Hunting November

by Adriana Mather

  I look down at my boot, where for once I have no knife hidden, and shake my head, annoyed at myself. I take out my cell phone and type a draft of a text to Ash with the address. It’s now 3:58 a.m. I lock the phone and walk to the front door of the boarded-up store, grabbing the handle, and to my great dismay, it opens.

  “Layla?” I whisper into the darkness. “Matteo?” But no one answers.

  I glance behind me at the dark street, realizing that I need to make a decision—inside or outside—and that the longer I linger in the doorway of an abandoned shop, the more likely I am to attract attention. “Dang it,” I say, and slip inside the dark building.

  My heart pounds so loudly that it makes it harder for me to listen in the darkness. I pull out my phone, lighting up the screen, but all it does is make the area directly around me visible and make it impossible for my eyes to adjust. So I slip it back in my pocket and stand still in the darkness, silently hoping I didn’t just make the worst decision of my life.

  Then suddenly a candle flame appears at the far end of the room and I jump backward, nearly colliding with the door. But behind the candle, emerging from a staircase, is a girl with a high ponytail and a no-nonsense expression.

  “Layla!” I squeal, both relieved that Matteo was telling the truth and genuinely delighted to see her.

  “Lock the door,” she says in her usual peremptory tone, but even from this distance I can tell she’s smiling.

  I click the lock into place and walk toward her with enthusiasm. In the light of her candle, I can make out finely carved wood that must once have been painted a crisp white, and glass displays full of lace and frills. Old cloth mannequins are propped up wearing faded Victorian dresses, and broad-brimmed hats lie forgotten on the floor.

  Layla follows my gaze. “This place used to be a dress shop run by one of my relatives in the late eighteen hundreds,” she explains. “Ash and I liked to come here when we were little and trying to get away from our parents.”

  At which point I give her a hug. And when I pull away, she looks slightly embarrassed, like she’s not sure why I keep doing that, but she also doesn’t tell me to stop.

  “I discovered that we owned this property when I was going through some financial records when I was six,” she says before I can start badgering her with questions about being in London. “It took us about a year before we had the opportunity to seek it out, but I was delighted when I discovered it was essentially a forgotten building, lost in another time. It became our hideout.”

  I follow her up a narrow staircase. “Why am I not surprised that you were going through financial records when you were six?” I say, and she looks pleased by my assessment of her.

  As we reach the top of the stairs, a large one-room apartment lit by candles comes into view. It has a small kitchen, a couch in front of a fireplace, a canopied bed, an armoire, and a large area rug. Even though it’s dusty and smells a little like talcum powder, the room is well decorated in creams and various shades of blue, giving it a cozy feel. I can almost picture the seamstress who lived here, bustling about in her big skirts.

  Matteo sits at one of four chairs around a dining table with his arms crossed.

  I look from Matteo to Layla, who sits down beside him. “Okay, now what in the heck is going on?” I say. “How are you two here? Why are you two here? Why couldn’t I tell Ash? You’re both the last people I would expect—”

  “Have a seat, November,” Layla says, cutting me off and gesturing at an empty chair. “Matteo will bring us some tea.”

  Matteo tilts his head, like he didn’t know he was bringing tea but he’s willing to adjust. And so I slide into the wooden chair while he makes his way into the tiny kitchen.

  I want to rattle off twenty more questions, but Layla’s already made it clear that she’s not going to respond to that type of approach. So instead, I sit as patiently as I can and wait for her to explain.

  “I know you can’t stay for long without my brother noticing,” she says, and the relief I felt just moments ago shifts to uncertainty. “So I will try to be as succinct as possible. I’m here for exactly the reason you suspect: you and my brother are attempting something that might better Strategia for decades to come, and you will be seriously impeded without me.”

  I smile slightly because she’s right that we’re not as good without her, yet her frank delivery is so Layla that it’s charming. “I agree. But why didn’t you come with us when we left? I mean, you made it seem like there was no way you would ever leave the Academy.”

  “Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west,” Layla says as she sits perfectly straight in her chair.

  I pause. “Professor Liu’s mind games class?” I ask, remembering the day Liu introduced the Thirty-Six Stratagems by hanging two ropes in the middle of the room with a flag between them.

  “The sixth Stratagem says that the element of surprise is an invaluable tool. Once your enemy has focused his troops in one spot, you gain advantage by attacking a weakly defended location,” Layla says, like that clears everything up.

  I look over at Matteo, hoping for a simpler explanation of how this relates to our particular situation, but he’s busy boiling water with his back to us.

  “And so you didn’t come with us and you don’t want me to tell Ash you’re here because you plan on attacking us while we’re sleeping?” I say.

  Matteo grunts a laugh behind me, but Layla doesn’t appreciate my joke.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Layla says. “We’re going to attack Jag in his weak spot.”

  Matteo returns to the table carrying a tray with a full teapot, three cups and saucers, and some biscuits on it. He places it in the middle of the table.

  “What is his weak spot?” I ask, and Layla sighs.

  “It depends on our strategy,” she says. “Think of it this way—Jag’s main concern in any conflict is going to be you and your father. He’s going to focus all his energy there. He won’t anticipate outside help because no one in their right mind would move against him. This gives him a weakness, one that Matteo and I will exploit.”

