One The New Normal April had never been a normal girl. It wasn't like that made her special. At all. Seriously. There wasn't anything special about not having parents or a last name or a birthday--even a really anticlimactic birthday like Christmas or the Fourth of July. No. April wasn't special, you see. She was simply not normal.       After all, you can't possibly be normal when you don't have any money, but you also live in a mansion. When you don't have a family, but you're part of the Winterbornes. And, most of all, it's totally, absolutely, completely impossible to be normal when your roommate is Sadie Marie Simmons, inventor extraordinaire.       "Are you ready?" Sadie asked in a way that April had come to dread. Because Sadie had the Sadie gleam in her eyes and her hands were practically vibrating with glee and anticipation.       So April's hands started vibrating too. Just for completely opposite reasons. Her voice even cracked a little when she said, "Maybe we should wait on . . . someone."       But there was no one to wait on, and that was something even April didn't dare to mention.       "Gabriel's going to love this," Sadie told her. "You'll see. It's going to be such a big help until Smithers comes back. Or Ms. Nelson."       She looked sheepish at that last part, and April couldn't blame her. After all, Smithers had been gone for four weeks. First, to the International Association of Butlers convention, where he'd won the annual--and hotly contested--Buttle-Off (which was a good thing). But the grand prize was a cruise around the world (which was a bad thing). When he called to tell them the news, he swore he'd be home as soon as possible.       But Gabriel . . . Gabriel just swore.       April strongly suspected that had less to do with Smithers's extended absence and more to do with the fact that it had been three months since Isabella Nelson had fallen into the sea. Sure, Izzy had sent a note, telling them she was alive and well. But she hadn't come home. And now she'd been gone for twelve weeks. Eighty-four days. Not that April had been counting. (But April had totally been counting.)       Every day, the residents of Winterborne House woke up and hoped she'd be there, telling the kids to stop running on the stairs and Gabriel to shave and tuck his shirt in. But it was starting to look like Isabella Nelson might be gone for good.       Which was almost as scary as the look in Sadie's eye when she said, "Okay! Goggles ready?"       April didn't answer. She just grabbed the plastic safety goggles that Smithers bought in bulk and were a standard part of the Sadie Marie Simmons Friendship Package.       No sooner were April's goggles in place than Sadie was saying, "Now!"       Then she pulled a cord. A moment later, Smithers's big, fancy stove sprang to life. Flames sparked underneath a heavy cast iron griddle, and a mixer turned on and started stirring batter in a giant bowl. It all seemed harmless enough until the bowl began to slide down a track.       And slowly.       Began.       To.       Tip.        No! April wanted to cry, but the bowl couldn't have been more stable as it dripped batter onto the hot griddle in perfect little puddles of future pancakes.       "Wait for it . . ." Sadie said a few moments later, and April remembered to be scared. "Now!" Sadie exclaimed just as the piping-hot griddle popped up. The pancakes flipped. And every last one of them landed back on the griddle, perfect as you please.       "It worked," April said, equal parts stunned and relieved.       "Of course it worked." Sadie wasn't mad, and she wasn't defensive. It was just a data point in a long line of data points--every one of which said that the newest SadieMatic was ready for business.       April's heart rate was just starting to return to normal when Sadie grabbed a knife and said, "Now it's time to try bacon!"       But before April could even start to panic, someone said, "I'll do that, Sade!" and Tim swept into the kitchen. He snatched the sharp knife out of Sadie's hand before she could attach it to the SadieMatic Twenty, because it was the unwritten rule of Winterborne House that SadieMatics and knives should never, ever mix.       A moment later Tim had the bacon open and a second pan was sizzling on the stove and the whole room smelled like the best thing ever: breakfast. Seriously, April thought. I ought to make a perfume that smells like breakfast. She'd be richer than Gabriel if she did.       But that just made April think about Gabriel. Which made her glance at the clock: ten a.m.       Mornings were coming later and nights were lasting longer, and April had to wonder if it was the time of year or something else that was keeping Winterborne House more and more in the dark.       "Is he up?" April asked, but Tim just looked at her.       "I thought he was down here."       "I haven't seen him," she said, and they both glanced at Sadie, who beamed.       "I'll get him!" Then she ran to a small panel on the wall that had about a million buttons. They were old and brass, and had no doubt hung there, unused, for decades, but Sadie had recently made it her life's mission to resurrect the old intercom, and when she pushed the button, there wasn't even a hint of static as she said, "Gabriel! Kitchen to Gabriel's room. Gabriel, are you there?"       "He's not gonna answer if he's in a mood, Sade," Tim told her.       But that just made Sadie hold the button down a little more forcefully and yell a little louder, "Gabriel! Gabriel! Gabriel! Gab--" Then Sadie stopped abruptly and looked at Tim and April. "What if he's not ignoring me? What if he's gone?"       Tim glanced at April, then back at Sadie. "What do you mean, gone? "       "What if he's not in his room because he's . . . you know . . . out there." Sadie jerked her head toward the windows. "What if he's . . ." She dropped her voice. " Sentineling? What if he Sentineled? " she tried, but that didn't sound right either, so eventually she just snapped, "What if he did it? "       "I don't think so, Sade," Tim said.       "Why not?" Sadie said. "I mean . . . yeah. Sure. I always thought the Sentinel was an urban legend too, but now we know it's real! Think about it. The Sentinel has always been real! And it's always been a Winterborne. And Gabriel is the only Winterborne left," Sadie said, as if two plus two always equaled masked vigilante. "Plus, Gabriel was already kinda superhero-y with his swords and stuff. It's his family legacy! Why couldn't he have slipped away last night and Sentineled?"       It seemed a perfectly logical question to Sadie, but April couldn't help but think about the answers. Because he doesn't care about his family legacy? Because he's still not up to full strength after almost dying a few times, thanks to me? Because his body can't possibly be well--not while his heart is so totally broken?       But instead, April said, "Because he would have told us, right?"       She looked at Tim, who must have read her mind because he shrugged and mumbled, "Sure."       And Sadie believed him. Because that's what Sadie did. "Yeah. That makes sense." She nodded sagely. "I'm getting really close to a prototype for his costume. He wouldn't want to go out without it. Which reminds me, should we stick with black? I know that's what the Sentinel ensemble has always been, but I've got to say, silver really brings out his eyes."       April knew she was serious because Sadie never, ever kidded about prototypes, but she didn't have a clue what to say. Luckily, she didn't have to say a thing because, just then, the kitchen door swung open and someone yelled, "Help!"       It sounded like Violet. It even looked like Violet. Or, well, it looked like part of Violet. Thin arms were sticking out of the top of a plaid jumper, flailing and fighting to either pull the jumper on or take it off. It was stuck in that very awkward in-between phase, and now Violet was trapped and blind and growing more desperate by the second.       "Get it off! Get it off! Get it--"        Rip.       At first, April thought the seam had given out, but then she saw Tim. And the knife. Slowly, Violet's head peeked out. Her short black hair was standing straight on end from all the static, and tears filled her eyes.       "It shrunk," she said.       "You grew," Tim corrected her, and he was right. Violet's jumpers had been getting shorter and shorter for weeks, and somehow, overnight, her clothes had gone from slightly snug to totally too small.       Her skirt was three inches too short. The sleeves of her white blouse were up almost to her elbows, and even with the giant slit in the back, she couldn't really move her arms very well. She'd grown so much since she came to Winterborne House that April might not have recognized the shy, timid, terrified girl she'd met not that long ago, except that her big brown eyes looked exactly the same.       "Ooh. Pancakes!" Instantly, Violet stopped crying and reached for the plate by the stove. "And bacon!" Violet piled a piece of bacon on top of a pancake, then rolled it up like a burrito, and April thought, Violet is a breakfast prodigy! But then a loud ripping sound filled the air again, and when Violet turned around, April could see the slice in her jumper had become a full-fledged tear going all the way down her back.       "Is Gabriel gonna be mad?" Violet whispered, and April didn't say what she was thinking: that Gabriel probably wouldn't even notice.       "Of course not," Sadie said. "It's not your fault you're growing. We'll order you some new ones, but in the meantime you can wear one of mine."       Sadie turned and darted into the laundry room off the butler's pantry, but she ran back a split second later. Her hands were empty, but her eyes were wide.       "What is it?" Tim asked.       "I found Gabriel." Sadie threw open the door and there sat Gabriel Winterborne, billionaire, recluse, guardian, and would-be vigilante, asleep atop a pile of laundry.       "So . . . not superheroing last night, I guess?" April said as Sadie crept closer.       If it hadn't been for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, April might have thought he'd died there, under the weight of all those sheets and towels and socks. But it took more than clothes to kill Gabriel Winterborne. After all, his Uncle Evert had been trying since Gabriel was ten, and now Evert was in jail and Gabriel was safe and sound and maybe drooling just a little bit.       "Should we wake him up?" Sadie whispered as Gabriel mumbled and grumbled. His stomach even rumbled, and even though the laundry was soft and fluffy, he couldn't have been very comfortable, so April crept closer.       "Gabriel?" she whispered, but he only grumbled louder. "Gabriel, wake up." She reached out to shake him by the shoulder which, in hindsight, might have been a mistake.       Nope.       It was definitely a mistake, April realized as a big hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. In the next moment, she was flying through the air, over Gabriel's shoulder, and landing on a pile of fluffy white towels.       When he made a low, feral sound and put a hand around her throat, he didn't look like one of the richest men in the world, and he didn't sound like the boy who had grown up in a mansion with butlers and tutors and governesses.       In moments like that, you couldn't help but remember that Gabriel Winterborne had spent ten years on the run--training and fighting and waiting for the day he could kill the man who had killed his entire family.       But that plan hadn't worked.       Thanks to April.       She heard Sadie yell his name, and saw Tim pound on his shoulders, but Gabriel was too strong and his hands were too big, and his blank gaze stayed trained on April, who tried to shout, but the words were more like a croak.       "Gabriel!" she said. "Gabriel, wake up." She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She could only whisper, "Please!"       Then Gabriel froze. He blinked. Slowly, he seemed to wake up--to remember. But April didn't know if that was better or worse until his hands unclenched and he looked at her like he was the one who was terrified.       "April?" he asked, sounding confused.       "Breakfast," she answered, because that made everything better. Excerpted from Winterborne Home for Mayhem and Mystery by Ally Carter All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.