Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Seventeen

I remember having a dream about Aunt Liz.

I don't remember what happened.  I don't remember anything she said to me or where she was or how either of us had gotten there.  I just remember dreaming about Aunt Liz and feeling empty—or rather, feeling almost full.  That's more like it.  The emptiness wasn't as prominent as the lack of completeness was.  A few drops short of being a full glass.  

I can remember hearing static.  Just static.  Like a comms unit that was tuned into the wrong frequency, the buzzing lifelessness in my ear inturrupted only by the occasional crackle until a voice broke through.  It was barely a whisper.  "Maggie."

I remember feeling like I was in the dark.  Maybe I was searching for the voice as it came again, louder this time.  "Maggie."

I can't remember what happened next.  I just remember falling.  I remember reaching out for something to hold on to—reaching out for those last few drops that would make everything feel okay.  I had to stop falling and finally a hand caught me.  Relief, but then fear as the hand wrapped itself around my mouth.

"Mags!"

I bolted awake, trying deperately to tear the hand from my mouth, every defensive maneuver I knew flashing through my mind all at once.  Where was Dad?  I needed my dad.

But then I saw the "threat" and my heart began it's descent to a normal pace.  "There's my favorite sister," he whispered through a grin that was far too bright for the time of night.

For a moment, I thought that I was still lost somewhere in the dream.  That one more blink would casue my brother to vanish completely, sending him straight back to London where he was supposed to be.  What was he doing here?  How had he gotten in?  The door squeaks, for goodness sake.  So many questions for 3:32 in the morning.  "What are you—?"

Matt cut me off with another urgent bang of his finger to his lips, cutting his glance behind him to where Dad slept, hunched over in exactly the same position as he had been when I went to sleep.  Matt’s message was clear.  Shut up, idiot.

I nodded to let him know I understood the necessity for silence.  I did not, however, understand the necessity for his presence.

He threw his head towards the door, then turned and walked out, expecting me to follow.  Every muscle in me clamped up when the bitter cold swarmed me, the tile biting at the bottoms of my feet.  Something about Dad’s blankets had always made them seem warmer than any other, but that night, this fact felt particularly true.  I had the overwhelming urge to curl back up into my cocoon of warmth, but when your MI6 brother shows up in the middle of the night and drags you into the hallway, you don’t just go back to sleep.  Doesn’t matter how warm your blankets are.

Matt must’ve decided that we were far enough from sleeping ears because the next time he spoke, his volume was normal.  “How’s it going, Mags?”

I yawned.  “It was going a lot better until my idiot brother woke me up from a dead sleep.”

“I think that in time, you will learn to forgive me,” he said confidently, pulling a coffee out of thin air and handing it to me.  It was still steaming from the lip and if that’s not a testament to how great a spy Matthew Goode is, then I just don’t know what is.

“Where did you—?”

“How would you like to run a mission with me?” he said, taking a sharp turn down a hallway that I hadn’t done much exploring in.  It always reeked of mildew and poor decisions, so I never really went down that way.

Wait.  What?

I followed after him, rushing to catch up.  He was staring at a spot on the wall, searching for something specific.  “A mission?” I asked.  “What do you mean a mission?  Like an op—a real op?”