Professor Dabney stood at the top of the stairs, shining a light on the second-story landing, and one look at her stern expression was enough to tell me that this was no drill.
I turned into the Hall of History, where I had seen display cases spin around and disguise themselves for the benefit of strangers: but that night they weren't hidden—they were locked behind reinforced steel doors; walls had swallowed shelves whole, and Gillian Gallagher's sword had sunk into a vault, protected, secure in its place as our most precious treasure. It was a side of my school I'd never seen, and even though I had always known that a Code Red protects us from strangers, and a Code Black protects us from enemies, the difference had never seemed so big until then.
"Cameron," my mother called from her office doorway— not Cam, not Cammie, not sweetheart or sweetie or honey or … Well, you get the picture. We were in full-name territory, and personally, I was starting to wish the big, honking sirens would come back.
"Mom, I didn't do anything!"
But instead of a show of motherly support, Mom stepped aside and said, "Come in."
Her bookshelves had been sealed with titanium shutters, her filing cabinets had disappeared into the floor, and in the corner her burn box was still smoking, but I couldn't look away from my mother, because the expression on her face wasn't disappointment or anger, but something no girl ever wants to see on her super-spy mother's face: fear. She sat behind her desk, more headmistress than mother now.
"What happened?" I heard the panic in my own voice. "What's going on?" I asked.
"You left the Grand Hall tonight?" The voice behind me made me jump, and I turned to see Mr. Solomon leaning against the bookcases behind me, arms crossed just like I'd seen him do a hundred times in class. Somehow, though, I felt I was about to hear a very different type of lecture.
"I didn't do anything," I said again, because even though I've been behind my share of Gallagher Academy security infractions, I have never managed anything greater than a Level Two. (I know—Liz hacked into my student file and told me.)
"Cammie," Mom said calmly. "I need to know why you left the Grand Hall tonight."
Okay, it's one thing to tell your mother about undergarment emergencies, but it's quite another to share them with your teacher—especially a teacher like Joe Solomon, so I shrugged and said, "I … uh … had a clothing…malfunction."
"Oh," Mom said, nodding.
"And you left the Grand Hall?" Mr. Solomon asked, not stopping to ask which article of clothing. "Where did you go? Who did you see?"
"Mom," I pleaded as I searched my mother's eyes through the glow of the emergency lights that filled her office, "what's this all about?"
But Mom didn't answer.
"Did you try to leave the mansion tonight, Ms. Morgan?" Mr. Solomon demanded.
"No," I said.
"Cam," Mom said. "You won't be in trouble, but we need to know the truth."
"No!" I exclaimed again. "I didn't leave. Something happened to my dress, and I left for a second, and then…" But they already knew about the sirens and the lights, and for some reason I couldn't bring myself to remind them. "What's going on?" I asked one final time.
Mom and Mr. Solomon looked at each other, then my mother got up and sat next to me on the leather sofa, pulled me down beside her, and said, "Cammie, do you know what's in this mansion?"
For a second I thought it must be a trick question, but then I remembered what the mansion contained…the experiments, the prototypes, the mission summaries, and…most of all… the names and traces of every Gallagher Girl who had ever lived.
"Do you have any idea what would happen if the general population—much less our enemies—had access to what is contained within these walls?" my mother asked. I seriously didn't want to think about the answer. And the truth was, I didn't know the answer—no one did. And the most important thing in the world was that we kept it that way.
"Ms. Morgan, you were in the halls tonight prior to the security breach," Mr. Solomon stated. "We need you to tell us exactly what you saw and heard."
I could have asked what was going on—who they suspected and why—but when you've lived your whole life on a need-to-know basis, you eventually stop asking the questions that you know no one will answer.
So I sat on the leather couch in my mother's office knowing that more was riding on my memory than it had for any test I'd ever taken. I closed my eyes and told the story straight through—from Zach's dance to the doors swinging open. I left nothing out.
"You saw Zach?" Mr. Solomon asked.
"Yeah. He was waiting for me. You should ask him if he saw or heard anything," I said, but my mother's gaze never left Mr. Solomon's. "Mom…"I started, but my voice cracked.
"Everything's fine, sweetie, don't worry." She smiled at me and rubbed my back. Rachel Morgan is probably the best spy I have ever known, so when she stood and opened the door and said, "The mansion's secure, it was probably just a false alarm," I tried to believe her. When she hugged me good night, I tried to wipe the worry from my mind.
But then I risked a backward glance at my teacher, who had removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and I couldn't help but think that the party was officially over.
After I left my mother's office I made my way through the red glow of the emergency lights. The halls were empty. The windows were covered. I expected to see running girls, to hear debriefs and a thousand crazy theories, but the halls echoed with silence as I slowly pushed my bedroom door open.