Lila sighs. “I will. Of course I will. Not for your sake either. Daneca deserves better.”

  “She should have stayed with Sam.”

  “We all want things that aren’t good for us.” She shakes her head. “Or things that aren’t what they seem.”

  “I don’t,” I say.

  She laughs. “If you say so.”

  Down the hall a door opens, and we both jump. A man in jeans and a sweatshirt emerges, a stethoscope around his neck. He starts stripping off plastic gloves as he comes toward us.

  “She’s doing well,” he says. “Rest is really the best thing for her now, but in another week I’d like to test her mobility with that arm. She’s going to have to move it as soon as she’s able to do so without pain.”

  Lila looks at me, her eyes slightly too wide. Like she’s trying to gauge my reaction. Like there’s something for me to be reacting about.

  I take a chance. “Your patient is my mother,” I say.

  “Oh—I didn’t realize. You can go see her now, of course.” He reaches into his pocket and comes out with a card. He smiles, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth. “Call me if you have any questions. Or if Shandra does. Gunshot wounds can be tricky, but this was a clean one. Through and through.”

  I take the card and shove it into my pocket as I start down the hallway. I’m walking fast enough that Lila would have to run to catch up.

  “Cassel,” she calls, but I don’t even slow.

  I push open the door. It’s a regular guest room, like the other one. Big four-poster bed, but this one has my mother in it, propped up and watching a television that’s on one of the dressers. She’s got a bandage around her arm. Her face looks pale without her usual makeup. Her hair is a mess of curls. I have never seen her like this. She looks old and frail and nothing like my indomitable mother.

  “I’ll kill him,” I say. “I’ll murder Zacharov.”

  Shock distorts her features. “Cassel?” she says, fear in her voice.

  “We’re getting out of here.” I come around to the side of the bed, ready to help her up. My eyes search the room for a weapon, any weapon. There’s a heavy-looking brass cross over the bed. It’s primitive-looking, with jagged sides.

  “No,” she says. “You don’t understand. Calm down, sweetheart.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  The door opens and Lila’s standing there, looking almost afraid. She pushes past me and gives my mother a quick glare.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, turning back to me. “I would have told you, but your mother made us promise not to. And she’s okay. If she wasn’t okay, I would have told you. No matter what. Honest, Cassel.”

  I look between them. It’s hard to even imagine them being in the same room together. Maybe Lila’s the one who shot her.

  “Come here, baby,” my mother says. “Sit on the bed.”

  I do. Lila stands by the wall.

  “Ivan has been very good to me. This past Sunday he said I could go to church, so long as I went with some of his people. Isn’t that nice?”

  “You got shot in church?” I wonder which particular religion she’s claiming to belong to, but I keep that question to myself.

  “On the way back. If it wasn’t for dear Lars, that would have been it. The car pulled up and I didn’t even see it, but he did. I guess that’s what he does, as a bodyguard and all. He pushed me and I fell, which made me mad when it was happening, but he saved my life. The first bullet hit me in the shoulder, but the rest missed and the car went screeching off.” She sounds like she’s reciting the plot of a particularly exciting episode of a soap opera, not telling me about something that actually happened to her.

  “You think they were gunning for you? As in, you specifically? It wasn’t some enemy of—” I glance at Lila. “You don’t think it was a misunderstanding?”

  “They had government plates,” my mother says. “I didn’t notice, but you can bet that Lars did. Amazing instincts.”

  Government plates. Patton. No wonder Zacharov was livid.

  “Why didn’t you call me right away? Or Barron? Either one of us. Or Grandad, for hell’s sake. Mom, you’re hurt.”

  She tilts her head and smiles at Lila. “Could you give the two of us a couple minutes alone?”

  “Yeah,” Lila says. “Of course.” She heads out the door, closing it behind her.

  Mom reaches out and pulls my face close to hers. She’s not wearing gloves, and her bare nails sink into the skin of my throat. “What the hell have you boys been up to? Messing around with federal agents?” she hisses, low and vicious.

