8

Parliament, London

Vida Wiley, world-famous history professor and controversial women’s rights activist, had been born in Iran. Her family moved to Iowa when she was five. She retained a lilt from her home country and from being shielded from the outside world by her parents. She still spoke fluent Persian and had taught Salem to do the same.

She’d met Daniel, Salem’s father, when he recruited her and Bel’s mom for the Underground. Both women had been high school seniors at the time.

Daniel Wiley, Irish born and Iowa bred, became Vida’s world from the day she met him.

After his death, their house grayed.

Salem had been twelve years old.

Frozen dinners replaced home-cooked meals. Vida worked and slept, nothing else, never smiled unless Gracie was around. She treated Salem like an inconvenience. When Salem won the eighth-grade science fair blue ribbon for a weather-predicting computer program she’d back-rigged to break into any word processing program, Vida had been working late. Same with band concerts, parent-teacher conferences. Her mom had always been competent, distant, but after Daniel’s death, Salem grew up without her.

Betrayal and her mother were braided together like strands of DNA, and the sting of that emotion hit Salem slapshock every time she laid eyes on Vida. Right now, the burn of duplicity was polluted with a sense of disorientation. What was Vida doing in London? And why was Mercy with her?

The answer came to Salem as a guard escorted them from the parking garage to Parliament’s Robing Room, where they were to meet the president. Bel had all but given it away in this morning’s phone call: In honor of our unbreakable friendship bond, I should tell you that your mom has a surprise for you.

Seeing her mom out of context knocked loose a memory Salem had long buried. Bel was eleven, Salem nine. They’d agreed to meet at the playground halfway between their childhood homes, just as they’d done countless times before. It was late October, the Minneapolis air crisp and apple-scented.

They planned to practice the penny drop off the monkey bars. It was the middle-school rage, even more popular than striped Benetton rugby shirts and strap-off-the-shoulder overalls. A penny drop was simple: hook your legs over the bar. Swing, upside down, until you build enough momentum to pull your feet around and under you.

Bel nailed it on her first try.

“Boo-ya! It’s your turn.” She grinned at Salem, so sure of her friend’s abilities, always. The autumn light shaded her eyes so dark blue they edged toward violet.

If Bel thought she could do it, Salem had to at least try, even though the physics didn’t match up in her mind. She grabbed the cool metal of the monkey bar and hoisted her legs over. Her jeans squeaked and the rip in one knee opened a little more. She stretched her hands, reaching toward the sand two feet beyond. Leaves skittered across the ground.

She forced her upper body forward and then back. Forward and then back. By the third swing, she’d gained enough thrust to put her shoulders even with her knees. The fourth time would do it. She’d be high enough.

“Now!” Bel yelled.

Salem flung her feet over the bar. She concentrated on pulling her head toward the clouds and pushing her feet toward the ground. She was parallel to the earth when she allowed herself to consider how unlikely it would be that she—dumpy, awkward Salem—could pull off this move. Her body froze and she dropped to her stomach, the gritty earth forcing her breath out of her.

Unable to draw air, she wheezed.

Bel flipped her over, wiping sand off Salem’s chin. “Are you okay?”

Salem tried to nod.

“Oh!” Bel pointed at Salem’s knee. “You scraped it. Let’s go to my house. We’ve got Band-Aids.”

“No.” Salem forced herself to sit up. She didn’t want Bel to feel bad for her. “I’m fine. I think I’m just going to head home.”

Bel squinted but didn’t challenge her.

Salem scanned the playground. A group of kids from their school rode the swings, but they didn’t seem to have witnessed Salem’s belly flop. Her knee screamed when she stood. She forced a weak smile for Bel.

Bel wasn’t buying it. “Call me when you get home?”

Salem nodded. She walked as normally as she could, waiting to limp until a glance over her shoulder confirmed Bel was out of sight. She allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek. Sand clung to her fall jacket, shedding as she walked.

By the time she reached her house, she had almost worked up to a full-on cry. It was a Saturday, her mom and dad home. Her dad would take care of her. He’d wash out the scrape, apply salve and a bandage, and make her feel good about trying a penny drop even though it had been scary.

