by Maggie Hall
“Well,” Scarface said cheerfully. “Lovely reunion. Now would you like to tell us what we want to know?”
My mom’s plane wasn’t delayed. Her cell phone wasn’t dead.
My mom had been kidnapped by the Order.
I grabbed the phone out of Jack’s hand. “We know who the One is,” I said frantically. “We’ll tell you. It’s not somebody in the Circle. It’s someone else—”
“Wrong!” Scarface said.
“No!” I screamed, but no gunshot came.
“Lie to me again and your mother dies,” Scarface said. “If you want to keep her alive, you’ll figure out who it really is. We’ll know if you’re lying. We’ll be in touch.”
“I’m not lying!” I screamed. “Don’t touch her! Mom!” The phone clicked to dead air. I stared at it, helplessly, my hand shaking.
“No,” I sobbed. “No.”
Jack sat down heavily at the small cafe table. He reached blindly for me, and I collapsed into his lap, sobbing. And for that moment, it didn’t matter that we were now fugitives from the most powerful people in the world.
CHAPTER 42
The sun came out the next day, which it had no right to do.
Jack pushed the last of his falafel around with a triangle of pita bread as we sat in the silence that was starting to become deafening.
“Are you sure he’ll find us here?” I said. We couldn’t call Stellan for fear the Circle would trace the call, but Jack said if we came here, to this little falafel place off a back alley in Montmartre at 6:00 p.m. today, the day after we’d escaped the wedding, he’d find us. We’d been here since 5:30. It was now 6:13.
“I’m sure,” he said. “Are you sure we have to talk to him at all?”
I pulled off a corner of pita from our mostly untouched bread basket, just to give myself something to do. I barely tasted it. “If we’re right, and he is the One, we’re probably going to need him. And he helped us get away. He won’t be happy if we leave.”
I bit off the words as the waiter refilled my tiny cracked teacup. The restaurant was busy enough that they hadn’t bothered us much, and we’d gotten the worst table in the place, squished in a nook by the bathrooms on the upper balcony, overlooking the restaurant.
Last night, we’d made our way to a tiny, seedy hotel we knew wouldn’t check ID. Jack had gotten us two separate rooms, and I hadn’t protested. Anything else felt wrong after all that had happened.
We’d thought about calling my father, but decided against it. We didn’t know what he’d do with me now that he knew about my eyes, and we weren’t entirely sure Jack would be pardoned for knowing about it. After what had just happened, we weren’t willing to take any risks.
And that wasn’t even considering that Jack and I were now the two most wanted people in the Circle of Twelve, and therefore in the world. One person the Circle believed to be the worst type of traitor, and another they believed to be their salvation.
I twirled the short lock of hair at the back of my neck. I hadn’t seemed to be able to stop touching it since they’d cut it at the wedding.
The door jingled below. Stellan. He strolled in between the plastic-covered tables. He looked so out of place in the dingy falafel shop that people stopped eating to stare. I wondered again what kind of connection he and Jack had to this place. To each other.
Stellan came up the stairs and pulled out the third chair at our table. “Either you kept your promise to not turn me in to the Order, or they’re even more incompetent than I’d imagined.” He plucked a pita triangle from the basket and dipped it into the hummus on my plate with a half smile.
Jack put a hand on my knee.
“We didn’t turn you in,” I said.
Jack’s fingers tightened. I put a hand over his. “They killed him,” he said through clenched teeth. “He’s dead because we didn’t turn you in.”
Stellan stopped still, pita halfway to his mouth. His face went slack. “What?”
Jack pushed his chair back from the table. He’d been wound tightly all day, and it was like seeing Stellan was about to make him snap. I grabbed his arm.
“Don’t,” I said. “Stop.”
Jack was shaking. “If we’d turned you in—”
I squeezed his arm, trying not to shake myself. “Will you check outside and make sure everything’s okay?” I said quietly. “Please?”
With one last murderous look, Jack stomped down the stairs. I turned back to Stellan. He looked both dazed and furious. It gave a fierce edge to his almost too-pretty face.
“They killed Fitz.” I picked off a flake of the peeling varnish on the table. “They have my mom. They’ll kill her, too, if we don’t give them a name. They’re sure it’s someone in one of the twelve families, so they wouldn’t even believe us if we told them it was you, but they said they have a way of knowing if we’re lying, so we can’t just turn in someone random. I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know if it’s true, but I’m not willing to risk my mom’s life.”
