as her best friend, was remarkably small and thin, yet somehow still able to give offthe impression that she was as unbendable as a steel rod. There was something in her posture and her severe smile that conveyed a type of strength far beyond stubbornness. The woman was probably only in her mid-thirties, but her period hat and knee-length dress made her appear a bit older to my modern eyes.
“You always told me this was your best friend,” I reminded Gran. I couldn’t help the accusatory tone that crept into my voice. “And that she died.”
“It is. And she did.” Gran turned the page again, opening to another picture I was familiar with; it was of the same redhead, but this time she had her arm looped around the waist of another woman who looked to be about her age. The second woman was taller, with wavy dark hair and a face that was recognizably Gran’s, even though I had only ever known Gran as an old woman. The woman in the photo possessed the kind of beauty that made you believe she would never age; Gran had been a knockout.
“Your grandmother—your
real
grandmother—was my greatest friend,” Gran said, brushing the side of the redhead’s face with a careful finger. “She was the dearest person to me in all of the world. And that’s why I made a promise to her and to her daughter, that I would be the one to look after you if anything ever went wrong.”
“This is my real grandmother?” I scrutinized the woman next to Gran in the picture and frowned. “I don’t understand. Why don’t I remember her? Why didn’t I go to live with her after my parents died?”
“Because by then, your grandmother was already dead.”
She was leaving something out, I could tell. I looked over at Lucas; he was watching us quietly, sipping his tea, with absolutely no expression on his face. But his eyes looked sad—sad for me. But not the kind of sad I always got when people found out my parents had both died. This was a different sort of sad.
I turned back to Gran and to the picture of her standing beside my real grandmother. “Why did she die?” I asked. “Was she sick?”
Gran drew in a deep breath. “Your grandmother was murdered, Addy. By the same people who murdered your parents. The people who would’ve killed you too, if I hadn’t taken you away.”
I stared at her, suddenly feeling as though all of the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
Murdered
? I wasn’t a naïve person. At least, I didn’t like to think of myself that way. I watched the news. I knew there were people in the world who preyed on others and that people got murdered all of the time. But not here—not in the world that I lived in. It didn’t happen to people I knew. And now Gran was trying to tell me . . .
“No,” I said flatly. “My parents died in a fire. That’s what you’ve always told me.”
“They did. But the fire was not an accident. It was set deliberately.”
“But
why
?” I asked. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised what people would do,” Gran said. “Your grandmother was a very powerful woman, Addy. And powerful people often make just as many enemies as they do friends.”
“I don’t understand,” I told her.
“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “There is a lot to explain. Let me finish the story, all right? After your grandmother was killed, your parents were very worried about something happening to them and even more concerned about you. They went underground—even further underground than they’d been before. They’d always hidden you, Addy. Your parents’ first priority was always to keep you protected. But eventually, your mother began to have a very strong feeling they were about to be found out.
“The night before they died, she asked me to take you away. Just for a little while until things calmed down a bit. I came to their house. I watched you kiss your parents goodbye, and then you and I disappeared. I didn’t even tell your parents where I was taking
“You always told me this was your best friend,” I reminded Gran. I couldn’t help the accusatory tone that crept into my voice. “And that she died.”
“It is. And she did.” Gran turned the page again, opening to another picture I was familiar with; it was of the same redhead, but this time she had her arm looped around the waist of another woman who looked to be about her age. The second woman was taller, with wavy dark hair and a face that was recognizably Gran’s, even though I had only ever known Gran as an old woman. The woman in the photo possessed the kind of beauty that made you believe she would never age; Gran had been a knockout.
“Your grandmother—your
real
grandmother—was my greatest friend,” Gran said, brushing the side of the redhead’s face with a careful finger. “She was the dearest person to me in all of the world. And that’s why I made a promise to her and to her daughter, that I would be the one to look after you if anything ever went wrong.”
“This is my real grandmother?” I scrutinized the woman next to Gran in the picture and frowned. “I don’t understand. Why don’t I remember her? Why didn’t I go to live with her after my parents died?”
“Because by then, your grandmother was already dead.”
She was leaving something out, I could tell. I looked over at Lucas; he was watching us quietly, sipping his tea, with absolutely no expression on his face. But his eyes looked sad—sad for me. But not the kind of sad I always got when people found out my parents had both died. This was a different sort of sad.
I turned back to Gran and to the picture of her standing beside my real grandmother. “Why did she die?” I asked. “Was she sick?”
Gran drew in a deep breath. “Your grandmother was murdered, Addy. By the same people who murdered your parents. The people who would’ve killed you too, if I hadn’t taken you away.”
I stared at her, suddenly feeling as though all of the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
Murdered
? I wasn’t a naïve person. At least, I didn’t like to think of myself that way. I watched the news. I knew there were people in the world who preyed on others and that people got murdered all of the time. But not here—not in the world that I lived in. It didn’t happen to people I knew. And now Gran was trying to tell me . . .
“No,” I said flatly. “My parents died in a fire. That’s what you’ve always told me.”
“They did. But the fire was not an accident. It was set deliberately.”
“But
why
?” I asked. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised what people would do,” Gran said. “Your grandmother was a very powerful woman, Addy. And powerful people often make just as many enemies as they do friends.”
“I don’t understand,” I told her.
“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “There is a lot to explain. Let me finish the story, all right? After your grandmother was killed, your parents were very worried about something happening to them and even more concerned about you. They went underground—even further underground than they’d been before. They’d always hidden you, Addy. Your parents’ first priority was always to keep you protected. But eventually, your mother began to have a very strong feeling they were about to be found out.
“The night before they died, she asked me to take you away. Just for a little while until things calmed down a bit. I came to their house. I watched you kiss your parents goodbye, and then you and I disappeared. I didn’t even tell your parents where I was taking