this, it would paint the senator in a distinctly unflattering light.

  “Is everything all right?” the senator asks, his tone cool.

  Everyone at the table is quiet, watching me for some type of response. I’m once again a new animal on exhibit at the zoo, and no one knows how I’m going to react, so I’ve drawn a large crowd. It’s almost as if they’re hoping for a show.

  I won’t give them one. My teeth clench as I force myself to meet his waiting gaze. “Fine. This is great. Thanks.” But my tone is flat as I shove the paper into my clutch purse and drop it by the side of my chair.

  Mercifully, dinner goes quickly. Soon, the three of us are walking past the security guard at the gate, through the back garden behind the academy and down the hall past the kitchen. Callahan’s eyes linger on the yellow caution tape that’s still hung across the bathroom. The police haven’t finished in there yet, and it’s still not been reopened to students.

  “Are you okay?” Charlotte asks Callahan, trotting back toward him. “Do you miss her?”

  He lifts his head. “Something like that.”

  She nods brusquely, patting his arm. “I’m sorry. You’ll get over it eventually.” It’s a good thing she doesn’t want to be a doctor, because she’s got the bedside manner of a sledgehammer.

  Callahan walks ahead of us toward the stairs.

  My eyes flick from his receding back to Charlotte, and my chest tightens. Should I tell her?

  “Come on, loser,” Charlotte says. “There’s no sense lingering down here. Dali’s waiting for us upstairs with the next episode of angsty teen drama goodness all ready to go. Change into your pajamas and meet in my room.”

  I do her bidding, trying to ignore the mess of knots in my stomach. Headmistress Morgan’s thinly veiled threat. Na’s death. The poster. Callahan. The senator. Those stupid talking points. If I think about it all too much, it makes me queasy.

  I’m teetering on a tightrope over shark-infested waters. One wrong move, and I could fall in.

  16

  Professor Rook looks rougher today. His brown hair is messy, rather than neatly combed to one side. His shirt, which he’s wearing with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, is wrinkled. His lecture is more scattered and less planned out. It’s as if he’s unravelling, but I don’t really blame him.

  Everyone saw the police come on campus in the middle of the day yesterday and pull the professor into the headmistress’ office for a meeting. I’ve heard from different students that it lasted a minute, ten minutes, two hours. Who really knows? But as I watch him pace through the eatery, quickly preparing a coffee before leaving, it makes me wonder.

  Because I’ve heard other rumors, too.

  About how Na spent an inordinate amount of time in Professor Rook’s classroom and adjoining office. How all of that time was behind closed doors.

  “What were she and Professor Rook doing in there?” Dali asks, wide eyed, as Gul fills us in.

  “It’s pretty obvious what they were doing,” she says with a wink. Then, “Sorry, Cal.”

 

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