"RINA!" SHE GRINNED, running up after me and scooping me into her arms, my little form giggling and squirming as her lips feathered over my face. "Got you now!"

The woman's mouth opened to let out a beautiful sound. A laugh like the angels. Her eyes were bright and kind as she sat me on her legs. My tiny hands grab at her smiling face.

"Oh, Rina," she caressed a piece of hair off my face. "A world anew awaits." 

Her face was kind. But so unlike the raging fire in those eyes.

"1180, my love," she looked up at the dim lit ceiling.

"1180."

·······•✦•······

The light was sharp.

What was sharper, was Alisa's eyes. 

She was about to open her legal mouth to probably say something that might have been important. But I just wasn't in the mood, "Please don't."

I got up and immediately Oren was by my side. Even if by job obligations, I still appreciated it. "Morning, John?" I let the afternoon sun shrink my pupils. "Afternoon."

"Afternoon, Arlene." At least one good thing came out from the whole ordeal: Oren finally started greeting me. Casually.

"What in the world happened to you?" Alisa's voice cut through the room.

"Afternoon to you too, " I grumbled. 

"Did you eat something wrong? Do you have dust allergies? Has anyone made contact with you?" My lawyer bombarded me with questions upon questions.

I held my head in my hands. Everything was too much. 

"Breathe, Arina." Kind eyes embraced mine, "Breathe."

I looked up at Alisa, choosing to ignore all her queries, "Where is Ave? And Lib?"

Oren told me that Ave was in the library. Libby was going to meet him to go over security protocols. I nodded, slowly getting up on my feet. The world was still a little warped.

Alisa tried to stop me, but I gave her a quick smile and walked out. Oren trusted the Hawthornes enough to let me go on my own.

·······•✦•······

"Didn't know Hawthornes could get their ass kicked," I walked into the book heaven rich people called a library.

The room was circular. Shelves stretched up fifteen or twenty feet overhead, and every single one was lined completely with hardcover books. The shelves were made of a deep, rich wood. Spread across the room, four wrought-iron staircases spiraled toward the upper shelves, like the points on a compass. In the library's center, there was a massive tree stump, easily ten feet across. Even from a distance, I could see the rings marking the tree's age.

It took me a moment to realize that it was meant to be used as a desk.

"Leena." Avery wrapped her arms around me. "You're alive."

"And kicking." I smiled at her. Then studied the room. My sister. Alone. With four notorious rich-boys. One who already had a nickname for her. And one who likes my other sister. And of course, Pretty Boy. "I'm seriously suggesting investing in better locks, Ave,"

I earned a smack for that.

The oldest, Cowboy, grinned at me, "Awake already, darlin'?" He walked up and beside me, "You scared us back there."

"I believe you mean relieved." I kept my eyes on Avery. I slipped my hand into hers, "Now since you brothers have your backsides to be disciplined, we'll take our leave."

"Nah, darlin', stay a moment. I already have a volunteer for the first ass-kicking," Nash said, glancing at Mr. Gray Eyes, then shot a measuring look at Gameboy, who was leaning against one of the wrought-iron staircases. "Do I have a second?"

I shot Avery a look, Let's just leave. I got a very satisfying shut-up look.

Jameson smirked. "Couldn't stay away, could you, big brother?"

"And leave the girls here with you knuckleheads?" Nash said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I wouldn't worry too much about the Grambs, especially Ms. Arlene," Grayson said, silver eyes sharp. "She's clearly capable of taking care of herself."

Translation: I'm a soulless, gold-digging con artist, and he sees straight through me. 

I kept my expression neutral then flashed a sickeningly sweet smile, "How flattering, Mr. Hawthorne."

Grayson's eyes narrowed. "Don't pay any attention to Gray," Jameson told me lazily. "None of us do."

"Wise decision." I nodded my head.

"Jamie," Nash said. "Zip it."

Jameson ignored him. "Grayson is in training for the Insufferable Olympics, and we really think he can go all the way if he can just jam that stick a little farther up his—"

"Asterisk",  Ave whispered in my ear, channeling her inner Max. I let out a giggle, "Asteroid works too."

"What did I miss?" Xander bounded through the doorway. He was wearing a private school uniform, complete with a blazer that he shed in one liquid motion.

