The Fallen Legacies (Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files #3)(18)

Ivan just confirmed that Maggie is Number Two.

“Number Two,” he says, a note of gruesome satisfaction in his voice. “My lucky day.”

While Ivan has his shirt up, I notice a wound on his side. It looks like a bullet graze. Blood runs down his body, collecting in the waistband of his pants. He sees me looking and smiles proudly.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Ivan says. “You should see the other guy.” He winks.

That’s when it hits me. Ivan doesn’t know what I was doing here. All he cares about is that the protocol of his mission has just changed from apprehend to eliminate.

Understanding that Ivan was referring to her Cêpan, Maggie begins struggling with renewed vigor. She manages to slip from under Ivan’s boot, but only gets a hard kick in the chest for her trouble. The way Ivan kicks Maggie is as casual as the way I watched my sister build and snuff out a piken.

Maggie’s down again, and this time Ivan presses a foot onto her back. She coughs raggedly, then cranes her neck up to look at me. One of the lenses of her glasses is shattered.

“You said you’d help me,” she gasps.

Ivan laughs. Some of the other Mogadorians in the room crack smiles.

“Is that what he told you?” exclaims Ivan, amused. “Crafty Adamus! You always were the smart one. Come rushing over here all by yourself to claim all the glory, while the rest of us are out fighting.”

Ivan waves his hand at the gun at my feet.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Help her.” Sarcasm drips from his words.

I pick up the gun in a shaky hand and hold it loosely at my side. None of the Mogadorians in the room have weapons drawn. They really have no idea what I was doing here. Of course they don’t believe Number Two. Why would they trust her over one of their own?

I glance around the room and force a smile. Ivan thinks he’s just handed me a gift, and I know I need to play along. But what I’m really trying to figure out is how many I’d be able to kill before they returned fire? Two? Maybe three?

I’d start with Ivan, that much I’m sure of.

The small gun feels impossibly heavy. It’s now or never.

But I can’t do it. I can’t kill my own people any more than I could kill Maggie. I meet her eyes, large and pleading. I wish I could at least tell her how sorry I am, but the words won’t come. I’m too afraid to even speak.

I drop the gun and look away.

“Don’t have the stomach for it?” sneers Ivan, unsheathing his dagger. “Whatever. You did your part.”

Ivan reaches down and grabs a handful of Maggie’s hair, jerking her head back to expose her throat. I see a metallic glint around her neck: her pendant. A grin spreads across Ivan’s face as he sees it too. He raises his dagger, and I can feel him staring at me. Does he think I’m a coward, or worse, a traitor?

“For Mogadorian progress,” Ivan shouts.





CHAPTER 19


There are hundreds of pictures of the Irish countryside in Two’s “Photos!” folder. Even when it’s rainy, the landscape is beautiful: lush and green, hills sprawling, mist sometimes rolling in. I click through until I reach a set of pictures dedicated to a goat, a scrawny little mongrel with brown patches of fur appearing like mud stains on his otherwise white coat. The pet Number Two had to leave behind when she and Conrad fled Ireland.

Here’s a picture with her arms flung around the goat’s neck. I wonder what the animal’s name was.

I glance at the drying bloodstain on the apartment’s floor, as if for an answer.

The other Mogadorians have left, some to celebrate, others to have their wounds treated from the battle with Conrad. I’ve been left alone here to go through Number Two’s laptop. There won’t be any memory download this time; rummaging through Two’s private files will be as close as I get to knowing her.

There are few pictures of Conrad in Two’s albums. Most of the time her Cêpan smiles indulgently, but other times the photographs are candid: Conrad reading a book next to a fire, Conrad chopping wood. I get the impression that they led a quiet life together, much less contentious than One and Hilde.

Besides the pictures, there are a few documents on the laptop. Two never kept a proper journal, but she wrote plenty. There is a long list of “Books to Read.” There are frequently updated rankings of her favorite novels, and more specific lists like “Strong Female Characters” and “Villains Cooler Than the Heroes.” I read through these lists, although I hardly understand any of the references. I make some mental notes of books that I’d like to read. I think maybe Two would be happy that someone, even a Mogadorian, took some of her recommendations.

And then I think of the horror in Two’s eyes as Ivan brought his dagger down, how I stood by and did nothing. What am I thinking? That I’ll somehow make good on that by reading every title on the “Books That Inspired Me” list? How stupid and hollow.

“Anything interesting?”

My father stands in the doorway. He made it out of the Conrad Hoyle fight unscathed.

“No,” I reply, closing Two’s laptop.

The truth is, I’ve already deleted the only interesting thing on Two’s computer. A reply to her ill-advised blog post. I deleted the comment along with the original posting, although I’m sure the techs back at headquarters already flagged it.