Scheme

by Jennifer Sommersby

  “You’re a regular James Bond, Nutesh.”

  “It is very basic tradecraft—more red herring than anything—but it will buy us hours when every minute counts. However, you all must be aware that where there is cheese, there will be mice,” Nutesh says. “Dagan knows the general area where his father’s text was born. It won’t take them long to find us. He also is no fool. He knows I would never put you, and those books, on a commercial airline. But how foolish would he feel if we actually were there and he let us slip through his fingers?”

  “So—your plan is to wait for them to arrive at the temple and then strong-arm them into handing over that third piece of the key?” Henry asks, his tone laced with the frustration I feel too.

  “We have three heirs, all with unique abilities. I think Dagan will realize he is outnumbered.”

  Henry’s already shaking his head. “That was Aveline’s doing back in Turkey—all those people she injured or killed. She’s been taunting and torturing Genevieve—and Baby—this whole time. The only reason the Etemmu hasn’t been able to hurt Genevieve is because you both have been here to help block it. If they have the third piece—and who else would even know about it—there is no way they’re just going to hand it over, even if you ask politely,” Henry says. “If Aveline Darrow truly does have it, the only way you’re going to get it is to kill her first.”

  Nutesh and Xavier look at one another, their eyes darkening. They then look at the rest of us.

  Oh my god. They’re going to kill her.

  I laugh. Loudly. “You’re delusional. You won’t get near her before she has you on the ground, begging for a quick death. Xavier? Have you forgotten already?”

  “She is just one descendant; you are three. Xavier has told me what you accomplished in Pompeii with just the two of you working together,” Nutesh says, pointing a finger between Henry and me. “There is power in a triad.”

  Triad Partners Group—Dagan’s company. Three sides to the inverted triangle. Three founding fathers of the AVRAKEDAVRA. Three texts.

  Three descendants with three murdered mothers.

  I wonder if this is the part where the narrator tells us to get our affairs in order.

  The remainder of the morning and into the afternoon includes a briefing on archaeological stuff, the script for what we’re meant to say to Iraqi officials if we’re intercepted, followed by more tending to medical issues—the infections in my carved left arm and chest just will not let up—as well as Sevda’s fuzzy eyes, which I hope are restored soon because she’s being a real pain in the ass about our efforts to help her. Xavier seems to be back to baseline, though even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t admit it.

  Everyone is on edge, even Nutesh who seems to never get rattled about anything.

  After a late lunch, I find Nutesh sitting outside on the polished-stone pool deck in the pleasantly cool afternoon, a hazy sun overhead. “Please. Sit.” Nutesh cradles a small cup of dark coffee.

  He smiles. “Geneviève, now that we have a moment—what you did in Izmir, for all those people...”

  “I know. Stupid.”

  He chuckles. “Not to the people you helped. Was it risky? Oui. But it was beautiful. Your life with Delia taught you compassion. It lacks in so much of the world these days.” He sips his coffee. “Who am I kidding, though, ma chère. Compassion has been in short supply for millennia. It is what gave rise to the AVRAKEDAVRA.” He straightens in his red rattan cushioned chair.

  “I wasn’t strong enough to help Baby. Will he recover, after this is done?”

  “Once the magic Aveline has used is gone, her poison should leave him. He is a strong man.”

  “That’s my Horatio,” I say under my breath.

  Nutesh’s eyes are distant over the huge manicured lawn that stretches away from the pool deck to a distant stone fence. “It amazes me that Şivan is able to keep this grass so green, given the water shortages this area is prone to.”

  “It’s like this in Los Angeles. Million-dollar homes have the greenest lawns while the rest of the Valley is brown with water restrictions.”

  He smiles. “I haven’t been to Los Angeles in many years. Are there still orange groves in the city?”

  I laugh. “Ahh, no. Only out in the rural areas now. The city is all people and cars, as far as the eye can see.”

