The Hall of History remained dark. My mother's office doors remained closed (and, unfortunately, soundproof). I thought about the passageway that led behind the room, but then I shook the notion from my head. I didn't know what my aunt had told her. I didn't know what kind of trouble I was in.
All around me girls worried about tests and projects. People opened letters from home and continued the debate about whether or not Mr. Smith's new face made him as hot as Mr. Solomon. But I couldn't help but think about how the world is just a web of secrets. I kept wondering if there was any way to break free.
That Sunday night I walked toward my mother's office, thinking about Abby and Zach, Philadelphia and Boston— all the questions no one ever answered, but as I stepped foot inside the Hall of History, I found myself looking at Gilly's sword.
I heard myself whisper, "Someone knows."
As I knocked on the door to my mother's office, I knew it wasn't going to be an ordinary Sunday night supper…
Because Macey was already there.
I looked from my mother, to my roommate, and finally to my aunt. I expected yelling. But when my mother whispered, "Cammie," it was worse. Way worse. The door closed behind me, and I saw Mr. Solomon standing there. I didn't know what to expect anymore.
"Mom, I—"
"I was told that Liz and Bex were out testing a prototype of a new piece of equipment for Dr. Fibs during your little…mission last night?" Mom asked.
Her eyes seemed to be warning me not to argue. "Yes," I quickly answered.
"Very well."
For a second I thought that might be all of it, but of course the lecture wasn't over. "Cameron, I trusted you to believe me when I said that Macey's safety was no longer your concern."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I trusted you to know that security protocol is not something that should be interfered with on a whim."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I trusted you, Cammie." My mother's voice was softer then, so that was the hardest part to hear.
"I received a call from Bex's mother last night," Mom continued, and I braced for the wrath of two spy moms scorned. "The Baxters would like for you to spend winter break in London—"
"Really?" I asked in surprise.
"And if I hear," Mom spoke over me. "If I see … If I even suspect that you have been out of these grounds again without permission, then that will not happen. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes," I said, feeling the weight of the situation settling down on me.
"The latest polls have the race neck and neck," my mother said. She was too calm. Too easy. "It's understandable then that Macey's parents are going to want her with them as much of that time as—"
"No!"
"—possible," Mom went on as if I hadn't said a word.
I glanced at Macey. She'd been quiet all day, but standing in my mother's office, her silence seemed infinitely louder.
"That will, of course," Mom said slowly, "be something we will not allow."
I'd already opened my mouth to protest when I heard her and stopped short.
"You mean," Macey was saying beside me, "you mean I won't have to…go?"
"No," Mr. Solomon said. "Frankly, Ms. McHenry, the risk is too high. We want you at home where you belong."
I've lived with Macey for a long time, but one thing every spy learns eventually is that you never know everything, and I'd never seen Macey look like she looked then. I thought about the girl who had crawled out of the limo, and the girl she had become before this crazy election started changing her back. It was as if the word "home" was a code— a signal—and that alone told her she was safe and she could lower her guard.
"Assuming that's okay with you?" my mother asked, and Macey nodded.