Analiese Rising

by Brenda Drake

  Lost in his kiss, I’m not scared.

  More importantly, he’s not, either.

  It doesn’t matter who I am or what I can do, because he sees the real me, and he’s still kissing me.

  My heart is like a thousand butterflies, and with each special moment spent with Marek, a few take flight. Before long, he’ll steal them all.

  His mouth leaves mine, and he leans back to look into my eyes. The shadows just behind Marek shift, and I flinch.

  “S-somethings there!” I sputtered.

  “What?” He spins around, squinting into the darkness.

  I stay perfectly still, waiting, listening. There’s no noise, no rustling of leaves, and no moving shadows. “It’s nothing,” I finally say. “I’m just on edge.”

  “Well, just in case, let’s go.” He brushes my hair back again. “You okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  Because of me, our kiss ended too soon. I want more, but he’s right, we should go. We’re in the dark. Where those shadow things live.

  Marek keeps his eyes on the foliage lining the walkway.

  The steep, winding roads are silent. Almost deserted. At the bottom of the hill, we pass the famous Moulin Rouge cabaret.

  I catch him sneaking a glance at me, and he busts me doing the same. It’s like we’re running around with a secret.

  He laces his hand with mine, and we keep up a good pace, trying to stay warm, down Rue Montmartre, across Grands Boulevards, around Tour Saint-Jacques square, and over the Seine River to Notre Dame Cathedral.

  Marek glances at the GPS again. “It’s almost four thirty.”

  I want to collapse. But I shouldn’t be disappointed with the time. We’ve been trying to kill it since arriving in Paris after six the night before. Soon it will be twelve hours that we’ve been exploring Paris. Only two of it involved sleeping.

  I yawn.

  Which causes Marek to as well.

  I pose for another fake photo in front of the medieval-looking cathedral in the place right at the edge of the street where my parents most likely had a passerby take theirs. Marek mimes clicking a camera.

  He lowers his hands and gazes at me with that something-more look, and I have to glance away. I probably imagine it. He most likely just thinks I’m amusing or strange or both.

  I think he’s both, but he’s also hot. Especially when one side of his lips lifts in a smile, and he directs it at me. Like he’s doing now.

  Not staying long at Notre Dame, we cross the Seine, trekking along the river, heading for the Eiffel Tower. The river lapping against the banks matches the rhythm of our footsteps. The city lights and lamps lining the river reflect in its darkened waters. Each time my Vans hit the ground, pain shocks the soles of my feet, shaking my legs. My eyes droop, and my shoulders ache.

  We don’t stop. Keep moving. Keep warm.

  Another hour and another fake photograph in front of the Eiffel Tower. A thirty-minute walk to the Arc de Triomphe. I give up on taking pictures.

  “Come on,” Marek urges, holding his pretend camera. “It’s the Arc.”

  “I’m too tired.”

  He lowers his arms. “I know. It’s almost six. Hopefully, a café will open soon.”

  The Champs-Elysées goes on forever. I’m dragging my Vans across the pavement, and I don’t even care if they get ruined. The Arc de Triomphe grows smaller behind us, and the sky gets lighter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Marek and I access the Louvre through the Le Carrousel du Louvre entrance. He has the great idea to buy a notebook and pen at the gift shop. People crowd each other to view the Mona Lisa in the Salle des Etats room, snapping photos on their phones. Some older couples use actual cameras. Finally making our way to the front, we lean against the banister that creates a half circle around the painting.

  The Mona Lisa is behind thick glass. There’s nothing that stands out. She’s in a gold frame, plain dress, hair down. Her face is lacking eyebrows and eyelashes. Staring off to the side with a half smile on her face that suggests she’s amused or distracted by someone other than the painter.

  I lean closer to Marek. “Do you notice anything?”

  “No.” He scratches the back of his head. “My grandfather was obsessed with this painting. He was in Europe with my grandma a month before he died. She said there were several times that he went off on his own for long periods. Must’ve been hiding the clues.”

