Thief of Lies by Brenda Drake Page B

didn’t come for small talk.”
    “I came to get you. Get dressed. Pack a change of clothes and anything else you may need.” He skulked to the window, turned, and winked at me. “Meet me in the café down the street.”
    “Why?”
    “I’ll tell you in the café.”
    My hand flew to my chest. “Am I in danger? Is Pop ?”
    “Not if you do as I ask.”
    “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I said sourly.
    He straddled the windowsill. “Just hurry.”
    “You know, that window was locked.”
    “Yes, it was .” He grinned and ducked through the open window, barely making a sound as he went down the fire escape. Cleo darted after him.
    A change of clothes? I flung the covers aside, stumbled out of bed, and rushed to the window to ask why I needed to pack an overnight bag, but Arik was already on the street below.
    If I called out, Pop would hear. “Great,” I seethed.
    I packed a bag and tiptoed to the bathroom, listening to hear if my uninvited guest woke Pop. The apartment was still, so I took a quick shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and darted for my room.
    “What’s going on?” Pop asked as I was shutting the door. He held his favorite mug his aunt had sent him from Ireland with some saint on it. Fresh ground coffee beans scented the apartment and steam rose from the coffee, which told me he hadn’t been up long, so he probably hadn’t heard Arik in my room.
    “Nothing,” I answered through the crack. “I’m just late, as usual.”
    “Where are you heading off to this early in the morning?”
    “I’m going to the library with Afton. We’re finishing our summer essays.” I hated lying to Pop after the whopper I’d told him about how my leg got hurt. I couldn’t forget the worry in his eyes when he’d arrived at the hospital as the paramedics unloaded me from the ambulance. I never wanted to do that to him again.
    I tightened my lips to stop my tic. Guilt sickened my stomach. Pop didn’t deserve my dishonesty. It hadn’t been easy raising a bratty me in those early years. I won the stepfather lottery when my mother married him. Some of my school friends’ fathers weren’t as concerned about their kids as Pop was about me. And I was a shit for lying to him.
    “The library, again? Don’t you think you should rest your leg?”
    “It feels fine. I’ve been using Nana’s ointment on it.” I stuck my injured leg through the door.
    Pop bent and examined it. He was a paramedic, so every time I got hurt it was a big deal. “Well, all right, it’s healing nicely. Just don’t overdo it.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You spend a lot of time in libraries. Don’t you ever get bored?”
    “Most parents would be happy about that.”
    Pop just didn’t get my love for libraries. I likened it to his passion for Fenway Park and the Boston Red Sox, which helped him to understand, a little, but he still had his doubts. Libraries weren’t a necessity for him, because he only read sports magazines and the Boston Globe . I wondered if my draw to libraries had something to do with the magic hidden in them.
    “Well,” he said. “I’ll make eggs.”
    “But we’re stopping at the café first.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
    He turned something over in his head. “Do you need money?”
    “No. I still have some of my babysitting money.”
    “Well, be home by six for dinner, okay?”
    “Sure.” I shut the door.
    I listened until he thumped away then I shimmied into my jeans. After layering a couple of tank tops on me, I wormed my feet into my black Converse, threw my wet hair into a ponytail, and did a quick check in the mirror. “Ugh, you’re a mess.” I gave my reflection the stink eye.
    Cleo hopped up on the windowsill, startling me. “Crap! You scared me, squeaker.” I rushed over, shut the window, and locked it. As I ran my fingers across her fur, she arched her back. “You have to stay inside, okay? If you’re lucky, Pop will give you some of his eggs.”
    I slung my