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“You can never eat nuts again,” my mother tells me, and her eyes are filled with terror.
“You died for a minute and a half,” Finn announces, and he no longer looks afraid, instead, he looks intrigued. Because I’m safe now. Because I was dead, and now I’m not.
I should feel different, but I don’t.
It intrigues me, too.
Chapter Four
Whitley Estate
Sussex, England
The flight is God-awful long.
We get to ride in First-Class, but I had to leave my dad and my room, and even though the flight attendants come to check on us frequently, and bring me apple juice and cookies and a blanket¸ it’s not worth it. I know it’s not worth it.
My legs cramp and I rub at them, glancing sideways at Finn.
“I don’t want to go to England,” I tell him. He shushes me with a finger to his lips, staring at our mom across the aisle. She sleeps heavily, thanks to a sleeping pill. I roll my eyes.
“She hasn’t moved in three hours.”
“So what? She could still hear you.”
“She doesn’t have bionic ears,” I argue. But then I drop it, because what difference does it make?
“I just don’t want to go,” I continue, a little bit quieter. “Dad didn’t want us to leave¸ I could tell. I don’t see why we have to.”
Finn glances over his shoulder at mom, then peers at me. “I heard them talking last night. Mom said that we have to go, so that her family can help you.”
I yank my head back, startled. “Help me with what?”
My brother’s blue eyes are guarded. “I don’t know. Do you?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. I have no idea. I don’t need help.”
I don’t say anything else for the rest of the flight, and finally, finally, we arrive in London. My mother awakes easily, freshened from her nap. I’m exhausted, and it’s on weary legs that I trudge through the busy airport.
A driver in a dark suit and cap is waiting for us and he leads us to a long sleek limousine.
“My name is Jones,” he tells me seriously, and he has a giant nose. “I’ll be helping with you while you are here at Whitley.”
Helping with me?
Finn and I exchange looks as we pile into the fancy car.
My mother doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she seems nostalgic as she chats while we drive through town and into the countryside. She points out the window.
“See over there? I learned to swim in that pond.”
I follow her finger and find a dismal little body of water, murky and black. Nothing like the Pacific Ocean, the water that I learned to swim in. I feel sorry for her for that, but she doesn’t seem sad.
Now that we’re here, her accent is sharpened, cutting the air like a scalpel, like the British person she is. She says bean instead of been, and pronounces schedule like shhedule. Why haven’t I ever noticed it before?
Finn reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it. “I think we’re almost there,” he says quietly, and I follow his gaze.
Towers erupt through the trees on the horizon, spires of stone, and a cobbled roof. I’m mesmerized as we pull through gates, gliding along a stone driveway and pulling to a stop in front of a giant house. A mansion, actually.
