Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 A tiny penlight barely illuminated a rickety set of stairs. The door thudded shut behind them. "We could meet an occasional rat," Irina said. "Otherwise, perfectly safe." "Don't worry," Amy said. "I'm used to rats. They run in my family." "Comedian like your brother, eh?" Irina said. "This tunnel was used in the 1800s. If a lowlife drank too much rum at a bar, he found himself on a ship out to sea the next morning. Smuggled through tunnel to harbor." They reached the bottom of the stairs. The floor was dirt, the walls crumbling stone. Amy couldn't see what was ahead. "Wh-where are you taking me?" She hated the quaver in her voice. She wouldn't let it out again. "Ha!" Irina barked the word without humor. "You think I'm kidnapping you? I'm saving you.

There are some things I won't stoop to do." "Really," Amy said. "I thought you stooped at nothing." "Is a joke? It's true, though, what you say. There was nothing I wouldn't do to win. But today, Amy Cahill, I'm doing you a favor. I'm giving you advice you need. Here it is—you are afraid of everything except what you should fear." "Thanks," Amy said. "That was really helpful." "For example, you are afraid of me right now. Understandable, I am your enemy. But at this moment, I am least of your problems." "Really?" Amy said. "Weird. Seeing that I'm in a tunnel with rats, and you just threatened me with poison." "Here is other thing I must tell you— you don't remember what you should never forget." "That really clears up a lot." "Go ahead, make the fun. But before we part, you must understand that what you don't know will doom you. And the world." "Exaggerate much?" Somehow, taunting Irina

kept her fear in check. "No." Irina spun her around. In the darkness, she stood very close. "Listen to me, Amy Cahill. It is time you lift your head and look around you. The thirty-nine clues are like game to your brother, yes?" Amy felt compelled by the ferocity of Irina's gaze. Her eyes, even in the faint glow of the penlight, were ice blue, her lashes startlingly dark against them. She couldn't deny what Irina had said. In many ways, the chase for the Clues was a game for Dan. "But you know better. That's why I risk so much to talk to you. Your parents died for this. Do you think they wanted to go?" "Don't talk about my parents!" Amy would have put her hands over her ears if she wasn't afraid it would make her look like a child. "No parent would ever want to leave a child. Do you think they would leave their beloved children for a game?" "Stop it!" "Do you think your mother left you alone and

raced back into a burning house just for her husband?" Amy looked at Irina, startled. Frozen. "How do you know what happened?" she whispered. Irina shrugged. "From newspaper, of course. Unless not. Only you know for sure. Because you know who was there that night. You were old enough to see. You won't believe what any Cahill tells you, and that is smart. We each have our agenda. So you must remember." "I don't remember anything from that night," Amy said. But something dislodged and floated up into her brain, cold grass, ash flying, a window shattering, Dan crying… "You have been resourceful, I give you that," Irina said. "You think on your feet, you and your brother. But there comes a time when you must think deeper. You must face the thing you don't want to face. Until you can do that, you're vulnerable." "To what?" "To someone who will tell you what you want to hear," Irina said. "So I ask again. What

happened the night of the fire?" She was choking through the cold, wet towel Mommy had placed over her mouth. Mommy held her hand so tightly. She could hear the flames, but she couldn't see them. It was all smoke. Dan cried in their mother's arms. "I don't remember! I was a kid!" Fear tore the words from Amy's throat. The flashes she was getting were making her dizzy and sick. "It's strange," Irina said, her gaze suddenly unfocused. "I remember so clearly being seven. The day I got separated from my mother on the streets of St. Petersburg… I remember the coat I was wearing, my shoes, the exact color of the river, the look on her face when she found me…" "I'm happy for you," Amy said, swallowing hard. "Did anyone visit the house that night?" Irina asked. "Did you hear anything? Did your mother come upstairs for you? How did you get out of the house?" "Stop it!" They fought their way down the stairs. Daddy was in the study, throwing books on the floor.

"Get the children out!" he shouted. "Daddy!" she screamed. She held out her arms and he stopped for a second. "Angel," he said, "go with Mommy." "No!" She sobbed as her mother pulled her away. "No! Daddy!" "No," Amy whispered. "No." "We push away the bad memories," Irina said. Bleak sadness deadened her voice. "We tell ourselves is better not to remember. It is not better. Better to remember everything, even pain." "What do you want from me?" Irina's gaze snapped back into its glittering directness. "Come. We run out of time. This is a Lucian site. If we're both missing, it won't take long for Isabel to look here." They started to walk again. Amy thought the light might have been getting grayer. Were they reaching the end of the tunnel? She was ready to run if they were. She felt something scurry past, and she jumped. "Just a rat," Irina said. "One of the family, eh?