And then a hush went through the crowd, because our teachers were not alone.
Macey's parents were walking through the doors, waving and shaking hands, followed by a member of the United States Secret Service. I'm pretty sure if there had been any babies to kiss, The Senator would have done it.
There are a lot of scary things about being a Gallagher Girl, but having people who don't belong in your school walk inside it is high on the list. And I knew that we were being welcomed back to a very different school.
"Ooh," Liz said beside me. With wide eyes, she watched
Macey's parents greet our Culture and Assimilation professor, Madame Dabney.
Across the table, Bex grinned and whispered, "Pop quiz?"
"Welcome back, ladies," my mother said from the front of the room. "I can honestly say that I have never felt so glad to have you all here …" She paused; her gaze swept over the room, which instantly grew dim as the sun slipped below the horizon. If I hadn't known better, I might have sworn I heard my mother's voice crack as she finished, "safe and sound."
No one whispered. No one giggled or teased. What had happened to Macey (and to me) hadn't been some wild tale that we'd carried back from our summer vacations. It was real. And no one felt like laughing anymore.
"As you know, the eyes of the world are now upon the Gallagher Academy," Mom went on. I couldn't help glancing at the McHenrys to see if they guessed my mother's secret meaning, but the two of them kept nodding the same somber nods that must be second nature for anyone with their name on a ballot.
"We must learn and we must persevere. We must be careful and we must be brave. And most importantly"—right then it seemed as if a hundred girls sat up a little straighter, literally rising to the challenge—"we must protect our sisterhood." Her voice grew a little stronger. "And our sisters."
I don't know for sure how many active Gallagher Girls there are in the world. Hundreds. Thousands. We disappear into society and do our jobs without a word of thanks or any hope of praise. I may be the Chameleon, but in truth, every Gallagher Girl has to be somewhat invisible. Yet now, we were all in the spotlight.
"There are things that are expected of us," my mom went on. "For that reason, there will be some changes this semester."
A slight murmur went through the crowd.
"AM lessons will take place inside the safety of the primary mansion." Senator McHenry nodded as if this seemed like a good idea, not really understanding how good, considering that a paparazzo with a telephoto lens might have some questions if he ever caught a teenage girl practicing a perfect Forenstyl Flip on a three-hundred-pound member of the maintenance staff.
"Also, as far as our most notable student of the moment is concerned, we will be enforcing a strict no comment policy," Mom continued. "Be prepared, ladies. People are going to want to hear how Macey is coping." I glanced at the girl beside me, wondering the same thing. "But they're not going to hear it from us."
Gallagher Girls keep secrets—that's what we do. And that mission had never felt so personal.
"And perhaps the biggest change of all," Mom said slowly. I felt the room lean closer. "This semester we will be welcoming a member of the McHenry's security detail into this school for Macey's protection."
I can't swear to it or anything, but for a second her eyes locked on me. "The security of Macey McHenry will not change what and how we learn. To that end, let's welcome Agent Abigail Cameron, who will be responsible for Ms. McHenry's security detail."
The room around me filled with noise and movement, but in my mind, things were suddenly quiet and slow. A woman with long dark hair and gorgeous green eyes had appeared at the back of the room.
"As it so happens, Agent Cameron is a graduate of the Gallagher Academy and therefore uniquely qualified to give Macey the best protection possible."
I know, having aced my lip-reading midterm the previous semester, that the hall was a chorus of "Wow, she's pretty"s and "Wait, who's that?"s.
I know that every Gallagher Girl in the Grand Hall was looking at the woman walking through the room, thinking, This is our sister. But not me. All I could do was stare at her and whisper, "Aunt Abby?"
Chapter Eight
When you've spent four years living with a certain British secret agent-in-training who loves to practice spontaneous attacks and self-defense maneuvers when you're brushing your teeth, it takes a lot to knock you off guard. So I like to consider myself the kind of person who can keep a straight face during just about anything. Or…well…almost anything.
I tried to remember the last time I'd seen my mother's sister—not since before Mom left the CIA, not since before I started school here. Not since before…Dad. And yet there she was, twenty feet away and walking closer.
Her hair was longer than I remembered, past her shoulders now. She was still thin and athletic, but she seemed shorter somehow, and then, genius that I am, I realized that maybe I was just taller.
"Hey, Cam," Bex whispered, jabbing me in the ribs, "isn't Cameron your mom's maiden name?"
"Yeah," I murmured as if it were just a big coincidence.
I studied her every move as she wove between the tables; she was the embodiment of what every girl in the room wanted to be when she grew up.
"She seems sort of…familiar," Liz said, and I could almost hear her mind working, gears turning, as if my aunt's face were a code she was trying to crack.
Then Abby winked at me, and, for Bex, the pieces fell into place. "No way!" She was pointing between my aunt and my mother as if memorizing every detail of their unmistakable family resemblance. "That's your aunt—"