Once We Were

again.

Our feet couldn’t find the ground. Our vision faded at the edges. We were in the streets of Bessimir again, in danger of becoming nothing more than a smear on the asphalt. We were seven years old again, locked in a trunk with nothing but the darkness and heat and our dried tears for company.

We stumbled to the sidewalk. Police sirens blared in our ears. We turned just in time to see Cordelia darting across the road. She was probably furious at us. She was probably wondering what the hell was wrong with us, and why couldn’t we just keep up and do what we were supposed to do.

A police car swerved around the corner—

—And hit her.

It hit her. It slammed on its brakes, but it hit Cordelia, and she rolled across the hood, collapsing to the concrete. For a moment, she lay still, her arm thrown across her face, her pale hair stark against the dark road. Then she struggled upright. She kept running, limping. Back in the direction she’d come.

An officer jumped out of the car. Shouted after her, but the torrent of people had already swallowed Cordelia whole. Then he turned. Cursed. He stared at us—rightatusrightatus.

Another few yards, and he might have hit us instead. But right now, we were just another terrified, horrified, petrified face. Not worth his focus. He jumped back in the car and yelled unintelligible noise into his radio.

We stumbled, tripped, hobbled our way to Robenston. Our memorized maps fractured in our mind. We struggled to make sense of the pieces, moving from street to street, avoiding eye contact, hiding when the police passed.

It was only firecrackers, I wanted to say.

Where was Cordelia? We saw the car hit her again and again.

<She got up> Addie said. <She kept running, so she must be okay.>

She must be.

Were Devon and Josie okay? Was Lissa? Vince? Christoph?

We’d lost our walkie-talkie in the chaos. There was no way to make contact.

We found a street sign that said Robenston Rd. Relief brought a tremor to our hands, a rush of heat through our body. We were supposed to meet at the bus stop. We weren’t sure which direction that was, but we picked the one that would take us farther from the Square.

<There!> Addie said.

We saw Christoph’s red hair first. We caught the freckles on his pale skin and his bright eyes that grew brighter when he saw us, too. Then Ryan was turning around; he was walking—running—walking toward us. I forced myself to keep from running, too. We couldn’t attract attention.

His arms went around us. I pressed our forehead against his shoulder, blocking out the world. I said, “It’s okay. I’m okay. Where’s Josie? Where’s Cordelia? She—”

“She’s fine.” Ryan’s words were a whisper in our ear. “Josie and Lissa found her. They’re driving back to their apartment. They’re going to drop Lissa off. Where have you been?”

“I got lost.” It was the only thing I could say about it. I looked up from Ryan’s shoulder and saw Vince watching us. No, Jackson. “Did you get it?” I whispered to Ryan. “The information?” He nodded.

Christoph interrupted before either of us could say more. “We’ve got to go.” His voice was curt, but his eyes raked over us, and he frowned at our cheek. It was still throbbing. I touched my cold fingers to the hot skin. “We’ve got to go, now, before Peter and them hear about this and someone discovers you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

We waited, but the bus didn’t come. It took eons to flag down a taxi. Even longer to reach Emalia’s apartment building. Here, everything was as we’d left it: calm, undisturbed.

“Come up with a story for that bruise,” Jackson said as Ryan and I clambered out of the car. I promised I would. The taxi pulled away again.

Ryan and I ran up four flights of stairs. I scrambled to unlock Emalia’s door. We burst inside to see Lissa already waiting, pacing the living room. Nina sat nervously on the couch behind her.

“Thank God,” Lissa said, hurrying toward us. Then: “Your cheek—what happened?”

By the time Henri came downstairs, face grave, shoulders stiff, Addie and I had an answer. I’d had one of my moments—lost control of our feet for a minute and tripped into one of the chairs. Nearly poked an eye out. Bit of a klutz, aren’t I? I can’t—Henri, what’s wrong? No, we haven’t watched television since this morning. Lankster Square? What happened? Tell us.

Please tell us.

FIFTEEN

Henri stayed with us until Emalia came home. Then the two of them disappeared back to Henri’s apartment with Peter, leaving us alone to watch the aftermath on the evening news.

I called Cordelia’s apartment as soon as they were gone. Josie answered, her voice brisk and casual until she realized who was on the other end. Then she dropped her pretense. Cordelia was in a lot of pain, but nothing unbearable. She refused to go to the hospital. She’d fractured her ribs when she was younger, and they hadn’t done much for her then.

“I’ve got her pretty drugged up on pain meds,” Josie said, “but I think she’s right. Even if she’s fractured a rib, there isn’t a lot that can be done for that.”

“How do you know it’s not something worse?” I said. “What if she’s got internal bleeding?”

“Look, we can’t afford a trip to the hospital right now,” Josie said quietly. “We don’t have the money for it, and we don’t want to take the risk—however small—of someone putting two and two together. Cordelia’s fine right now, I promise. If anything comes up to suggest differently, anything at all, I’ll take her to the hospital.”

I hesitated. “No, if anything comes up, contact Dr. Lyanne.”

“Okay,” Josie said. “Right. Good thinking. And, Eva? I’m sorry it got so crazy out there today. I know you might not have been expecting that.”

I looked over our shoulder, at Lissa curled tight on the couch, eyes glued to the television screen. At Nina white-knuckled beside her. Ryan was the only one who looked back at me.

“Thanks for keeping your head clear,” Josie said.

I thought about the hazed walk to Robenston Road, the way I’d frozen on the ladder when I should have kept climbing, the way I’d broken down in the middle of the crowd, dizzied by the crush of bodies.

“Head clear,” I said. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I mean it,” she said. “Some people fall apart when things get tough. Some people aren’t strong enough to keep going.”

I bit our lip. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But ask Devon about it, all right? Some things . . . the phone isn’t best. I’ve got to check on Jackson and Christoph. Look, you know we can’t let Peter suspect anything, right?”

I told her I wouldn’t. She promised to get back in touch soon. I sat down next to Ryan in the living room and squeezed his hand, nodding to tell him everything was all right. He gave me a brief, tight smile.

Nina hadn’t inquired about where we’d been. Something in her eyes, in the quick, furtive looks she threw in our direction, told me she could guess. Something in the tight line of her mouth told me she didn’t want to ask.

Peter didn’t call a general meeting after the incident at Lankster Square. It was better, Sophie explained, if everyone went about their regular business and didn’t do anything the slightest bit suspicious. Large gatherings, even if they were in the supposed privacy of Peter’s apartment, might be noted.

The Mullan siblings, Addie, and I had our own gathering, secreted in our bedroom while Kitty watched TV.