"You haven't missed anything at all," Grayson told him. "And the Grambs were just leaving." He flicked his gaze toward me. "I'm sure you want to get settled."

"Oh," I fluttered my lashes at him, "how I hate to miss the opportunity of watching the great Grayson Hawthorne get his rump kicked. Unfortunate circumstances, truly!" 

Avery sweat-dropped, "Leena no..."

"Leena, yes!" Xander, whom I shall officially give the title Leo Valdez 2.0, grinned at me. 

"Wait a second." L.V. 2.0 frowned suddenly, taking in the state of the room. "Were you guys brawling in here without me?" I still saw no visible signs of a fight or destruction, but obviously, Xander had picked up on something I hadn't. "This is what I get for being the one who doesn't skip school," he said mournfully.

At the mention of school, Nash looked from Xander to Jameson. "No uniform," he noted. "Playing hooky, Jamie? Two ass-kickings it is."

Xander heard the phrase ass-kicking, grinned, bounced to the balls of his feet, and pounced with no warning, tackling Nash to the ground. Just some friendly impromptu wrestling between brothers.

"Pinned you!" Xander declared triumphantly.

Nash hooked his ankle around Xander's leg and flipped him, pinning him to the ground. "Not today, little brother." Nash grinned, then flashed a much darker look at the other two brothers. "Not today."

I turned to Avery's ears, "Rich idiots exist. Someone make a documentary on this."

Avery bit her lip to contain a chuckle, "We should go."

"You shouldn't be here at all," Grayson replied tersely.

"Are we feeling a little grey," I let my lips twitch up into the most innocent smirk ever. My eyes enlarged slightly like a doll's. "Gray?"

Something changed. For a fraction of a moment, something changed in all four of the Hawthornes' expressions. Like they saw a ghost. I chose to pretend not to notice and tugged Avery's hand, "Let's go."

I heard that name. Rina. It was called out by Jameson. And I turned to answer him. 

Probably because 'Rina' sounds like 'Leena'. Yeah.

"You did it." He stepped closer towards me as if inspecting me. As if I was a new toy for him to play with. A pawn in a grand game. "You solved it. Quicker than any of us and almost as quick as..." His eyes met mine. A weird pool of emotions rippled through them. But then it was gone as soon as it came.

For the first time since I'd walked into the room, all four brothers fell into an extended silence.

Those keys must have been a great deal to them. Because Pretty Boy and Gameboy had a not-argument argument about it. Silent threat match, if you will.

None of my business. I turned to leave but Avery had plans to stay. I should give her a functioning lock for her birthday. Okay. It was kinda getting old.

"Welcome to Hawthorne House, Mystery Girl, Rina." Jameson's welcome seemed to be more for Grayson's benefit than for Avery or me. Whatever this fight was about, it wasn't just a difference of opinion on recent events.

It wasn't just about us.

"Stop calling me Mystery Girl." Avery had barely spoken since the moment the library door had swung inward, but I guess she was getting sick of playing spectator. 

"We have actual names, ya know?" I tilted my head to the side, "Avery and Arlene. Not that hard to say really. And what's with you calling me Rina?"

Rina. Arina.

"I'd also be willing to call you Heiress," Jameson offered. He stepped forward into a beam of light shining down from a skylight above. Then his emerald green eyes bore into mine, "And you..." There it was again. That pool of emotion. "Rina..." He let it roll off his tongue. The Hawthornes tensed again.

"Leena." I looked away, "It's Leena if can't manage Arlene." Rina. Arina. 

Jameson let out a soft giggle. Too soft. 

"Jameson," Grayson's eyes were fifty shades darker. 

"What do you think, Gray? Got a nickname preference or our new landlord?"

Landlord. Jameson was rubbing it in like he could handle being disinherited if it meant that the heir apparent had lost everything, too.

"I'm trying to protect you," Grayson said lowly.

"I think we both know," Jameson replied, "that the only person you've ever protected is yourself."

Grayson went completely, deathly still.

This wasn't our matter or conversation to intrude. I took Avery's hand in mine and turned to walk out of the room but Nash spoke up.

