Betrayel, Lies, and Food

Irina Spasky POV

My grip tightened on the ornate doorknob I was holding, about to turn clockwise, until I heard a familiar coughing and retching on the other side of the gateway to victory. Tears formed in my eyes, blurring my hawk-like vision. I blinked these poison droplets away. Irina Spasky does not mourn, nor will she ever. Besides, I had no time to be stupid.

Silently, I turned the doorknob, taking out my dagger at the same time. The white wooden door swung open with a creak and a groan. Peering into the dark room, I flicked the lights on. A sudden blaring light from the ceiling told me that the lights worked. I looked inside, to see, not the Grace Cahill I was looking to kill, but that darned butler, McIntyre.

The pixie was holding a tape recorder playing the coughing sounds that had made me cry! The hypocrite. I am ashamed.

"I see you are as evil as me, dear Irina," the butler drawled. He sounded like that kid, Ian Kabra.

"Yes, fellow Lucian.." I chose my words carefully. I figured out what had happened, seeing a bloody knife on the floor and a closet nearby. "I'd thought Madame Kabra's orders were crystal clear; I was the one of whom she appointed to take Grace Cahill's life, yes?"

"Naturally, it was little Ian and Natalie Kabra's job, but I took care of them," the old man replied, grinning delightedly with himself.

"Took care of them," I repeated, more than asked. My eye twitched slowly as I thought it over.

"I did not kill them," he said. "I too the young whelp's dart gun and shot them both with knock-out-poison."

"I do insist you answer me on this question: Why are you here, playing a tape of that old hag dying?" I asked. My knuckles were right as I clutched the dagger curled in my palm.

"Simple," McIntyre said. "You are a threat to the 39 clues. You plan to take more clues than any Lucian. Even," he added. "Hope Cahill."

The dagger fell to the floor with a clatter, the sound echoing across the room. "You evil old-"

I was cut off by a gunshot. Three. Five. Nine.

Suddenly, the old man crumpled to his knees and fell to the floor, bleeding badly.

I turned around to see the one and only Nellie Gomez, Amy and Dan Cahill's au pair, holding a small handgun.

"Thank you, dear." I said. "I will be on my way-" Suddenly, the she-devil shot me! Three times!

Nellie Gomez POV

I watched as the Wicked Witch of the West herself died. I removed one of her emerald slippers and opened the secret compartment, removing the clue; a small green booklet.

"And the Cahills get another clue!" I said in triumph.

Amy Cahill POV

"Where is Nellie?" I asked over and over as Dan ate Lays Barbecue Chips. "Bae Oh and Alistair are waiting and we don't have a driver."

"Well, there IS the motercycle we picked up in Russia-"

"NO!" I screamed.

"But Amy!" my little brother whined.

I was about to yell when Nellie burst in, smiling, pleased with herself. "Hey, kiddos."

"Hi Nellie!" Dan said.

"Where have you been?" I asked.

"Getting cookbooks?" Dan asked, his stomach grumbling.

"More like getting rid of Irina Spasky and-" She stopped abruptly.

"Who?" I asked, pleased.

"William McIntyre," she said.

"WHAT?"

"He is a Lucian and he killed your grandmother. He works with the Mardigals. I figured that out while we were in Siberia," Nellie said.

Dan was frozen in shock. The man that cared for Saladin. The man that had given them so many hints. A Lucian?