  I don’t say it, but if Adam Conte was hiding their Parzalis a month ago, he must’ve known he was going to die. When Marek lowers his head, seemingly in deep thought, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

  “Do you remember what he said about the painting?” I ask.

  A man, light hair, ruddy skin, bumps into me while trying to get closer to the Mona Lisa. His wife pulls on his sleeve and scolds him in what I think is German.

  “He did say once that there’s always another story behind a painting. Not just what you see on the canvas.”

  “Maybe the clues are hidden in the paintings surrounding her,” I say.

  We stroll around the room, stopping at each painting and studying it intently. He couldn’t hide the Parzalis in the Louvre. There’s no way. The security is too high. Has to be a code somewhere.

  Marek’s hand goes to my back as we’re studying The Animals Boarding Noah’s Ark by Jacopo Bassano, and my stomach does that fluttering thing that’s becoming a habit around him.

  “It’s gotta be code,” Marek repeats my thoughts. “I need a restroom.”

  “Okay, I’ll start making notes.”

  He gives me the notebook and pen and rushes off, weaving around people on his way out.

  There are twenty-five other paintings in the Salle des Etats room with my girl Mona. I jot down the title to all the works and the painter’s name for each. The restroom must be far. I only have one left, and Marek still hasn’t returned.

  Footsteps sound behind me. I try to write the last painting’s title and artist—Portrait of a Man by Dosso Dossi—faster in the notebook so I can get out of the way.

  “Think of my surprise when the Keres’ whispers are about you.” The voice belongs to Ares. He’s behind me, and I can’t move. “Paris. It’s my favorite city. Have you and your boyfriend been enjoying yourselves in the City of Light?”

  I keep my eyes on the painting. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Who’s not?” Marek says.

  I whirl around, searching over his shoulders for Ares. I don’t see him. He just disappeared. “Ares was here.”

  He rushes into the crowd.

  I chase after him. “Marek, wait.”

  “The Keeper is getting closer to his prize,” Ares whispers in my ear, and I fling around, looking for him, but he’s not there. “Remember, you’ll give me his Parzalis. Willingly.”

  “Where are you?”

  A woman aiming her phone like she’s recording a video gives me a confused look and heads to the next painting over.

  I hurry after Marek. The crowd slows him down, and I’m able to catch up.

  “I don’t see him.” Marek turns to me. “What did he want?”

  “Something he won’t get.” I hope Ares is still listening. Because he’s not getting what he wants. “He’s after your part of the talisman. Says I’ll give it to him willingly.”

  Marek gazes down at me. “I say we find a quiet place for coffee and look over our notes.”

  …

  The sun is out and almost directly over Paris. Marek and I sit at a table at an outside café near the Louvre. Working the name of the painting or the artist or both, I try to figure out which one Adam Conte might’ve used for the next clue. Trying to find a code in one of them.

  I stare at the Mona Lisa and Leonardo Da Vinci’s names. “The code isn’t in the other paintings. So it has to be her
e.” I stab the M with the tip of the pen.

  Marek pushes back in the chair and watches the pedestrian road again. He hasn’t let his guard down since we sat at the table.

  I’m not worried about Ares. He’s waiting for us to find something. I’m a pawn he’s playing to get what he wants.

  I drop my head into my hands. “I just can’t figure it out.”

  “My gramps wouldn’t make it this difficult,” Marek’s hand goes to my back, the warmth of it pausing me for a beat.

  I recover. “What are we going to do? There’s nothing here. Are you sure you don’t remember your grandfather saying anything about the Mona Lisa?”

  “Not said so much as…” Marek leans back again, his hand falling away from my back. “Well, he had photos of the painting in the basement. My grandma mentioned them having to push through the crowd to see her when they visited the Louvre. That’s all I got.”

  I drop my napkin next to my plate and stand. “Then we have to go back. Take another look. Maybe we missed something.”

