IAN

Lord, I can't stop thinking about that Cahill girl. Amy. What a plain, common name to match her plain, common face. There are at least three Amy-named girls in my school back home in London, all of whom are to inherit a fortune at least ten times the amount Amy has ever thought of. So I ask myself this: What's so special about her? What's so different?

I doubt it's the way she talks. That stutter of hers is embarrassing, nothing to be proud of, and everything to be ashamed about.

Maybe it's the way she looks at, as though she's trying to figure me out. Good luck, I say to that. Not even Natalie knows of the real Ian Kabra.

Or maybe it's the fact that she doesn't fall all over herself to get to me, as the girls back in London do. It does make me a little uncomfortable at times, but it feels good.

Any of those reasons could be why I'm so – what's the word? – intrigued by Amy Cahill.

No, don't worry, ladies. Ian Kabra is still free. I do not like Amy Cahill in any way, nor do I have a crush on her. I simply find her intriguing.

Who wouldn't? Her joy in running up Alistair's tiny lawn, her awe at the piddling little cubbyhole Alistair calls the 'Oh Sanctum' – I didn't think it possible to gain so much happiness from so little. She's a living human-interest story.

I don't know what amazes me more, though: The fact that she thought that I could fall for some one as pitiful as her, or the fact that her brother saw it coming.

Her brother, the oh-so-oblivious-to-the-world Daniel, is the one who warned Amy of my plan. He is another human-interest story. Who could have thought that Daniel Cahill predicted the Kabras? Certainly not me.

In that cave back all the way back in Paris, I was amazed to find Daniel solving the magic square. I would have thought it to be Amy, the know-it-all.

I hadn't put any faith in the plan, not thinking I would succeed. I half-expected them to sneak away in the dead of the night while we were sleeping, taking the Hideyoshi coin with them.

But deep down, I knew my worries were ill placed; they were the Cahills. They were the only team who doesn't know their own branch, the only team who would rather take the diplomatic approach before the violent one. (Aside from Alistair, but he doesn't count because he backstabs like the rest of them.) And yet, I could not shake that feeling off. My whole life was spent watching my parents and their so-called friends backstab each other. I knew that was meant to be my life, the one I was destined to have. So I trained my self not to trust people easily; therefore it was only instinct to distrust the Cahills.

The girl, Amy. She was too naive, so much that I almost hesitated to leave her in the cave. I'd already decided to let them live, until the moment I reminded myself that she wouldn't hesitate to do that to me were the situation reversed. So I shut the cave door.

Speaking of doors…

"Ian! Let me in!" Ah, my dear sister Natalie was banging on the custom-made oak wood doors.

I sighed, got out of the bed, and walked toward the door slowly, if for no other reason than to irritate her. When I reached it, I took a deep breath and counted to three before opening. "What?"

She stood there, already dressed in a sea-green dress and those stupid and scandalously high heels. What is it with girls and those heels? I detested them; they hurt a lot when pressed on your foot. I should know. She's done it to me before.

I wondered vaguely if Amy wore them.

Natalie huffed before answering, "Dear Lord, what took you so long? Don't answer that. It's time."

Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Natalie and I were assigned by mother to go into the Cahill's hotel and… retrieve them for her. We'd spent days planning this. "Now?"

"Yes – no, in five minutes, once you've changed in to something more appropriate." Natalie smirked.

I looked down and blushed, shutting the door too quickly. Indeed, I was wearing nothing but my boxers. I debated idly what Amy's reaction would be if I went to her hotel like this. She would probably blush. Was her blush contagious?

One blue Armani polo shirt (unbuttoned at the top two buttons), pair of trousers, and black oxford shoes later, I was ready to go. I headed downstairs to the lobby where I knew the limousine would be waiting.

"There you are, Ian; hurry up," Natalie called. She surveyed my attire critically. "Un-tuck the shirt. You look like a dork."

I did as I was told without complaint. There were some instances where I would be ready to argue with Natalie, but anything related to clothes … she would murder me. "Better?"

"Much."

We stepped inside the limo in silence. The rest of the ride to Amy's hotel was quiet too. Well, most of it. Natalie was just looking out at the streets of Madrid, while I spent the time thinking of other interesting things about the Cahill girl.

I wondered what made her so shy. Would she still be like this if she grew up like a Kabra? Would she still stutter? Would she still love books as much as she did now? Or would she be like Natalie – I shuddered at the thought of two of them – shopaholic extraordinaire, master of shooting darts? I could not picture this 'sweet', innocent, and naïve girl trying to kill some one. The mental image was just wrong.

My mind went to more frivolous topics. Does she like the same books I do? I hoped she didn't like the Twilight Saga; what's with the vampire craze anyway? Vampires don't sparkle, and they're evil, end of story. I can withstand the Harry Potter series, as well as the classics, but I don't hold any particular interests. I prefer manuals and magazines, preferably the ones featuring the Kabra family.

And what about television shows? I doubt she watches Glee. I don't, due to the fact that it's too dramatic.

Music tastes? I had a feeling we shared that one in common. Back in Venice, while I was playing the harpsichord, I noticed her looking at me playing KV 617. I could tell by her face that she liked the sound. I liked it, too. Classical music makes me feel at peace, a feeling I hardly experience anymore, especially since the start of the hunt.

"Hey." Natalie the Rude snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's not like you to think of others."

Natalie shrugged. "The rules are different when I'm bored."

I stared at her a while longer, waiting to see if it were a joke, then shrugged back at her. "The Cahill girl."

She made a strangled sound. "What? You don't like her, do you? Dear Prada" – she gasped – "you do! You totally do!"

I just looked at her, watching her jump from conclusion to conclusion. "What makes you say that?" I finally asked, amused.

"You're thinking of her!" Natalie screeched her voice grating in my ears. She hit me on the arm. "Oh, bloody hell, when mum finds out…"

I laughed, causing her to glare at me. "First, I don't like her. I simply find her interesting. Second, I was only comparing her differences. Third, she's just a penniless American with a git of a brother, the two things I would never in a million years like, even if you paid me with all the clues."

Natalie relaxed visibly. "Oh, okay."

"Yeah, okay."

The rest of the trip was silent, for which I was grateful. I don't think I could stop from laughing at another outburst similar to that. It would be too much for me to handle. Natalie was so funny, thinking I could actually have any romantic feelings for the Cahill girl. It was impossible for me not to laugh.

I was saved from laughing again when the driver announced, "We're here, Ms. and Mr. Kabra."

We stepped outside the limo and into the hotel. If you could call it a hotel. The building looked like a prison. Natalie wrinkled her nose as she passed through the… establishment.

A young man – the bellboy – waved at us, trying to get our attention. We paused and turned to glance at him. "Excuse me," he said, his Spanish accent thick, "but you have to check in."

Natalie curled her lips. "Tell us where Amelia and Daniel Cahill are staying," she said, passing three hundred Euros to him discreetly, "and you may keep the money."

He eyed the bills in wonder. "Um – enjoy your stay, Mr. and Ms. Smith. Right this way."

We followed him into the elevators. He led us to the sixth floor and towards the final door. "Here we are."

"Thank you." I waited until he disappeared around the corner and got out my lock-picking set. I picked the lock easily. It was one of those cheap, ugly doorknobs you find at the seventy-percent-off sale.

We opened the door cautiously and tiptoed inside. Amy was sitting on a beaten-down chair, facing away from us. We stole quietly towards her. She still didn't hear us.

We were poised behind her, ready to strike. My sister looked at me and I nodded. She took out her favorite dart gun from her pocket.

"Hello, love," I said, watching Natalie point the dart gun at her back. "Been thinking about me?"