  I glance at Matteo as he pours the tea.

  “And how does Ash not knowing play into all of this?” I ask.

  “There are a few strategic reasons,” Layla says. “But the most important one is the same—his energy will be focused on Jag. He’ll be forced to plan and act as though he must succeed alone, without the knowledge that he has help. When he falls short, we’ll be there.”

  Having the element of surprise makes good tactical sense, and even if I don’t understand all the details, I trust Layla. She’s the smartest person I know.

  “Aarya and Ines are with us,” I say.

  “Interesting,” Layla replies, and she and Matteo share a look. But she doesn’t seem overly surprised.

  “Did you already know that? Did they tell you?” I ask, wondering if there are more layers of secrecy here that I need to sift through.

  “No,” Layla says. “But we wondered. They left the Academy with Brendan the day after you and Ash.”

  “Brendan?” I say, and nearly choke on my tea. “You’re telling me Brendan’s in London—” I stop short, looking up at them. No wonder my dungeon threat actually worked on him in the dining hall. I’m sure Brendan wanted to attack me that day and probably would have if he wouldn’t also have been risking his own exit. “But why would he leave the Acad—” I pause. “My dad.”

  “Your dad?” Layla says. “I don’t follow.”

  I put my teacup down. “My dad is suspected of killing the Regent,” I say quickly. “Brendan’s stepfather, Arlo? There’s a big masquerade ball tonight and we’re pretty sure it’s to celebrate the new appointee. What are the chances that the new appointee is Brendan?” But no one looks surprised.

  “Yes,” Layla says. “That’s exactly what’s happening.
”

  For a moment I don’t respond. I look from Layla to Matteo and back again. “Wait, you know this? We risked our necks multiple times to find it out and you…” I laugh, even though it’s absolutely not funny. “Of course you know this. You’re Layla.”

  Layla smiles slightly. “While I appreciate your confidence in me, it’s Matteo who deserves the credit.”

  I wait a beat for someone to explain, but Matteo is silent.

  Layla sighs. “Matteo?”

  He stares a moment longer like he’s resigning himself to once again sharing secrets with me. “In the innermost circle of my Family,” Matteo says, his voice reserved, “it’s been suggested that it was not actually your father who killed the Regent.”

  “Of course he didn’t, but how do they—” I start, but Matteo gives me a look that makes me swallow the rest of my sentence.

  “I do not know the exact details, but something about the assassin’s style implied that it might have been…Jo,” Matteo says.

  For a second I sit very still, blinking at him, positive I must have misheard. My aunt Jo?

  “Which is a possible explanation for her recent demise,” Matteo continues, his voice more sympathetic than I would expect.

  I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. “Wait,” I manage, trying desperately to unstick myself from this awful moment in time. “You’re saying my aunt Jo killed the Lion Regent? Is that even possible?”

  “You would know better than we would,” Layla says, and they both give me a minute to collect my thoughts.

  But I don’t need a minute. When Logan told me my dad was suspected of the murder, I knew there was something wrong, that it didn’t fit. I don’t have the same doubts this time. Despite the fact that I’ve only recently started thinking of my family as being Strategia, I can more easily picture my aunt taking out the Lion Regent, especially if she had a strong motive.

  “We know you weren’t previously aware of your family’s politics,” Layla says, slowly easing me back into the conversation. “But do you have any idea why your aunt may have made such a bold move?”

  I look up at Layla, realizing my gaze had drifted to my hands. There is only one answer that feels right. “My mom,” I say. “Aunt Jo’s been furious about her death for the past eleven years, wouldn’t let it go. My dad said it was a car accident, but now that I know what I know…it’s obvious they didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

  “And so you think the Regent was the one who assassinated her?” Layla asks.

  I adjust my position in my chair. “I honestly don’t know. But what I can say is that if Aunt Jo had a shot at taking out my mom’s killer, there is no doubt in my mind that she would take it.”

  “Hmmm,” Layla says, and she and Matteo look at each other.

  “What?” I say. “What don’t I know here?”

  “It’s not that you’re wrong,” Layla says. “It may very well have been the reason she killed him. It’s just that taking out another Family’s high-ranking officer is the utmost offense.”

  “That sounds like Aunt Jo,” I say, remembering all her tirades about my dad’s Family and her penchant for dramatic gestures. To my surprise, a hint of a smile appears on Matteo’s face.

  “Still,” Layla says, “it’s never been done.”

  I look at her sideways. “You mean in the thousands of years Strategia existed, one Family has never assassinated a high-ranking officer in another? Is that even possible?”

  “There have been no assassinations of that kind since the Council of Families was established,” Layla says with a weighty emphasis that makes me think I haven’t been examining the situation with enough gravity. “It’s the golden rule of Strategia internal politics—we do not use force to interfere with another Family. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if we did, and the casualties? We could easily cause irreparable damage to all of Europe and beyond as a result of a civil war among Families.”

  I listen to her and frown. “So what does it mean, then, if Aunt Jo killed the Regent?”

