Scheme

by Jennifer Sommersby

  “Genevieve, come now. Rest while we can.” Henry’s hands are gentle on my upper arms. I don’t resist. I’m too tired to resist.

  I’m too tired to do anything.

  My eyes fly open when weight depresses the mattress.

  “Just me,” Xavier says. A small bedside lamp is the sole light in the room. The fabric against my cheek is rough—not like a pillowcase. I push up and look at it, unsettled to see that someone has placed a towel under my face, and it’s bloody. “When you fell asleep, your mouth bled a bit. I thought that would be more comfortable for you.”

  “I’m so groggy.”

  “I gave you something a little heavier than ibuprofen. You needed the rest while we are in a secure environment.”

  This environment doesn’t feel very secure.

  My tongue is killing me, but it’s less swollen than before. “How long was I out?”

  “About six hours. We have food, if you think you can eat.” Xavier helps me sit up and hands me a glass of water.

  “Only if you can put it in a blender.”

  “Open your mouth?” I do. “Tongue?” I stick it out. Xavier looks at it, gently lifts my lip to inspect my broken tooth, and then nods. He stands and walks to the medical kit, grabs two pills, and brings them back to me. “The pain meds will be wearing off. We have to keep the swelling down.”

  “How is she doing this? How is she getting to me?”

  Xavier scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

  “Henry said you carved an effigy. That you tried to burn it, with her hair, to protect me.”

  Xavier’s head bobs.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “A Mesopotamian Maqlû ritual. I’m sorry it didn’t work.” Tentatively he reaches up and flattens his palm against my cheek. “You look so much like your mom, sometimes it takes my breath away.” His ice-blue eyes glisten. “I want to help you, Genevieve. Please let me help you. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be your father”—he swallows hard—“but I want to be your friend. I want to do what I can to make this right. You said it earlier, that all these adults are asking you to fix their mistakes—but you are so strong. You are so much like Delia.” He stops talking and wipes at his eyes, looking away for a beat like he’s embarrassed for me to see him showing real emotion. “Goddammit, I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I saw you.”

  And then the tears are openly flowing down his face, and I feel so terrible for being mean to him, I push the blanket aside and wrap my arms around him. When he wraps his arms around me right back, I don’t freeze or pull away.

  I just let my father cry against me for as long as he needs.

  Xavier mentioned that Sevda and Lucas threw out every piece of food Sofi may have touched—just in case—so tonight’s offerings are pretty basic. I can’t chew anything, so Sevda whips together a smoothie with banana, almond powder, and pomegranate juice. It tastes good, though the cold is uncomfortable against my broken tooth.

  When we’re all sitting again, Sevda passes around a plate of flaky pastries while Lucas pours fragrant Turkish coffee.

  “During your rest, Xavier and I arranged for reinforcements to provide additional security tomorrow. Per our prior plans, everything will go forward—we will have a small, private gathering of La Vérité members on the site of Tanrilar Sirk—many of the performers are our people, so our numbers are not few. People are very excited to meet you,” she says. “At that time, Mazhar will join us. Once we have acquired the final piece that we need, I will accompany you into Iraq.”

  I look at her, and then Xavier, the storm clouds returning to his face.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I set my smoothie down.

  “Which part?”

  “The part where you come with us into Iraq.”

  “It’s not open for debate.”

  “And why is that?”

  Sevda wipes her fingers on a white cloth napkin. “I’m sorry, Genevieve, but have I not proven myself to you yet? Have I not proven my loyalty?”

  “I can’t help but be a little concerned that you might be a magnet for our troubles. I’ve been around you not even a whole day, and already I’ve had two run-ins with Aveline Darrow. Convince me that’s a coincidence.”

  Sevda pulls her shoulders back. “It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Then why did I think you were her at the airport? Why did she attack me in your bathroom?”

  “I told you, it’s this place. It’s Turkey. Aveline is finding her way into your head through whatever route she can. I can’t protect you from what I can’t see, but I know Dagan, and I know he won’t kill you yet, not until he has what he wants.”

