The Lost City

by Amanda Hocking

  “What happens when Hanna goes home?” I asked.

  “Why?” Dagny asked quickly. “Are her parents on their way?”

  “Not as far as I know. I’m supposed to call her mom tomorrow at eleven, and we’ll hopefully get it figured out then. But that’s not what I meant. After Hanna goes, are you going to kick Eliana out?”

  “No, of course not.” She shook her head. “I have another four months left here on my term, and I’m fairly confident that in that time we’ll be able to figure out who she is and where she belongs. If not, I will try to set her up with housing and a job before I go.”

  “But you’ll let her stay?” I asked in a mixture of surprise and optimism.

  “Of course. Beyond my admitted scientific curiosity about Eliana, I worry about her as a sentient being. I wouldn’t leave a dog abandoned on the side of the road, and I won’t leave her.”

  “That’s nice to know,” I admitted, and I did feel a bit of relief. I wasn’t sure what would become of Eliana when I left in six weeks, but at least now I knew that she had someone as knowledgeable as Dagny looking out for her.

  Calder returned with an armload of supplies from the storage room—pens, paper clips, erasers, pencils . . . really, he must’ve raided the damn place. He gave a gruff hello to Dagny before taking his seat on his side of the circular desk and beginning to put his haul away.

  “So how did your visit with the Mästare go?” Dagny asked, turning her sharp eyes to me.

  Calder immediately swiveled his chair toward me. “You visited the Mästare?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I was late this morning.”

  “You only said you had a meeting,” he said, sounding dismayed.

  “You were engrossed in your work,” I explained. “I didn’t want to bother you with a boring story about a go-nowhere meeting.” He also hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in me or my life, so I hadn’t thought to share it with him, but I didn’t say that.

  “It went that well, huh?” Dagny asked with a wry laugh.

  “Which one did you meet with? Was it the archives Mästare, Amalie?” Calder scooted his chair closer to us, apparently not wanting to miss any tidbit about my visit.

  “Yeah,” I said. “She basically said that the Omte had blacked it out, and she didn’t know anything about it, and then that was that.”

  Dagny frowned. “I’m sorry it wasn’t more helpful.”

  “You’ve already had a meeting with Amalie?” Calder pressed.

  I looked over at him. “What do you mean, ‘already’? And she’s your boss, I’m sure you must have conversations with her all the time,” I pointed out.

  He raised his chin slightly and sat a bit taller. “Amalie is a busy woman, and she trusts me to handle the archives with very little intervention. We meet when necessary, yes, but I would never deign to waste her time.”

  “Anyway,” Dagny said and clapped her hand on the desk. “It seems like you have a really fun night here ahead of you. When do you think you’ll be home?”

  I shook my head gloomily. “I don’t know. At least another hour or two.”

  “They lock us out at eleven, so that’s the latest we can be,” Calder said.

  “There you go.”

  Dagny nodded and started toward the door. “I’ll see you at home.”

  “Yeah. And thanks again for the food.”

  Once she’d gone, Calder turned his chair around and went back to organizing his supplies. Since he wasn’t actively engrossed in reading or deciphering anything, now seemed as good a time as any to talk to him.

  “Can I ask you something, Calder?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Are the Omte private about info on their royals?” I asked, trying to gauge how common the knowledge truly was. I suspected that Amalie had called me for a meeting to tell me something that should’ve been obvious to Sylvi and Calder, and one way to check that was to see if it really was obvious to them.

  He snorted. “They are private about everything.”

  “Which tribe would you say is the most secretive and reserved?”

  “That’s hard to say precisely, but the Omte would be the strongest contender for the title,” he answered.

  “So that’s common knowledge, right?”

  “I would say it’s fairly common, yes,” he said, sounding more disinterested as the conversation went on.

  “What about the fact that the Omte don’t want to share anything about their royalty? Is that common knowledge too?”

