THE DINING HALL is buzzing with conversation by the time Layla and I arrive, and even though the other students’ body language is subtle, it’s obvious they keep looking in our direction.
The teachers are paying more attention to us than they normally do, and Blackwood and Conner are sitting with them, which is unusual. The air feels electrically charged, like one misstep and the whole place could spontaneously combust.
Ash sits down across from us and immediately starts piling fettuccini Alfredo onto his plate, like everything is perfectly normal and he’s starving.
“Any word on the guard?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He shakes his head. “From what I’ve heard, no one has even been questioned yet. It’s not like Blackwood. She usually goes right at an issue without hesitation.”
“Like I keep saying,” Layla adds, “something is off with this whole situation.”
A girl and a guy sit down next to us and we all fall silent. Layla scans the room in a way that tells me she’s lost in thought, and Ash looks up periodically to where Brendan and the other Lions sit.
I dip some crusty bread in the cream sauce on my plate, flipping through my memories to find anything that might explain who I am and help me understand the missing pieces. I actually felt safer when I thought I might be accused of Stefano’s murder than I do now. At least then I didn’t think people were actively trying to kill me.
I keep replaying my conversation with Ash about how Strategia don’t get to decide to be anything else. Part of me refuses to believe it, but I know that part of me is wrong. If I manage to avoid my own death until I get home to Dad, I’m still trapped. I could try my best to fly under the radar, be so unimportant that no one would be interested in what I do for the rest of my life. But if I stay in Pembrook, I’ll need to follow the rules or I’ll put myself and the people I care about at risk. And even if I spend my life following the rules, that doesn’t mean I’ll be out of danger.
I have to believe that Dad had no choice but to send me here or I don’t think I can forgive him. He said I had to go to this school for my safety—now there’s a laugh. I no longer know what I can trust or which of the things he said were actually true. Although by the time I get through the intense study regimen Layla has me on, I’m sure that will change.
I hold my hands out toward the campfire, warming them. The air is crisp with the scent of cold weather and leaves, even though they have only just started to change color.
“Why haven’t I ever seen you dating anyone, Aunt Jo?” I ask, looking up at her. “You’re hilarious and tough and I can’t imagine that people don’t fall all over themselves to ask you out.”
Aunt Jo sips her cider and rum, which I suspect is mostly rum, and leans back in her folding chair. “Not all fabulous people have long-term relationships, Nova. Some of us are just too bright to be tied down,” she says. “Besides, can you imagine me tolerating something like that for the rest of my life?” She nods her head in the direction of my dad’s tent, from which comes a loud snore. “I have half a mind to go throw a rock at him as it is.”
I laugh. “But you always said that when you were a girl you thought you’d have five children.”
“Ah, but then Matilde had you, and you were perfect with those pink cheeks and that laugh. That laugh…,” she says, and shakes her head. “It used to make me cry, you know. I see you looking at me like I’m a sentimental fool, which I very well might be, but it did. Your father would come into a room and find the three of us in hysterics. You laughing and us crying because we could not stand how adorable it all was. And since you were such a perfect baby, I figured that unless I had one exactly like you I would be forced to call it Secondo and dress it up in your old clothes.”
“Stop, you would not,” I say, grinning.
“You doubt this face?” she says, and wags her eyebrows at me.
“Never,” I say, stirring my hot cider with a cinnamon stick.
“Why the sudden interest in my love life, eh? Have you got some passionately romantic story to tell me?” she asks mischievously.
“What? No. I wish. I just…You know my best friend, Emily? She has a huge family and they have these big festive holiday parties. Sometimes I get jealous. I kind of wish there were more of us, you know?”
She snorts and takes a sip of her drink.
“What, you don’t?” I say.
“No,” she says, spilling more rum into her cup. “I have relatives in Italy I would rather forget. First there’s that self-serving father of mine, and then all the family members who won’t admit that he’s self-serving, which in my opinion makes them even worse.” She raises her cup. “To hell with the whole lot of them.”
I want to tell her that I meant I wish we had more family members like us, but I know better than to do that while she’s ranting and damning people. She blames her dad for my mom’s death, even though everyone—and the autopsy report—said her death was an accident.
“And don’t get me started on Christopher’s family,” she says, pointing again in the direction of the snoring. “Putting my family and his family in a room together for a holiday party sounds about as much fun as shoving a Christmas tree up my backside. It would be nothing but fighting.”
“Did they ever get along? Or did your family always disapprove of Dad?”
“From the moment your parents got together, it went downhill. Nonstop feuding before you were born.”