  “And how convenient that once we meet Mazhar, we will have what Dagan wants, all in one place at the same time.”

  Sevda shakes her head, her face annoyed, and glances briefly at Xavier. “We will not have the third text. Dagan wouldn’t waste his energies on an ambush at Tanrilar Sirk unless he knew the third text was in our possession. A smart man would wait until Iraq when all the players and all the parts are present.”

  “And this is your educated guess?” I say. “Based on what?”

  “Based on years of tracking Dagan’s decisions and movements,” she says. “I believe it’s best to know thy enemy.”

  I laugh. “How ironic.”

  “If you truly believe that I am working with my father and his witch”—she stands and pulls a knife from her boot. She walks around to my side of the dining table and offers me the blade, hilt first—“finish me now.”

  “Tempting,” I hiss.

  Xavier clears his throat and glares at Sevda; she replaces her blade. “I saved you in that bathroom,” she says.

  “No. My father saved me. Slicing an old woman’s throat does not make you a hero.”

  “Are you two done?” Xavier says, impatient.

  He then crosses his arms and nods at Sevda. She resumes her seat and picks up her baklava, finishing it in one bite. She pushes her plate away and leans forward on her crossed arms. “If I were working against you, you’d already be dead. I would have the books and the pieces I need, and I’d be en route to redeem myself in my father’s eyes,” she says. “But he is my father by blood only. He murdered my mother too. It’s a sick club we have going here,” she circles a finger among Henry and herself and me, “but we are fighting the same enemy. And I will endeavor to prove my loyalty to you until such time that we are on the sands of Babylon and I spill my own blood alongside yours in the Undoing.”

  I squint at her, then Xavier.

  “More spilling of blood?” I say, tone flippant. “Hell, what’s a few more red blood cells between friends?”

  “In order to complete the ritual, the safeguards dictate that the key to the temple is not enough. The blood of heirs from each family must be present,” Sevda says. “With the three of us, we now have representatives of each family. You from Udish,” she says to me, “Henry from Nutesh, and me from Belshunu’s line.”

  She locks eyes with me. “Surely you know you were created to stand in Aveline’s way . . .” She steals a sideways glance at Xavier; he looks pissed. “Just as Henry was created to stand in mine.”

  “Have we not suffered enough already? Now you’re going to throw us on an altar and bleed us?” I yell.

  “It’s a mere slice to the hand. A few drops more. No one is going to bleed you, Genevieve,” Sevda says. “Xavier, this one is so theatrical.” She flicks a finger in my direction.

  “What new revelations are yet to come?” Henry asks under his breath. “I am representative of two families. Is that not enough? Is any of this ever going to be enough?” His voice is hard.

  The ensuing silence is broken when Xavier’s satellite phone rings. He answers and then excuses himself to talk out of earshot near the sheer-covered windows. I watch him, counting the heartbeats in my swollen mouth. They could be discussing anything, and by the way Xavier’s face darkens, whatever words are being excha
nged can’t be good. He looks over at me before turning his back to the whole table, shielding his conversation from the rest of us.

  Henry takes my hand, but I hold my breath, hoping that it’s a gesture of affection only and not him preparing to show me some terrible new vision of a recent event his mother has shared with him. I’m grateful he has his usual soft leather gloves in place.

  Xavier hangs up and rejoins us. “If we’re done here, I’d like to go over the Iraq plans with Genevieve and Henry.”

  “Was that Nutesh? Is Baby all right?” I ask.

  “No change. He’s stable,” Xavier says.

  “But he’s not better.”

  Xavier shakes his head. “And yet he’s not worse either.”

  Okay, I will concede that. If Baby’s heart is still beating, then I still have a purpose.