  “Maybe I will take Hélène there for a trip when we get home. Take in the sights in America, once it is safe for us to travel again. We’ve seen everything there is to see in Europe a thousand times over. Watched the whole continent grow up.” His expression is full of a lifetime I could not imagine in my wildest dreams.

  “Thank you. For your help. With everything.”

  He pats the back of my hand where it rests on the arm of my chair. “Vous êtes ma famille. You are family.”

  I lean closer, so as not to be overheard. “If we’re successful tomorrow—will it be hard for you to say goodbye to the books? To this life and your healing gifts?”

  “Certainly it will be sad to see the books burn. We worked very hard on those, my brothers and me. But I’ve committed what I need up here,” he taps his temple, “and I will transcribe it again before my death. The rest is more a matter of antiquity—I’ve become a skilled physician, far outpacing the information in those ancient pages,” he says.

  “My Hélène and I have been blessed with more good years than any two people deserve. We have lived through the ceaseless pain of losing Alicia, and we are looking forward to the undeniable joy of watching our grandson become a man. I have spent the whole of my life studying the human condition, in all its many forms, and I’m confident I can continue to help people until my time is over. Which,” he laughs sadly, “is going to be sooner rather than later. But, it will be nice to not have to pay taxes anymore.”

  I smile.

  “I know it must’ve been hard for Henry to grow up without his mom . . . you’ve lived such a long life, did you only have one child? Is that too forward to ask—” I regret the question the moment it crosses my lips.

  Nutesh pauses. “We had two other children, many, many years ago, before the AVRAKEDAVRA was as potent as it is now. But life back then was dangerous. We didn’t have things like antibiotics. No one knew what a germ was. When tiny bodies were racked with fever, you did what you could, and you prayed.” He runs a finger along the edge of his cup. “Saying goodbye to your children, when it is their bodies being lowered into the dirt, is something no parent should ever have to experience.”

  Lucian spoke of the same thing, that last night in the big top back in Oregon. It’s why we’re here today, on the run. His parents, his wife—his children—died too young. He never recovered from the loss of that family.

  “Nutesh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It is where the AVRAKEDAVRA came from. When I got tired of praying to gods that weren’t listening, I, along with my closest companions, so close we were like brothers—we decided to do something about it. Belshunu’s mother was a gifted healer, the true source of our magic. She taught us. And we learned.”

  “You’ve saved a lot of people in your time, Nutesh.”

  He looks at me, his amber-brown eyes damp with tears. “It has been a hard life, but a good one.” Nutesh again reaches over and lays his strong, broad hand flat on the back of mine. “Even without these books, you and Henry are the future now. The AVRAKEDAVRA served its purpose. It will now live on through you, but only the best parts of it. The tyranny will end. No more running, no more destruction, no more heartbreak.”

  “How do you know we will survive tomorrow?”

  “I don’t.”

  I slump back into my chair.

  Nutesh smiles wistfully. “I know in my heart, like I know my own name, that when a person is faced with impossible odds, she can surprise even the biggest doubter.” He reaches up and gently pulls on the chain that holds Delia’s key under my shirt, holding it reverently against his palm. “I saw your mother face monsters, and win. She was ferocious, ma
de of fire and love.” His eyes are baleful. “I am confident that you will rise to the occasion tomorrow, that you will fight as hard as you can to save your people—Baby, your circus family, your elephants, Henry...”

  My cheeks blaze.

  “I am no fortune-teller, Geneviève, but I have lived enough lives to know when two pure hearts have found one another. It is a good match.” I smile, my embarrassment over discussing my love life involving his grandson obvious from the space station. “But make a career, a life, independent of Henry. Hélène has been by my side since we were youngsters, but she always had an independent soul, even when it was culturally dangerous for a woman to have an opinion. She could tell you stories,” Nutesh says, laughing heartily.

  “I would love to hear them.”