  “You know, Ulla, I can’t really speak to what each individual knows or doesn’t know. Especially here in Merellä. Many trolls know many things, far more than what the average troll in the backwoods towns would know.”

  “No, yeah, of course,” I said. “So, what about you in particular? Did you know that the Omte black out info about royalty?”

  He finally looked up from his meticulously organized drawer of pens and narrowed his eyes at me. “Is that what Amalie told you? I may have heard that, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

  “I’ve been answering all of your questions, even as they’ve begun to get redundant and irritating, quite frankly,” he said wearily.

  “No, I mean, the other day,” I went on, undeterred. “When I found Orra Fågel’s taxation paper. You said you didn’t know why it was blacked out.”

  “I didn’t. I still don’t know why.”

  “Why didn’t you say that the Omte tend to black out info if it’s at all connected to the royal family?” I reiterated.

  His eyes were downcast again, his attention back to laying his pens in perfect order. “I didn’t say that because it didn’t seem pertinent. I didn’t know that Orra Fågel was related to anyone. I don’t know who she is or anything about her. What is it exactly that you’re getting at?”

  “I don’t know, honestly.” I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “I feel like I’m getting a bit of a runaround. I thought the whole point of the Inhemsk Project was to unite families, but it seems like an uphill battle to get even the smallest bits of information.”

  “That’s because your first supposition was incorrect,” Calder said matter-of-factly. “The Inhemsk Project does not care at all about you or your family. They only care about two things—your money, and your fertile loins.”

  “I—I’m not . . .” I stammered and my cheeks flushed. His mention of my loins had left me flabbergasted. “I mean, I don’t know that I have either. Or that I don’t.”

  “The project was started because we’re going extinct, and that means we’re also going broke,” he explained flatly. “We need money and babies, and we can’t afford to turn anyone away. Not anymore. But don’t fool yourself for a second in thinking that the Inhemsk cares even slightly about your happiness or your well-being—or even whether or not you ever find another family member.”

  “That is . . .” I licked my lips. “That is good to know.”

  “That’s one thing I do like about you, Ulla. You’re eager to learn.”

  “Thank you?” I replied uncertainly.

  “But you’re young and sheltered, and you haven’t been here that long.” He looked over at me, his glassy eyes resting heavily on me. “Allow me to give you a word of advice. Paranoia is something that comes easy here at the Mimirin. It’s a place where competition and rumors run parallel to groundbreaking research and invaluable historical documentation. But you must remember this—just because the walls here can talk doesn’t mean that they have anything to say about you.”

  28

  Falling

  I was sitting on the floor, leaning back and resting my head on the lumpy couch cushions, while Eliana crouched at my feet. Hanna had suggested that we do something fun, since it was Saturday morning, and I’d had such a long week. That led to Eliana, Hanna, and Dagny taking an excursion to the bazaar to get what they needed to make “organic” nail polish.

  I hadn’t minded that much, honestly, because
it gave me the place to myself for an entire silent hour. I wasted all the quiet time sleeping, but I woke up feeling better and more refreshed when the girls returned from their shopping trip.

  Another forty minutes later—and a big mishap involving spilled beet juice that Dagny barely saved from turning into a full-on disaster—I was on the floor, while Eliana painted delicate filigree and Celtic knots in mango yellow over deep burgundy polish.

  When the landline rang, Hanna turned and glared at it, as if her mother could suddenly teleport her home. She wouldn’t even get up and grab it for me, even when Eliana insisted that I couldn’t walk until the polish was fully dry. Dagny brought me the phone, while Hanna sat sulking in the corner.

  “Hi, Ulla, I hope things haven’t been too stressful for you this week,” Mia said cheerily when I answered.

  “They have been,” I admitted. “But fortunately—or unfortunately, maybe—Hanna hasn’t been the cause of most of it.”

  “I’m glad to hear she hasn’t been too much trouble, and I’m still so sorry you have to deal with all of this. Has she been helpful?”

