CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Who owns a house? The banks have one answer, the mortgage payers another. It’s the houses, though, who decide who they’re loyal to. Sometimes it’s the carpenter who hoisted the walls and laid the beams, forever marking the house as his no matter who moves in after. Sometimes the house pledges fealty to the cleaning lady who each week carefully mops the floors and wipes the banisters. Some houses realize, not unhappily, that they belong to the termites who burrow into the walls and carry out their enthusiastic renovations. A house, after all, wants nothing more than to be lived in.

The big house in the desert had its own answer.

Sasha was seven years old when she began to talk to her house and teach it tricks. At first they were small stunts, like turning on lights when she flicked her fingers. But soon, after she discovered the network that controlled the wall screens and their built-in cameras and microphones and motion sensors, she taught it to wake up for her, and listen for her, and speak for her. Once she mastered the entertainment system, it was one small step to the thermostats and appliances and door locks, which greatly expanded the number of tricks the house could play on the people who lived with her.

But most of all, the house spied for her.

At bedtime on the night that Lyda Rose and Rovil Gupta came to visit, the house alerted her that Grandpop was heading toward her room. Sasha quickly hid the IF Deck beneath the bedcovers and picked up a book. Bucko the Pirate Bear sat beside her, mouthing the words.

Grandpop knocked and pushed open the door. “Ready for bed?”

She pretended to be engrossed in the book. Grandpop sat beside her, squashing Bucko between them, and peeked over her shoulder. “Ah, The Phantom Tollbooth. I should have guessed.”

She read much more difficult books than this now, but it was Tollbooth that she kept always by her bed. It was one of the rare books that got funnier the more she read it.

“So,” Grandpop said. “How long have you known about your mother?”

Sasha threw her words onto the wall: Not long. Then: Are you angry with me?

He laughed. “You should be angry at me. I planned to tell you. I didn’t know when you’d be old enough to—no, that’s not true.”

Sasha flipped one palm. The wall said, What?

“I was going to say that I was waiting for you to be old enough to understand, but I think you’ve been ready for a long time.”

But YOU weren’t ready.

He laughed again. “So smart.” She leaned against him. Bucko swore and made a strangled noise.

Grandpop said, “I suppose you know how your other mother died.”

She nodded. Looked it up.

Grandpop’s eyes turned shiny with new tears. Oops! She quickly fingertyped, It’s not a big deal!

That was a lie. It was a very big deal. She’d found hundreds of articles about Little Sprout and what had happened in Chicago before she was born. Bucko thought it was the greatest story ever. Murder! Money! Madness! An R-rated thriller, with special appearance by Sasha Vik as the Fetus.

Grandpop was weeping openly now. “You must have lots of questions.”

A couple.

Thousands, actually, but which ones could she ask? Most of what she knew she’d learned by eavesdropping and snooping. Why didn’t Grandpop tell Lyda about adopting her? Why didn’t Eduard want Grandpop talking to Lyda and Rovil? What was Eduard hiding in his study? And why was the man who murdered her mother sending friendly emails to Grandpop?

I need some time to think, the wall said.

“You know you can talk to me any time,” he said.

He tucked her in, then told her not to read too late, and carefully closed the door.

“Finally,” Bucko said. “That man’s gotta lose some weight.” Sasha fluffed up the bear and straightened him. He said, “Now?”

“Wait,” she said. She pretended to read for exactly four minutes, then threw back the covers and slid into the nook between bed and wall, Bucko right behind her. With her finger she drew a circle on the wall and—abracadabra!—a magic mirror appeared there. She swiped and poked until she’d called up one of the views into the guest bedrooms.

Rovil Gupta, the Indian man, sat on his bed, still wearing all his clothes and even his shoes. He tapped at a slate whose screen Sasha could not quite make out from this angle. He was using the house’s network to communicate, but all the data traffic was encrypted, so she had no idea what he was doing. After a minute he stood up, looked out the window, then sat down again.

“Booooring,” Bucko said. “Let’s see some boobies.”

“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” Sasha said. “Show some respect.”

“Bio mom,” Bucko said dismissively.

Sasha flipped the mirror to show the other guest room. Lyda Rose lay in the bed, the covers up to her neck, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark except for a bedside lamp that turned half her face to shadow. On her stomach was a page of white paper. Something was written on it in big block letters.

“Ooh, zoom in!” Bucko said.