"Xander." Nash stood, pulling the youngest brother to his feet. "Why don't you show Leena to her wing?"
That was either Nash's attempt to prevent a line from being crossed or an indication that one already had been.

"Come on." Xander bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. "We'll stop for cookies on the way."

If that statement was meant to dissipate the tension in the room, it didn't work, but it did draw Grayson's attention away from Jameson—for the moment.

"No cookies." Grayson's voice was strangled like his throat was closing down around the words—like Jameson's last shot had cut off his air completely.

Grayson Hawthorne and cookies? I look at the door.

"Fine," Xander replied cheerily. "You drive a hard bargain, Grayson Hawthorne. No cookies." Xander winked at me. "We'll stop for scones."

·······•✦•······

While Xander explained the complex artistry involved in developing scone-eating expertise to Ave, I let my mind do its own thing. 

Tobias Hawthorne knew me somehow. It's the how part that is a bitch. And then the whole Rina Arina matter. My random memories and flashbacks. Headaches and passing out. The constant deja vu when I look at the house.

There were a lot of questions. 

Who was Arina?
Why was she so important to the Hawthornes?

There were a lot of questions. The same couldn't be said for the answers.

Xander offered me a scone. 

"Aren't you supposed to hate us?" Avery asked.

"I do hate you," Xander replied, happily devouring his third scone. "If you notice, I have kept the blueberry confections for myself and gave you"—he shuddered—"the lemon-flavored scones. Such is the depth of my loathing for you personally and on principle."

Avery rolled her eyes. I was about to take a bite of the sweet before I noticed a little sphere of blue, "And what have I done to deserve an exception from your loathing?" I held up the blueberry dessert.

"You didn't take a bite yet?" Xander blinked.

I shrugged, placing the delicacy back on his plate, "I don't do blueberries."

Xan's eyes softened as if reveling in a bitter-sweet memory. "Huh, is that so?"

I got up after a while and stretched, "So, our rooms."

The mischief in his eyes was back, "Ah yes, about that..." The youngest Hawthorne brother made a face. "There's a chance that Hawthorne House is just a tiny bit hard to navigate. Imagine, if you will, that a labyrinth had a baby with Where's Waldo? only Waldo is your rooms."

Avery deadpanned, "Basically, the Hawthorne house has an unconventional layout."

"A very unconventional layout." Yeah, I should probably start coming up with new jokes.

Xander did away with a fifth and final scone. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?"

·······•✦•······

"Hawthorne House is the largest privately owned residential home in the state of Texas." Xander led me up a staircase. "I could give you a number for square footage, but it would only be an estimate. The thing that truly separates Hawthorne House from other obscenely large, castle-like structures isn't so much its size as its nature. My grandfather added at least one new room or wing every year. Imagine, if you will, that an M. C. Escher drawing conceived a child with Leonardo da Vinci's most masterful designs...."

"What's with you and baby-making terminological adjectives?" I made a face at him. "New rule: You are forbidden from describing this house as an offspring of the randomest of things."

Xander brought a hand melodramatically to his chest. "Harsh."

Ave shrugged. "Her house, her rules."

He gawked at her. I couldn't believe she'd said it, either, but there was something about Xander Hawthorne that made one feel like one didn't have to apologize for one's own existence.

"Too soon?" She asked.

"I'm a Hawthorne." Xander gave us his most dignified look. "It's never too soon to start trash-talking." He resumed playing the tour guide. "Now, as I was saying, the East Wing is actually the Northeast Wing, located on the second floor. If you get lost, just look for the old man." Xander nodded toward a portrait on the wall. "This was his wing, these last few months."

I'd seen pictures of Tobias Hawthorne online, but once I looked at the portrait, I couldn't look away. He had silver-gray hair and a face more weatherworn than I'd realized. His eyes were Grayson's, almost exactly, his build Jameson's, his chin Nash's. If I hadn't seen Xander in motion, I might not have recognized a resemblance between him and the old man at all, but it was there in the way Tobias Hawthorne's features pulled together—not the eyes or nose or mouth, but something about the shape in between.                 

"I never even met him." I tore my eyes from the portrait and looked at Xander. "I'd remember if I had."

"Are you sure?" Xander asked me.

And that was the question of the day. Was I sure?