"Yes, ma'am." Shepulled one of my bags from the open trunk. "Thanks again for letting me spend winterbreak with you." Most people wouldn't have noticed the slight change inher voice, the faint vulnerability of her smile. But I understand what it'slike not to know what continent your parents are on, or when you'll see themagain. If ever. My mother was standing right beside me, but all Bex had was acoded message saying her parents were representing England's MI6 in a jointproject with the CIA, and that, like it or not, they couldn't exactly come homefor Christmas.

When Mom hugged Bex andwhispered, "You're always welcome with us, sweetheart," I couldn'thelp thinking about how Bex had both of her parents some of the time, and I hadone of my parents most of the time, but right then, neither of us seemedentirely happy with the deal.

We stood in silence for aminute, watching my mother walk away. I could have asked Bex about her parents.She could have mentioned my dad. But instead I just turned to her and said,"I got to meet the woman who bugged the Berlin Embassy in 1962."

And that was all it took tomake my best friend smile.

We started for the main doors,pushing through the crowded foyer and up the Grand Staircase. We were halfwayto our rooms when someone … or rather, something…stopped us in our tracks.

"Ladies," PatriciaBuckingham called as I reached for the door to the East Wing—and the fastest route to our rooms. I tried the knob,but it wouldn't budge.

"It's …" I twistedharder. "…stuck!"

"It's not stuck,ladies," Buckingham called again, her genteel British accent carryingabove the noise in the foyer below. "It's locked," she said, as if wehave locked doors all the time at the Gallagher Academy, which, let me tell you— we don't. I mean, sure, a lot of our doors areprotected by NSA-approved codes or retinal scanners, but they're never just…locked.(Because, really, what's the point when there are entire sections of ourlibrary labeled Locks: The Manipulationand Disabling of?)