Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Thirteen

A tree.

It was in a tree.

Those two idiots put their flag in a tree.

I hung my head, not sure if I wanted to laugh or scream.  I should've seen it coming.  A year ago, Will and Bill had been my escorts down from those twisty branches.  It was the first time I'd ever heard the story of those destined soulmates and now, a year later, those same soulmates were using every bit of information they had to their advantage.  Against me.

I'd kill them.

I'd hug them.

Maybe I'd hug them until I killed them.  Yeah.  That was the one.  "Alice," I said, sticking my face in my hands.  "Go get the flag."

Alice had no reservations about her laughter as she giggled her way all the way over to that towering tree.  "You've got to admit, Mags," she said between wheezes.  "It's pretty good."

"Yeah, it might be," I said with a scoff.  "If they had any sort of defense around it.  What kind of captain doesn't put any defensemen on their flag—wait."

Until that moment, I had never truly understood what it meant for darkness to fall upon a person.  The wind knocked leaves from that tiny forest.  A dog howled in the distance.  My own words replayed in my head.  What kind of captain doesn't put any defensemen on their flag?  What kind of strategy was being used here?  The darkness around me was quiet—so quiet.  Too quiet.  "Doesn't this seem a little...?" I started.

"Easy," Kay confirmed.  "Far too easy."

Alice stood frozen at the base of the tree, caught somewhere between the ground and her first step towards the sky.  "What?" she asked.  "Why are you giving me that look?"

"She's giving you that look," began a heavy voice.  I peered through the dark to find the source of the sound.  A tall boy with flaming orange hair and an easy, self-assured grin as lethal as his hit came swinging down from the trees as if flight were a completely normal capability for all human beings.  He was more freckle than not, looking every bit as Irish as his accent made him sound.  "Because she's just realized she's walked into a trap."

He landed in the dirt without so much as a thud.  The epitome of grace.  I knew that boy.  I had hit that boy, had run drills with that boy—spent an entire summer getting my ass kicked by that boy.  I knew that he went by the name of Finn O'Reilly and that he was one of Blackthorne's only non-American students.  I knew that he had the highest GPA out of all of the Exchange boys and I knew that he held most of the records in the Gathering.  But those aren't the most impressive things about him.  The most impressive thing, I knew, was the fact that Finn O'Reilly did all of these things without a working set of eyes.

His eyes had probably been blue at one point.  If you get close enough, you can see the color underneath the clouds that constantly loomed over his sight. Finn is completely and totally blind, but don't get me wrong—his handicap in no way hinders his ability to fight.  I had learned the hard way that a blind man (especially those of a Blackthorne variety) will still knee you in the gut, despite your hesitations to return the favor, so you may as well get a few hits in yourself.

"Finn," I spat.

He grinned.  "Hey there, Morgan." He liked to say my whole name.  The only person who called me by my birth name was Grandpa Joe and, to be honest, he was really the only person allowed to.  I think Finn knew that and I think that's exactly the reason he liked doing it.  "How's the wrist healing up?"

The ghost of a hit settled along the bones in my wrist, echoing the pain that had come with Finn's well-timed twist.  He'd sprained it.  I'd been stuck running laps for the next two days.  Just the memory made me want to send a hit his way.  "Pretty good," I said. "Good enough to take you out with a single blow, I think."