  “Yeah, she’s been helpful,” I said.

  “I made her supper every night!” Hanna shouted defiantly, as if I had claimed otherwise.

  “What was that?” Mia asked.

  “Hanna’s just saying that she’s been cooking for me a lot, which is true, and it’s been very nice of her.” I made sure to meet Hanna’s gaze as I said the last part and enunciated every word. She just looked away from me.

  “Good, good,” Mia replied. “But I’m sure what you really want to know is when we’re going to get her out of your hair so you can get back to focusing on your work.”

  “Do you have anything figured out yet?”

  “Finn finally has some breathing room in his schedule,” Mia explained. “This coming week is still fairly tight, but next weekend is wide open. If you’re really desperate to be free of Hanna before then, Finn can pull an all-nighter and get to her, but it wouldn’t be until Tuesday or Wednesday at the soonest.”

  “What day works best for him?” I asked.

  “This upcoming Saturday, a week from today. But again, if you need him sooner, he can make it work and he will be there.”

  “No, Saturday should be fine,” I said, while Hanna seethed in the corner.

  “Great, Ulla,” Mia said, her words awash with relief. “Thank you so much. I know you shouldn’t be dealing with all of this, but I’m so grateful for you. I don’t know what we’d be doing otherwise.”

  In the background, I heard familiar babbling—the hallmark of Niko’s monosyllabic conversation skills.

  “Is that Niko?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yeah, he wants to talk to you. Should I put him on the phone?”

  I pushed myself up so I was sitting straighter, as if that would somehow help me hear him better. “Yeah, I’d love to say hi.”

  Within seconds the little boy’s voice was chirping in my ear. “Hi, Ulla.”

  “Hey, little buddy. How are you?” I asked.

  “I miss you,” he said simply, and immediately a lump formed in my throat.

  “Yeah, I miss you, too.”

  “Yesterday Liam got a big grasshopper, and it was . . .” He kept talking but his words became a jumbled intelligible mess until he finished with, “but I laughed.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I said.

  “Yeah, and Nana tried reading from the Bedtime Stories book but she did the wrong voice,” he said with exaggerated disapproval.

  “Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’ll show her what the right voice is when I get back,” I promised.

  “When will you be back?” he asked, without missing a beat.

  “A few more weeks.” I exhaled deeply.

  In the background I heard Emma shouting, “Is that Hanna? Does Niko get to talk to Hanna? I wanna talk to her!”

  Then there was a bit of a scuffle—Niko dropping the phone, Mia telling everyone they needed to wait their turn, Finn telling Liam not to call Emma names, the indistinct babbling of the twins talking to one another—and I felt a pang of homesickness. I missed all the chaos of the kids, even while I was grateful for the calmer pace away from them.

  Not that my situation was exactly drama-free, as Hanna was quick to point out by shooting me daggers with her eyes.

  “Hanna?” Emma said, finally getting her hands on the phone.

  “No, this is Ulla, but I can get Hanna for you.”

  “Okay, get her, because I need to tell her something,” Emma insisted in the same very-serious tone she used whenever she was about to ask for something—like a cookie or to borrow Hanna’s markers.

  “Sure.” I held out the phone to Hanna, careful to keep the long cord from tangling with the vials of organic nail polish. “Emma wants to talk to you.”

  At first it seemed like Hanna was just going to sit there scowling at me and leave her little sister waiting. But finally she got up to take the phone from me.

  “Hey, Em,” Hanna answered, followed by a long pause before she replied, “Yeah, of course you can play with my pony. I’m not there, so I’m sure Calvin can use the extra attention.”

  “What do you think?” Eliana asked me, and she sat back on her knees to appraise her finished work on my toenails.

  “Wow!” I said as I admired the detail she’d put into such tiny designs. “It’s really amazing, Eliana. You do amazing work. Were you an artist?”

