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 walclass="underline" 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.