The wall’s cameras were pretty clumsy, and the light was not good, but she got a view of the page. On it were written the words, “WHERE ARE THE PAINTINGS FROM GILBERT KAPERNICKE?”

“What the fuck?” Bucko said.

Sasha quickly wiped away the mirror. “She knows we’re spying! That message was to me!”

The bear burst into laughter. “Serves you right.”

Sasha opened the mirror again, but only a few inches. Lyda Rose still lay on the bed, and the page hadn’t moved. Could she see Sasha, too? No, if she’d hacked the house network, she wouldn’t have needed a paper; she would have just sent the message to Sasha’s room.

“She’s talking about the paintings in Eduard’s office,” Sasha said.

“I figured that out, yeah,” Bucko said. “I suppose this means…”

“That’s right,” Sasha said. “Emergency council meeting!”

*   *   *

A little bit after three in the morning, the wall in the guest bedroom began to glow. When that failed to wake the woman in the bed, the house sounded a gentle boop boop boop. Too loud and others would hear; too soft and she’d sleep right through it.

Lyda Rose sat up suddenly. She looked first at a spot beside the bed and said, “What?” Then she noticed the wall and the flashing neon-green arrow pointing at the door. She laughed, a low chuckle.

“All righty then,” she said, and moved to the door.

Back in her room, Sasha and Bucko exchanged a high five.

The rest of the IFs murmured or cheered or dinged according to their nature. Sasha had allowed nearly everyone out for the occasion: Mother Maybelle, Tinker, and Zebo, HalfnHalf and Elk Heart, the Snoring Man and MothCatcher and the rest, all of them huddled around the bed, while Squidly floated above them all, bobbing against the ceiling like a balloon. Only the Wander Man remained in the deck. He was buffered top and bottom by mundane cards, but Sasha could still feel his lean black presence, monitoring the proceedings, waiting for her to mess up.

“She’s into the hallway,” Bucko said.

Sasha lit up the next arrow, about five feet down the corridor. This way, this way! Lyda Rose shook her head in what looked like amusement or exasperation, but she followed the flashing symbols down the hallway, then to the great room. It was surprisingly well lit there. Moonlight poured through the big two-story windows, with extra illumination provided by the neon arrow prompting her to continue up the stairs. Lyda Rose looked down the hallway that led to Sasha’s room, and for a tense moment Sasha thought she was going to march down that way … but then Lyda turned toward the arrow and went up the steps to the second-floor balcony.

At the top of the stairs Lyda stopped. There were two doors to her left and two to her right. The next arrow pointed left, but Lyda seemed unsure. Sasha flashed it more brightly. There were fewer wall screens up there, just a few patches here and there to host photographs and a virtual intercom. The doors couldn’t display anything at all. All she could do was keep strobing that one arrow, which Lyda seemed to ignore.

“What’s Bio Mom doing now?” Bucko said.

Lyda went right. The first door was the guest bathroom, used by no one. She peeked inside and moved on. Then she came to the double doors that led to Eduard and Suzette’s bedroom. She put her hand on the doorknob, but it was locked.

Lyda looked up at the ceiling, palms out: Well?

Sasha was not about to unlock the door. Lyda tried the door again.

“There’s nothing in there,” Bucko said. “Get her to turn around.”

“How?” Sasha asked.

Fortunately, Lyda changed her mind. She spun about and walked back to the left … and passed the office door. She was headed straight for Grandpop’s bedroom!

“Oh my stars and garters!” Mother Maybelle exclaimed.

Sasha quickly opened a new set of controls and typed STOP! The word appeared on the wall between the office door and Grandpop’s room.

Lyda looked straight at the wall—which gave the illusion that she could see Sasha and was looking into her eyes. The woman’s eyebrows were raised, and she wore a slight smile. Sasha suddenly realized that Lyda knew exactly what was happening and who was doing what.

“She’s jerking you around!” Bucko said.

“Ah think it’s Miss Rose who does not appreciate being ‘jerked around,’” Zebo said in his deep alligator voice.

Sasha typed: The office is open. She’d unlocked it before she woke up Lyda for this treasure hunt. I won’t be able to see or hear you in there. Sasha cleared the screen and typed a new line. The paintings are leaning against the wall.

Lyda saluted. Then she slipped into the office and closed the door.

“I hope I’m doing the right thing,” Sasha said.

“It wasn’t the most straightforward way to proceed,” Zebo said. “But ah approve of any tactic which keeps you at arm’s length from Eduard.”

