Sibiu, Romania is something of a time machine, revered for its preservation of medieval architacture and lively local lore. There are cathedrals and synagogues with tall, sloped roofs and long, elegant overhangs. Where there aren't points, there are arches, some of them crumbling apart after their centuries of service, but that majority still standing strong. Sibiu is home to some of the oldest buildings and bridges in Romania, all of it protected by its historical towers, still holding their ground despite the fact that the southern cities hadn't posed as a threat in four decades' time. Tourists still gathered at these three remaining towers, trying to take that step back in time. People visited Sibiu just to catch a glimpse into the past.
When I first got to Sibiu, I slept.
In my defense, I pretty much slept for the whole trip, not just in Sibiu. I slept on the first plane, I slept on the second, and then I slept in the car as Matt drove through Romania—or, well, I tried sleeping in the car. It was just past high noon in this particular part of the world, so surely you can imagine just how unsuccessful that was.
"You know," Matt said as I gave up and started to strech myself into consciousness. "People travel from all over the world to see this town."
I curled back up, leaning against the window with the sun on my shoulders and thinking about how I should've taken one of Dad's blankets with me on this little road trip of ours. I let what little warmth I had wash over me as I closed my eyes again. "The rest of the world wasn't dragged out of bed at three in the morning."
"Three-thirty," he corrected with that distinct stop-being-such-a-baby tone that apparently all big brothers had been born with. "It was three-thrity. Of course, it would have been three, but someone decided she was going to camp out in Dad's room and throw off my whole plan—why were you in Dad's room, by the way?"
I listened to the hum of the motor. The rumble of tire crossing cobblestone. I wasn't even fully awake yet and already Matt was asking questions that I didn't have the answers to. "It was just easier."
And it was easier. I didin't know why. I didn't know why it was easier to close my eyes when my father was right next to me or why the best night's sleep I'd gotten in days had been on two seperate planes with my stupid brother, but it was. Without them, I just spent more time in the shadows, losing entire nights to my thoughts or, more frequently, to the absence of them.
Matt's next words were like a clap, smacking me from my sleep. In just a few blinks, I remembered where I was again. "How are you, Mags?"
"Tired," I spat, turning even farther onto my side. The sun stained my eyelids with red and orange, so I gave up on the idea of drifting back into darkness.
"No, I mean really," he said, not in the mood for games. "How are you?"
It was the same question I'd been asking the mirror for weeks. Months, even. But that's the thing about mirrors. They only give you the answers you already know.
My eyes were open now, crust biting at every blink. I fought against the light of day, making out the blurs of the famous wrought iron bridges and the universally admired chruches as it all zoomed by. Matt slowed as he turned through the residential streets, all of the homes tall and redheaded and painted with charming pastilles that were chipping away with time. I couldn't help thinking that I knew what it felt like to stand firm for all of those centuries, fighting against the storms or shifts or even gravity itself, and I had to wonder how long it would be before I, too, started to chip away. "Tired," I answered again, but this time the words weren't much more than a whisper.
Matt squeezed the car into an empty spot along the curb. "Yeah," he said quietly, turning the key. The hum of the engine stopped, leaving an emptiness in the air. "Me too."
There were a lot of people who didn't know what it felt like. The time for sympathy had long since passed and no one cared about my dead mother anymore. The gift baskets had stopped. The flowers had wilted. No one was making condolance casseroles or commiseration cookies anymore. The rest of the world had moved on.
Matt hadn't. No matter how well he was hiding it, Matt still got tired sometimes too. Matt had lost his mother, the same way I had lost mine, and I knew that even though there were so many people who didn't understand, Matt was someone who did. Maybe that made it all a little bit easier.
"Oh, uh," he began. I turned to look over my shoulder and watched as he pulled something from the cup holder. It seemed to sparkle as he held it up against the sun. "This fell off when you were getting off the plane. The clasp is loose, so we should probably get you a new chain."
