by Хилари Дафф
“So which of Shakespeare’s plays do you think was better served by the Globe Theatre: Henry VIII or Troilus and Cressida?” Ben asked, cracking his knuckles.
“Troilus and Cressida was never performed at the Globe,” Sage replied. “As for Henry VIII, the original Globe caught fire during the show and burned to the ground, so I’d say that’s the show that really brought down the house … wouldn’t you?”
“Nice … very nice.” Ben nodded. “Well done.”
It was the cerebral version of bamboo under the fingernails, and while they both tried to seem casual about their conversation, they were soon leaning forward with sweat beading on their brows. It was fascinating … and weird.
After several hours of this, Ben had to admit that he’d found a historical peer, and he gleefully involved Sage in all kinds of debates about the minutiae of eras I knew nothing about … except that I had the nagging sense I might have been there for some of them.
For his part, Sage seemed to relish talking about the past with someone who could truly appreciate the detailed anecdotes and stories he’d discovered in his
“research.” By the time we started our descent into Miami, the two were leaning over my seat to chat and laugh together. On the very full flight from Miami to New York, Ben and Sage took the two seats next to each other and gabbed and giggled like middle-school girls. I sat across from them stuck next to an older woman wearing far too much perfume.
I wondered if Ben would have enjoyed the conversation more or less if I’d told him I suspected Sage was speaking from memory, not from education.
I was glad they were talking—it gave me a chance to get my thoughts together. I felt so drawn to Sage. I felt like he was meant to be in my life. I wanted to be around him. Why would I feel that way if he’d killed me in the past? Didn’t it make more sense that he hadn’t? That would explain why he always looked so haunted: Every woman he loved was killed.
Was I going to die too?
I faded in and out of a light sleep as I thought through it all. There was so much I didn’t understand. Like the photographs. I believed Sage when he’d sounded surprised that he’d been in my pictures. He said he’d never seen me before we met on the beach. So why had he been in my pictures from the day I was born? Could that be a sign of some kind of spiritual connection that brought us together lifetime after lifetime? Rayna would love that story. I wondered what Ben would think of it.
Even more, what would my dad think?
Actually, I kind of knew what my dad thought. He wanted to help Sage. He even told Sage he was a good man. So I should trust that, right?
Unless my dad wanted the Elixir so badly he didn’t care if Sage was good or bad, and just said what he needed to say.
The whole thing made my head hurt.
I turned to the heavily perfumed woman.
“You like cribbage?” I offered.
Two hours and an excruciatingly long game of War later (she didn’t play cribbage, but she just loved War), we landed at JFK. Rayna was waiting for us in baggage claim.
“CLEA!!” she screamed, and threw herself into my arms. It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but I didn’t care. I hugged her fiercely in return. She pulled away and saw
“CLEA!!” she screamed, and threw herself into my arms. It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but I didn’t care. I hugged her fiercely in return. She pulled away and saw Sage, and her eyes went completely round.
“Is this the trouble you’re in?” she asked, looking him up and down. “I so approve.”
“Rayna, this is Sage. Sage, Rayna.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Sage said, offering his hand.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Rayna purred. “Unless, of course, it’s all Clea’s, which is even better.”
Sage smiled and might have even blushed a bit, which was highly entertaining.
Before leading us to the car, Rayna insisted I take her heavy winter coat. It was thirty-four degrees outside, and I was still wearing my little black sundress. Of course, Rayna herself was wearing a lacy push-up camisole. She took Sage’s arm “to keep her steady on the ice,” though I think her main goal was to see if his arm was as muscular as it looked. By the openmouthed gape she shot me after her first squeeze, it was.
“They’d make a cute couple,” Ben said, nodding to Sage and Rayna. “Don’t you think?”
I settled for a noncommittal “Hmm.”