She’d probably find him out in his workshop. He was nearly to the varnishing stage with a table he’d been working on since the order arrived three weeks ago. It contained seven secret compartments, the most he’d ever incorporated into such a simple structure.

She planned on hobbling through the house to find him, but she heard voices when she stepped inside the front door. Maybe he’d come in for lunch? Salem cocked her head. The sounds were coming from her parents’ bedroom.

Curious. They both had work to do; they’d been clear about that when she asked them to join her at the park. She shambled toward the noise.

Her mom’s giggle separated from the hum of conversation. That was even more odd. While Daniel made her belly laugh occasionally, Salem had only heard her mom giggle when Gracie was around. But surely Bel’s mom wasn’t in the bedroom with Vida?

Salem’s hand was reaching toward the doorknob when her dad’s voice cut through the giggle. “Honey, Salem could be home any minute.”

A sensation pressed against Salem’s throat.

“Who cares?” Vida said. “We’re adults.”

The pressure squeezed. Salem tried to swallow past it but couldn’t. She backed up from the door. She knew what they were doing, now. It was gross, but they had a right. It was her mom’s words that had struck her down.

Who cares?

Not Vida.

Never Vida.

Salem tiptoed to the bathroom, dug the dirt out of her knee with a warm washrag, and padded to her room to read. The book was Abraham Sinkov’s Elementary Cryptanalysis: A Mathematical Approach. Her father had bought it for her.

Her mother wasn’t in London as a surprise for Salem, as Bel had said. For all her honesty and awareness, Bel wasn’t able to see Vida and Salem’s relationship as it was. Instead, she saw what she wanted to see, and what she needed more than anything was for Salem and her mom to have a connection that had been lost to Bel forever.

Vida was in London to see the president, likely. Or for the summit. Or maybe as a tourist. But she certainly was not here for Salem. If Salem had needed any confirmation, it was written on Vida’s face when the guard led Salem and Charlie into the Robing Room, a lush, gilded cavern set aside for state occasions and for the queen to prepare in prior to the State Opening, a highly formal ceremony that marked the beginning of the annual Parliament session.

The guard explained all of this as he led her and Charlie into the room. The queen’s ladies-in-waiting would help her to don the imperial robes and crown before beginning her ceremonial walk through Parliament. The room housed a wooden miniature of the Houses of Parliament in its center, and next to that, a temporary table had been set up. The walls featured five paintings, all painted by William Dyce. They featured images from a medieval version of the King Arthur legend to depict the chivalric virtues of generosity, religion, mercy, hospitality, and courtesy. Dyce had been commissioned to produce two more paintings for the room—fidelity and courage—but had died in 1864 before they’d been finished.

When Salem and Charlie were ushered inside the Robing Room, Vida, Mercy, and Agent Stone were standing near the wooden miniature. While Vida’s mouth twisted like she smelled something bad as soon as she laid eyes on Salem, Mercy’s face lit up. The child’s cheeks were plump and the color of rose petals, her hair glossy, two huge buck teeth coming in where her front baby teeth had been. She’d grown at least an inch in the last month and—except for the rag doll she clutched, the one Salem had bought for her—was now unrecognizable from the greasy street urchin she’d been a year ago. The realization hurt Salem’s heart. She was missing out on Mercy’s life.

Mercy wasted no time on reflection, instead squealing when she laid eyes on Salem. She ran to her and leaped into her arms, talking the whole time. “Auntie Sale! I got to take a plane and they brought food and I got my ears pierced and everyone talks so cool here and …”

The child wiggled like a puppy in Salem’s embrace, chasing out all the self-doubt Vida’s appearance inspired. Tears flowed as Salem squeezed warm, perfect, loving Mercy Mayfair. She’d wasted her whole life hoping to share this unconditional love with her mother. She would instead shower it all on Mercy.

A prickle at her hairline told her that she was being stared at. She glanced behind her, her heart ba-thumping as her eyes connected with Lucan Stone’s. He was as beautiful as she remembered and exactly as unreadable. Her glance dropped but not before she caught Charlie winking at her, almost as if he knew how uncomfortable this situation was.

“I feel like you all know each other,” Charlie said, amiably. “Introductions all around. I’ll start with me.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Charlie Thackeray, at your service.”

