by Maggie Hall
I released a shaky breath.
“You’re not forgetting them, but you’re allowing them—and yourself—to move on.”
I felt my nails digging into my palms. We were still in the middle of this. I wasn’t sure any moving on could happen right now.
But Luc ran across the room and opened the balcony door. He grabbed a package of incense and lit one of the sticks in a candle flame and waved the smoke back and forth across the shrine. The smoke thickened as we passed the bottle of wine between the five of us. It was sweet, syrupy. I kept one eye on the smoke, but none of it was drifting out the open door at all.
• • •
An hour later, we were down almost two bottles of wine. A few of the candles had burned out, but the rest flickered over the photos. Cream rugs covered the hardwood floors in the apartment, and there was a small kitchen and two overstuffed leather couches that all five of us lounged on now. I stayed a careful distance from Jack on one couch, while Elodie’s legs sprawled across Stellan’s lap on the other.
Luc sat on the furry rug at Stellan and Elodie’s feet, and he set to opening another bottle of wine, clumsily. I got the feeling he’d already had a little to drink before we arrived. “Is it horrible to say this is fun?” he said. “It’s like a—what is the American word? Slumber party? A very tragic slumber party.”
We should have been using the time to plan our trip to Greece, but I realized I was glad we weren’t. “Fun” might not have been the right word, but it really was like a slumber party in the cozy apartment, and after the exhaustion and frustration about the clue that wasn’t a clue and all the literal and figurative blood on my hands, I needed that right now. I think we all did.
Elodie leaned over to grab the wine from Luc, and Stellan pushed off the couch and went into the other room.
I stretched and got up, too, and made my way across the room to the small balcony. Jack followed. He stopped me at the French doors and peered outside. “Seems safe.”
I looked out over the piazza below, where a steady rain was now falling, making the cobblestones shiny in the lone streetlight. The piazza was a rectangle, enclosed on three sides by buildings with barred windows and planter boxes, and bordered by a canal on the fourth. It was chilly out, and I shivered even though I was still wearing Jack’s coat.
“You okay?” Jack said.
I hugged my arms around myself and nodded.
“Do you really think Greece is a good idea?” he said.
I looked up sharply. “Of course. Eight days, remember? Do you not think it’s a good idea?”
“I don’t like being so far away from Saxon security. Especially after the attack today.” Jack paused. “The Saxons want the tomb as much as we do. If we told them the truth, they could at least send guards.”
I was shaking my head before he’d even finished speaking. “You know why we can’t tell them. They’d never let me give what we find to the Order.”
I leaned on the railing. We were sheltered from the rain by the building’s overhang, but the occasional breeze sent a drop or two our way. My shoulders stiffened when Jack leaned beside me.
“I know. I understand.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just—you’ve got to understand my point of view, too. The way you feel about doing everything you can to keep your mom safe? That’s how I feel about you. I know I’m not supposed to,” he continued. “I know we’re not . . . But you can’t imagine what it felt like today to see him raise that gun in your direction.”
I swallowed. “I really don’t think they’re going to hurt me—”
“And I think you need to take into account the opinions of people who don’t have an emotional stake in this like you do.”
I pushed back from the railing. “You just admitted you do have an emotional stake in it.”
Jack turned. Earlier I had been so relieved for us to be back together, and needed the comfort of us so much, that I couldn’t not kiss him. I knew he felt it too—he’d just admitted he still felt it as much as I did. But this—this suddenly not being on the same page when I had thought we were—was a different kind of tension entirely, and one I wasn’t used to.
“Avery—” he said.
“You can’t always be perfectly cautious. We can figure out ways to be safer, but we’re going to Greece. And we’re not telling the Saxons.”
He gripped the railing hard, very controlled as always, then nodded.
We stood in silence for a few minutes. Under the streetlight across from us, on an expanse of crumbling brick, was a smattering of graffiti. The only words that stood out well enough to read were Ti amo!
“What does that mean?” I pointed.
“Um.” He paused. “It means I love you. In Italian.”
“Oh.” Even though it was in this context, those words, coming out of Jack’s mouth, in his accent—I was suddenly too conscious of my heart hammering against my ribs. “That’s the sweetest graffiti I’ve ever seen.”
I could feel him looking at me. “I don’t want us to be angry at each other,” he said.
I leaned beside him at the rain-slicked railing again. “I’m not angry. It’s just—you get why I have to do this, right?”
“I do,” he said. “You’ll do whatever it takes for someone you love. I get it.”
I reached my hand out, and he took it. We let our fingers intertwine for a second.
“What are you doing out there?” Elodie yelled. “Hurry up and come inside.”
We let go, and I balled the cuffs of Jack’s coat in my palms as we headed back in.
“I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.” I flopped back down on the soft leather couch, still feeling unsettled.
“We’re not.” Elodie was lying on her back on the white fur rug, staring up at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling, holding the wine bottle. “Luc has an idea.”
Luc was grinning too big, considering the circumstances. I eyed him warily. “What?”
“We have finished our sadness for the night. Let’s do something fun. Let’s play a game.”
