I remember having a dream about Aunt Liz.
I don't remember what happened. I don't remember anything she said to me or where she was or how either of us had gotten there. I just remember dreaming about Aunt Liz and feeling empty—or rather, feeling almost full. That's more like it. The emptiness wasn't as prominent as the lack of completeness was. A few drops short of being a full glass.
I can remember hearing static. Just static. Like a comms unit that was tuned into the wrong frequency, the buzzing lifelessness in my ear inturrupted only by the occasional crackle until a voice broke through. It was barely a whisper. "Maggie."
I remember feeling like I was in the dark. Maybe I was searching for the voice as it came again, louder this time. "Maggie."
I can't remember what happened next. I just remember falling. I remember reaching out for something to hold on to—reaching out for those last few drops that would make everything feel okay. I had to stop falling and finally a hand caught me. Relief, but then fear as the hand wrapped itself around my mouth.
"Mags!"
I bolted awake, trying deperately to tear the hand from my mouth, every defensive maneuver I knew flashing through my mind all at once. Where was Dad? I needed my dad.
But then I saw the "threat" and my heart began it's descent to a normal pace. "There's my favorite sister," he whispered through a grin that was far too bright for the time of night.
For a moment, I thought that I was still lost somewhere in the dream. That one more blink would casue my brother to vanish completely, sending him straight back to London where he was supposed to be. What was he doing here? How had he gotten in? The door squeaks, for goodness sake. So many questions for 3:32 in the morning. "What are you—?"
Matt cut me off with another urgent bang of his finger to his lips, cutting his glance behind him to where Dad slept, hunched over in exactly the same position as he had been when I went to sleep. Matt’s message was clear. Shut up, idiot.
I nodded to let him know I understood the necessity for silence. I did not, however, understand the necessity for his presence.
He threw his head towards the door, then turned and walked out, expecting me to follow. Every muscle in me clamped up when the bitter cold swarmed me, the tile biting at the bottoms of my feet. Something about Dad’s blankets had always made them seem warmer than any other, but that night, this fact felt particularly true. I had the overwhelming urge to curl back up into my cocoon of warmth, but when your MI6 brother shows up in the middle of the night and drags you into the hallway, you don’t just go back to sleep. Doesn’t matter how warm your blankets are.
Matt must’ve decided that we were far enough from sleeping ears because the next time he spoke, his volume was normal. “How’s it going, Mags?”
I yawned. “It was going a lot better until my idiot brother woke me up from a dead sleep.”
“I think that in time, you will learn to forgive me,” he said confidently, pulling a coffee out of thin air and handing it to me. It was still steaming from the lip and if that’s not a testament to how great a spy Matthew Goode is, then I just don’t know what is.
“Where did you—?”
“How would you like to run a mission with me?” he said, taking a sharp turn down a hallway that I hadn’t done much exploring in. It always reeked of mildew and poor decisions, so I never really went down that way.
Wait. What?
I followed after him, rushing to catch up. He was staring at a spot on the wall, searching for something specific. “A mission?” I asked. “What do you mean a mission? Like an op—a real op?”
“That about sums it up, I think,” he said, pressing at a sleek stone.
He pressed another one, and another, focusing hard enough on whatever he was trying to do that he didn’t notice me staring at him like he was the stupidest guy on the planet. “You do realize that I’m not a field agent, right?”
“I’m allowed to bring on any assets who I deem necessary to the completion of my case.”
“Oh really?” I said, a mixture of doubt and sleep muddling up each word. “And what sort of service would I be providing for your case, exactly?”
“I need someone,” he said. “A girl—preferably between the ages of fifteen and eighteen—to play the part of a countess.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, turning him to face me. It was like we were in two different worlds just then, one with all the questions and another with all the answers. Something needed to collide before we could go any further. “Matt, hold on a second. You just showed up at Blackthorne in the middle of the night and tore me out of my cozy bed and now you want me to be some countess in…?”
“Romania.”
“Romania?” The word was too loud in that empty hallway, the echo reminding me that shadows could only keep so many secrets. I lowered my voice to a whisper and hissed, “Does Romania even have countesses?”
“No,” he said, like it was just a question on a pop quiz and he was impressed by my ability to get it right. “Or, well, not usually. The country of Adria, however, does and one of them is expected to attend the Romanian Ambassadors’ Ball later this evening.”
“One of who?”
Matt sighed, frustrated, and flicked his eyes towards the sky. It was a spy’s equivalent of looking at a watch. He wasn’t on brother time, I realized. This was spy time. “I need a partner. Someone who I can trust and can also pass as the countess of Adria.”
“So I’m your way in?”
“And my distraction.”
“What are you going to be doing while I’m so busy distracting?”