  “Come. Much to cover before sleep, and tomorrow is a big day for us all,” Xavier says. Henry thanks Sevda and Lucas for the meal, and then we follow Xavier down the hall, back into our room. Sevda has cracked a rectangular window open but because this is an apartment building, the four inches of open space doesn’t allow a lot of fresh outside air in. I try not to think about why the room smells of bleach. I try not to think about Sofi’s life spilling out all over the marble floor, about if she had children or grandchildren who will miss her.

  “Close the door,” Xavier says. Henry does. It’s a minor comfort when the flimsy lock clicks over, but I’ll take it. “Sit.” The room has a small, highly polished wooden table with four colorful, modern art–style wheeled chairs. Henry pulls one out for me, and then sits himself, scooting closer so he can drape his arm over the oval back of my seat.

  Xavier pulls out his tablet and sets it up, followed by that sound-masking device he’s so fond of.

  “Paranoid much?” I ask.

  “Aren’t you?”

  He flips the tablet on and navigates to a new screen—more maps. “If tomorrow goes to plan, we will have a nice, quiet meet and greet. We’ll get the piece from Mazhar, and then slip out. We are so close to the end game,” Xavier says. When he flips to the next screen, my stomach squeezes.

  Iraq.

  “Nutesh has arranged with an airfield in Sulaymaniyah, widely regarded as the capital of Kurdistan, in northern Iraq. The air base is controlled by the Peshmerga, Kurdish guerilla fighters—they’re friendly to Nutesh. And they have an appreciation for the help Americans offered in recent ongoing conflicts, which is in your favor.” He nods at me and Henry. “This area has been rebuilt, very pro-Western—and friendly to our cause—so I don’t expect to run into trouble there.” He swipes to another screen. “Babylon, however, could be a different scenario altogether.”

  “Thierry mentioned we might be staying at the university in Babil?” My heart twinges when I think of Thierry.

  “Doubtful now. We thought we’d be able to secure overland transport into Baghdad and then stage at the university, but after Pompeii, Nutesh doesn’t want to take chances with us out in the open for any longer than necessary. For now, it looks like we will helicopter in to the site direct from Sulaymaniyah. Nutesh is negotiating with a private contractor right now, an old friend of mine.”

  I close my eyes against a new swarm of dizziness. I demanded earlier that Xavier allow Henry and me to be a part of the planning process, but given we still have no idea how tomorrow is going to go, I’m quietly grateful Xavier has taken the reins on Iraq.

  Because it’s Iraq.

  This isn’t even real life anymore.

  Xavier lets the screen time out as he leans back in his chair. “I am probably not wrong in guessing that everything you know about this part of the Middle East has been fed to you by the Western media. I’ve been there many times, to both Sunni- and Shia-controlled regions, and I can say with confidence that in peacetime, the country is vibrant and culturally exquisite. That is not to say that dangers don’t lurk around every corner, especially with ISIS still active in the area and continued instability between the Kurds and Iraqis. But most people of Sulaymaniyah and Erbil and Baghdad are warm and friendly, the food is good, and the smiles are genuine. It is where your people come from,” Xavier says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You are not soldiers; you are not entering to occupy their lands or impose your will on the proud people who have inhabited this geography for thousands of years. You will be welcomed as guests, not shunned as invaders.”

  “Until they figure out why we’re there,” I say.

  “Which will not happen. That is why you have the new passports. As far as anyone outside the network is concerned, you are university students from Canada and the UK on an expedition with me to study the ruins as part of a preservation project in conjunction with ongoing efforts of the Iraqi government.”

  I don’t mean to laugh. “Us? No one is going to believe we’re working with their government.”

  Xavier pats the pocket of his jacket, his nervous habit when he means to pull out his cigarettes. Instead he extracts yet another fat envelope, thumbing the flap open to expose the contents.

  Money. A lot of American money.

  “They will believe whatever we tell them, Genevieve,” he says quietly.

  My throat feels dry again. I grab one of the three bottled waters sitting on the table center and drink.

  “What will happen in Babylon? Once we get there, to the Euphrates,” Henry asks. The million-dollar question I don’t want an answer to. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing slowly through my nose.