In the car, I slipped into the front seat beside Rayna. With only her eyes, she asked me if Sage was mine. With a scrunch of my nose and a shrug, I explained it was complicated. She nodded—she understood—then gave an eye roll that clearly said I was insane if I did anything but jump at the chance to be with him. The whole conversation took about a second.
On the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Niantic, I filled Rayna in on as much as I could—pretty much everything except my dreams and what I’d found at Sage’s house. It was a lot of highly bizarre stuff, but Rayna took it all in stride. At least now she understood why we had to be so careful about getting into the house.
“This is perfect!” Rayna said. “You could not have picked a better day to come home.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your mom called this morning. Some big government figure is visiting from Israel, and your mom decided they’ll get the most accomplished over a giant impromptu Piri-catered lunch at the house.”
Amazing. Only my mom could manage a last-minute luncheon for a group of dignitaries whose schedules had probably been etched in stone for months. It was the kind of unheard-of thing she had become famous for during her time in Washington.
“So you mean … ,” I started.
But Rayna finished for me, laughing as she said, “The Secret Service showed up at six this morning to go over the whole property with microscopes, and they’re not leaving until the party’s over. If there were dangerous people anywhere near the house, they’re either long gone or in federal custody.”
Excellent—I couldn’t have planned it better. I spun around in my seat.
“Gird yourself, Sage,” I chirped. “I guarantee nothing you’ve ever experienced has prepared you for Piri and my mom in action.”
“I’m sure they’re impressive,” Sage said.
Clearly, he had no idea. He’d learn.
Rayna was right. The Secret Service was all over the house. They knew Ben and Rayna, but “Larry Steczynski” had to be properly vetted. If there was any doubt about the authenticity of his fake ID, it would now be put to the test. As Sage waited for the Secret Service to do their due diligence, I wondered how much our mission to find Dad would be set back by Sage taking a quick detour to federal prison.
“He’s clear,” the lead agent finally said.
Great, we could go in. Sage politely insisted that Rayna and I enter before him.
“Not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said, but he wouldn’t hear it. Rayna, Ben, and I shared a knowing smile. Then I shrugged and stepped over the threshold … immediately triggering the Piri alarm. I don’t know how she knew; she was all the way in the kitchen. But the minute I stepped into the foyer she raced in, arms waving in the air, a high-pitched scream keening from her lungs.
“AIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!”
“He made me do it, Piri,” I said, happily tossing Sage under the bus. “I tried to tell him—” Piri strode right up to Sage, her head barely reaching his sternum, and jabbed her finger into his chest to emphasize each scolding word. “You never let a woman enter this house before a man! Very bad luck! And when the senator’s doing business! Jaj!”
She pushed us back outside, closed the door, and spit three times on the porch (barely missing the shoes of one of the Secret Service agents), then turned her baleful eyes to Sage, asking him to do the same.
“I don’t think I really need to spit on Clea’s porch,” Sage said uncomfortably, but Piri’s glare only grew more and more violent until he withered under its power … and spit three times. Piri smiled smugly a
nd opened the door, gesturing for Sage to enter. Ben went next, bending to Piri’s ear to murmur, “If it’d been me, I would have gone in first.”
“That’s because you’re a smart boy,” Piri said, kissing him on both cheeks.
Once we were all in, Piri greeted us as if for the first time, with huge hugs and two-cheeked kisses.
As she led us to the luncheon raging in the other room, Ben crowed to Sage, “You know, a real European scholar would be up on old-school superstitions.”
Sage grimaced.
Mom’s party wasn’t huge, but the simple force of all the personalities made it feel like the room was filled with people. As was often the case, Mom was the only woman at the party. Her guests included seven top members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, and a man I’m sure I should have recognized but didn’t, whom I imagined was the Israeli diplomat. They were all feasting from trays that groaned under the weight of traditional Hungarian appetizers like langos (bread puffs with garlic, sour cream, and cheese), several kinds of pogacsa (biscuits), körözött (cheese spread with Hungarian paprika), and fasirt (meatballs). Everyone sat except my mom, who was in the middle of acting out a very colorful story about a horse ride she’d taken with another foreign diplomat.