Suddenly, his mouth clasped shut and his eyes darted to the side, his top teeth scraping at his bottom lip. He rubbed at the back of his neck as he answered. “That’s classified.”
“My two favorite words,” I snarked.
“C’mon, Maggie—”
This was so unbelievably ridiculous. He was so unbelievably ridiculous. There were at least six reasons I could think of for not doing this. “You want me to be your date to the Ambassadors’ Ball?” I snapped.
He looked back at me now, finally making eye contact. He wore a smirk that he only could have gotten from Dad. “Something like that,” he said, a weaning lilt to his tone.
I scoffed at him, taking a sip of coffee. It was good coffee. Definitely not American. It went down smooth, stealing every last trace of chill from my chest. “This is so stupid. I can’t just leave school to go on a mission with you.”
“It’s the weekend!” he defended, as if Saturday and Sunday were perfectly adequate reasons to fly halfway around the world. And, I guess, when you’re a spy, it kind of is. “I’ve already worked all the details out. Grandma thinks you’re staying here for the weekend and Grandpa Joe thinks you’re already back at Gallagher.”
But still I shook my head. A mission? I couldn’t go on a mission. I was in no way qualified to run a real op.
But for a second, the little sister in me took over. The little sister who couldn’t lose to her brother—couldn’t let him know that she was in any way weaker than him. Every younger sibling on the face of the earth knows that rule. Never give the older ones any more power than they already have.
So I did what kid sisters do best. I came up with an excuse. “I can’t even get out of here. This building is just as secure as the Gallagher Academy—speaking of which, how did you get in here?”
It was a stupid question. We both knew it. Ever since we were little, Matt had been leading me through abandoned catacombs and secret crawlspaces. He had a knack for the secret places of the world and I had a knack for following in after him.
It should have come to no surprise to me that Matt had found the secret passageways of Blackthorne. I should have guessed that he’d know the inner workings of his beloved alma mater. This had been his home for six years. Of course he had found a way out. That was what he did.
He pressed down one last brick and I noticed that he was tapping them as if they were a code of some sort. I looked at the wall and saw that the usual pattern of the hallway was different down here. One piece was longer than it should have been, another shorter. That’s how he had found it. Push the atypical bricks in the right order and they open up, revealing a secret corridor that went who-knows-how far.
Matt did. Matt knew exactly how far it went. Really, I did too.
He held his hand out to me. “Run the op with me, Mags.” When he said it, he wasn’t begging. There was no sense of urgency—no pleading. He had already known what my answer would be. He’d known from the moment he had snuck past Dad’s squeaky door and probably even before then.
I knew that this was wrong. I knew that I shouldn’t do it. But if that was really the case, then why did it feel so right? Why did my brother’s secret passageway feel like the most inviting place in the world?
Because I was a runner. Because I couldn’t sit still. Because, for better or for worse, I was more like my father than I’d ever fully know.
Dad.
I couldn’t leave Dad. I couldn’t leave him to spend a weekend on his own. We were going to spend the afternoon together. He had been so excited about taking me into town for lunch. I couldn't just ditch him. “I’m still in my PJs,” I said, not wanting to reveal the truth. Someone had to stay with Dad. We couldn’t both leave him.
“I’ve got clothes for you. A nice dress, too.”
“I’ve got a paper due on Monday.”
“I’m willing to bet you’ve already finished your paper.”
“I should really—”
“Maggie.” The word was a knife, slicing the rest of my arguments in half. He just stared at me, waiting for me to fess up. Waiting for me to admit the fact that Romania sounded like a dream. “He’ll be fine.”
“What?”
“You’re worried about Dad, right?” Then he shook his head at me. Naïve little sister. So out of touch with the world. “He’ll be fine. He’ll be able to get through a weekend without you.” And then he shrugged like everything was so simple. Like people weren’t going missing and Mom wasn’t dead and this was the moment we’d been training our whole lives for. I had to remind myself that the last one was true. This was that moment. Right now. Standing halfway in and halfway out of that secret passageway.
And wasn’t this the point of all the training? The years of P&E? Mr. Hughes and his MockOps?
“But,” Matt said suddenly. “I don’t have that luxury—or, frankly, this kind of time, so make up your mind and let’s go already.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile anymore. My brother needed me. I was going to run an op—a real op. I had spent the summer trying to get a jump start and here I was, jumping the start. “If we get busted, I’m throwing you under the bus.”
He laughed at me. “That’s all you’ve ever done,” he reminded me. “I’m not going to start expecting anything different now.” He threw his head towards the darkness. Towards the great unknown. “Now let’s go. You’re burning daylight.”
He took my hand and in the end, all I really had to do was trust my brother.