  “We will put this all to rest, once and for all,” Xavier says, offering no further detail. “I know this part will be frightening.” He flattens his hand over his heart. “I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to help you accomplish this mission. Do not let your fear root you to the ground. Have faith that the strength you need will come when it is summoned, and I along with it.” Xavier stares long and hard at me, and then at Henry, his face soft yet determined. He then grabs his own water and leans back in his chair, the hard set of his jaw returning to its resting state.

  He drinks nearly the whole bottle in one pull. “Now—bed. You get a whole night of rest before we’re on the move again. Make use of it.” He closes the tablet and grabs his backpack. “I’ll be close by. If you need anything.” He nods, unlocks the door, and leaves.

  The room is quiet, except for the outside sounds of nighttime busyness sneaking through the opened window.

  Henry stands and situates himself on one of the twin beds.

  “I thanked Xavier for the effigy,” I say. Henry smiles slightly.

  “And?”

  “And I just wanted you to know that I am making an attempt at not being a jerk.”

  “I never said you were being a jerk.”

  “Except it feels like we’re at odds over all of this. You don’t want us to go tomorrow—”

  “Because it’s dangerous.”

  “And earlier on the plane, we were talking and you got up without saying a word and shut the door basically in my face,” I say. Henry crosses his arms over his chest. “And then when I called Ash, you sided with Xavier.”

  “Firstly, I didn’t have anything further to offer when you and Xavier were constructing the big plan for tomorrow. Again, I still think it’s far too great a risk—”

  “So make a different suggestion!”

  “I don’t have one. Which is why I didn’t chime in. And with regard to Ash, you put us all at risk. I understand why you did it, but it was selfish.”

  “How is that any more selfish than you having all these private conversations with Alicia? Don’t you think we all see you? I know who you’re talking to but everyone else thinks you’re nuts, Henry.”

  “My conversations with my mother don’t put anyone in danger,” he says.

  “Don’t they? Because I think they do. You and your mom are getting so close, how do I know you won’t decide at the last minute that you don’t want to go through with the Undoing? How do I know that you won’t d
ecide that losing her is too much, that you want to keep your book?”

  “Are you being serious right now, Genevieve? You know that isn’t going to happen—”

  “No, I don’t know that.”

  “What, you’re a hundred percent certain that what we’re doing is the right course of action?” he says, moving to the edge of the bed.

  There is no other choice for us. “Baby is in a coma and the only way to save him is to break the magic that has cursed him. I was almost murdered in the bathroom tonight by a possessed woman. When Sofi attacked me? Aveline confessed—she told me everything she did that killed Violet. She murdered my best friend, and she’s making it look like I did it. Violet is dead, and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it.”

  Henry jumps up from the bed and charges toward me. “We are doing everything we can. And just because I don’t have a huge plan to throw at you and Xavier or Sevda even doesn’t mean I’m not thinking. It doesn’t mean I’m not trying to strategize and come up with solutions too. I don’t know how else to show you my commitment, that I’m on board.”

  He spins around and grabs both of our backpacks. From his, he pulls out his AVRAKEDAVRA. Without asking me, he yanks mine free too, digging through my stuff until he finds my mother’s painted playing cards. He sets the books a few feet apart and in between spreads out the cards.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Lock the door,” he says without looking up.

  I do, and then move back to the bedside, facing opposite him.

  “Look.” He points at the cards. Just like in Naples, the script on the playing cards is going crazy, moving and vibrating and spinning around the edge of the paintings.

  “Put your hands on your book. Both of them.” I look up at Henry, not sure where he’s going with this. “Trust me.”

  Bent at the waist, I do as he instructs, placing both of my hands on the Life text; Henry does the same with Memory. The energy is warm and soothing this time, but it’s not the energy transfer that grabs my attention—it’s the cards.

  The movement along the script is forming letters.

  “What is that?” I whisper.