The Lost City

by Amanda Hocking

  He looked at me, his eyes bouncing skeptically between me and the book. “Done already?”

  “Yeah, you were right. There really wasn’t much to it. Thank you for digging it up for me. I’m glad I got to see it for myself.” I was still holding the book out toward him, and he finally took it, albeit with a dubious expression.

  “As am I. I’m always happy to help someone find understanding.” That’s what he said, but the thin smile on his lips didn’t look all that happy.

  I took a step backward, toward my side of the desk. “I’m gonna cut my lunch break short and jump back into work so I can get out on time today. If that’s okay.”

  His head was already down, back in his work, and he waved me off vaguely. “If that’s what you wish, go right ahead.”

  On my lunch break, I had called Elof’s lab to talk to Hanna and see how things were going. Hanna sounded bored, which was a good sign that nothing traumatic or interesting was happening, and she said that Dagny thought they’d be there until six or seven tonight.

  That left me with a marvelous, wondrous plan. If I got out of work on time—at five P.M.—I could have at least forty-five minutes to myself by the time I got home. That would be my first real time to myself since I’d left Förening, and I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I saw the opportunity.

  I raced out of the Mimirin at 5:01, with my stomach grumbling horribly since I’d almost completely worked through lunch. When I was home I could waste precious minutes of my me-time on cooking or reheating something, or I could grab something handy from the food carts that were set up around the entrance to the Mimirin.

  The second seemed like the fastest option, so that’s what I went with, hurriedly scouring the various food carts and fruit stands that catered to the after-work-in-a-rush folks like myself.

  “Looking for cloudberries?” A voice came from over my shoulder, sounding as cool as a garden shower on a hot day.

  I looked back to see him again. The guy I had met at the bazaar last week. I’d thought of him as a swarthy David Bowie, but seeing him up close again, I realized that description didn’t really do him justice. He was uniquely sexy—large Grecian nose, a diamond-shaped face with black hair covering his sharp jawline in a manicured goatee, his long dark hair pulled up into a man-bun.

  I attempted to play off my surprise with a crooked smile. “No, I’m all good at the moment. I did have some in a delicious crumble the other day, and I guess I ought to thank you for that.”

  “No need to thank me.” He flashed his smile again—the one that sliced through me like a hot knife, flushing my skin and warming my belly. “I’m always happy to lend my food expertise.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I glanced around, deliberately looking away from him so I could have a moment to regain my composure. “Do you have any recommendations on what to eat here?”

  “Not really. I went with a tofu-radish falafel.”

  “That sounds a bit weird,” I admitted.

  “It really is.” He scowled. “I don’t know what I thought it would taste like, but it is definitely . . . not good.”

  “All right.” I scanned my options, even though I didn’t really feel all that hungry anymore—I had an unfortunate nervous stomach that always went nuts around cute boys. “I think I’ll play it safe and go with the portabella wrap.”

  “Do you always play it safe?” He kept his voice light, teasing, but it still felt like an accusation.

  I bristled. “I don’t know. Maybe when I’m really hungry, and I would much rather have bland food than inedible food. Especially after hearing about your choice.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of peace—silver rings adorned his long fingers. “Ovela. I didn’t mean to come across as so judgmental.”

  “Not judgmental. Just . . . cliché.”

  “Cliché?” he echoed.

  “Yeah. Like, what’s next?” I smirked up at him. “Are you gonna ask me if I wanna dance with danger?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of a smile still playing on his lips, when he asked, “You think I’m flirting with you?”

  “No, I . . .” I floundered for a moment, then shook my head, quelling my insecurity, and I met his gaze evenly and asked, “Aren’t you?”

  “Maybe I am.” He leaned back slightly. “If I was, would you have any pointers on how to proceed?”

  “Um.” I turned away, under the guise of moving on to check out other food carts, but really it was to get a moment to figure out how to answer his question. “I guess it’s better to be real. I’m not that impressed by dramatic displays.”

  He followed a step behind me, close enough that I could hear him easily but far enough so as not to be imposing. “So, you’re saying that you’d rather spend the rest of the evening discussing laundry and the weather than creating an enchanted fantasy world?”

  “Just because something’s true doesn’t mean it’s boring,” I argued. “Sharks, volcanoes, and cloudberry tarts are real, and they’re plenty exciting.”

  “You make a fair point.” He paused and let out a resigned sigh. “I have been told that I spend too much time with my head in the clouds.”

  “I don’t know if I have the same problem, but I did just get a similar lecture about how I need to keep myself firmly grounded in reality and how important it is to distinguish fact from fiction.”

  He frowned—a deep crease across his smooth tawny skin. “That’s depressing.”

  “Isn’t it the only way to live?” I asked.

  “I don’t think that’s living at all.” He shook his head fervently. “The idea that fact is fact and everything else is fiction. That doesn’t leave much room for new discovery, does it?”

  “How do you figure?”

  “The only facts we have are what we’ve already proven is real.” He motioned around us, spreading his long arms wide and stretching them toward the blue sky above us. “Everything beyond that isn’t a fact, and by the binary of your logic—fact is fact, and all else is fiction—then everything we haven’t seen with our own eyes is imaginary.”

