Sister Assassin (5 page)

SHE SHOULD BE BACK BY NOW. WHY ISN'T SHE BACK?
I need to hear her, to figure out if she's okay. She'll lie to me, of course, but I still need to hear her.

It's my fault. Again. Either I see things and I can't stop them, or I cause them because I see them wrong. I will be the death of my entire family. I've already destroyed Fia by dragging her to this school with me. I can't kill her, too.

I walk to the door and out into the hall. Someone stands up immediately—Darren, by the sounds of it. He has a particular way of exhaling whenever he has to actually do something.

“Can I help you, Miss Annabelle?”

“Why yes, Darren, you can! There's a window at the end of the hallway, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you open it?”

“Are you too warm? I can have the AC adjusted.”

“Oh, no, the window isn't for me. It's for you. So you can throw yourself out of it.”

A pause and then, “You have such a sense of humor, Miss Annabelle.”

“Well, I only have the four senses, so I've got to compensate somehow. You are welcome to keep sitting in your chair, reading your romance novels. I'm going to see Eden.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“So you can disappoint me yet again by never listening? Please, Darren.” I continue down the hall, tracing a hand along the smooth wood paneling, counting the seams. Skip an empty door. Skip another. Knock.

The door opens and she reaches out immediately for my hand. “What's wrong? What happened?”

“They sent Fia on a hit.”

Eden swears. “Is she okay?”

“I need you to get a feel for her when she gets back. She'll lie to me.”

She sighs and her grip changes as she shifts to lean farther away from me. “I'm sorry she had to do that. Really. I think it's wrong. But I can't handle being around her. You have no idea what it's like since we came back, getting sucked into all that anger. It gives me a headache. My whole mouth tastes like I'm chugging battery acid. She's poison.”

“My sister is not poison.” I yank my hand back.

She swears again, her voice softer. “Sorry. Just—I can already tell you how she'll feel. She'll feel angry. It's the only way she's felt since we left Europe. I wish I could help her, but I can't, and neither can you.”

“Why are you even still here?” I'm so furious I want to shake her, and I know she can feel it. “Why did you come back? Why didn't you go out into the world to be Keane's little spy?”

I don't have to be a Feeler to hear the hurt in Eden's voice. “I didn't want you to be alone.”

“How can you work for them?” I whisper. “They keep me here, prisoner, to control Fia.”

“Did you ever think that maybe they keep you here to keep you
safe
from Fia?”

“That's a lie.”

“You can't feel her like I can. She's dangerous, Annie, and it scares me every time she's alone with you. She's—” I hear her inhale sharply. “Good news, she's here. I can feel her from the first floor. Guess Art Institute is out. Come over after she's gone and we'll do manicures, okay?” Eden starts to close the door, but hesitates. “I'm sorry.” Then it clicks shut.

I turn expectantly toward the elevator end of the hall. I wish I could go straight down to meet her, but unlike Eden who can come and go as she pleases, without Darren's key card I'm not allowed off the floor.

To keep me safe. Right. I am the safest prisoner in the entire world.

I strain, listening for the hum of the elevator, the muffled ding, the slide of its doors. The sound of Fia's feet stomping down the hall. She always walks loud, just for me.

But instead of sounds, I'm greeted by a flash of light and I can see—oh, light, I can see!—and it's all lights and darkness, flashing pounding lights and vibrations and everything is dark and there's smoke and it's a fire? It must be a fire! There are too many people, they'll all die—

No, it's not a fire, the bodies are dancing, the vibrations are the pounding rhythms of a song. The lights change color so quickly I can't remember their names. And Fia—oh, Fia, you are so beautiful it makes my heart hurt—is in the middle of it all, slamming her body, moving and swaying and dancing to the beat in a way that no one else can. Her eyes are closed and her arm is raised. Only one arm, she's hurt; how did she get hurt? Is this soon? But she has lost herself and I know that there, in that moment, she's happy.

I want to do nothing but stay here and watch my sister dance.

But then I know I'm not the one watching her. Someone else is. That's the point of this vision, not to see Fia happy but to see that someone else is seeing her. I try to turn to scan the crowd, but it doesn't work like that: I'm locked in, stuck seeing and only seeing but never seeing enough. Someone is watching her. Fia dances on, oblivious.

If I can just figure out who is doing the watching, then—

“Annie! Annabelle!”

Fia's voice pulls me out of the light and the darkness slams in all around me again, permanent, claustrophobic after my brief foray into vision.

“What did you see?” James's voice is terse. Crap. I should have been in my room. He wouldn't have known I saw anything. I don't tell them about the majority of what I see. That's the glory of your power being in your head and your head alone. They can't get it there.

“Fia. Dancing.”

“Whoop! I'm going
dancing
!” I can feel her stomping around me in a circle, then her steps falter and something thuds into the wall.

“You are going to bed,” James snaps.

“Ooh, James,” Fia whispers dramatically. “Not in front of my sister.
She hates you
.”

“Are you okay?” I reach out for her, but she dances away from my grasp, humming under her breath. Some obnoxious pop song. Doris must be here—I missed everything when I was seeing.