Jack, perched on the arm of the couch next to me, raised an eyebrow. “A game?”
Elodie sat up and finished the last sip from the bottle, then put it on the floor, sending it into a shaky twirl. “Spin the bottle.”
CHAPTER 11
I crossed my arms and settled further back into the couch. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Come on,” Elodie said. “We’re teenagers without adult supervision. Aren’t we obligated to get drunk and play kissing games?”
“First of all, this might be the most inappropriate night ever to do something like that. And second, we’re not exactly normal teenagers,” I said. “I’d probably be the closest, and I’m far from normal.”
Which was an odd thing to think. I was the world’s most normal teenager until recently, and now I was—to quote Stellan—the closest thing the most powerful group in the world had to a leader.
“That is why we will do it. Celebrate life rather than being sad about death,” Luc said dreamily. Obviously more than a little tipsy.
“And who cares if we’re normal?” Elodie sat up. “Spin the bottle is what all the American teenagers do in the movies. Ooh, or truth or dare. Want to play truth or dare instead?”
I frowned at her. “I have never once played spin the bottle or truth or dare. The movies lie to you.”
“Well then.” Elodie handed the bottle to Stellan, who shrugged and put it on the ground. He gave it a twirl. “This’ll be everyone’s first time.”
The bottle spun wildly, then slowed, wobbled a bit . . . and came to a stop, pointing right at me.
Stellan looked up with a slow smile.
“Oh my God. Okay. We’ll play truth or dare. I choose truth,” I said.
“Ouch,” said Stellan.
Elodie smiled triumphantly,
plucking the bottle off the ground. “Truth. Never have I ever . . .”
“You’re mixing your games,” I interrupted. “Never have I ever is like group truth. You say what you’ve never done, and whoever has done it has to drink.”
“Well, that sounds perfect.” Elodie opened another bottle of wine and refilled our glasses.
Jack looked at me. “Are we really—”
“Apparently.”
Elodie settled back against the couch, twirling ends of her hair between her thumb and forefinger. “Never have I ever kissed somebody in this room,” she said, and merrily took a drink of her wine. Beside her, Stellan drank, too.
I looked at Jack.
We could lie, I told him with my eyes. We might not want Elodie knowing everything.
Elodie rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid. You were caught in her room at our house.”
Stellan held up a mocking finger. “But they’re not together. Ask them why.”
I glared at him. “This is more important. We don’t want to be distracted, and—”
Elodie snorted. “Is it exhausting to be so upstanding and self-righteous all the time?”
“Some of us take life-or-death matters seriously—” Jack started.
Elodie turned to Stellan. “You’ve been having to deal with this? I’m sorry for you.” She gestured at me with her wineglass, nearly spilling the contents out on the carpet. She didn’t notice. She’d had more to drink than I’d realized. I was surprised—she was usually so controlled. “You have at least kissed. So drink. That’s the game.”
I bit back a retort, and Jack and I sipped our wine.
“I feel left out,” Luc said. “All of you have kissed each other.”
“Aw, Lucien,” Elodie said, reaching out to him. “I will kiss you anytime.”
Luc blew an air kiss in her direction. “Merci, El, but you’re not exactly my type.”
There was a beat of silence, then Stellan sat forward. “If you want—”
Luc’s cheeks went bright pink, and he threw a piece of baguette at Stellan. Grinning, Stellan caught it and whipped it back.
“Okay, okay,” Elodie said, holding up her glass. “Never have I ever kissed more than one person in this room.”
She cocked an eyebrow, and I cocked mine back, watching her gaze flit between Stellan, Jack, and me. “Really?” I said flatly. “I told you—”
She shrugged innocently. “Why else are they both putting their lives on the line to follow you around the world? Jackie’s being the noble knight, keeping her safe, but . . .”
She looked at Stellan. I knew he wouldn’t tell her about the thirteenth thing.
“Fine,” Elodie said, but her face broke into a slow smile. “But I know there are people who will drink to it.” She raised her glass and took a drink, then looked pointedly around, eyes landing on Jack.
He cleared his throat. “This game is ridiculous,” he said, and took a sip.
I don’t think my mouth actually fell open, but it might have. Jack wouldn’t meet my gaze, but Elodie smiled smugly.
But that meant—Jack. And Elodie.
“Yes,” she said in her pretty French accent. “Exactly what you’re thinking.”
It was like there was this whole version of Jack I didn’t know existed. It wasn’t my place to be annoyed about it, for lots of reasons, but . . . “Getting off the subject of kissing,” I said.
“Aw, why?”
“Never have I ever lied to the people I cared about to get my way,” I continued pointedly. I still wasn’t sure I trusted Elodie’s intentions for being here.
Something flashed across her face, but she took a drink, with a hint of an eye roll at me like, I get what you’re doing. “If any of you say you have not done that, you’re lying now. You are not getting into the spirit of this game.”
The room was suddenly subdued. It had started raining harder, and it pattered onto the balcony outside. My head was spinning. I wasn’t sure whether it was the wine or the conversation or the long day or the fact that I’d barely slept last night, as usual. “Maybe it’s time for bed,” I said.