“So I turn around, and his shirt is off!” she exclaimed. “I mean, even the horse is flabbergasted, but the press is eating it up, snapping picture after picture. Then he pounds on his chest and cries out, ‘Vigorous Torso, the people call me! Vigorous Torso!’ Then he challenges me to a wrestling match!”
Everyone laughed, and she rolled her eyes dramatically. Then Senator Blaine from Delaware, my mom’s best friend on the committee, gave her the setup she awaited.
“Did you do it?”
“Oh hell yes. Took him down in ten seconds.”
Everyone laughed harder, and Mom raised her shot glass in a toast to them all and downed her pálinka, the Hungarian brandy Piri had brought out for the occasion.
Mom took a bow as everyone applauded, and collapsed dramatically into her seat.
Then she saw me.
“Clea!” she cried. “Come here!”
I grinned and ran to her, and she wrapped me in a fierce hug. “I’ve missed you, baby!” She pulled away and spun me around to face the group, her hands on my shoulders. “Everyone, I’m sure you remember my incredibly accomplished daughter, Clea, who we’ll all be working for one day. Clea, you know the senators, and this is Imi Sanders, Israeli minister of foreign affairs.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, shaking the minister’s hand.
“The pleasure is mine, “ he replied.
“Of course you’ve also all met Rayna”—Mom pointed Rayna out to the crowd—“and Clea’s friend Ben, and …” She eyed Sage suspiciously. “Who might this young man be?”
In an instant I sorted through every possible explanation for Sage’s presence, but judging by the way Mom was looking at him, I knew she already had it in her head that he was a romantic prospect, and she’d go on believing that even if I said he was purely a homeschool friend. And if she thought I was interested in him, no political luncheon would stop her from sitting us down and grilling Sage in front of everyone so she could dig up any deal breakers before I had to find them out the hard way.
She’d probably even encourage her guests to join in, and I knew they’d be happy to do it—I’d seen it happen to Rayna.
The problem was, I couldn’t spend all day hanging out at Mom’s lunch. I needed to go through Dad’s things, and I wanted to finish before the Israeli minister and his Secret Service protection left the house open for any not-so-welcome visitors to return.
“This is Larry Steczynski! You can call him Sage. He’s my new boyfriend!” Rayna suddenly chirped, threading her arm through Sage’s and giving him a squeeze. To his credit, Sage looked only slightly surprised.
Just one more thing to add to the long list of reasons I love Rayna. She knew exactly what I’d been thinking and had found the one answer that would leave me completely off the hook.
“Really!” Mom said meaningfully. “Then we should talk.” She turned to the group and asked, “Gentlemen?”
Without hesitation, all the senators and the Israeli minister agreed that the next topic of their agenda should clearly be a debate of Sage’s merits and pitfalls as a partner to Rayna. As Mom took Sage and Rayna’s hands and led them to the couch, two senators gladly moved aside to give them space. Sage shot me a look so plaintive I almost laughed out loud.
“Ben and I will be back in a bit,” I said. “We have some Alissa Grande stuff to go over.”
“Don’t take too long,” Mom called as we left the room. “We’re flying back to Washington in a couple hours and I want to see you before I go. I’ve almost forgotten what you look like.”
I promised her we’d be quick, and Ben and I slipped away, just in time to hear Senator Blaine clear his throat and say, “So, Sage … what if any personal views about women do you have that might interfere with your obligation to treat Rayna with the respect that she deserves?”
“He may have faced down swarms of crazed New Age militants,” I whispered to Ben, “but I bet this is his first Senate confirmation hearing.”
“It’s cruel and unusual punishment, Clea,” Ben said, smiling, “but I like it.”
“I’m thinking anything that has to do with the Elixir of Life would be in Dad’s studio, right?” I asked.
Ben nodded. “Let’s start there.”
