Chapter 20: Party

I stop at the driveway, adjusting my pink miniskirt over my black sparkle leggings. I may not have had my boots any longer, but the cute little patent leather flats with the giant gems on the toes Mom got me in sympathy for the loss would do just fine. They make my feet look slender and adorable and I love the way the big jewel sparkles when I walk, catching the light.

Two girls brush past me on the way by, one looking me up and down with a grin.

"Nice sweater." Her friend laughs and I grin back. I don't know her and figure she must be from another school, so I wave.

"Thanks!" I love it, too, with the brushed cat face on the sleeve and giant paw prints on the back. My pale pink tank top finishes off the outfit, though I wish I'd had more time to trim my bangs. I've been neglecting them lately and not having them perfect makes me feel self-conscious.

I raise my hand at the door to knock, but it whips open before I get the chance and, to my delight, Tate is standing there. She smiles back, though she seems uncomfortable, and waves me inside.

"Hi, Kit." She looks at my shoes. "Nice."

"Thank you." I try to find something to compliment her on, but she's dressed as plainly as ever, almost frumpy, her blonde hair messy at the nape of her neck, stretched out t-shirt baggy around her hips. I could turn her into a vision of awesome if I could get my hands on her. "You look..." I fumble for words. "Cute."

She shrugs and leads me inside, past a row of people laughing, holding plastic cups in their hands. I was so excited to see her, I missed the pounding beat coming from the kitchen and, as we enter, almost plug my ears from the pressure of the bass emerging from the speakers. I have an issue with sound ever since I was little. Too loud and I can get a little cranky.

I'll have to get out of the kitchen ASAP. I turn and find Tate standing next to me, holding out a glass. Her lips form a word that looks like, "Here," but when I smell the contents, I shake my head and hand it back.

"No thanks," I shout, though I know she can't hear me. "Did you know that's beer?" We're underage. I turn and see a large number of glasses just like mine and frown. I know most of the people here. And they are all under twenty-one. All of them.

Tate looks a little desperate. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings. She turns away from me, leaving in a jerking motion. Good, it's an opportunity for me to do some snooping. I'm glad she asked me here, but I need time to look around and see if I can track down Donnelly and his crew.

I spot them in the living room. It's a big house, really nice on the inside. I've been here once, a long time ago, when Abigail was eight. For one of the aforementioned birthday parties, I think-

Her pale, blue eyes smile at me while she points and laughs-

I jerk to a halt and press my hand to the wall paper of the hall, shaking my head. Yes, I have been here before. A party, with a bunch of little girls, like me.

Why do I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach?

Raucous laughter cuts through the music and I jerk upright, my eyes seeking the owner. Donnelly laughs at a young woman who downs a glass of the contraband beer. I don't know her, not personally. She's one of the girls who said she liked my sweater. I don't have time to warn her not to get involved with him. Maybe I can catch him in the act of photographing her before it goes too far.

My gaze flickers to the right settling, to my utter shock, on Jimmy. He stares back at me, frowning, but makes no move to come toward me. Instead, he looks deliberately away. Incognito, got it. Whatever he needs. But, at least I know he has my back.

Love that about Jimmy.

Feeling more secure with him there, I don't jump-much-when Tate reappears at my side with a glass in her hand and shoves it into my grip.

This time when I sniff it's soda and I smile at her. "Thanks!" She smiles back, weak and frail. I feel so bad for her, she's obviously not having a good time. She seems so nervous, like a tiny mouse waiting to be pounced on. I resist my mind's attempt to convert her human form into furred and whiskered.

She stares at the drink in my hand. Right! She went to a lot of effort to get it for me, I shouldn't be rude. I take a sip and salute her with it. She looks ill suddenly, then turns and walks away.

Well, that was ruder than not drinking her flat, salty pop. I'm about to set it aside when someone takes my arm and guides me around the living room. I just have a second to realize it's Tom Brown himself when he pushes me through a door and closes it behind him.

