Persona by Genevieve Valentine Page B

good would come of Daniel. But if it came to that and the IA swallowed her up as punishment, only she and Daniel were at stake.
    No, she thought suddenly, with a rush of fear so tense that her arms spasmed.
    Kipa knew.
    Kipa, Face of New Zealand, was young and unassuming and knew more than she let on. Chordata had already made contact, to see if she might be an asset.
    (Suyana wasn’t supposed to know that—recruitment wasn’t her brief, and Chordata liked to keep the left hand ignorant of the right hand—but Zenaida had confided.)
    If the IA had tried to kill Suyana because they’d found out about Chordata, then Kipa was in danger too. She’d have to be warned. The IA had a clear path to Kipa if they wanted to remove her. She was so young still, and even more alone than Suyana.
    The warning would have to be in person; Kipa wouldn’t believe the news from anyone else’s mouth. She was smarter than she looked.
    If you were going to work with Chordata, you had to be.
    Ã—  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×
    Chordata wasn’t a terrorist organization—not like some. They hit empty buildings; they sabotaged equipment; they were careful not to take a human toll.
    But Chordata had grown, and they were more fractious now than when they’d first taken her aside. They might not risk a loose end if they thought she’d been compromised. They couldn’t afford to. She understood.
    (She got so tired sometimes from looking at things from every angle, as if her eyes would split.)
    That meant she wasn’t safe here. She was persona non grata with the IA, too, unless she showed up at their doorstep with an airtight story.
    It would have to leave out both Chordata and the Americans, explain how she had been targeted but had escaped alive, and catch Magnus where he was vulnerable—his reputation. It would have to leave out Daniel.
    Her arm stung where the wound had started to tear. She folded her hand against it.
    Daniel shouldn’t be here. It was her fault; because it was easy to use people when you were desperate, and because, once or twice, it had felt less like recruiting a civilian and more like having a friend. What happened to him now depended on how she could use him best.
    â€œOnca,” she called. “If you have a moment.”
    At the door, Nattereri startled, tightened his hand around his knife.
    Onca came into the kitchen on stockinged feet. She’d removed the leopard pin, and she seemed wary, as if she’d been called in for a fight.
    Suyana wished that Zenaida had met her instead. Suyana wished that she had armed herself before she’d called on Onca.
    (No; Hakan would have called it a weakness, to draw a weapon first.)
    Suyana decided to skip the diplomatic runarounds. This wasn’t the IA floor. “What’s your rank?”
    â€œLieutenant.”
    Not bad, for a member who was barely thirty. Most people Suyana knew of who ranked that high in the emergency operations of Chordata were Hakan’s age.
    â€œHow many are you in charge of?”
    She looked uncomfortable at the question; Suyana guessed Chordata wasn’t supposed to betray its full methods, not even to her.
    â€œTen in Paris,” Onca said finally, “a dozen others in the countryside.”
    That was a fair number, and far-flung. Panthera Onca had been embraced into the inner workings, then; no way to know how far up, but Suyana was relieved to be dealing with someone who’d made tough decisions.
    â€œHave you ever killed anyone for Chordata?”
    It felt like longer than it was before Onca said, “Yes. Once.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSelf-defense,” Onca said, shifting her weight as if to better defend her position. (Did Suyana look like she was in any shape to attack?) “It had to be done.”
    Suyana had known a long time that the sunny dreams that recruit you are the lip of a long, slippery stair