  We return to the crowded room, and it seems like the Mona Lisa is never alone. I wonder how the real woman would feel to know she’s this popular. That so many people know her face.

  Two hours pass, and we’re running out of time. My jaw is tense, and a headache is building behind my eyes. It’s time to give up, but neither Marek nor I want to admit it. So I give in.

  “We have to get to the embassy before it closes.” Both of us need to sleep. I’m not sure what they’ll do to us. Are we runaways? Jane will be pissed when they contact her. I realize just now that I don’t know what Marek told his family.

  “What lie did you give your parents? You know, where are you supposed to be?”

  Marek pulls his stare away from the Mona Lisa and puts it on me. “My parents think I’m with my grandma, and she thinks I’m at home.”

  There is no avoiding it, we’ll have to face the music sometime, as Dad used to say. But it’s Marek’s quest. I want him to decide when to give up. I don’t want him to resent me for forcing him to abandon our search. Stress tightens my neck and shoulder muscles, causes my stomach to sour. My lids weigh heavy on my eyes.

  I just hope he will decide soon.

  I catch a glimpse of long dark, curly hair just outside the doors, moving with the crowd, and my pulse quickens. It was a flash, so quick I’m not even sure it was a woman, but every time I see someone with that attribute, I’m going to think of her. Inanna.

  It’s only a matter of time before she finds us.

  Me. Finds me. Because she wants what I can do. I witnessed her kill Cain and that doorman. I’m guessing she’s on the wrong side of this immortal war. Maybe Ares is on the right one.

  Maybe there’s no right side.

  Marek checks the time on the GPS. “We should go. Walk-ins at the embassy end at two forty-five.”

  There’s no need to correct him. But I’m pretty sure runaways fall into the emergency category and not regular business hours. Might as well go early, though, just to be safe.

  I give the Mona Lisa one last look. No one knows for sure who she was. There’ve been so many investigations into her identity. She’s as elusive as that smile. It’s her secret.

  Guess you’ll keep another one.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When the embassy contacted Marek’s parents, they were concerned for his well-being. Sure, they were upset, but they trust him to get back to the States. They want him home.

  When Jane received the call, she lost it. Said she knew I’d be like them. Who she meant I’m not too sure. Probably my parents. Maybe my uncle. Instead of “dealing” with me on her own, she called my grandparents in Isreal. Which makes no sense to me, since I never get in trouble. Not like Dalton. I get straight As. Unlike Dalton.

  One time.

  One time I do something careless, and I’m the trouble child.

  When Jane finally reached my grandparents, it was too late for them to get a flight to Paris. Saba and Safta got me a hotel room right next door to the American Embassy and wired money. They’ll arrive in Paris sometime past noon. I’m spending a few days with them to give Jane “time.”

  Dalton. How can I hide that Lugh’s his sperm donor father from him? Thank goodness I couldn’t talk to him, because he can tell when something’s wrong with me. He’s still at that grieving camp and won’t be home for two days.

  I’m in a lounge with a lot of gold trim, fancy chandeliers, and a grand piano. There’s a cloudy sky painted on the ceiling and marble on the walls. This hotel is expensive. My grandparents have money, and they throw it around all the time. Not to be snobby or showy, but to help others. They’re good people. I’m lucky to have them.

  Showered and wearing the new outfit I got in one of the expensive shops down the street, I actually feel better. I could pass as a twentysomething Parisian woman with my new black pants, white shirt, and gray jacket. I look sort of innocent, except for the soul of the Devil or something taped to my lower leg. I play with the ends of the yellow scarf Marek picked out at the thrift store for me. How am I already reminiscing? It was just a few hours ago.

  Steam rises from the cup of coffee I cradle in my hands. When I see Marek stroll in with the confident stride and the tilted smile he turns on as soon as he sees me, he grabs more of my heart.

