The Inner Circle (19 page)

No, don’t go with him—!

She pauses, searching around. She’s definitely smarter than that. She needs to be—she knows who she’s dealing with. But she can’t help herself. A few cats trail him like the Pied Piper. A few others, including two tuxedo cats—black, with white bib and feet—start to groom themselves, then walk away, aloof. Clementine needs to decide which cat she’ll be.

It doesn’t take long. She’s wondered about this man for nearly thirty years. She takes a few hesitant steps… then scratches the back of her neck… then follows.

Nico turns the corner and…

They’re both gone.

I give them a moment to come back. Thirty seconds to see if they return.

Still gone.

There’s no reason to break the emergency glass. Maybe he’s just getting more cat food.

I search for the guard back by the fence. He’s gone too.

I look around, but there’s no one else. I can run back to the main building, but by the time I get there, God knows where Nico will be. More important, if something happened to Clemmi, it’d be my fault.

Tot called history a selection process that hands us situations we should never be able to overcome.

He’s right. I can’t overcome this. Nico’s a trained monster. A killer. A destroyer.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

But I have to try.

Running full speed, I race down the concrete path. With each step, my feet slap the pavement, splattering puddles of slush.

As I pass the front of the building, I spot the blur of my own profile in the reflection of the glass doors. The tuxedo cats are milling around, looking bored as they ignore me. I even see Nico’s and Clementine’s footsteps where the snow isn’t melted yet. They can’t be far.

At the corner of the building, I make a sharp left and…

Nothing.

A long alley of browning snow, a rusted Dumpster, and just beyond the Dumpster, an empty golf cart that—

Mrrow.

Cat. That’s one of the cats.

I crane my neck.

There.
In the back. The tabby one.

I’m already halfway there as its tail disappears around the back of the building. As I fly past the Dumpster—

Pfuump.

A thick forearm rams my neck, hitting like a baseball bat and clotheslining me so hard, my feet leave the ground.

Keeping his forearm at my throat, Nico shoves me backward by my neck until I crash—hard—onto the freezing concrete. The back of my head hits first, and a flash of bright stars blinds me on impact.

“What’re you doing!? Are you crazy!?” Clementine shouts at Nico.

Her father smiles, heading toward me.

Before I can register anything, Nico’s all over me.

*              *              *

30

Wasting no time, Nico climbs on my stomach, my chest, his baseball-bat forearm now pressing like a nightstick against my neck. His breath smells like cigarettes and old coins. I try to breathe, but he’s…
huuuh
…
huuuh
… he’s on my windpipe… I scream for the guards, but no one knows we’re here.

“I heard you,” he says, completely calm as his chocolate eyes rattle back and forth, picking apart my face. “In the entryway. I hear things better than you.”

“G-Get off him!” Clementine shouts, racing out from where he shoved her behind the Dumpster. She plows toward him, ready to push him away.

“Do.
Not
,” Nico says, whipping around and grabbing her wrist with one hand, while holding my throat with the other. I’ve never seen anything move so fast.

Clementine thrashes, fighting to get free. No. She’s not fighting. She just wants him off her. Stumbling backward, her face goes gray and ashen like she’s about to throw up. Back at the Archives, I remember what the
pop, pop, pop
of the gunshots did to her. She could barely deal with that. She certainly can’t deal with this.

As she finally breaks free, Clementine falls on her ass. It shifts Nico just enough that he lets go of my throat as my lungs lurch for air.

“Huuuh… hgggh…”

He watches my face… studies my eyes as I look to Clementine…

No. I shouldn’t look at her.

Too late.

Glancing to his left, he studies Clementine, then turns back to me.

“You know him,” he says to Clementine, who’s still on her rear, crabwalking and scrambling to get away. “You brought him here.”

“I-I didn’t,” she insists. “I swear to—”

“God’s name. Don’t take it in vain,” Nico warns, his voice just a whisper.

I wait for her to say something, but from the panic in her eyes… She can’t. She’s done. There’s no reconnecting with this man. All she wants is out of here.

Nico turns, like a dog spotting a squirrel. His chest rises and falls so quickly. He hears something.

“
Nico…?
” a sharp voice calls from the distance. We can’t see who it is, but the way Nico turns… Whoever’s coming… It’s a guard.

Clementine crabwalks back even farther. With a leap, Nico climbs to his feet and I get my first clear breath.

“
Nico, get yer ass outta there!
” a man shouts in a deep southern accent.

I stumble to my feet just as a black guard with small shoulders turns the corner.

“What the hell you doing?” the guard asks.

Nico’s eyes roll toward him, unafraid. “We were feeding the cats.”

The guard shoots Nico a look that says,
Do I look stupid to you?
Then he shoots us a look that says,
Why’d you let him take you back there?

“Public spaces only. You know that,” the guard growls.

“We’ll just be a minute,” Nico says, gripping Clementine’s shoulder as she rises to her feet.

“Nico, hands off her. You okay there, miss?” the guard asks.

“We’re coming up front. To feed the cats,” Nico replies. “The tabby still hasn’t eaten.”

“Nico, I am
not
in the mood for your freakiness right now. Shut your face,” the guard says. “Miss, you okay or not?”

Clementine stiffens. I know she wants to run… to scream… to get away from here, but the last thing she needs is Nico freaking.

“We’re coming to the front. To feed the cats,” she repeats, her voice barely working.

Looking at all three of us, the guard studies us, especially Nico. “Public spaces. Everyone. Now!”