He let Mom's necklace fall into my hand. It felt like ice as it pooled up in my palm. Matt's eyes didn't leave the pendant when he said, "I don't think you want to lose that."
"No," I agreed, wrapping my fingers around it. "Thanks."
But Matt didn't hear me because he had already torn the keys out of the ignition and popped his door open, doing what big brothers do best. Ignore their kid sisters. To be honest, I was glad he did it. Nothing was worse than telling your brother you love him and we had been approaching dangerous territory. "We're here."
The sun glared off of the top of that tiny silver car, directly into my eyes. As I stood from my seat, I thought that maybe I was seeing things. That maybe I hadn't completely woken up yet, but then I remembered where we were. I wasn't seeing things—I was seeing Romanian, one of the few languages that was not a part of the Gallagher Girl curriculum.
Matt led me into a crumbling building named Pensiune de lux and I could only assume that it was a hotel. It was a quaint little place, the lobby decorated more with smell than with sight. A salty waterfall flowing down a far wall. The sweet aroma of fresh chocolate emanating from the gift shop and the rich coffee smell coming from the break room. It smelled exactly like my coffee from that very morning.
Matt led me across the emerald carpet, navigating our way through an absurd amount of plant life. A young lady at the front desk greeted Matt with a smiley and bubbly, "Bună ziua, domnule." Poor girl. If only she knew exactly how uninterested he was.
Matt replied with a simple, "Alo," and I realized that the Blackthorne curriculum covered this obscure language.
Everything was disorienting and unfamiliar until we reached the elevator. Wood paneled walls and the dusty stench of old carpet, just like in the States. I looked to the buttons on the wall and realized that even if their numbers were read aloud differently, they were all written out the same way. Matt pushed the button for three—the top floor—and soon we were on our way.
"You do know that I don't speak Romanian, right?" I asked him, watching the stem on the dial above us tick to the right.
"Yes you do," he told me. "It's a romance language. If you know Latin, you know this."
Which is exactly why we Gallagher Girls are taught the language. I'd have to remember that for the next time I saw Scout.
The elevator dinged and Matt stepped off. I followed him, pointing out the flaws in his oh-so-brilliant plan as we went. "Okay, that's great and all, but I think people are going to know if I'm speaking some weird, ancient version of their language."
"Technically," he said with a smirk. "They're speaking a weird, modernized version of your language." He reached a door labeled with a big, golden three and pulled a key forward on his chain. "But if on the off chance you do have to open your big mouth, then you should let one of your fluent partners do the talking."
"Partners?" I said, the word catching me off guard. "As in, like, plural. Like, there's more than just you?"
The words sounded ridiculous even as they left my mouth. Of course there was another partner. Matt wouldn't have been assigned the op by himself. "Honestly Maggie," he sighed. "For someone who's so wickedly smart, you really can be the stupidest person I know."
"Yeah, that sums me up pretty well, I think," I said, leaning up against the wall as he fiddled with the key. "So who is it, then? Is it a Brit? Is he cute?"
I nudged my elbow at him, urging him to give me all the details about his cute new partner with a dreamy accent, but he just smiled. "Oh, he's something, alright," he said finally.
With a click, the third door on the third floor opened wide and I saw exactly who my brother's partner was. I saw the blond hair and the broad shoulders. I saw the familiar movements and the cocky stature. But I think, more than anything else, I saw that stupid crooked nose.
"About time," I heard the familiar voice of Luke Collins say. He had a newspaper in hand, every last word in Romanian, and a plate with nothing more than a handful of grapes and half a ham sandwich left on it. He seemed too big for that little table—like when Dad used to join in on all the tea parties that I'd had with my stuffed animals.
I stood there for a moment, trying to process what I was seeing. I was stuck in that doorway and could feel Matt's eyes on me as he tried to gage my reaction. "Welp," I said, my voice dry and crackled. "It was nice seeing you Matt, but I think that this is where I leave you."