Stellan cleared his throat. “What are you going to do?”
“We are going to use the clues Napoleon left to try to find the tomb.” I traced the edge of my plate. “We’ll either tell the Order about it and let them have the treasure or whatever’s there in exchange for my mom, or if there really is some kind of weapon, we’ll use it against them. If Jack doesn’t find them and kill them all first.” When I said it that way, it sounded almost simple.
Stellan narrowed his eyes. “And you think it’s going to work to use—what did you say you had, that diary and a bracelet?—to track down this tomb the Circle has been trying to find for centuries?”
I pushed away from the table. “Do you have a better idea?”
“For starters, I didn’t let you get away purely out of the goodness of my heart.”
I folded my arms. We were in this together now, and he probably wanted us to do something for his sister, too. That was fine. “What do you want?”
Stellan’s own voice echoed in my head. You wanted a change. A way away from the ache that is your existence, he’d said. Toska. Something is missing, and you ache for it, down to your bones. I understood what that meant now. In so many ways.
He rested his elbows on the table. The last of the afternoon sun slanted through the front windows, casting a band of gold across his forearms. “I’m not sure you’re entirely grasping the situation with the tomb. There’s more to it than the Order and their—” He paused, pressing his lips together. “There are things at stake for you other than saving hostages. The Circle is in decline.”
“I doubt that.” I leaned on the table, too. “They’re the richest, most—”
He held up a hand. “You might not see it from the outside, but haven’t you wondered how they can maintain the kind of power they had centuries ago in modern times? The answer is they can’t. It’s been showing more and more the past few decades—the world is changing faster than ever, and they’re not keeping up with it like they once were. It’s scaring people. Soon they’ll be nothing more than useless rich people whose ancestors were the kings of the world.”
I swallowed.
“Did you see all those people bowing to you at the church?” Stellan went on.
I hadn’t been able to forget. Them or the one who wanted to capture me.
“Yes, they want wealth. Yes, they want whatever magical power they hope to find in the tomb.” He leaned forward until our faces were too close for comfort, but somehow I couldn’t back away. “But they want more than that. The stress of the past decades has caused infighting like they haven’t seen since the early days. They need something—someone—to rally behind. You represent this thing they’ve wanted for so long.” He smiled wryly. “Don’t you see? As much as whatever’s in the tomb, you’re their treasure.”
A sick feeling settled in my stomach. The sound of Jack�
��s boots came back up the stairs, and I flinched away from Stellan.
“If you want to find the tomb,” Stellan continued, not even acknowledging Jack, “you’re making it much harder than it needs to be.”
My heart tripped irregularly. Jack sat down.
“Think about it. They all want to claim you as their queen. The Dauphins have demonstrated that at least some of them are no longer waiting for confirmation of the One’s identity. If anyone else finds you,” he went on, rolling a piece of napkin between his fingers, “they could snatch you and marry you off before you knew what was happening. Maybe knock you up for good measure so you wouldn’t be able to get out of it.”
I recoiled. Even Jack looked sick. “They wouldn’t—”
“They would. Even before they actually find the tomb, whoever fulfills the union will gain a huge amount of power. Power that people can—and do—kill for.”
I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. “So?”
“So, we do the only thing that makes sense.” Stellan sat back and propped one ankle on his knee. “You want to find the tomb. You have a great deal of power. You said you’d stand by me as the thirteenth.”
I turned my chair to face him. So did Jack, his hand falling off my knee. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it’s us, little doll. You might be the treasure, but we’re the answer.” Stellan motioned between us. Beside me, Jack tensed. “I know Napoleon mentioned something being odd about the union, but he doesn’t say the Circle’s interpretation is necessarily wrong. It could still mean you and me together are a veritable treasure map. And even if that’s all made-up nonsense, it’d keep you safe from being taken by one of the others. And it’d give us a good deal of leverage over them, in case we needed it.”
He trailed off and quirked one eyebrow.