  I push away, my neck stinging.

  “I raised you better than this,” she says. “Smarter. You know what they’ll do to you if they find out what you are? They’ll use you to hurt other workers. They’ll use you. Against your grandfather. Against everyone you love. And Barron—that boy thinks he can wriggle out of anything, but if you got him into this, he’s in over his head. The government put us in camps. And they’ll do it again if they figure out a legal way to manage it.”

  I am left with the uncomfortable echo of Lila’s words about Daneca being too smart to get involved with Barron. I guess we’re all smart about some things and dumb about others. But the federal government isn’t just some bad boyfriend. If Mom knew what they wanted me to do, I think she’d have a different opinion of them. If anything, looking at her, pale and furious in her pile of blankets, I am more committed than ever to getting rid of Patton.

  “Barron can take care of himself.”

  “You’re not denying it,” she says.

  “What’s wrong with wanting to do something good with my life?”

  She laughs. “You wouldn’t know good if it bit you on the ass.”

  I look at the door. “Does Lila—does she know?”

  “No one knows,” Mom says. “They suspect. That’s why I didn’t want you to hear about my little accident. I didn’t want you coming here—you or your brother. It’s not safe. There was a boy who described you in connection with some agents.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I’m going now. I’m glad you’re okay. Oh, and I went to the jewelry store. It was a dead end, but I did learn one thing. Dad had two forgeries made. And by the way, it would have really helped if you’d mentioned that he was the one who met with Bob.”

  “Two? But why would he do—” She stops speaking as the obvious answer sinks in. She got conned by her own husband. “Phil would never do that. Never. Your father wasn’t greedy. He didn’t even want to sell the stone. He just wanted to keep it as insurance, in case we needed money. Our retirement fund, that’s what he called it.”

  I shrug. “Maybe he was pissed off about your affair. Maybe he didn’t think you deserved nice things.”

  She laughs again, this time without any malice. For a moment she seems like herself. “You ever hear of a sweetheart scheme, Cassel? You think your father didn’t know?”

  Sweetheart schemes have been Mom’s bread and butter since Dad died. Find a rich guy. Curse him so he falls in love with her. Get his cash. She even went to jail for one of her less successful cons, although the conviction was overturned on appeal. But I never thought she’d done anything like that when Dad was alive.

  I stare at her, my mouth parted. “So Dad knew about you and Zacharov?”

  She snorts. “You really are such a prude, Cassel. Of course he did. And we got the stone, didn’t we?”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to push away all thoughts of what she’s done. “So, then, what would he do with it?”

  “I don’t know.” Her gaze slides away from me as she contemplates the grooves of the plaster wall. “I guess a man is entitled to a few secrets.”

  I give her a long look.

  “Just not very many,” she says, and smiles. “Now come and give your mother a kiss.”

  * * *

  Lila’s in the hallway when I leave. She’s leaning against the wall, near a modernist painting that’s probably worth more than my mother’s house and everything in it. Lila’s arms are folded against her chest.

  I take out my phone and make a show of typing in the doctor’s information from the card he gave me. It was just a number with no name attached, so I call him Dr. Doctor.

  “I should have told you,” she says finally.

  “Yes, you should have told me,” I say. “But my mother can be very convincing. And she made you promise.”

  “Some promises aren’t worth keeping.” Her voice drops low. “I guess it was stupid to think that I could just drop out and be gone from your life. We’re all tangled up together, aren’t we?”

  “You’re not sentenced to me,” I say stiffly. “This thing with my mother will be resolved, you’ll talk to Daneca, and then…” I make a vague gesture with my hand.

  Then I’ll be out of her life, more or less.

  She laughs abruptly. “That’s how it must have felt—me following you everywhere, begging for attention, obsessing over you—like you were sentenced to me. I even screwed up that on-again, off-again thing you had with Audrey, didn’t I?”

  “I think I screwed that one up all on my own.”

