"Why would theylie?" Liz asked, but Bex, Macey, and I just looked at her, none of usreally wanting to point out the obvious: Becausethey're spies.

It's something Bex and I hadunderstood all our lives. Judging by the look on her face, Macey had caught on,too (after all, her dad is in politics). But Liz hadn't grown up knowingthat lies aren't just the things we tell—they'rethe lives we lead. Liz still wanted to believe that parents and teachers alwaystell the truth, that if you eat your vegetables and brush your teeth, nothingbad will ever happen. I'd known better for a long time, but Liz still had alittle naivete left. I, for one, hated to see her lose it.

"What's blackthorn?" Macey asked, looking at each of us in turn. "I mean, you guysdon't know either, right? It's not just a me-being-the-new-girl thing?"

Everyone shook their heads no,then looked to me. "Never heard of it," I said.

And I hadn't. It wasn't thename of any covert operation we'd ever analyzed, any scientific breakthroughwe'd ever studied. Black thorn or Blackthorne or whatever could have beenanyone, anything, anywhere! And whoever … or whatever … or wherever it was, ithad made my mother miss some quality mother-daughter interrogation time. It hadalso forced my Covert Operations instructor to hold a clandestine conversationwith my headmistress. It had crept inside the Gallagher Academy for ExceptionalYoung Women (or at least its East Wing), and so there we were, not quite surewhat a Gallagher Girl was supposed to do now.

I mean, we had three perfectlyviable options: 1) We could forget what we'd heard and go to bed. 2) We couldembrace the whole "honesty" thing and tell my mother all we knew. Or3) I could be … myself. Or, more specifically, the me I used to be.