“I'm not getting anything from her,” Doris snaps. “I'm going back to my office.” She walks away, muttering about having that song stuck in her head all day now.

“Baby baby
baby
, Ms. Robertson! Ta-taa!” Fia doesn't take my hand, she never does anymore, but I hear her stomping toward my room and I follow.

Her steps jerk to a halt. I assume James grabbed her. His voice is deliberately calm. “Okay, Fia. You saw her. I don't know why you needed to, but you've seen Annabelle now, so can we please get you to Dr. Grant?”

“Dr. Grant? Why does she need a doctor?” I ask.

“But I have to tell Annabelle all about my great adventure. Annie—” She leans in so close to my face I can feel her breath. “I got
SHOT
. It was awesome. How many seventeen-year-olds can say that?”

“Someone
shot
her?” I turn toward James's voice in horror. “You let her get shot?”

“Please, Fia,” James says.

“Oh, fine. I also killed some poor innocent college kid. You would have liked him, Annie. He was cute. He had long legs and long arms and gray eyes. Then he was dead. Poor cute dead kid.”

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It felt like I'd been holding it since I lied to Keane. “I'm sorry.”

“That I almost got killed or that I did some killing? 'Cause I'm not sorry about any of it. Not sorry, not sorry, not sorry at all. Is the hall spinning for anyone else? Just me? Okay, I'm gonna go get blood on Annie's couch. Don't worry, James—she can't see it. She'll never know.”

I hear her shoulder dragging along the wall as she stomps—lurches—stomps to my room.

“Did you give her something?” I ask. I assume she isn't bleeding to death or James wouldn't have let her come up here at all. Maybe he gave her something for the pain already? I didn't smell any alcohol on her breath. She hasn't been this bad in a long time.

“No.” James has the audacity to sound sad. He has no right to be sad about what this is doing to my sister. I take another step toward my apartment, and he brings his hand down on my arm. I shrug away from it.

“She's not allowed to be here right now.”

“James. She got shot. She killed someone. I think you can afford to bend the rules.”

He's quiet and I hold my breath: please, please be a person, just this once. “Fine. I'll send Grant up to take care of her in your rooms. But then she's got to go.” I hate him. I hate that Fia can only visit me when they say so, that we can't ever leave this floor of the school together. That Fia can live somewhere else while I am kept locked up.

“You're a saint.” I bite off the words, wishing I could be the poison to him that Fia is to Eden.

“For what it's worth, I really am sorry. About everything. And I promise I won't leave her alone tonight. I'll take care of her.”

“She's not yours to take care of.” I walk to my room without tracing the wall and slam the door shut. “Fia? Where are you?”

A muffled sob comes from the couch. I trip on the corner of it and swear. I haven't tripped on my furniture in years. Then I nearly sit on her legs as I try to sit next to her. “Shh, it'll be okay.”

“It won't be okay. Annie, what I did . . . what I did . . . I'm so sorry. I'll fix it, I promise.”

I find her hair and stroke it; it's soft but at the end it's hard and crusted with something. Blood. I want to throw up. My baby sister is on my couch and she has blood in her hair and I don't know if it's hers or his.

“Did you see anything?” she whispers. “Are they going to kill us? Are we still okay?”

“We're fine, we're fine, I promise, we're fine.” I wish I could see her arm, see how bad it is. Look in her face to see how much pain she is in. Maybe I don't wish it, actually. I'd rather see her dancing.

Which reminds me. “Don't go dancing.”

She laughs. “Why?”

“Someone watches you.”

She laughs again. It's harsh and low and nothing like the way she laughed when we were little. “When I dance,
everyone
watches me.”

I sigh, lean my head against hers. “And don't let James stay at your place tonight.”

“Did you see something? Is something bad going to happen?” She sounds terrified.

“I'm your big sister. I don't have to see anything to know James is always something bad.”

Fia snorts. “You wouldn't think so if you could look at him.” Then her voice is muffled as she moves the pillow back, brushing my face with it. She screams into it, then sobs, then throws it with a thud across the room. “My arm really hurts,” she whimpers. I hear her finger tapping on the couch cushion, the three-then-pause-then-three in an unending loop. Oh, Fia.

“I know. But it's okay. You're done. I won't let them make you do that ever again.”

“Annie,” she says, hooking one hand behind my neck and pulling my head down to her lips. “I didn't do it.”

“Didn't do what?”

“I'll fix it, I promise. You'll be proud of me, I'll make you proud, and I'll get you out. I didn't do it. I couldn't. I didn't kill Adam.”

My heart freezes, and I grab her by the shoulders. She yelps with pain. “You didn't?”

“No, I couldn't! I'm sorry. I know I screwed up. But I thought . . . I hoped . . . you wouldn't have wanted me to kill him. He's nice, Annie. I made the right choice. I listened to myself for the first time in years. I was so scared I'd come back and you'd be—that they'd know, and they'd hurt you. But they don't know. I got away with it. And I'm going to keep listening to myself. I can do this.” She waits for me to answer, but I don't, I can't. Her voice is even more pained when she talks again. “I thought you'd be proud that I saved someone Keane wanted dead.”

I let her go and sink back onto the couch. A sharp knock raps on the door. “Keane didn't want him dead,” I say.