  Lila frowns. I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “So why, Cassel? Why tell me that you loved me, then have Daneca work me so I couldn’t feel anything for you, then tell me you love me all over again? Why come here and kiss me up against a wall? Do you just like messing with my head?”

  “I— No!” I start to say more, to give her some explanation, but she keeps on going.

  “You used to be my best friend in the world, and then, suddenly, you’re the reason I’m a caged animal and you’re acting like you don’t even care. I know they took your memories, but I didn’t know it then. I hated you. I wanted you dead. Then you were the one who freed me from my prison, and before I could come to terms with any of that, I was forced to be desperately in love with you. And now, when I see you, I feel everything, all those things, all at once. I can’t afford to feel like that. Maybe you were right. Maybe I would be better off if I couldn’t feel anything at all.”

  I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” is all I manage.

  “No, don’t be. I don’t mean it,” Lila whispers. “I wish I wished that, but I don’t. I’m just kind of a mess right now.”

  “You’re not,” I say.

  She smiles. “Don’t con me.”

  I want to reach for her, but her crossed arms keep me from it. I walk toward the stairs instead. At the top I look back at her. “No matter what happens, no matter what else I feel, no matter what else you believe, I hope you believe that I’ll always be your friend.”

  One side of her mouth lifts. “I want to.”

  As I descend, I see Zacharov standing near the mantel talking to a boy. I recognize his braids, pulled back from his head like horns, and the flash of gold teeth. He looks up at me with dark unfathomable eyes and raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

  I freeze.

  Today he’s dressed differently from the hoodie and jeans I saw him in when I chased him through the streets of Queens. He’s got on a purple motorcycle jacket over jeans, and has tapered gold plugs in his ears. He’s wearing eyeliner.

  Gage. That’s the name he gave me.

  Zacharov must see the look that passes between us. “Do you two know each other?”

  “No,” I say quickly.

  I expect Gage to contradict me, but he doesn’t. “No, I don’t think it was him.” He circles me, lifting a gloved hand to my chin, tilting my face toward him. He’s a little shorter than I am. I pull back, jerking free of his grip.

  He laughs. “Hard to believe I’d forget a face like that.”

  “Tell Cassel that story you told me,” Zacharov says. “Cassel, take a seat.”

  I hesitate, glancing toward the elevator. If I ran, I think I could make it, but who knows how long it would take for the doors to open. And even if I got to the ground floor, I’d probably never get out of the building.

  “Sit down,” Zacharov says. “I asked Gage to come over because the more I thought about your brother working for the Feds, the more I was sure that if it was true, you’d try to cover it up. Especially since I threatened his life. I take that back. But after Philip turned out to be a rat, I think we both understand that we have a lot to lose if your other brother started squealing.”

  I suck in a breath and sink onto one of the sofas. Flames flicker in the fireplace, filling the massive room with eerie shifting shadows. I can feel my palms start to sweat.

  Lila looks over the edge of the railing. “Dad? What’s going on?” Her words echo through the big room, bouncing off the wooden ceiling and stone floors.

  “Gage stopped by,” Zacharov says. “I understand he ran into some complications the other day.”

  Gage looks up at her and grins. I wonder how long they’ve known each other. “I did that job like you wanted. It was quick. He was in the first place I looked.”

  Lila’s face is shadowed. I can’t read her expression.

  “Charlie West didn’t give you any trouble?” Zacharov asks.

  Lila starts down the stairs.

  Gage sucks his teeth, making a dismissive sound. “I didn’t give him a chance for trouble.”

  Lila walks onto the black and white marble. Her bare feet make almost no sound as she pads across the floor. “Should Cassel be hearing this?”

  It strikes me that once upon a time I thought of her as part of the class of people with magic. I knew that there were regular people and there were workers, and workers were better than regular people. That’s what everyone in Carney believed, or it’s at least what they told me. When I was a kid, Lila’s cousin, my own brother’s best friend, didn’t even want me to be around her, because he thought I wasn’t a worker.

