Perfect Lies

“No. Fia is not meeting us here.” His words have a strange quality, like they’re being forced through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” I say, glaring because I’m not sorry, I’m frustrated. “I’m not up to speed on what’s going on, and I’d really like to be clued in.”

“I can’t help you with that.”

“But you’re helping Fia.”

“I am not helping Fia.”

My heart thuds fearfully in my chest. “But … I thought … I mean, you were part of it. You picked me up.” Oh, no. Oh, no. I gave him the phone. For all I know, he was delivering a threat or a ransom demand. All Fia did was give me the phone, which was meant to connect me with Adam. Not whoever this is. Tears brim in my eyes.

No. Think like Fia. What would Fia do?

Besides stab the guy.

“I’ll scream,” I say, standing straighter and facing him. “You shouldn’t have brought me to a public place. Leave now or I’ll scream.” I pull the phone back out of my pocket and feel for bumps on the buttons, hoping the call feature will be prominent and that it saved Adam’s number. “I won’t be leverage, not for you or anyone else.”

He swears, then grabs my fingers. I nearly shout until I realize he’s pressing my index finger onto a button. I hear a number dialing.

“Crazy must run in your family,” he says.

“You do know Fia!” I blurt, then bite my lip. He exhales in a silent laugh at my immediate association of crazy with my own sister.

“She stabbed me in the leg.” Well, guess I was right about what Fia would do. “Then I shot her. Then I helped bring her in, against my better judgment, and let her see what we do. And then I followed her after she attacked me and ran. I got to watch as she murdered an innocent girl because I didn’t stop her.”

I hear Adam saying “Hello?” but don’t put the phone up to my ear. This guy’s anger makes no sense. If he’s with Lerner, and that’s where Fia wants me, why is he so mad?

“But she didn’t. Murder me, I mean. I’m still alive.” Obviously.

“Not for the minute it took between watching you fall and finding your pulse.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I mean it. I wasn’t thinking about what it must have been like for him. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought I was dead, too.”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

The sliding of glass doors precedes Adam’s voice. “Cole! And you must be Annie?”

Hearing Adam in person is different from on the phone. I’m flooded with memories of the visions I’ve had of him—the one where I saw girl after girl with abilities being brought into the light and then disappearing into darkness, while Adam’s name bounced around my skull, ricocheting painfully. And the other one, later, where I saw his face. I am meeting a guy whose name and voice I can put a face to. Other than James and his father, that has never happened to me.

It’s too much, all of it. I don’t know how to feel, what to think. I’m not with my sister, who I thought was going to kill me today. Instead, I’m with the guy I tried to have killed. The guy who spells disaster for hundreds of girls like me. The guy whose voice is kind and whose gentle face I will forever be able to see.

An arm comes around my shoulder and I jump.

“It’s okay,” a woman says. “You’re safe.”

“Where’s Fia?” Adam asks.

“How do you all not know?” I ask. “I thought she had a plan. You are the plan. Right?”

“She didn’t tell us anything,” the woman says. “Do you have any idea what she’ll do next?”

I shake my head. Fia’s future is always a mystery to me.

FIA (#ulink_36ffe13f-ddd9-5e60-b27d-e2dc04255cf8)

Five Days Before (#ulink_36ffe13f-ddd9-5e60-b27d-e2dc04255cf8)

“MISS FIA, YOUR SHOULDER—” THE SECURITY GUARD says, eyes wide.

Ignoring him, I skip inside, the opulent, open lobby of the school swallowing me whole. James turns a corner, his suit all well-tailored lines of professionalism, sleek and slippery and mature. I hate it when he wears a suit. When he wears a suit he is Mr. Keane. His easy smile freezes before it can touch his eyes. He’s scared for me.

It’s adorable.

“What happened?” he asks. Ms. Robertson (I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her) is behind him, a sheaf of papers clutched to her starched chest.

I shrug—it hurts—then flop onto one of the leather couches. I’ll get blood on it. I’ve poured a lot of blood into this school, but it’s still thirsty, it’s always thirsty.

“Ran into an old friend. And his knife. Why do so many of my old friends have knives?”

Ms. Robertson stomps toward me, glaring at my arm like it’s personally offensive. “My office. We’ll see if we can patch you up without stitches. Who did this?”

I smile at her. Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris! Hello, Doris!

She glares at James. “Make her stop.”

James raises an eyebrow at me. “Fia?”

“What? All I said was hello. It’s polite to say hello. Hello, Doris.”

Huffing, she leaves and I stand, slightly woozy, to follow her. “Who was it?” James whispers.

“Dmitri. Russian mobster? He was mad that I stole millions of dollars from him. Silly man, doesn’t he know money is imaginary?” It’s paper that turns into numbers on screens. It’s there, then it’s gone. I put it places, I take it out, I move it somewhere else. Imaginary. Most things are imaginary, when you think about it.

Sometimes I think I’m imaginary.

“Dmitri,” he growls, nodding. “If I had been there …”

“I still would have fought him and won, but then I would have had to worry about you, too.”

James gives me a wry half smile. “At least let me pretend I can defend you sometimes.”

I pat his cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re delusional.”

“And you’re sexy when you’re on a post-fight high.” His eyes search mine, more serious than his tone would indicate, and I know he’s looking to see whether or not I’m falling apart. He doesn’t need to.

I’m better than I was a month ago. A week ago, even. It was bad, but James held me together. He whispered dark, secret things to me and helped me escape myself with promises of flames and freedom. I narrow my eyes but smile, to let him know I know what he’s looking for and that he won’t find it.

“Don’t tell Doris about Dmitri. I’ll be there in a minute.” James brushes a kiss along the top of my head. I lean into him, breathing in, wanting to lose myself there, needing to lose myself there. “Where were Johnson and Davis?” he asks.