“Boring,” Luc said, but he rubbed his eyes sleepily and stood up. Stellan blew out the candles on the shrine and Elodie let me borrow a pair of leggings and a T-shirt.
The bedroom was large, with four sets of bunk beds. Jack and I took two lower bunks across from each other, and the rest of them sprawled across various other beds in the room.
“Good night,” I whispered.
“Good night,” Jack answered.
“Good night,” Elodie called teasingly from across the room, then switched off the light.
Of course, the minute the light went off, my eyes wouldn’t close. Illumination from the street outside made shadows on the wall, and I watched them for a while. There had to come a time, biologically, when I was exhausted enough to fall asleep no matter what, right?
But not exhausted enough that you won’t wake up with nightmares, a little voice whispered. Especially after today.
From across the room, someone was snoring lightly. I was okay just an hour ago. Did drinking wine always give you this kind of emotional whiplash? I flopped onto my side again, kicking the blankets restlessly.
We had just over a week to find the bracelet, the tomb, save my mom. Stop the Circle suitor countdown and the assassinations. Decide what I was going to do after that. Assuming what was in the tomb really would stop the Order, my duty to the Circle would be done.
But would I leave? Leave Lydia, and my father?
Jack?
In the bed across from me, he stirred, then settled with a sigh. Would he come with me if I left? Did I . . . Would . . . If . . .
• • •
In my dream, I was in seventh grade, but in Venice. Poppy Levine, the richest girl in our grade, was throwing the bat mitzvah I wasn’t invited to in real seventh grade at San Marco Basilica, and just as she blew out candles on a giant birthday cake, everyone at the party fell down dead.
My eyes shot open, and it took me a second to remember where I was. Watery early morning light was filtering through the windows, and it was hot and stuffy and a little damp in the room.
Every part of me, on the other hand, felt dried out: my eyelids stuck together with every blink, my contacts had dried to my eyeballs, and my mouth was sticky and parched.
I slipped out of bed, put some drops in my eyes, and popped a mint from my bag. Jack was turned toward the wall. Luc was fast asleep, too, his pajama-clad leg hanging off a top bunk. Below him, Elodie’s hair flopped across her face, and she looked remarkably peaceful. Stellan’s bed was empty.
I opened the bedroom door as quietly as I could, and wandered into the empty living room. Maybe Stellan had gone out to get coffee or something. An atlas someone must have pulled off a shelf last night lay on the couch, open to a map of Greece. I picked it up and headed toward the balcony. When I got there, though, the smell of cigarette smoke was drifting into the room.
Stellan stood with his back to me. He was wearing the same T-shirt and gray jeans he’d had on yesterday.
I paused, but before I could decide whether I wanted to turn around, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Cigarettes are disgusting,” I said, coming to stand beside him, leaning the atlas on the railing.
“I so value your opinion.” He took a slow drag and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth, then stubbed out the cigarette in the small ashtray. The smoke curled away in the first rays of sunlight.
“Sleep well?” he said.
“Fine.” In the courtyard below, vendors were setting up for what looked like a vegetable market. A middle-aged woman in a leather jacket and heavy black eyeliner unloaded box after box of bright red and yellow tomatoes.
Stellan gestured to the atlas. “Map to the bracelet?”
“Map to Delphi, at least.” Off the other end of the wrought-iron balcony, two old men greeted each other from passing boats in the tiny canal.
Stellan took the atlas and flipped through it, to India, then Venice. He laughed. “Have you realized that Napoleon left his own literal map of fates, and we’re following it?”
“‘Their fates mapped together,’” I said. “Do you think he did that on purpose?”
“He certainly seemed to think the rest of it out pretty thoroughly.”
I looked at the Ti amo! graffiti across the piazza.
“Do you actually believe in it?” I said. “Fate. Destiny. Whatever.”
Stellan leaned over the railing, watching the vendors below us. “Do you think all those people believe in fate? Or do you think they’re just living their lives the best they can with whatever’s thrown at them?” An older man tossing a bucket of fish onto ice looked up and waved at us. I waved back.
“I believe certain people are set on a certain path,” Stellan went on. “But I also think we always have a choice. It just depends how much you want to fight. If you’re meant to sell fish at a street market in Italy, you could spend your whole life trying to change that, but selling fish isn’t so bad, is it?”
I blinked into the rising sun. “When you make it sound so appealing . . .”
I heard movement inside, then voices. Time to get the day started. Stellan closed the atlas and gestured inside. “Destiny awaits,” he said.
CHAPTER 12
We managed to get back into the hotel without anyone noticing. I changed into a flowered sundress and met Lydia and Cole and my father in the lobby like we’d planned the night before. My father led us to the hotel’s outdoor cafe overlooking the Grand Canal, where rows of gondolas were tied to posts, their sleek silhouettes bobbing lazily with the breeze. My foot wouldn’t stop tapping under the table.
Lydia settled into the wicker chair next to me and put on her sunglasses as a waiter poured us tiny cups of thick espresso. I stirred two sugar cubes into mine. “We’d better eat quickly if we plan to be in Beijing by tomorrow,” Lydia said, scanning her menu.