  He let his arms fall to his sides as he spoke, and closed the distance between the two of us. “But that can’t possibly be true, can it?” His words were soft and lilting, as if they meant to float away on the breeze, and his dark eyes locked on mine. “When you look at the stars at night, do you really think to yourself, Ah, yes, we know all there is to know?”

  “No, of course not.” I swallowed, barely holding down the flutter of the butterflies inside me. “There’s millions of stars with the potential for millions of other beings and lives and stories.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a pleased smile. “There’s always more beyond the horizon.”

  “But I’m not going to worry about what might be over there until I get there myself.” I lowered my gaze and turned away from him again. “Like how I know I’m going to eat something, even though I haven’t decided on what yet.”

  “If you’ve got more time, I would recommend the juice cart down the road a ways, right before it turns off onto Wapiti Way.”

  I looked back at him over my shoulder. “Are you asking me to dinner?”

  “As certain as I am that you’d be excellent dinner company, tonight I have somewhere that I need to be.” He glanced up at the sky, checking where the yellow-orange sunlight landed on the towers of the Mimirin. “And I’ll be overdue if I don’t get going.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He scratched his temple. “Truthfully, I’ve been stalling a bit, and it’s only partially because I’ve been talking with you.”

  “Are you avoiding work?”

  “Something like that. I’m a visiting professor of sorts, assisting over the summer, and it wasn’t exactly what I signed up for.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He seemed to hesitate before replying, “It’s complicated.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”


  “No, it’s not that,” he was quick to assure me. “I don’t have enough time to untangle it all.”

  “Right, you have to get going.”

  “I do.” He bent low, waving his hand with dramatic flair as he bowed. “Until we run into one another again.”

  I laughed. “Good luck at your work . . . thing.” He winked at me as he walked away.

  And then, too late, I realized it had happened again.

  I weaved through the crowd after him, but it was still in the midst of the afterwork rush, so I was pushing against the crowd. But he was tall, and the hair knotted up on the top of his head added a couple inches, and I tried to keep my eyes locked on it.

  Someone shoved me hard—their shoulder slamming roughly into me. Because of my agitation at fighting the crowd and my natural instincts at being pushed around, I shoved back twice as hard.

  Unfortunately, it was once again a case of me not knowing my own strength, and I sent whoever it was flying backward into the crowd, which created a domino effect of innocent commuters falling backward onto the ground.

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry,” I said as I surveyed the accidental mess I had made, and when I glanced back over my shoulder, the stranger was already gone.

  I spent the next ten minutes or so helping everyone up and apologizing for being such a clumsy oaf. By the time I’d finished, he was long gone, and now I was even more tired and hungry, and I only had twenty minutes until Dagny, Hanna, and Eliana were due to be done with work.

  Hanna had probably stored some leftovers in the fridge that I could eat cold, over the sink in a hurry, before they got home, which would leave me another fifteen minutes when I could squeeze in a quick soak in a warm bath. I jogged home, pushing thoughts of the handsome stranger and daydreams of flirtation out of my head—at least until I got home and got into the tub. Until then, I would let nothing stop my pursuit of my own private relaxation.

  I ran up the steps to the apartment, already pulling my necklace from around my neck for easier access to my keys, and hummed under my breath. It was an old Diana Ross song that Mrs. Tulin would sing on the rare occasions she was happy, usually in the summer when I was helping her hang the laundry out to dry on the line.

  And then, just when my key hit the lock, I heard a loud crash from inside the apartment. I unlocked the door in a flurry, worried that Eliana or Hanna might’ve had an accident, but when I opened the door, I was presented with an entirely different situation.

  All the cushions had been torn off the lumpy couch, and the dining room table was flipped over. Hanna’s (and now also Eliana’s) stashed clothes were strewn all over everything. My mattress had been pulled down from my loft and lay askew across the kitchen. The window behind the couch was shattered, the drab curtains blowing in the breeze.

  Our apartment had been totally ransacked.

  39

  Ransack

  I slammed my open palm on the Inhemsk office door, before slumping against it. The race from my apartment to the office and my growing panic had left me out of breath and a little shaky.

  A moment later, the door was pushed open, and I stepped to the side to lean against the wall. Pan poked his head out, and when he saw it was me—all disheveled and sweaty—he immediately rushed over.

  “Ulla, what’s wrong?” He put his hands on my arms, strong and cool against my clammy bare skin.

  “Someone broke into the apartment. I think.” I let out a shaky breath and shook my head. “The whole place was trashed, but I didn’t see anyone, and I didn’t want to stay there, and I don’t want Hanna or Eliana walking into that unprepared, but I’m all frazzled so I came here first. I needed to catch my breath and . . . think for a minute. But, crap.” I glanced around, searching for a clock. “What time is it? They might be on their way already. I should go up to get them.”

  “They’re with Dagny and Elof?” Pan asked.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “They’re supposed to be, at least.”

  “I’ll call up there. Come on.”