Nico doesn’t move. But as Clementine takes off, he falls in behind her. Right next to me.

“You came here to protect her,” Nico whispers to me. “To make sure she was okay.”

I don’t answer.

“You like her,” Nico adds, calm as ever as we follow the guard out of the alley, toward the front of the building. “I see the way you study her. Is that why you brought a gun with you? To keep her safe?”

Clementine looks back at me. Just like Nico.

“A gun?” I ask. “I don’t have a gun.”

“I can see it,” Nico says, never raising his voice. It’s like he’s part robot. “I can see it tucked under your jacket. In the back.”

Patting myself around the waist, I quickly realize what he’s talking about. The book. The dictionary. The way it props my jacket up in the back of my pants.

“No—okay—
look
, it’s just—It’s a book,” I tell him, taking out the thin, gutted dictionary and showing it to him. “Just a book.”

But as I hold it out between us, Nico freezes.

“You wanna feed your cats, feed ’em here,” the guard calls out, pointing us back to the wooden benches in front of the building. No longer trusting Nico, the guard heads toward the building and stands in front of the doors, about fifty feet from us. This time, he’s not letting us go far.

Clementine heads back toward the main path. She can’t get out of here fast enough.

Still focused on the book, Nico’s eyes squeeze into two angry slits. “Why do you have that?” he asks.

“Have what? The book?”

“Why do you have it!?” Nico growls. “Tell me why you brought it here.”

“Just calm down,” I say, glancing over at the guard.

Following my eye, Nico turns to the guard, then sits down on the bench, swallowing every bit of rising anger. However long he’s been in here, he knows the consequences of losing his cool.

“Is this a test?” he asks. “Is that it? It’s a test for me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, offering him a quick goodbye as I follow after Clementine. “I work in the Archives, and I found this book, so I—”

“
You
found the book?” Nico interrupts.

I freeze, confused.

Clementine keeps walking.

Nico’s eyes go wide, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “Of course you found it. Of course,” he says. “Why else would you be here?”

“Hold on. You
know
this book?” I challenge.

“Don’t you see? That’s why she found me,” Nico says, motioning to his daughter.

Clementine stops, utterly confused—and for the first time, looks directly at Nico.

“And that’s why
you
followed,” Nico says, pointing to me. “God knows how I was misled. But God provides…”

“Nico, you’re not making sense,” I say.

“The book. To bring that book,” Nico insists. “The Lord knows my belief is just in Him. I’m no longer fooled by ancient stories of devil worship or secret cults or—or—or—This isn’t—This has nothing to do with me. It’s not a test for
me
,” Nico insists, his voice picking up speed. He points at my chest. “It’s a test for
you
!”

I glance over my shoulder. To the guard, it just looks like we’re talking.

“What kind of test?” Clementine asks, hesitantly walking toward us.

“This dictionary.
Entick’s Dictionary
,” Nico says, now locked just on me. “You work in the Archives. That’s why you smell of wet books. Don’t you know your history? This was the book George Washington used.”

“Time out. You
do
know this book?” I ask again.

“It’s the one Washington used. To test the loyalties.”

“The loyalties of what?”

Stretching his long spider legs out, Nico creeps off the bench, stands up straight, and kicks his shoulders back. “What else?” he asks, eyeing the guard and smiling. “For the Culper Ring.”

31

Say again?” Clementine stutters.

“The Culper Ring,” Nico says. “When George Washington was—” He cuts himself off, but this time doesn’t look back at the guard. He looks at me. His eyes flick back and forth. “You of all people… You know who they are, don’t you?”

“Me? Why should I know?” I ask.

He studies my face. Like he’s looking for something no one else can see. “To work in the Archives… You know. I know you know.”

This time I don’t respond.

“Is he right? Beecher, please… say something,” Clementine pleads, more unnerved than ever. “You know, don’t you? You know what this Culper Ring is.”

“Not what.
Who
,” Nico says. “The strength was in the
who.
That’s why they saved us,” he explains. “Back during the Revolutionary War, the British were slaughtering us. Not just physically. Mentally too. War is mental.”

War’s not the only thing mental
, I think to myself.

“If you know, please… why’re you not saying anything?” Clementine asks, looking just at me and making me realize just how unsettling—and unlikely—all these coincidences are to her.

“
I don’t know
,” I insist.

“You just said—”

“I’ve heard of them. I work in Old Military—of course I’ve heard of them—but all I know are the basics: They were George Washington’s private spy group. He personally put the group together.”

“You know why he brought them together,” Nico challenges. “Why are you so fearful to show your knowledge? Is it her? Or are you uncomfortable around me?”

I again stay silent. Clementine knows
he’s
the one I’m worried about. Indeed, my mind tracks back to the crazy Freemason/Founding Fathers conspiracy that caused Nico to shoot the President all those years ago. Nico was convinced Thomas Jefferson and the other Founders were trying to rule the world, and it was his job to save us.

The guy’s got a PhD in crackpot history, so the last thing I need is to add another gallon of crazy to his tank. The problem is, like before, the
real
last thing I need is to rile him for no reason. “Okay, just listen,” I say. “Back during the Revolution, George Washington was frustrated that our side couldn’t keep a secret—our plans kept getting intercepted by the British, since they knew who all our military spies were,” I continue, glancing back at the guard, who’s watching us, but seems satisfied all is under control. “And that’s when Washington decided to stop relying on the military, and instead put together this group of regular civilians…”