  “Your father has been accused, at least privately,” Layla says. “Although I assume even the few Strategia privy to that information probably don’t believe it—it’s equivalent to accusing a phantom. So that’s the first thing to consider, that Jag is already twisting the Regent’s death into a narrative that suits his own purposes. And the next thing to consider is the motivation. I know you said your aunt wanted revenge for her sister’s death, and while I understand that’s a reason, I am skeptical that it was enough.”

  “Really? Aunt Jo was…well, she was a force to be reckoned with, and she wasn’t what I would call a rule-follower,” I say, and Matteo snorts, only I can’t tell if it’s in amusement or disdain.

  “I don’t think you’re understanding,” Layla says. “Collectively, we have been able to prevent the assassinations of global leaders, we dismantle terrorist plots before governments ever know about them, and we circumvent wars. If we were using our energy to fight each other instead, all these missions would be abandoned.”

  I take a sip of my tea, wishing the hot liquid were more comforting. “You’re right. Despite my aunt’s hatred for Jag, she had a huge heart. I can’t imagine she would have risked that without a very good reason.”

  “Precisely my point,” Layla says, sitting back in her chair with perfect posture. “Which begs the question…what is actually going on here?”

  “Point taken,” I say, now not sure myself. I look over at Matteo. “Is that why your Family is in London, because of Aunt Jo?”

  Matteo hesitates. “My Family is here because something important is clearly happening and the appointment of a new Regent has far-reaching political ramifications. Beyond that, it’s none of your concern.”

  “Look, I get it. You don’t like me. I probably wouldn’t like me if I were you, either, but if things are as serious as you say, then I need to know everything I can. This whole thing is hard enough as it is,” I say.

  “Tell me,” Matteo says. “Are you here to save your father or to dismantle the Lions and restore balance to Strategia?”

  “Both,” I say, meeting his intense look.

  “And if you had to choose between the two?” he asks, and my stomach sinks—I don’t need to think about it because I would choose my dad ten out of ten times.

  Matteo doesn’t wait for my answer. “That’s what I thought. And that’s the problem. The consequences of the Regent’s death are already in motion. It doesn’t actually matter whether it was Aunt Jo or your father who killed him; there is an opportunity here that hasn’t existed in decades, one that’s shaken the confidence in Jag’s previously untouchable power. But you don’t understand that because you weren’t raised like we were. And even after you saw the damage Dr. Conner inflicted at the Academy, your goals remain self-serving. So why should I give you information when it will only go to help you do what’s best for you, not for Strategia?”

  For a second I’m stunned into silence. First Aarya yelled at me last night and now Matteo, and the weirdest part is that they agree. My cheeks go hot. I want to answer him, but defending myself right now would only reinforce his opinion of me. Not that I should care. So why do I feel this strange need to prove myself to him?

  “The masquerade ball,” Layla says, changing the topic. “I’m certain that information was not acquired easily. I understand why it’s important to the larger political picture, but what role does it play in your finding your father?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I say, glancing at my cell phone, still embarrassed by what Matteo said. It’s 4:36 a.m. “But the gist of it is that my dad’s been leaving me clues since I left the Academy, and one of them is apparently located at that ball.”

  Layla looks startled. “And I take it you four have decided it’s a good idea to break into a Lion Family event?”

  �
�It’s unfortunately unavoidable,” I say, because I’ve been wondering the same thing—why would my dad send me into a Lion event, of all places?

  “And the plan?” Layla asks.

  “Still working it out,” I say vaguely. “But if you have a phone, or some way I can reach you, I can keep you updated.”

  “I would say so,” Layla says like she’s not at all pleased by this development. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but is there anything else I should know?”

  There is something comforting about her familiar reaction. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again, and here she is drinking tea and reprimanding me. “The ball is the main thing. And oh,” I say. “The Ferryman is hunting my dad.”

  Once again Layla and Matteo exchange a look.

  “We heard.” Layla’s expression turns sympathetic. “Matteo and I will do what we can to help.”

  Matteo averts his eyes, dismissing Layla’s attempt to smooth things over.

  “But the clock is ticking. We need to be efficient and smart,” Layla continues, nearly repeating what her twin said word for word.

  The mention of a clock prompts me to look at my phone again: 4:43 a.m. Before I can say anything, Layla nods.

  “I know. You have to get back,” she says. “Give us your number and keep us updated as the plan for tonight develops. I’m certain you will need us in some capacity.”

  * * *

  I open the door to the apartment carrying hot chocolates, coffees, and a bag full of breakfast pastries and almost walk straight into Aarya. I let out a small yelp of surprise and barely catch the cardboard drink carrier before it crashes to the floor.

  “Geez,” Aarya grumbles, but her crankiness instantly drops away when she sees what I’m carrying.

  “Hot chocolate?” I offer with a smile, and hand her the bag and the drinks, which she gladly accepts. Despite feeling enlivened by Layla and Matteo’s help, I can’t stop thinking about what Matteo said about my aunt Jo and about me being selfish. I take off my coat and gloves, pulling the Sunday newspaper I picked up at the coffee shop from under my arm. I hang my coat, ready to find a comfy place to read and eat pastries, but Aarya blocks my path to the living room.