I think about Grandpa and Jamie, about the Society and the wanted posters that still blanket the city — of how high the flames were when the car exploded. I’m thinking of lost treasures and hidden rooms and of whatever obsession might have driven my mother to her grave. I’ve been carrying these things with me for too long, and I can feel them tumbling over and over in my mind like clothes in a dryer, warm and full of static. I keep waiting to feel a shock.
“Lila and I are going to go down to the Society tomorrow. Maybe we can find something about the treasure or Spence or …” I shake my head. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Then don’t do anything. Please, Gracie. Please. It’s too dangerous. And you’re too … You’re too important.”
“I’m not important.” I shake my head, but Alexei catches my hands.
“You’re important to me.”
The air is growing chilly, but Alexei’s hands are warm. I tell myself that’s why I don’t pull away.
“Just don’t take any chances, okay?” he says. “Don’t get hurt. I don’t think I could take it if you got hurt. Say you understand, Gracie.”
I do understand, so much more than Alexei can ever know. I understand what it’s like to feel the earth shift beneath you, to know there are people you can’t trust. I understand what Dominic meant when he told me that Alexei is a pawn in a much bigger game with dangerous players who will sacrifice anyone to get whatever they want.
I understand that no one else is looking for the truth.
I understand I might be his only hope, as pathetic as that sounds.
So I look up into his eyes and force a smile. I’m not lying when I tell him, “I understand.”
“You want to get out of here?” Alexei asks, tugging on one of my hands.
“You can’t go back to town, Alexei. It’s not safe yet.”
“Then we won’t go to town.”
I don’t know how far we walk, or for how long. I’m only aware of how big and bright the moon is as it rises over Adria, how warm Alexei’s hand is and how tightly it holds on to mine.
I’m content to let him lead me. For a little while, I forget to fight. Alexei is with me, guiding me, and I am not alone anymore, watching my mother’s shop burn. I’m not shaking on the street or strapped to a bed in a psych ward, screaming out my mother’s name. There is someone here who is bigger, stronger, faster, and he’s on my side.
I use the wall inside of me to block out those thoughts, a very brief reprieve against the worries and doubts that are in a constant siege against me. Alexei is standing guard.
I close my eyes. I take a deep, deep breath. The air is cool and fresh after the rain. When Alexei stops I come to rest beside him, and in the stillness that follows, far away from the chanting of the protestors or the crashing waves of the sea, I hear water. Not the Mediterranean. It is a rush — a steady, constant hum that fills the darkness.
“What is that?” I look up at Alexei.
“A secret,” he tells me. “Come on.”
A minute later he is pushing aside the undergrowth of trees and pointing down into a tiny valley. The noise is louder now, and I can see its source. Rivers run through the hills surrounding Valancia, and some of them must converge here, rushing into a great waterfall, pooling at the base of the valley. The vegetation is thicker, the air cooler. It’s like Alexei has taken my hand and led me all the way to Eden.
“Jamie and I found this place when we were kids, trying to run away from you. I think the land technically belongs to the royal family — most of the land around the city does. I’ve never seen anyone else here, though. I’m fairly certain we are alone.”
Even without Alexei’s assurance I would know that it’s true. We’re no more than a few miles from Embassy Row, and yet it feels a world away as Alexei drags me down the hill — too fast. We stumble but keep running, in an odd kind of race. We want to leave the world away, on the far side of the ridge. We are running toward paradise, and nothing — not even common sense — can stop us.
When we reach the water’s edge, Alexei drops my hand and immediately reaches for his shirt.
“What are you” — I start, but by that time, his shirt is already off, tossed to the ground — “doing?” I finish. I know I should turn away, but my feet don’t agree with me, because I just stand there, staring.
“Come on, Gracie,” he yells, already diving into the water. His cargo shorts are going to be soaked. I can’t remember whether or not Rosie brought him a change of clothes. The nights are going to be cold in his wet things, but logic fails me, words fail me. I can think of nothing as I watch him swim out into the dark water — strong, sure strokes that carry him farther and farther from me.
“Come in!” he yells.
“I —”
I don’t have a swimsuit.
I don’t want my wound to get infected.
I really should be getting back before Jamie or my grandfather or Ms. Chancellor sends out a search party.
I have a big day of betraying my ancient sisterhood tomorrow.
I could offer up any of a dozen valid excuses, but I don’t let myself think of the reasons not to do something. I try to focus on the reasons I should.
The tank top beneath my sweater is black.
My cardigan is warm.
And one of the few people in the world I actually trust is out there in the stillness, waving, yelling, “Gracie, come on!”