I set the photo down. I hadn’t even noticed the laptop on a utilitarian desk in the corner. Artemis has it open, but the screen is asking for a password. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“She changed the password! I don’t know how she even knew how to do it.” Artemis rifles through drawers and stacks of papers. “Maybe she wrote it down.”
Rhys helps her search while I stand there, dazed and useless. I know my mother sleeps here, lives here. But it feels so empty. Idly, I check out the nightstand drawer. In it are two leather-bound journals. I instantly recoil, remembering my own journal being read aloud.
But these are Watcher diaries covered in dust. My mother hasn’t looked at them in a long time, but they must be here for a reason. I want to show them to Artemis, but I’m worried she’ll tell me to leave them. I don’t want to. My mother never gives me anything—so I’ll force her to. I tuck them into my waistband at my back, pulling my loose shirt out to cover them.
“Got it!” Artemis triumphantly holds up a piece of paper and types in the password. Once the laptop loads, Artemis quickly taps through, then she swears. “It’s gone. Deleted. And I can’t find the files anywhere. Even the trash folder is emptied. She wrote down her password, but she emptied her trash folder?”
“Does that worry you?” I ask. “She not only had a secret database, she also wiped it?”
Artemis twists her lips and stares at the laptop as though it will reveal our mother’s mysteries. As with all things maternal in our lives, she’s disappointed. “I don’t know. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe the database never worked out. We can’t jump to conclusions.”
“We better get out of here.” I can’t help imagining my mother alone in here every night. Where does she keep her gun? Is that why the nightstand is nearly bare? Or does she put it under her pillow?
We hurry out, remembering to lock the door behind us. We’re passing Wanda Wyndam-Pryce’s room when Leo rushes toward us. He motions for us to turn around and walk with him. Then he laughs. “And that’s how we saved an entire birthday party from vampires. I’ll never look at piñata sticks the same! Neither will those poor kids.”
“Nina? Artemis?”
I spin around and feign surprise. My mother walks toward us, frowning in suspicion.
“Oh, hey, Mom.” I pray that she didn’t notice the bulge of stolen books under my shirt.
“What are you all doing here?”
“Hello, Mrs. Jamison-Smythe.” Leo looks like one of those stock photos that comes in the empty frames as he smiles at her. Utterly harmless and handsome. It strikes me that I haven’t seen a genuine expression from him, even in front of his own mother. Everything is carefully posed, deliberate. Fake. Some part of me knows that the last few years weren’t as easy for him and Eve as she’s made it sound, but what made him so closed off?
I remember the painful awkwardness of this morning, his vulnerability in saying how happy he was to see me again. Maybe I caught a glimpse of the real Leo. And then I was curt and dismissive. Ugh, I hate that I feel bad now. I shouldn’t ever have to feel bad about Leo.
“We’re going to look at my DVD collection,” he says. “We thought we’d have a movie night tonight. I think everyone needs to decompress a little.”
To my surprise, my mom looks at me. Really looks at me. One of her hands twitches as though she wants to reach out to me. Then she frowns. “What happened to your forehead?”
I lift my hand to the bruise. “Oh, I—”
“I opened our bedroom door right as she was about to grab the doorknob.” Artemis grimaces apologetically. “I got her hard.”
I think our mom buys it. I’m torn between feeling triumphant—we finally have secrets from her!—and hurt at how easily she buys our lame excuses. She doesn’t want to push deeper. She pulls a few pound notes from her pocket and holds them out. I take them, numbly. Why is she giving me money?
“We don’t have a good television here. It will be nice to get away from this castle. Go see a film in a theater. You can pick up that helpful boyfriend of yours, Rhys. Leo, you have your license?”