We went down to the studio, opened the door, and just stared at the mountains of papers, books, and binders.
“This could take a lifetime,” I said.
“We just have to be smart about it. We’ll look through all his stuff that’s specifically about the Elixir first. I’ll call up the computer files so you can go through those. I’ll go through the handwritten stuff.”
“So we should be looking through it all for some kind of reference to a darker-skinned woman?” I asked.
“A darker-skinned woman?”
“Well, Sage said ‘a dark lady.’ I really can’t imagine Dad would have said that. I can’t imagine anyone would have said that, but I guess if Sage lived—”
“Guess if Sage lived what?” Ben asked.
I’d been about to say that Sage was most likely born in the 1500s, so he might slip sometimes when it came to what was and was not appropriate, but I hadn’t brought Ben in on that theory yet, and we definitely didn’t have the time right now.
“Sage might have paraphrased,” I covered. “He must have.”
“Right. That makes sense. So a woman who’s not Caucasian.”
All the Elixir of Life computer files were pulled up, and I sifted through them as Ben flipped through notebooks.
After two hours, we’d found all kinds of information about the Elixir, its history, and its powers. I even found a file all about the two groups Sage had told us were after him: Cursed Vengeance and the Saviors of Eternal Life.
Cursed Vengeance got its name because its members believed their bloodlines had somehow been cursed by the Elixir for generations. They believed that if they found and destroyed it, they could save themselves. The Saviors of Eternal Life wanted the Elixir for the opposite reason: They believed it was their duty to keep it safe and decide how best to use its powers.
Dad’s file backed up what Sage had said—that both groups had origins in the Renaissance, but got much stronger when Dad found the vials. While both groups sprawled out across the world, they stayed unified through several encrypted websites. Dad had a list of some of them, and he’d even found the pass code for one. I checked it out. It belonged to the Saviors of Eternal Life. It was a chat forum, basically, where members could share information with one another. The posts were pretty sporadic—I got the idea that this particular site wasn’t a main hub for the group. Still, I printed out the site address and code. It couldn’t hurt to have as much information on our enemies as possible.
Unfortunately, neither Ben
nor I had seen anything about a darker-skinned woman, and time was running out. Mom’s party, and the protection it provided, could end at any time.
“This is crazy. We’re getting nowhere,” I said.
“I know.” Ben looked frazzled and disheveled, and he ran his hands through his hair. “We need another idea.”
We thought … but we both came up empty.
“Okay,” I finally considered out loud, “maybe ‘dark lady’ isn’t actually a person. Maybe it’s a code word.”
“A code word?”
“Maybe. Maybe the letters stand for other letters. Or maybe it’s like an acrostic, where each letter is part of another word. I don’t know. … I’m reaching … I’m getting punchy … maybe I should start drinking coffee.”
“No, no, it’s good. A code is good. It could be something hidden in literature, even. Literature is full of codes. Like Shakespeare’s sonnets.” Ben suddenly bolted up, like he’d been struck with a cattle prod. “Oh my God!”
“What?”
“Shakespeare’s sonnets! The Dark Lady! He wrote twenty-seven sonnets about a woman called the Dark Lady! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”
“Yes!” I jumped in. “And Dad was obsessed with Shakespeare before he disappeared!”
Ben and I looked at each other a moment, then we both dug into Dad’s piles, searching for all his books on Shakespeare. He’d filled them with notations and highlights, most of them surrounding the Dark Lady, but there wasn’t anything we could use, just a lot of asterisks, arrows, and underlinings.
“I keep seeing the words ‘see file,’” I told Ben.
“Me too.” He lifted his head to look at me. “Computer file?”
I raced back to the computer, and we scanned his folders until we saw one labeled “Shakespeare.” In that was a folder labeled “Dark Lady,” and in that was a Word document named “DLLXR.doc.”
“D ark L ady L- X- R … Dark Lady Elixir!” I cried.