  “When we land in Croix-Mare, you can ask her yourself. Just make sure she bakes something delicious first. She is a talker!” He sets his coffee down. “Henry cares deeply for you too, Geneviève. He will grow to be a good man.” Nutesh sits up straighter, closer to me. “But I see confusion in his eyes. He is scared—he has lost so much in his short life, his mother to murder, his father to madness, and once the books are undone, he will have to endure losing Hélène and me. Losing his connection to Alicia is a formidable choice for him to have to face.” Nutesh sighs heavily. “But I see how he looks at you. I see how he watches you, how he looks ready to lay down his life for you at any second. You have been a true friend to him, something I fear he has never had. But you have also had a life full of adventure and heartache that has made you stronger than Henry. As hard as this is, for both of you, Henry will be inspired by your strength. And he will prove his mettle to us all, when it truly counts.”

  Nutesh then picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Now. You—rest. We have a big day still to come, and Şivan will be expecting us for dinner in a few hours.”

  “Yes, sir.” I stand but then lean over his chair and give him a hug. He seems surprised, but then embraces me back.

  “Geneviève, you make your mother proud with every breath.”

  I thank him again and turn before he can see the tears welling in my eyes, my hand clutched around Delia’s lucky key.

  I hope I make her proud tomorrow.

  41

  ŞIVAN AND NUTESH RETIRE TO THE STUDY. SEVDA SLEPT THROUGH THE sumptuous dinner served by Şivan’s house staff after Nutesh’s intensive work on her eyes this afternoon. She can now make out shapes but can’t see our faces clearly until she is right up close. Nutesh has promised he’ll bring her back to France where proper specialists can be consulted, if things don’t improve.

  Because if everything goes to plan, in less than a day’s time, Nutesh will lose his ability to heal anyone.

  As will I.

  Xavier pulls Henry and me into the common room, clicking the door closed behind us. The sound-masking device sits on the round table at the room’s center.

  “Just wanted to have a final sit-down about tomorrow,” he says. “We’re leaving here at 0400. Babylon is approximately 220 miles by air—we’ll be flying low in a retired military helicopter, outfitted with infrared jammers and quieting modifications to keep sound to a minimum. In case you’re worried about that.”

  Me? I’m worried about everything.

  “Long sleeves, of course. Mosquitoes and sand flies are prevalent in this area.”

  Oh my god, I hadn’t even thought about local bugs. “Tell me there are no spiders here.”

  “There are no spiders here,” Xavier says.

  “Really?”

  “No. There are tons of spiders here. And scorpions. Most of them big, almost all venomous. And biting black desert ants. So just stay on your feet and don’t disturb any nests, and you should be fine.”

  I shiver.

  Xavier moves to his huge duffel, unzipped on one of the couches, from which he pulls two black-handled sheathed knives. “You will of course have the packs on you. I also want you to strap these into your boots.”

  “We have no idea how to use a knife,” I say.

  “Stab for the soft parts,” Xavier says, a half smirk on his face.

  “Very funny,” I say.

  “Knives can be used for more than stabbing. You never know when it might come in handy. Plus”—he pulls one of the six-inch blades out of its protective cover—“the ass end of these opens up. Inside are special matches and a small vial of fraxinella oil. Fraxinella burns quick and hot, its oil super volatile. In hot weather, it’s said the flower will ignite while still on the plant. It’s thought to have been the burning bush in the Christian Bible.

  “You’d do well to keep that oil off your hands, given your proclivity toward flame,” Xavier warns. He then sheathes the blade and hands one each to Henry and me. “Only you two will have the matches and oil.”

  “Not Sevda?”

  Xavier shakes his head no. “From her, we need a few drops of blood. That’s likely going to be the extent of her help.”

  Xavier moves to a window, cracks it, and lights up a cigarette. Good thing Nutesh healed all his parts yesterday so he can set to blackening his lungs again. “You will sleep in your travel gear. Even your boots. Backpacks next to the beds. Once Şivan and his nosy house staff retire, we want you both, and Sevda, in here. I get that they have gender-based rules in this country, but I don’t have time for keeping up appearances. We’re up and out at 0350, back to the air base where we came in. Should land in Babylon around 0545.”