“No need for introductions,” Vida said archly, stepping forward. Charlie stepped back. Vida addressed only Salem. “Mercy wanted to see you, and the president approved. I’m here as an advisor on her team. We have a full day of activities planned.”

Mercy dropped out of Salem’s arms, leaving a cold spot. She skipped over to Vida and took her hand. Vida smiled at the child with a warmth that she had previously reserved for Daniel and Gracie. Salem hated the way it twisted in her gut.

“Can we have dinner tonight?” Salem asked.

“No.” Vida’s mouth pursed. She was a handsome woman, her salt-and-pepper hair piled on her head in a neat bun, her face free of make-up except for red lipstick, her eyes bright. “We have obligations this evening as well.”

Salem’s heart began beating in her cheeks. Charlie and Lucan were witnessing how little she mattered. It might be punishment. Her mother had been disappointed when Salem hadn’t wanted to continue as a codebreaking puppet for the Underground. Or it might simply be that Vida did not much care for Salem.

Charlie stepped forward again, his hand out, his body language making clear he would not be dismissed this time. “Agent Thackeray. I’m your daughter’s partner. A real pleasure to meet you.”

Vida shook the hand reluctantly, studying the man. Her eyes flicked to Lucan Stone, and something passed between them. Salem was surprised and then embarrassed by a surge of jealousy. Lucan Stone was nobody to her. It wouldn’t do her any good to act like a ten-year-old who hadn’t been invited to the party.

“But I want to play with Salem!” Mercy dropped Vida’s hand and reached for Salem’s.

Vida smiled, years falling off her face. “If we have time, dear. Come now. Don’t you want to see some of the most famous paintings in the world?”

Mercy glanced from Salem to Vida. “If you promise I can play with Salem later.”

Vida sighed. “I promise. Tomorrow, if Salem is free.”

Salem glanced toward Charlie. He lifted one shoulder slightly. They didn’t know their schedule. It depended on what they were assigned at today’s meeting.

Salem crouched. “We’ll make it work, Mercy. No way am I going to let you be in London and not spend time with you.”

Mercy smiled, satisfied, and walked off with Vida.

“It was nice to see you both,” Salem mumbled at their backs. She felt lonelier than she had since she’d arrived in London.

“We have this room for the next hour,” Agent Stone said, his voice a deep rumble as he indicated the table in the center of the room. “I can brief you both.”

“Not much for introducing yourself in America?” Charlie said, his smile wilting around the edges. “Name is Agent Thackeray. Agent Wiley and I are working together while you blokes are in house.”

“Agent Stone.” His hand could have wrapped twice around Charlie’s, and Salem thought she saw Charlie wince at the grip. It was a good distraction as Salem swung from the shock of seeing her mother to the heat of last night’s clutch dream. Had it been only last night? Recalling everything Dreamland Stone had done to her, and she to him, made her feel naked in front of Real-life Stone. She needed to gain some semblance of control over the situation.

She picked up the B&C she’d set on the ground to catch Mercy. “Are you going to need us to work here on site, Agent Stone?”

He glanced at her, a hint of a smile in his expression. “It is up to your SAC to assign your location. My understanding is that you’ll be updating the president on Gaea and then work from wherever makes the most sense to you.”

He walked to the table and sat down. A brusque nod at the uniformed guards got them to step outside and close the door behind them. Salem walked toward the chair opposite Lucan—too far away, really—and took a seat. That left Charlie the option of either sitting next to Salem, next to Lucan, or halfway in between as if they were a family of three fighting at the dinner table.

He chose a spot next to Salem.

The move was not lost on Stone, who raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations on entering the force,” he said to Salem. “I was happy to hear of it.”

Salem had the feeling that Stone was making fun of her but couldn’t figure out how. She didn’t understand most social interaction that couldn’t be programmed into a computer. It warmed her that Charlie had chosen to sit next to her, though. It felt like loyalty, like he’d had a choice between sides and chose hers. Such a contrast to her own mother.

“Thank you,” she blurted, focusing on Stone. “It’s been a wild ride.”

Stone nodded. His expression made clear that he recognized the understatement, his smile now obvious because it revealed dimples. “The president has plans for you.”