I really did turn and start to walk away. I don't know where I was planning on going, but I'm pretty sure I would have taken a boat back to America if it meant not having to step into that room.
But Matt is good. He's quick. And he knows his kid sister or, at least, he knows when she's going to want to run. Like any good brother and any great spy, Matt had seen this scenario coming hours before it happened and he was ready for it. He grabbed each of my shoulders and turned me back around, pushing me into the room and kicking the door shut behind us.
I spun on him before he could get too far. "Luke Collins is your partner?" I hissed.
"He's yours, too," Matt reminded me with a grin. Then he looked over my shoulder to the boy at the table. "I told you she would do this. Didn't I tell you she would do this? You, my friend, owe me five bucks."
I looked to Collins who sat reading his paper still, waving a hand in my brother's direction. Then I spun back on Matt, a flame in my gut. "You placed bets on me?" I nearly hollered. "With him?"
Matt held his fingers half an inch apart. "Little bets," he promised. "I put five on your yelling. Collins put ten on you punching me in the nose."
"Yeah, well," I spat, my vocabulary burning up from the rage in my head. "Collins is about to get his ten bucks, Matthew."
This, more than anything else, seemed to catch my brother's attention. Matthew Goode did not lose bets. Not if he could help it. "Easy now, Mags," he said. "You wouldn't want to give him that kind of satisfaction, now would you?"
And that, ladies and gentleman, is how I learned that my idiot brother knew me incredibly too well.
"I can't work with him," I blurted. "I do not trust him."
I heard a rustle as Collins dropped his paper ever so slightly. "I'm right here, Goode."
I ignored him. Maybe if I ignored him, he'd go away. Matt ignored him too. "That's funny," he said. "Because Collins trusts you."
"What?" It was more of a bark than a word. I could feel the animosity rising, spewing out through my voice. "What are you talking about?"
Matt just nodded at me. "You're the only one we could both agree on."
"Just to be clear," Collins cut in, taking a bite out of his sandwich. "That doesn't exactly mean I trust you. I trust that Matt trusts you and I guess I have to trust him, so there we have it. Încredere."
Maybe it was his cocky smile, or his sarcastic Romanian, or the way he cut the crusts off of his bread (never trust a man who tears the crusts off of his bread), but something about Collins made me burn when I looked at him. The past few months had been dull and dry and generally absent, but somehow, when I looked at Collins, I was still able to burn. "Matt, I can't—"
"Do you trust me?" Matt cut me off.
"What? What kind of question is—?"
"Do. you. trust me?"
"Yeah, okay?" I snapped. "Yes. I trust you."
Matt nodded. "Good. Then you can trust him, because I trust him. Granted, I don't always like the guy—"
"Still sitting right here. I'm six feet away from you."
"—but I trust him, okay?"
He grabbed my shoulders again and led me to the other side of the table. Collins didn't even bother moving his legs out from underneath me when Matt shoved me down into the seat. What an ass.
"Talk to each other. Learn something about one another. Team bonding," he said, stepping back. "I'll be back in an hour or so."
Wait. Back?
I spun to look at him as he slowly approached the door. "Where are you going?" I asked, dreading any time I'd have to spend alone with Collins.
If Collins was freaking out too, he didn't let it show. Matt didn't seem to care either way. Two the two of them, the world wasn't on fire. "Stay here," he told me. "I have to go pick up your dress from the designer."
Okay, so I know I'm a teenage girl and all, but to tell you the truth, my experience with dresses is limited. I've been wearing the same skirt basically every day for the past four years, interrupted only by brief periods of much deserved sweatpants-wearing. "Isn't that something you need to take me with you for?" I asked, partially just wanting to get away from Collins, but partially really concerned that my brother didn't know what he was doing.
Matt just gave me that look that all big brothers give their kid sisters at some point or another. "Why would I need you for that?"
