Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(131)

“Natalya,” Vasily said simply with a shrug. “Natalya Filipova.”

My hand fell back to my side.

The room went still as a grave. No one moved. No one breathed.

“Did you hear that?” Saul shook his head, his smug smile facing the screen. “I hope the whole world heard that correctly, but I’ll repeat it for those not listening. Aidan Rhys, second son of the Sect’s North American Division’s director, murdered the legendary, heroic Natalya Filipova. And she didn’t even see it coming.” He looked at Rhys. “Do you deny it?”

When Rhys struggled to speak, Vasily responded by letting go of his hair and slapping him in the face. His forehead hit the pavement so hard I could hear the thud, but he was still conscious. Vasily grabbed his sleeve and dragged him up to his knees.

“Do you deny it?” Saul repeated patiently.

“N-no.” The word was almost indiscernible, but I’d heard it.

Saul leaned in, cocking his head toward him. “What was that?”

“No,” Rhys said more strongly despite the blood dripping from his mouth. “I don’t. I don’t deny it. I killed Natalya.”

The few agents who still had their guns pointed at us lowered them as they shifted back to the screen and stared in awe. In this room filled with dozens of people, you could hear nothing but gasps. Brendan stumbled back until he bumped into a terminal, his eyes glistening with tears. Director Prince continued to stand stoically, though his hands curled into fists that twitched against his thighs.

And behind me, someone finally stirred.

Belle.

I twisted around to meet her . . . her eyes. They were on me. Still hollow. Still empty. But with a flash of something else I couldn’t name. A chasm had opened in them, her face like crumbling stone, as she stared at me, through me, without blinking. Her pupils darted to the right and left, trying and failing to grab hold of anything. She was undone.

“A suicide turns to murder in a matter of seconds. Games played by the Sect.” Saul turned his back. “And he’s not the only guilty party.”

The crowd of armed criminals made room for the young woman making her way to the front. She kept her head low, her thick, curly chestnut hair flowing down over her sandy skin. Immediately, I felt a pain in my chest, sudden, unexplainable. Something wasn’t right. Something deep inside me was screaming it.

“Don’t think that the Effigies are your friends,” Saul said.

The girl lifted her head to show her face.

My face.

I fell to my knees. Everyone was looking at me, but I was looking at me too. At the girl who looked exactly like me from the shape of her forehead to the stub of her nose to the point of her chin. The girl who wasn’t me stared blankly at the cameras as Saul passed her a gun. And she didn’t seem to feel anything when she raised it and shot the second agent in the head, killing the woman instantly.

“See?” Saul used the one hand he had left to grip her shoulder, giving it an almost loving squeeze. “You never know what someone is capable of. Right, Maia?”

But that wasn’t “Maia.”

In that moment, I heard Saul’s words echoing in the back of my mind. The words he’d spoken to me that day in Morocco, an evil promise whispering unknown horrors to come.

This is a world of shadows, Maia. And the secrets hide themselves there in the dark. You’ll understand that soon enough. I’ll give you a sign.

You won’t miss it.

“It can’t be.” I leaned over, propping myself up against the floor with my hands as I whispered her name. “June?”





32



THE WORLD FELL AWAY. PEOPLE were yelling things. None of it mattered, not until Chae Rin lifted me back to my feet.

“Pull it together!” Chae Rin shoved me. “I’m tired of saying it to you people, ugh!”

But I could barely hear her. “June . . . June . . . J—” I nearly collapsed again, but it was Chae Rin who held me upright.

Chae Rin and Lake appeared as spooked as the rest of the room, everyone looking from the Maia on-screen to me standing limply in the back. But it wasn’t Maia. That wasn’t Maia.

June.

No, it couldn’t have been.

June. My sister. The girl who shared my face. That was my face. My face staring back at me. But my face was hers. Every crevice was the same. My eyes welled up with tears. She’d had acne before she’d died, but it wasn’t there anymore. Maybe it wasn’t her after all. Maybe it was me. But it couldn’t be. I was here. And it couldn’t be my dead sister either.

Unless . . . June was alive?

Back in Madrid . . . Naomi’s shooting. I’d been so careful about hiding my face, but people had seen me anyway. Could it have been—

No. It was impossible.

But what if it wasn’t? What if June was alive?

June . . . alive. June was here. She’d come back from the dead. Was it to punish me? Was this Saul’s divine justice? But June would never hurt anyone. She certainly wouldn’t kill someone. I swayed on my feet, propping myself up by the knees as I gulped up air in short, frantic breaths.

Lake bent down and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. “Maia, please get ahold of yourself! Breathe in and out, okay? Like this.”

As I tried to follow her lead, elsewhere in the room, Prince expressed his frustration in a low, baritone grumble.