I shook my head. He wasn’t saying what it sounded like he was saying. “Stellan . . .”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “That’s right, kuklachka. Congratulations to us. It appears you and I are getting married.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It may be my name on the front of the book, but a book isn’t made by just one person. I’d like to thank all of you who have given me and this book your time and love and expertise along the way, especially:
My editor, Arianne Lewin. At times, I thought you might be trying to kill me, but your love of the book and your keen insight and your refusal to settle for anything less than just-right have (finally!) made it the book I’d always hoped it would be. It turns out you’re pretty darn smart.
My agent, Claudia Ballard, who worked so hard to make the book the best it could be and find it a good home, and whose enthusiasm has never waned. Talking to you feels like giving my book a hug.
Katherine Perkins, who handles all the details with aplomb and has a sharp editorial eye on top of it. All the team at Putnam—design, copyediting, sales, marketing, everyone!—for your enthusiasm and support and tireless efforts to make this book a book.
Julie Chang, for all your enthusiasm. Eve Attermann, for being the first person in publishing to get excited about Avery’s adventures. Laura Bonner and all the other rights agents and the rest of the WME team for getting the story out to the greater world.
Dahlia Adler, for when writing friends turn into real-life friends who watch Sharknado in our PJs and name our guest rooms after each other and have real-time conversations via e-mail. And for not disowning me over and over, when you probably should have.
Gina Ciocca for flailing or complaining with me, as need be, for the hilariously inappropriate jokes and for the novel-length e-mails when we should be writing actual novels instead.
Marieke Nijkamp for stroopwafels and “Bohemian Rhapsody” on the Seine and being an insanely fast, super-insightful reader and somehow never getting tired of my book.
Kim Liggett, sister-wife, who insists on loving my book even when I don’t. By the time you see this, we will both have made it through.
Erica Chapman, for the marathon e-mails and the squees.
Leigh Ann Kopans and Chessie Zappia, for being two of my earliest pub friends and readers. The rest of the YA Misfits: Jamie Grey, Megan Whitmer, Jenny Kaczorowski, Naseoul Lee, Cait Greer—I’m so happy I met you ladies, and thank you for the beta reads and the friendship and the fun.
Seabrooke Leckie, for being with me through many of your manuscripts and many versions of mine, and for giving me friendship, enthusiasm and intelligent criticism in equal measure.
All the other writers who have beta read my book or taken this journey with me. Brenda Drake and Angi Black and Jenny B and all my Twitter friends and the new Fifteener friends I’m just starting to get to know and IRL friends who are confused by and/or excited about this whole publishing thing and if I listed all of you this would be another book.
Kristen Boers, for having lively YA discussions with me and being my first non-writer reader.
My earliest CPs, Sari and Jason, who read truly ridiculous versions of this book and lived to tell the tale.
Lisa and Laura Roecker, whose very early enthusiasm made me think this book could be worth pursuing.
My old IRL crit group, especially Antoine Ho, Sonja Dewing, and Jim Schnedar, for all the laughs and for reading my stuff before it was worthy of being read.
My parents, Jill and Dave. For getting me all the books I wanted when I was little and letting me spend all my free time reading them, and for being certain I’d make it when I decided to try to write one myself.
My brothers, Tom and John, who do a great job feigning excitement for a genre they know nothing about.
My in-laws, Chuck and Sara, for their unwavering support and mojitos when the publishing timeline seems interminable.
My husband, Andrew, for the back rubs and wine-pouring and dinner-making and putting up with my moods (see: wine). For filling plot holes and talking about Avery and Jack and Stellan like they’re real people. For agreeing to set off on crazy adventures with me (including around-the-world travel and . . . life). Every writer (really, every woman!) wishes they had a husband like you.
All the tour guides and locals on our travels who answered crazy questions like how one might escape through the Notre-Dame bell towers, and who didn’t turn me in to the authorities if they overheard me talking about what would happen if various monuments blew up.
Booksellers, and especially the crew at Bookworks. You showed me how fun this crazy book world can be.
Librarians and everyone behind libraries. I’ve practically lived in libraries my whole life, and can’t wait to see my own book on the shelves.
To all the people I will meet between when I turn in these acks and publication, who will help with this book’s journey into the world—I’m sorry I don’t know you yet to mention you by name! Thank you!
To anyone I’ve forgotten, I’m sorry. I can assure you, I’ve probably remembered—too late— and I probably feel awful about it! I adore you anyway.
And thank you to you, for reading this book.
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