None of the Imaginary Friends were fans of her parents, though a few of them pitied Suzette. Their opinion on this newly discovered bio parent was divided. Could Lyda Rose be trusted? If she cared for Sasha, why hadn’t she shown up before now?

One fact trumped everything: Lyda had her own IF. She was like Sasha, and Grandpop. That meant she already understood her in a way that Eduard and Suzette never could. Lyda would get to the bottom of what Eduard was up to, and Sasha would stay safely on the sidelines.

Ever since she’d discovered who Lyda Rose was, Sasha had nurtured a secret wish, a daydream really, which she so far had managed to keep from the IFs. That was no easy trick; they were an intuitive bunch, and Mother Maybelle especially was attuned to what Sasha was feeling. But Sasha held the dream inside her, and when no one was looking she lifted the lid to check on it:

Tomorrow, or the day after, Lyda moved into the big house in the desert, and there she lived with Sasha and Grandpop and Esperanza. Eduard and Suzette vanished off to London or New York or wherever it was that they really wanted to live, and Sasha was finally able to bring the IF Deck out into the open and talk to her friends whenever she wanted. Because Lyda wasn’t just her birth mother, she was like Sasha and Grandpop, what he called “God-blessed.” The three of them understood each other in a way that outsiders, alone in their heads with only their own voice to keep them company, never ever would. Oh, Esperanza said she knew exactly what was going on in Sasha’s head, but she didn’t, not really. Everything would finally be—

“Motherfucker!”

The shout came from the wall, which was still tuned in to the hallway outside Eduard’s office, but it also traveled through real space and down the hallway to Sasha’s room. In the magic mirror, Lyda Rose had stepped onto the balcony, holding a big beige cube. It was the thing from the package Sasha had found a few days ago in Eduard’s office, the one that had been too heavy for her to lift. It looked like a printer/copier.

“Edo!” Lyda yelled. “Get the fuck out here!”

She threw the cube off the balcony. A moment later Sasha heard the crash. Sasha quickly flicked through the various screens until she got a shot of the great room. The cube had hit the big granite coffee table and exploded. Pieces were everywhere.

“That,” Bucko said, “was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sasha flicked her hands at the wall, making the sign for mosaic, and two dozen mirrors opened at once, showing almost every room in the house and a few views of the outside. She watched Esperanza throw open the door of her room, pulling on her robe with fire-drill urgency. Rovil, still wearing all his clothes, stood in the middle of his room, looking at the door as if deciding whether to come out. And Grandpop, poor tired old man, was the last to appear, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. By the time he stepped onto the balcony, Lyda was already below, pulling at pieces of machinery.

“What have I done?” Sasha cried. “Why is she so mad?”

Elk Heart’s knuckles tightened on his spear, but the chief said nothing. Squidly drifted down to place a tendril on her shoulder. Tinker watched her with his headlight eyes.

“Maybe we should turn off these windows,” Mother Maybelle said.

“Screw that,” Bucko said.

Lyda and Grandpop were fighting now, or rather, Lyda was yelling at Grandpop and he was trying to get her to calm down. Then Esperanza turned on the lights to the room, which startled them both and interrupted Lyda’s shouting—but only for a moment.

“Should I go out there?” Sasha asked.

“Ah advise against it,” Zebo said. “For now.” HalfnHalf nodded his two heads in agreement.

Tinker pinged significantly, and Sasha noticed something strange in one of the far windows. Somebody was moving out by the garage. She zoomed in, and saw that it was a man in a black cowboy hat, a white man she’d never seen before. An electrical box attached to the garage was open. He reached inside it—

The wall blanked. The mirrors were gone, and with it all light in the room. Sasha flicked her hands, but the house, her faithful house, refused to respond.

“Uh-oh,” Bucko said.

A tiny flame flared in the corner of the room. Sasha stood up.

He leaned against the wall, the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes. He touched the match to his cigarette, puffed once, then dropped the match to the floor.

Bucko said, “How the hell did he get out of—?”

Sasha held out her hand. The bear shut up.

The Wander Man ground out the match with the toe of one black boot. “You know who that man is out there, right?”

Sasha nodded. “He’s you.”

“Close enough, Miss Sasha. Close enough.” He looked up and smiled. None of the IFs moved. They were all, even Elk Heart, terrified of him, and he knew it.

“You listen carefully,” he said. “And do exactly what I say.”