"I don't know," I said. "Shouldn't I try it on? Don't you need, like, my measurements or something?"
"I already have your measurements."
"How do you have my measurements?"
"Scout sent them to me."
"Okay, follow up question," I said, both intrigued and slightly frightened by this world in which it was apparently commonplace for my brother and his boyfriend to know my measurements. I mean, I wasn't even sure that I knew them. "How does Scout know my measurements?"
Matt pulled his keys from his pocket, jingling them extra loudly to make sure I knew that he didn't have this kind of time to be wasting on nonessential questions. "He danced with you last spring," he answered impatiently, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Instantly, my mind tore me back to a time that seemed like so long ago. Back to when Romania was just another chapter in my books and my crush on Scout Jasons was as alive and well as my mother. He had been so distracted that night, focusing all of his energy on winning my brother back. I was sure that he hadn't spent any time focusing on me, but apparently he had. Somewhere within the night, Scout had managed to memorize where his hands fell on my waist and how my shoulders moved when I danced.
Scout Jasons was really, really good.
"Jesus, Goode," Collins said, pulling his newspaper back up to eye level. "Must've been one hell of a dance."
"It was something," I agreed, a part of me still listening to that orchestra. A part of me still swaying with Scout's hand in my own.
"Are we done here?" Matt asked over my silent melodies. "Can I go get the dress now?"
I faded back into the present, saving the memories for another day. "Yeah, fine," I said, waving him away. "Do you have everything? You know you always forget something."
I cringed at the words. I was like hearing my mother come out of my own mouth. Matt just smiled, but it was almost like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to or not. "Yeah," he insisted, as if he weren't the world's worst forgetter-of-things "I've got it, I've got it—oh, and, Mags. Stay in the hotel."
"Yeah," I said back, as if I weren't the world's worst run-awayer.
Matt gave me a look that dripped skepticism and reeked of accusation. "I'm serious. If you leave this room, I'll kill you with my own two hands."
"You'll have to find me first," I teased, turning to look at Collins. Over the top of his paper, I could see a smile touch his eyes—wait. Shit. Had I accidentally made a joke to Collins? Had he accidentally found it amusing?
"Morgan Ann—"
"Whoa, middle names, Matthew?" I said, trying not to think too hard about any sort of happiness I had inflicted upon my sworn enemy. "I hardly think that's necessary."
This time, Matt didn't respond. He didn't say a single word. He just shot me that look that I'd seen Mom pull on him at least a hundred times. Yes, you read that right. Matt was giving me the Mom Glare.
I could see Collins looking between the two of us, wondering who would be the first to go. Not once did he put his paper down, though. "Alright!" I said, finally cracking. "I won't leave."
Matt's eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, probably trying to determine how much of what I say is truth and how much of it is lie. I had to wish him luck. Most days, I'm not even all that sure.
But then his gaze shifted to the other side of the table and Collins looked away from his paper. The two seemed to hold a silent conversation that not even the best ears in the business could hear (because I would know). As they did, I found myself wondering when Matt and Collins had reached the point of silent communication. It kind of pissed me off, to tell you the truth. I mean, it's not like I have some sort of weird dibs on all forms of near-telepathy with Matt. If Scout did it, I'd probably be cool with it. Maybe even Alice on occasion. But Collins? He didn't deserve to not converse with my brother. How dare he not say a single word to Matt. What gave him the right?
With a final nod from Collins, Matt started out the door. "Study your file," he told me just before he pulled it shut.
"What file?" I asked the door, maybe expecting my brother to rush back in and explain himself.
But instead of the chipper voice of my brother, I was answered by the slap of a manila folder as his landed on the table. "This file," Collins said.
I flipped it open, revealing pictures, history, traits—it was a collection of legends. A collection of legends from a real person. A countess of Adria. My mission. My cover.
I couldn't help notice the dare in his voice as I skimmed through all of the pages and pictures. "Study up, Highness."