“Where’d you get the phone?” I asked, more interested in that than the news.
“Levi.” Her face broke out in that wide, love drunk smile again. Gabby sighed and pulled her phone into her lap. “Rumor is Hatch is going to resign and Governor Dubois is going to appoint someone interim…” Gabby continued, leaning against the wall. She told me all about the terrible things the news was saying about the victims. I pulled my lips between my teeth, chest feeling tight. With a sigh, I reached for the pitcher of tea, and as I lifted it the flyer stuck to the bottom.
“What is that?” she asked, reaching for it.
“Oh, uh…” I wasn’t sure how to answer, but Gabby didn’t wait for me to do so anyway. She snatched the flyer off, her eyes flashing from the paper to me.
“Why do you have this?” Her eyes were wide, filled with some kind of excitement I couldn’t understand.
“Nikolai left it under my tea,” I replied. Gabby turned it over and looked at the blank side, then turned it back around and examined the big, blocky letters. When she was done, her eyes found mine again, now even rounder.
“Did he say what for?” Her lips were twitching as if she was trying to hold back a smile.
“He said, and I quote, ‘the future.’” I raised both my hands in the air, did finger quotes, and then dropped them to my sides.
“But did he say why he gave it to you?” She repeated her question, voice hurried. This time she didn’t try to hide her smile.
“No…” I trailed off. Watching her expression, I tried to figure out what she was so excited about. There was simultaneous excitement and awe written across her face. It showed in the way her eyes rounded and the way her smile brightened and stretched.
“I’ve seen these flyers around.” She looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “I thought it was like every other soldier rumor.” Gabby set the flyer down and grabbed my hands frantically.
“What?” I insisted. “What rumor?”
“Frankie…” As if about to unload something huge, Gabby took a breath before she began. “Do you know the story of the Pavoni Princess?” I shook my head. Gabby gripped my hands tighter and scooted forward. She said the Pavoni Princess was nothing more than fairytale, like Cinderella. At first it was something Pavonis made up to comfort themselves after they’d basically massacred their entire bloodline. Then it became something that purists twisted after Beast had risen to power, a story about a lost Pavoni girl who would someday retake the Family.
“Wow,” I said when she finished. “That’s some story.”
“Frankie,” Gabby said earnestly. “I think you’re her. That must be why Nikolai gave this to you, don’t you see?” She looked at me, her pink lips spreading into an even bigger smile. I balked. As Gabby held my hands, I suddenly had a flashback to junior high. It was just like the few sleepovers I’d been able to attend—gossiping, spilling secrets and stories with such vehemence that the truth didn’t matter. Even the way she sat with her legs crossed and her blonde hair spilling over one shoulder, was familiar.
She looked so young, but what she was talking about was deadly.
“Well?” she asked, tugging on my hands.
“I’m not…a…a…princess,” I sputtered as I tugged my hands back, but Gabby wouldn’t let go. “Gabby,” I implored, tugging harder. Reluctantly, she let me go. From the way Gabby told me the story, I could tell the princess was a big deal—but I knew I wasn’t her, and if people believed I was, it wouldn’t end well for me. She nodded slowly, but her eyes were still huge, looking at me with awe and trying to see something that wasn’t there.
“Gabby,” I said sharply.
“But…” Her face dropped again, and she looked so defeated. “Why else would he give this to you?” She held the paper between her hands, as if trying to assign meaning.
Because he’s a manipulator, is what I wanted to say.
Instead I said, “I don’t know, Gabby.” She set the flyer back down. Trying to avoid further conversation, I took the flyer and quickly stuffed it in the journal. Gabby watched, getting a weird look in her eyes. The previous awe and excitement vanished, replaced by what looked like fear. The look on her face was gone so quickly I couldn’t be sure.
Eventually she reached out and touched the journal, her fingers playing over the leather. It was my turn to watch as she opened it up to the first page and read the inscription aloud.
“Sofia De Luca.” Her eyes widened. I’d had the journal out with her before, but a thought occurred to me, one I couldn’t believe I’d never thought of before: maybe Gabby knew Sofia—after all, she was a De Luca herself. I mentally kicked myself. There was so much I could have been learning.
“I found it in the library,” I said. “Do you know who it is? Do you know who wrote the journal?” I sat forward, waiting for the response. Gabby stared at the inscription, an unreadable expression on her face. It was so deadpan, so utterly devoid of anything discernible, the opposite of everything I’d come to know about Gabby in our short time. Gabby was eager, a little naive, but light—this face was nothing like that.
“Sofia de Luca was my mother. She died when I was very young.” I sat back, her words hitting me like a punch to the gut. Gabby didn’t look up when she spoke, her voice sounding distant and lost. It was a few moments before I spoke again.
“I guess we have that in common,” I said eventually. “Do you want it? It’s yours.” She looked up as if I’d just offered her something very tempting, but something she shouldn’t have. Her fingers grazed the leather face, longingly looking at the cover.
“I have to go,” Gabby said suddenly, pushing the book away.
“B
ut the journal—”