  “What about the Undoing itself?” Henry asks. “What will be required of us?”

  “A little blood, the Euphrates water, and Nutesh has an Undoing prayer.”

  Henry and I exchange a quiet look. Nutesh isn’t the only one with the prayer.

  “But the temple key?” I ask.

  “Nutesh is of the mind that the presence of three direct descendants of each Original Creators’ line should be key enough to call forward the ancestors to the place where the book’s magic was sealed, in support of the Undoing.”

  “If we didn’t really need this key intact, then why send us on a chase after it?” Henry worries the surface of a coin between his fingers.

  “Without the key, there’s no guarantee the Undoing will work. The ancestors may oppose it without the key and the ritual won’t work. So technically, we really do need the third piece, and if we were to somehow acquire it on site—”

  “You mean, if Aveline and Lucian show up with it,” I say.

  “Yes, but we don’t even know if they have it.” Smoke billows out of Xavier’s nostrils. My biological father is a dragon. “It could be still lying in that park in Izmir, forgotten.”

  “Doubtful,” Henry mutters.

  “It would be best if we had it—the ritual would definitely be guaranteed. But don’t count out Sevda’s contribution here. She was a true surprise, even to Nutesh. Her blood will make certain all three lines are represented equally.”

  “She’s blind—how are we even going to get her down there?” I ask.

  “She’s not blind. Cut her some slack,” Xavier says. “And her gift is in concealment. She’s quite good at it.”

  “Can’t she just conceal us tomorrow and then we can get in and out without anyone seeing us?” I rub at my aching arm. All this talk about Aveline must be pissing it off.

  “She says her gifts lie in keeping herself hidden from the world, but not a helicopter full of people.” Xavier pauses and looks between Henry and me. “Nutesh assures me that the actual Undoing ritual is simple enough. Once we confirm the books are destroyed, we’re back on the helicopter and then to the air base where we fly home.”

  “Home—to France, you mean,” I say.

  “Back to Rouen, then to Croix-Mare. We’ll all need some R and R by then,” Xavier says.

  “And what about a contingency plan?”

  Xavier douses his cigarette in the dregs of a coffee cup. “Me. I am the contingency plan.”

  “Which means...”

  “Which means I am
not going into the temple with you.”

  “Wait—why not?” I don’t like this. At all.

  “I will be on the roof.”

  Henry and I look at one another, and then back to Xavier.

  “I have an extensive combat-based background. Military training. Sharpshooting.”

  “You’re going to shoot them if they try to interrupt us?” I can’t keep the panic from my voice. “This is Henry’s father we’re talking about, Xavier. Aveline is your daughter.”

  “Aveline has not been my daughter for a very long time.” Xavier’s jaw pulses. “If it comes down to a choice between your lives or Lucian’s, your lives or Aveline’s,” his voice lowers, “the decision has been made.”

  Henry drops his coin onto the tabletop and pushes it away.

  “Lucian has lived for two millennia. Aveline, five centuries. Most of that time has been spent causing tremendous damage. Do you think I want to look through that scope and put a bullet in my child?” Xavier’s voice is tight. “Of course not. But you’re my daughter too, and you are not lost to me. I have a chance to be in your life, to show you I’m worthy of at least your friendship.” Xavier turns to Henry. “And I love your grandfather like my own father. I would do anything to protect him, and you. I mourned Alicia’s death—her murder—just as we all did.”

  Henry nods. “I trust that if Nutesh is behind this plan, all other alternatives have been considered.”

  My mind swirls with everything he’s said.

  “I need some fresh air.” I stand.

  “An hour on the roof, and then lights out. Stay together.”

  “Of course, sir.” Henry pauses to tuck his knife into his boot before scooping up his sketchbook. We peek around the corner before entering the hallway to make sure Gona or other staff aren’t waiting in the hall to offer help, or to look scandalized by the impropriety of me being in the men’s quarters.