Free Velvet Undercover by Teri Brown Page B

squeeze my eyes shut, both thrilled and terrified. The scissors make a soft whoosh in my ears as they lay waste to my curls. My head lightens with every cut until I’m sure it’s going to go floating off into the Luxembourg sky.
    Antoine turns the chair away from the mirror and I open my eyes. I search Miss Tickford’s face for a clue as to whether she likes it or not, but her expression is noncommittal. I look away, disappointed. Her feelings about my hair are irrelevant, as are mine. We’re not preparing for a ball; we’re spiesworking at making me look older so I’m not exposed as a traitor in an enemy country.
    Because if I am, it won’t matter what length my hair is.
    Antoine holds out his hand and his assistant quickly gives him a pair of scissors so small they look as if they’re used to clip the wings of fairies.
    He snips here and there, taking his time. Then he takes a comb, parts my hair on one side, and scrutinizes it. Finally he nods. “I think we’re done.” He turns to Miss Tickford. “What do you think?”
    She smiles. “The difference is extraordinary.”
    Antoine turns the chair around and I face myself in the mirror. My curls, which have always been weighted down, now spring about my face like silvery, flaxen flower petals.
    â€œWell?” Antoine asks.
    I see my lips curve in the mirror and it looks like the smile of a grown woman. A pretty, modern, grown woman. “I love it,” I say simply, unable to explain how free I feel.
    My eyes seek out Miss Tickford’s and for a moment I see the delight in them, as if she were my mother and oh, so very proud of me. She blinks and turns away, pulling some notes out of her pocketbook. “Thank you so much, Antoine. You did a wonderful job.”
    â€œI always do. Now, when are you going to let me bob your hair?”
    Miss Tickford gives a charming laugh. “Oh, I’ll never cut my hair!”
    We leave the shop and Miss Tickford wastes no timegetting back to work. “Now let’s talk about the different types of surveillance and how to tell if someone is following you.”
    The lighthearted feeling I had in the shop dissipates and reality crashes in as we begin another lesson in spy craft. My life and the lives of others depend on how well I learn. I concentrate on her words.
    â€œSo remember, even if you notice someone following you, it is best if you give no indication of it.”
    â€œWhy is that?” I ask.
    â€œBecause if he knows that you know he’s following, you force his hand. He has to do something. Most of the time, he’ll just disappear, but he may also confront you. You don’t have any idea who he is or who he works for.”
    I nod.
    â€œFirst off, if you’re being followed, you do nothing. It’s very important that you behave normally and nonchalantly, as we are right now. Watch to see if there is more than one person tailing you.” She pauses to look in the window of a bakery. “Right now there are three.”
    â€œThree what?”
    â€œThree people watching you. You can go back to the apartment as soon as you spot them.”
    I shoot her an uncertain glance. “Is this a test? Part of my training?”
    â€œOf course.” Miss Tickford turns to me with a smile and touches my sleeve. “Remember all you’ve learned of surveillance and don’t forget that you’re in an occupied country. Ifyou make a mistake, the consequences could be irreparable. Once you’ve spotted all three people, you can come back to the apartment. It’s on the rue Beck. Good luck.”
    â€œWait!” I clutch at her sleeve. “How will I know?”
    My voice trails off at the smirk on her face. She gently removes my hand and walks away.
    My heart pummels my rib cage. Knowing that the first rule of being watched is not to let your follower know that you’re aware of him, I force myself to move down the