“But not any more since Dad’s parents died, right?”
“Good riddance.”
I choke on my hot cider. Sometimes I wonder if there is any line Aunt Jo won’t cross. “What made you choose Providence, of all places, when you left Italy?”
She smirks. “Please tell me you’re joking, Nova. How you break my heart. The statue of the Independent Man? The fact that Providence was founded by rebels and rabble-rousers? And, well, the Italian food is good.”
I open my mouth in fake shock.
“What? I said I didn’t like my family. But our food is perfection.”
I push my pasta around on my plate. I wish I could ask Aunt Jo about what’s going on here and about my parents in general, such as why they chose to live in the middle of small-town nowhere. From everything Ash and Layla have told me, that couldn’t have been accidental. And it makes me wonder what they were trying to get away from—their deadly Families in general, or was it more specific than that? I used to think Aunt Jo’s hatred for her relatives was mostly theatrics, but considering what I’ve seen here so far, blaming them for Mom’s death doesn’t seem entirely off the wall anymore. A Strategia Family could definitely make a death look like an accident.
Without meaning to, I look around for Matteo. If the Bears did have something to do with my mom’s death, if she broke some Strategia rule or something, it’s entirely possible that his relatives were involved in making that decision. Is that why he knew what my mom looked like? I drop my fork with a loud clang and Layla and Ash both look at me.
Matteo meets my gaze, and something in me just snaps. The injustice of everything that’s happened since I arrived here, the overwhelming horror of what I’ve seen, and the constant uncertainty and fear have finally caught up with me. All I want to do is scream at the top of my lungs.
I push back my chair, furious not only with Matteo but with the whole school. I bet my mom wanted out, too, wanted to get away from all of these Strategia and their deadly games. The question is whether or not they killed her for it.
“November?” Layla says.
“I just need some air,” I say, and walk away before either of them can ask me any questions. I’m sure Ash will figure out that I’ve remembered something, and the last thing I want to hear from him is a detailed analysis of my parents’ Families and my mother’s probable murder. No wonder Aunt Jo was always so angry when the topic of family came up.
I head between the two long dining tables, my eyes trained on the door, anything to avoid looking at Matteo again or I’m positive I’m going to do something I regret.
I’m almost to the door when Conner cuts me off. I didn’t even see him get up from the teachers’ table. “November, I need to speak with you,” he says, and touches his beard.
“Right now?” I say, not even trying to hide the annoyance in my voice.
“Yes, I have some…news,” he says, and I stop dead in my tracks.
“What news?” I say quickly. I can’t help but wonder if he saw me looking upset and decided it was the right time to shit on me further.
“If you’ll follow me to my—” he starts.
“No, just tell me,” I say, already running through a list of terrible possibilities in my head and agitating myself even more.
“I must insist that we at least step out of the dining hall.” He pushes through the door before I can reply. I follow, but he doesn’t stop until he’s halfway down the empty hallway. “Do not ask me questions about what I’m about to tell you, because I do not know the answers. It’s customary that this type of news is delivered by family members, but considering the recent circumstances, you are not permitted a visit.”
My entire body tenses. I want to yell at him to just say it already.
He evaluates the hallway to make sure it’s empty and levels his gaze at me. “Jo is dead.”
For a second, I’m completely still, trying to make sense of his words. Jo? My aunt Jo? “No,” I say, and shake my head. “No. That can’t be true.”
“As I said, I cannot tell you any more. That is all I know. Jo is dead,” he repeats as though he can see that I’m resisting accepting it.
Someone killed my aunt? My aunt is dead. She’s dead. The hallway spins. My chest feels like it’s constricting and soon there will be no air left. My vision blurs with tears, and with each excruciating heartbeat I back away from him. I see his lips moving, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying.
If the Bears were responsible for my mom’s death, who’s to say they aren’t responsible for Aunt Jo’s? She wasn’t just living in America, she hated them all. Ash said it was forbidden to leave your Family. Was this what my dad was trying to stop when he shipped me off here? My fists clench, my grief mixing with my anger explosively.
All of a sudden, I’m running, tears spilling down my cheeks. I slam through the door into the dining hall, and as if on cue, the whole room turns to look at me. But I’m not watching them; I’m looking straight at Matteo. I run full-speed toward him, jump onto a chair, and dive over the table. His eyes widen as I collide with him, slamming us both onto the floor. He grunts and tries to fling me off him, but I’m screaming and clinging to him for all I’m worth. For a brief moment, I see Conner towering above us. Then there is a sharp pain in my head and the world goes black.