  He held the office door open for me, and then I followed him to his desk. He stood behind it as he dialed the landline, while I waited nearby, hugging my arms around me and wondering what the hell had happened at my apartment.

  “Hey, Dagny, this is Pan Soriano,” he said into the phone. “Are Hanna and Eliana still with you?” He paused. “Good. Can you keep them occcupied for a little bit longer? Ulla’s with me, but we’ll be up in a while to explain.” Another pause. “No, everything’s fine. Mostly. I don’t know. We’ll be up soon. Thanks. ’Bye.”

  “They’re still with her?” I asked the second he hung up the phone. “They’re okay?”

  “Yeah, they’re fine,” he assured me as he came around the desk. “Do you want something to drink? Do you wanna sit down?”

  I nodded, and Pan put his hand on the small of my back, ushering me to an adjoining break room for some privacy. It was a tiny rectangle of a room that had been another victim of the very unfortunate remodel half a century ago. The good news was that it was empty, aside from a few pleather chairs and a couch—and the permanent scent of stale coffee and cheap tea.

  Pan got me a paper cone of water from the water cooler while I sat down on the couch. After handing me the cup, he grabbed a chair and pulled it over. He sat in front of me, leaning forward.

  “So, what happened? What’s going on?” he asked once I had a drink.

  “I don’t know. I got done in the archives—a little early, sort of. But then I was outside talking to a professor—”

  “A professor?” Pan asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t know his name, but that’s, like . . .” My thoughts lingered on him—with the high cheekbones and the smile that always made me blush—but Pan was watching me, his eyebrows drawn together in concern, and I shook my head to clear it. “A whole other thing.”

  His frown deepened. “Okay?”

  “It’s not relevant to this,” I clarified, and then went on in one long sentence. “I just got home earlier than I usually do, and when I was opening the door, I heard glass breaking, and then I went inside the apartment, it was empty but it was completely trashed. I started going through the mess to see if anything was missing, but then I was worried that something happened to Hanna and Eliana, so I came back here to find you because I didn’t know what to do.”

  “All right.” He considered it all for a moment and nodded. “Now we have two options.”

  “We?” I repeated.

  “Yeah, I’m assuming you came to me because you wanted my help.”

  “Yeah, I did,” I said. “I do.”

  His dark eyes held mine as a soft smile formed on his lips. “Good.”

  I swallowed, then asked, “So, what are the options?”

  “In the first option, we go up and get Dagny, Hanna, and Eliana, and we take the whole troop down to your place to go through it all together,” Pan said. “In the second, we go down together, just the two of us, and check it out and make sure it’s safe before bringing in the Bobbsey Twins.”

  “The what twins?” I asked in confusion.

  “It was something my mom used to say. She had all these old books about them. It’s just human pop culture.” He gave me an embarrassed smile and shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Well, I choose the second option.”

  “We should go, then,” he suggested. “We can call Dagny from the apartment and let her know they can come home if everything is okay.”

  The trip back to the apartment seemed to take forever, even though both Pan and I walked quickly. When we got there, I opened the door, but he went in first, announcing his presence with a loud, “Hello,” in case anyone was still there.

  It was quiet, and everything looked exactly as it had when I ran out. Pan stood with his hands on his hips and let out a low whistle as he surveyed the mess. All the furniture flipped, clothes strewn around everywhere.

  “There is an insane amount of clothing here,” he said finally.

  �
�Well, there are four of us. Hanna packed a ridiculous amount for the summer.”

  He looked over at me. “Did Eliana bring in a lot of her own clothes?”

  “Not really. She’s gotten some things in town, but her wardrobe is mostly pilfered from Hanna and me.” I started gathering up the clothing. “She didn’t come here with much at all.”

  Pan righted the couch and picked up a fern that had been knocked over. While he worked on the living room area, I moved on to the kitchen. The biggest thing was my mattress, which I grabbed and essentially threw up into the loft. It landed awkwardly, but I’d deal with getting my room organized later.

  On the kitchen floor, the faux-suede box where I stored my necklaces and rings had been tipped over, spilling my modest collection all over. I set aside the clothes and crouched down to start gathering it up.

  “Is anything missing?” Pan asked.

  “It’s hard to say for sure, especially before the others get here and sort through their own belongings. But there isn’t anything that stands out to me. My jewelry box was dumped out, and it’s all tangled together, but it looks like it’s all here.”

  “What about other valuables? Electronics?”

  I stood and looked around the space again, attempting to quickly inventory all of our possessions. “Both Dagny and Hanna took their laptops with them. My phone was in my purse.”

  “Did you have anything you brought home with you from work?” Pan asked, trying to make sense of why someone would’ve broken into the apartment.

  “No, I’m not allowed to. I’ve taken some notes, but I always carry my notepad with me.” I motioned to my bag, where it sat by the door. “Is there a lot of crime in Merellä?”

  “I haven’t really heard of any break-ins.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  When he looked at me, his eyes were narrowed slightly. “What are you trying to find out?”

  “You told me once that the streets weren’t safe at night, that Merellä had its own set of danger trapped inside the city walls,” I said, reminding him of the conversation we’d had last week.