“So this is just a hotel, then, not something connected with Strategia?” I say, disappointed by the suite’s lack of distinguishing characteristics.
“Just an ordinary hotel room,” Ash repeats.
When I adjust my gaze back to him, he’s still smiling.
“What?” I ask, wondering if I have hair in my mouth or drool on my face. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.
But instead of answering, he walks right up to me. His look gains intensity and my stomach does a quick flip. He touches a loose lock of my wavy hair and places my arms around his neck. He pulls me close.
“If you could see yourself the way I see you, you would know that you’re perfect,” he says with fresh minty breath, and it suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t engaged in any of my morning grooming regime.
He leans in closer, and just as he nears my mouth I turn, give him a fast kiss on the cheek, and step away. “No way I’m kissing you while you’re all freshly showered and”—I gesture at him—“dressed like that.”
He laughs. “You won’t kiss me because of my clothes? Is there an outfit you would prefer? Because I’ll gladly change.”
“You know what I mean,” I say, and I can’t help but smile, too. “You’re super dressed up and I haven’t even brushed my teeth. I’m jumping in the shower and then we need to catch a bus to—” I stop out of habit. At the Academy I trained myself to never reveal anything about my home life. “Pembrook,” I continue. “I’m assuming we’re in Hartford, given that Blackwood said she would send us to the airport I left from.” I walk to the window and pull back the curtain.
Below us I recognize the city streets and the telltale New England architecture, and all of a sudden I’m disoriented again. The cars below seem too fast, the buildings seem too shiny, and the open sky makes me feel exposed. “Definitely Hartford,” I say, not finding the comfort I thought I would in this familiar city. “If I remember correctly, the bus we need leaves just about every hour.”
I close the curtain instead of leaving it open, finding more solace in turning back to Ash than in soaking in my home state. Just a month ago a trip to Hartford would have been exciting; it would have meant shopping with Em or going to the antiques stores hunting for old knives with my dad. Have I really changed that much? While preparing to leave the Academy I wondered the same thing, only the answer seemed to be that I was stronger, smarter, and more discerning. Now I just feel like I don’t know who I am.
“I’ll order us some breakfast,” Ash says as he examines my expression. When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “Don’t give it too much thought; it takes everyone a little time to adjust after being at the Academy.”
I nod, grateful that he understands. “It’s like I weirdly got used to living a medieval life. Instead of feeling like I came home, I feel like I time-traveled.”
“I used to feel similarly when I was young and our parents took Layla and me to Europe to introduce us to Strategia contacts or to shadow them on a simple mission,” he says. “The busy streets in Paris, for instance, were in such stark contrast to our estate that it felt a bit like whiplash.”
I pause; while he’s relating to my current experience, he’s also describing a childhood that couldn’t be more different than my own. “Your estate?”
Now he pauses, potentially coming to the same conclusion I just did. “Similar to the Academy in structure, but smaller,” he explains. “Every Family has one. They’re hidden in plain sight, not tucked away in the forest like our school is, but a non-Strategia would never recognize them for what they are.”
I stare at him like he just told me the sky is green instead of blue. “Hang on a second. You grew up in a castle?”
“More of a manor house, but yes,” he says.
“Please tell me you had electricity,” I say with feeling, my face poised for shock.
Ash looks amused by my reaction, and the way his face lights up makes my knees weak. I’ve dated a fair number of guys, but none of them gave me that stomach-flipping, word-fumbling, drunken feeling that Ash does.
“Yes, we had electricity,” he says, his eyes bright, “but we also know how to exist without it. Our parents claimed that Strategia have been effective for thousands of years without modern gadgets, and that reliance on technology would weaken our abilities.”
“I thought Layla said that every Family has Strategia technology experts,” I say, getting a glimpse into how much I don’t know about the larger Strategia world.
“We do,” Ash says, “but they are only used sparingly. The point is that if we didn’t have them we would still be able to complete our missions.”
Laid out on my parents’ bed are two sets of black gloves, two black knitted hats, and two gray wool scarves.
“I’ve got a mission for you—a very important one,” my mom says like she’s letting me in on a secret. “It’s a beautiful winter day. There is fresh snow on the ground. Aunt Jo is on her way over.”
I hang on her every word.
“Your dad and I were thinking”—she pauses for dramatic effect—“that we should all go sledding.”
I bounce on my toes. “Sledding!” I squeal, clasping my hands together and looking up at her. My dad smiles at us from a cozy chair by the window where he’s reading the paper.
Mom lifts me up onto the bed. “But we have a problem, you see,” she explains. “Dad and I have mixed up our gloves, scarves, and hats, and before we can leave the house, we need your help figuring out which is which.”
I look at the black gloves, eager to help my mom. I immediately pick up the set of gloves closest to me. “These are yours,” I say. “They’re smaller.”
My mom smiles encouragingly. “And the hats?” she asks.
“Yours has the pompom,” I say, thrilled to have the answers she needs.
“Right,” she says, and sits down on the bed next to me to give me a squeeze. “Only one more to go.”
I stare at the gray wool scarves, hoping that something will stand out to me, but as far as I can tell, they are identical. I pick them up, turning them over in my hands.
“Do they feel the same?” my mom asks.
I nod.
“Smell the same?” she asks.
I lift each one to my nose, and while they smell familiar, I’m not sure that they smell different from each other. I stare at the scarves in concentration, wondering how I can unlock this mystery so we can go sledding. She doesn’t say anything more and I don’t ask for help; I know by now that she expects me to do my best.