Rook

with three kids.”
    “I think I was one of three as well,” said Myfanwy.
    “Oh, yeah? Which one were you?”
    “I’m fairly certain that I was the middle child,” she replied, trying to remember.
    “I was the oldest,” said Shantay. “And though we weren’t starving, we weren’t far away from it. Then they get a very official-looking letter.”
    “From the government?”
    “No, from some extremely expensive boarding school out in New Hampshire, offering free room and board and tuition.”
    “Well, then,” said Myfanwy. “Thank heavens for the scrupulous honesty of the American government’s supernatural department.” She paused in her good-natured use of sarcasm as a blunt instrument. “But how does this constitute a more ethical system than ours?”
    “My parents had a choice in the matter. Yours, I am led to believe, did not.”
    “Yes, although there are certain advantages to our approach. Were there any other perks?”
    “I got to go home during vacations,” said Shantay.
    “Well, you’ve certainly got me beat there,” said Myfanwy.
    T he food proved to be delicious. After dessert, they discussed the intricacies of their nations’ security arrangements as they were whisked back to the Rookery.
    “Rook Thomas,” said the driver, “it looks as if those protesters have decided to set up a barricade in front of the parking entrance. Security is working at moving them on, but it may take a while.”
    “You can just drop us out in front then,” said Myfanwy, pulling on her gloves. “Thank you, Martin.” As the two women got out of the car, they eyed the protesters with distaste.
    “Have you thought about siccing the police on them?” asked Shantay.
    “I think it would just bring the press here,” said Myfanwy, whose eye had been caught by a familiar-looking woman across the street.
    “Maybe you could blame it on some sort of gang turf war?”
    “This is London, not LA,” Myfanwy said. “And besides, this is the financial district.” The conversation broke off as the familiar-looking woman crossed the street and approached them.
    “Excuse me,” said the young woman. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
    “Yes?” asked Myfanwy.
She really looks familiar—is she in the Checquy?
    “Is… are you Muvvahnwee Thomas?”
    “I guess,” said Myfanwy. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
    “My name is Bronwyn.” The girl looked at her hesitantly, waiting for some reaction. “Bronwyn Thomas. I’m your sister.”

17
     
    T hey stared at each other, the woman claiming to be a sister named Bronwyn with a look of expectancy in her eyes, and Myfanwy completely stunned. Even watching Gestalt strangle Dr. Crisp hadn’t struck her as forcibly as this revelation. She looked at the woman, recognizing her own features, albeit much prettier (gorgeous, really, let’s admit it), along with a taller body and long, fashionably highlighted blond hair.
    That’s why she looked familiar,
Myfanwy thought numbly. She could see Shantay gaping, but all the sounds in the world appeared to have been muted. Instead, there was only Bronwyn, and she felt a connection, a feeling almost of familiarity. As if this girl fit into her life, filling a sister-shaped hole.
    What is this? Is it even possible?
she thought, looking at eyes that were exactly like hers.
Is this really my sister?
    I should say something, it’s been a minute.
    “My God,” she said, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Hi.” She hesitated, and then put out her hand. The woman calling herself Bronwyn looked a little startled, but then took it with a smile, and they squeezed tentatively.
    “This must be a tremendous shock,” said Bronwyn. “Me just coming out of nowhere.”
    “It’s the most astounding thing that’s ever happened to me,” said Myfanwy. “The most astounding thing…” She trailed off, still staring, and still holding Bronwyn’s hand.
    “I’m Shantay. I work with Myfanwy,” said Shantay flatly, stepping forward. “It looks like she’s in a little bit of shock.”
    “Hi,” said Bronwyn.
    “You know, I am
so
sorry to do this to you,” said Shantay, “but there is a really important thing we have to get to. And it just can’t wait.”
    There’s a thing we have to get to?
thought Myfanwy weakly.
    “Bronwyn, you must give me all your contact details. Your address and so on,” Myfanwy said. “And I’ll give you mine, and we’ll make a plan to meet.” She let go of Bronwyn’s hand