Some kind of office space, with bookshelves and a heavy wooden desk, tall windows with thick, velvet curtains. I turn to face him, the soda clutched in one hand.

"Kit," he says, voice low and soft, a smile on his face. "So nice to see you. I was hoping you'd come."

He was hoping... I take a drink of the flat soda to clear my throat, watch his smile widen and deepen.

"Not sure why," I say at last. "You've been doing your best to make me feel miserable since the first day of school." And following me around like a creeper since kindergarten. I don't say that out loud, obviously. I just don't have that much mean in me. But it makes me feel better to run it in my head.

He waves that off like it's nothing, circles around to sit on the top of the desk, patting it with one hand. An invitation to join him? He's lost his mind. I take another drink, look away in the hope he'll think I didn't see his offer.

This pop is terrible, the salty taste killing the sugar. But my throat is dry and it's all I have.

"I've been thinking it over," Tom says, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed as he focuses on me. His pants are too short for his long, skinny legs and there's a scuff on the bottom of his sneaker. Makes me think of the smear Tate talked about earlier today as he goes on. "There's no need for the two of us to be enemies."

My chest feels tight, a headache starting in my right temple. I take another sip, hoping the normal action will relax me, but it just grows worse. I need to get out of here. He's on to me or something. No way is he all nice out of the blue like this.

"What are you suggesting?" It feels like Kitalia talking, not me. My left knee buckles slightly and I catch myself, wondering why the room seems to be slowly spinning. When I blink, it settles down again. Weird.

"Only that we work together," he says, sitting up straighter, arms falling to his sides. I gulp the last of the drink, throat and mouth parched suddenly. But the soda does nothing to cut through the cotton feeling. "I know you're brilliant, Kit. No matter how hard you try to hide it." He grins as I sway. Why are there two of him? One is more than enough, thank you. "You always have been, since we were little. Buying college textbooks online is a dead giveaway for a closet genius."

I shake my head, but the movement is disorienting and I stagger, catch the bookshelf with one hand. Tom comes to my side, steadies me, bless him. I'd fall over otherwise. Not sure what's wrong with me, but I feel...

Whew...

"So, tell me," he whispers in my ear as he eases me into a chair. "Why would a genius like you be hiding from everyone? What would drive you to pretend you weren't smart?" There's something in his eyes that tells me he knows. Knows things I don't. Wait, no. Knows things I don't want to think about.

My mind runs, like I want to tell him everything as flashes of the girl with the blue eyes and the sweet smile pass through my mind, but I can't seem to make my lips function. They feel like they grew ten times in size, along with my tongue. Nothing works the way it's supposed to-

***

The bastard. He drugged me.

I leap to my feet, though the world around me wavers. My partner is nowhere in sight, but Tatiana hasn't proven to be much help in a fight. I've finally talked M. and D. into allowing me to go back into the field-escorted, as it were, by Tatiana-and I go and fall for the oldest trick in the book.

T.B. grins at me over his glass. "Should watch what you drink," he says. He stands as I fall into my chair again. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he straightens the front of his suit jacket, "I have a target to acquire."

My target. My assignment. I've failed and he's going to make sure he ruins me over it. I have to act, have to do something. And yet, there's nothing I can do but shriek at him, falling forward onto the carpet and dragging myself forward through the crowd of people at the art gallery opening while T.B. leads my target away.

***

Someone flashes photos of me and I'm shouting before falling sideways into temporary darkness. Then, there's more shouting, not mine this time, punctuated by laughter and loud music while I swirl back and forth, in and out of Kit, of Kitalia, wavering and wobbling while the girl with the blue eyes laughs and laughs-

***

J.J. is there, arms around me, lifting me into his grasp, pulling me out of the milling crowd.

"What's MI6 doing here?" I barely understand my own words. He doesn't speak and I can't any further, my head lolling backward, my whole body going limp as the dark takes me.

I knew he'd have my back.

***