  He sits in the chair beside me and holds my hands on the table. There are bags under his eyes, and they’re glassy, and I’m sure mine are, too.

  “So I’m leaving in a few for the airport,” he says. “My parents want me home as soon as possible. It might be some time before I can see you.”

  I stare at our hands, fingers entangled. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back home. Jane needs time.”

  He knits his eyebrows together. “Time? Isn’t she your mother?”

  “She adopted me.” I swallow because I really need to hold it together here. I’m already crumbling inside, knowing that any minute now I’ll have to say goodbye to Marek. “I think my uncle forced her into it. Sure, maybe she was down with it when I was a baby, but something changed the older I got.”

  His eyes close for a quick second, and when he opens them, he slips his hand around the back of my neck, guides me toward him, and waits. I lean the rest of the way and press my lips to his. The kiss is soft and not that long. We are in a fancy hotel, after all, and PDA is probably frowned on here.

  He releases me, and we straighten. His kiss still hinting on my lips.

  I look over his shoulder. A few groups are sitting at the other tiny tables around the room. No one noticed our kiss. “I’m sorry we couldn’t solve that clue,” I say.

  “Yeah, that’s a letdown.” He absentmindedly fidgets with my fingers. “It makes no sense. He made it too hard. I’ve played back things he’s told me in the past. Nothing fits.”

  “I guess it’s only a matter of time before a spirit gives the location of it to their god or goddess.”

  “Yeah. More immortals with powers. Great.” He lowers his head as if he’s ashamed. As if he’s let the world down. “I wonder what life will be like under their rule.”

  I squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault. We tried.”

  I don’t mention his grandmother. I’m sure he’s already beating himself up about her losing her money.

  The man from the embassy comes into the room and stands by the entrance. He spots Marek and waves for him to leave.

  Marek releases my hand. “There’s my ride. Walk me out?”

  “Okay.” I grab my new tan leather bag, now holding my replaced passport, new prescription, and recently purchased makeup, and I sling it over my shoulder.

  We clasp hands and shuffle slowly for the exit, not wanting our time together to end. Hoping that by some miracle time will stop.

  Fitting my mood, it’s raining when we get outside. The man who waved Marek over in the l
ounge stands beside a black Mercedes sedan.

  I pull the hood to my new jacket over my head, rain clapping on the cotton and polyester blend. “Wow, you’re going in style.”

  He looks behind him. “Yeah, I guess so.” Even though he’s getting wet, he still stands there with me in the rain. Eyes holding my stare, he grips both my hands, and we stand face to face. “God, I hate leaving you. Stay in the hotel room until your grandparents get here, okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I reassure him.

  “Call me as soon as you can. I’ll have my number switched to my old phone when I get home.”

  “I will.”

  He cups my face in his hands and presses his lips firmly against mine. We kiss, not caring who sees. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to stay without him.

  We were just getting started. Just coming together. I’m not sure when I’ll see him again. I want to keep him here with me.

  But he lets go.

  And so do I.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Her smile is taunting, teasing. What secret is she hiding? There’s amusement in her eyes. It’s as if it’s a game to her.

  I probably shouldn’t have come to the Louvre alone, but my ticket is still good for today, and it doesn’t close for another hour. I need one last look. Adam Conte had a reason for sending Marek here. There’s a clue hidden in this room.

  It’s less crowded than it was earlier. I stroll slowly around the room, stopping at each painting, studying each one like I’m an art dealer, trying to find something that stands out.

  A woman with short brown hair in a pencil skirt and dress shirt leads a small group into the room. “I prefer to end my tours with our special lady, the Mona Lisa. I’ll tell you a little history about her, and then you’ll be free to wander the museum on your own for the rest of the hour. She was painted by Leonardo da Vinci. It is…”

  I move away from the group, taking measured steps, eyes roaming over paintings—a naked Venus with cupids, two hounds, a wedding, Noah’s Ark—searching for something in them, finding nothing.