  But even among workers there are different roles. Lila is inheriting Zacharov’s position, where you order murders but don’t actually have to carry them out. She doesn’t hold the gun, she just calls the shots.

  “Let Gage tell his story,” Zacharov says. “We trust Cassel, don’t we?”

  She turns her head toward me. The fire highlights the curve of her jawline, the point of her chin. “Of course we do.”

  Zacharov once asked me whether I would mind taking orders from his daughter. At the time, I said I wouldn’t. Now I wonder what it would really be like. I wonder if I would resent it.

  Gage clears his throat. “After I tap him, some psycho do-gooder decides to chase me through the streets and nearly breaks my arm.” He laughs. “Guy picks up a plank and knocks my gun right out of my hand. If I was a couple of seconds faster, he would have got himself shot.”

  I concentrate on not reacting. I try to keep a vaguely interested expression on my face.

  “You described him looking a lot like Cassel, didn’t you?” Zacharov asks.

  Gage nods, his gaze on me. He’s laughing with his eyes. “Sure. Black hair, tan skin, tall. Cute. Stole my gun.”

  Zacharov crosses to where Lila is standing and puts his gloved hands on her shoulders. “Could it have been his brother? They look pretty alike.”

  “Barron is no do-gooder,” I say.

  Gage shakes his head. “Without a picture I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”

  Zacharov nods. “Tell him the rest.”

  “I have to climb a fence to get away,” Gage says. “Three blocks later I get grabbed by guys in black suits. They hustle me into a car, and I think I’m done for, but they tell me that if I tell them what happened, they aren’t going to investigate the hit.”

  “And did you tell them?” Zacharov asks, although I can tell he’s already heard the story and knows the answer.

  Lila pulls away from her father to perch on the edge of the couch.

  “Well, at first I tell them no, I’m no snitch, but it turns out that they don’t really care about who ordered me to do the job or even what I did. All they want to know about is the psycho do-gooder. They let me go, just for telling them about some guy I talked to for a couple of seconds. I said he took my gun.”

  I feel an odd sense of dizziness. It’s almost like falling.

  “They wanted to know if we knew each other. They wanted to know if he identified himself as a federal agent. I said no to both. Then, when they turned me loose, I came to Mr. Z, because I thought maybe he’d know what was going on.”

  “That sounds nothing like my brother,” I say, giving them the steadiest look I can manage.

  “A man can’t be too careful,” says Zacharov.

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” Gage says. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

  “I’ve got to get going,” I say, standing up. “That is, if we’re done here?”

  Zacharov nods.

  I start toward the elevator. My shoes tap a sharp rhythm on the stone tiles. I hear sudden footsteps following mine.

  “Wait up,” Gage says. “I’ll ride down with you.”

  I look back to see Zacharov and Lila, across the room, watching us. Lila raises a hand in a half wave.

  I get into the elevator and close my eyes as the doors shut.

  “You going to kill me?” I ask in the silence that follows. “I hate waiting.”

  “What?” When I look at him, Gage is frowning. “You’re the psycho who attacked me.”

  “You’re a death worker. I figured you lied back there because you wanted some kind of personal revenge.” I sigh. “Why did you do it? Why not tell Zacharov it was me?”

  “No big thing. You let me go; I pay my debts.” He’s got sharp, almost delicate features, but he’s muscled under his coat. I can tell from his shoulders. “All I want is my gun. It’s a 1943 Beretta. A family heirloom. It belonged to my grandmother. She got it from some Italian boyfriend after the war—and she gave it to me when my parents kicked me out. I slept the whole bus ride to New York with that thing under what I was using for a pillow. It kept me safe.”

  I nod. “I’ll get it to you.”

  “Just give the gun to Lila and she’ll pass it along,” he says. “Look, whatever those agents wanted you for, I figure it’s none of my business. It didn’t sound to me like you were one of them, and Lila wouldn’t thank me for getting you in trouble with her father.”