  She cocked her head and twisted her mouth as she thought. “Um, I don’t know. I feel like I wasn’t an artist professionally, but I definitely dabbled in it, I think.” Then she shrugged and smiled. “I like doing it, and I’m good at it, so it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Eliana began cleaning up the mess, and I helped as much as she would allow. We had just finished when a knock came at the front door. Hanna was busy giving Emma tips on how to play with the pony, and Dagny was in the bathroom.

  “Don’t get up,” Eliana warned me as I carefully pushed myself up to my feet. “Your toes aren’t dry yet.”

  “You can’t answer the door, and everyone else is busy.”

  She tilted her head at me. “What do you mean?”

  “The last time someone came to the door, I thought we all decided it was better if you hid,” I said. “Since we don’t know how to explain you to any kind of Merellä officials.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, maybe. It’s probably for the best, I guess. Okay. You be careful. I’ll hide out in the rafters.”

  I hobbled to the door, stepping carefully on the heels of my feet so I wouldn’t muss the polish, while Eliana immediately jumped into her acrobatic routine again—bouncing up on the table and off the walls until she was safely hidden on the beams.

  I opened the door to find Pan standing on the landing, his hands shoved into the pockets of his old blue jeans.

  “Hey.” A warm smile spread across his face when he saw me. “I swung up by the archives, and Calder said he’d given you the weekends off.”

  “Yeah, he told me something about his last intern having serious burnout, and he wants to keep me fresh for my duration,” I said.

  One of his thick eyebrows arched skeptically. “But twelve-hour workdays are still fine?”

  “They’re not ‘fine’ as much as they are ‘mandatory’”—I used my fingers to make air quotes on fine and mandatory—“but Calder thinks a couple days off a week provides balance. I’m not in a position to complain. I could use the break.”

  “That’s actually why I stopped by.” He leaned against the doorframe as we talked. “You seemed so down and tired yesterday. I wanted to take you out and do something fun with you, cheer you up a little bit.”

  Yesterday, when I had been busy working from dusk until dawn, Pan had stopped down and attempted to invite me to dinner. I’d wanted to join him, but I was also trying to make up for the morning I’d missed when I had met with Mästare Amalie, so I had sadly declined his invitation, and instead, I tr
anslated musty documents while eating stale zucchini chips.

  I smiled at him. “Thanks, Pan. That’s really sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “I know. I want to.”

  “What’d you have in mind?” I asked.

  “Well, we could—”

  Before Pan could finish his thought, Eliana let out a loud squeal and tumbled off the beam and fell to the floor. She landed on her feet, crouched down in a three-point superhero landing, but her skin and hair were going crazy. It was a kaleidoscope of colors, bright and rapidly shifting, like ripples of water across her flesh and hair.

  “Sorry.” Eliana stood up slowly, as the explosion of colors slowed and her earlier coloring returned. “A giant spider fell on me, and I got scared.”

  “Um . . .” Pan gaped at her. “Who is that?”

  I stepped back and opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll talk about it?”

  29

  Trust

  Eliana sat cross-legged on the couch. Beside her, Hanna apprehensively chewed her lip and kept her gaze on Eliana and Pan, with periodic nervous glances in my direction.

  Pan sat on a stool and rested his arm on the table, propping his head up, and he’d taken in the whole story—everything we knew about Eliana and how she’d ended up in our apartment—with a reserved curiosity.

  “What do you think?” I asked once we’d wrapped up our exposition.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally, and his eyes were on Eliana. “You really don’t remember anything?”

  “Not really, but sorta. There’s stuff that I know or I’ll just remember, and then other times . . . I can tell there’s something there, inside my head.” She moved her hands rapidly around her head, as if to demonstrate. “But it’s out of reach. It’s hidden behind a murky wall, and I can’t get through it, no matter how hard I try.”

  “What’s the first thing you remember?” Pan asked.

  “I don’t know. I have no idea how to sort my memories chronologically,” she explained. “They’re random scenes that might connect to others but I don’t usually know how.”