The Ends of the World (The Conspiracy of Us 3)

“They hated him because he was better than they were. He was picked early as one who could become Keeper.” There was a surprising warmth in Stellan’s voice.

“And he was the miracle child,” Jack agreed. “We were—”

“Feared. Admired. Revered,” Elodie cut in. “Resented.” The boys didn’t protest.

“I practiced my English,” Stellan said. “I taught them Russian—taught him, I mean. I always wondered how you picked it up so quickly.” He frowned at Elodie, but there was no malice behind it.

She shrugged. “And I made them accept me as part of their little in-crowd by beating them both in fights. Of course no one knew Fitz had been training me.”

“We thought she was some magical warrior creature,” Jack said.

“I was,” Elodie retorted, and beside me, Stellan smiled for the first time since we’d learned she was Order. Something passed between the three of them. An acknowledgment of things they maybe hadn’t admitted. A forgiveness.

I knew where the story went as they got older. They’d all stayed close—including and despite their various romantic entanglements—until Oliver Saxon’s death, and then it had fallen apart. Until I’d shown up and thrown everything up in the air again.

Elodie curled on her side and tucked her head against the van’s musty seat. She yawned so widely, I could see her back teeth. Jack was blinking, too.

We were all quiet, the sounds of the road and the music Mariam had low on the radio a blanket of noise muffling any more thoughts. Soon I glanced back to see Jack breathing deeply, asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. Elodie snorted in her sleep.

“She always insists she doesn’t snore,” Stellan whispered. “Now you can back me up.”

I smiled, then pulled out my phone. It was hard not to be obsessed with the news, even though nothing major had happened the last couple times I’d checked. That wasn’t the case this time. Since we’d been at the doctor’s office, another attack had been reported. I inclined the phone toward Stellan. “China,” I whispered. A government building. Only two people had died, but that didn’t matter. The Chinese media was blaming it on Japan, and saying there was more to come. Their military was taking to the streets to stop the terrified looting in Beijing and Shanghai and dozens of smaller cities. “That doesn’t fit with religious extremism,” I said.

“The conflict between China and Japan is old, too. They seem to be stirring all the pots they can.”

“Does that mean the Wang family is collaborating with the Saxons, too?”

“It’s possible,” Stellan whispered. “They could have told the Wangs and the Melechs and anyone else that for the price of a few deaths and some chaos in their territories, they’ll have a position of power in the new Saxon regime. And if they’re blaming it on Japan out in the world, they’re probably blaming it on the Mikados in the Circle. Probably saying they’re in league with us.”

I flipped through more. Riots in Jerusalem. Half the EU considering following the UK and closing borders. People in surgical masks picketing outside a government building. And this was just over these small attacks.

What would happen if the Saxons had more of the virus? What would happen if they had both that and the cure? I glanced down at the bandage on my shoulder.

Life and death, all in my blood.

When Olympias had said on the clue that a woman holds all the power now, she hadn’t just been referring to how she herself physically held the secrets in her tomb. She’d been referring to me. The girl of the bloodline, with the power to destroy them, and to save them.

It was far more power than I wanted.

“The scientists are getting closer to finding a way to deactivate it in our blood,” Stellan whispered. “Elodie has already told Nisha what we found out about the cure, and she’s working on it.” Nisha was our main contact with the crew of scientists. “And they’ve learned more about my blood, so maybe that’ll help.”

I looked up to see headlights from an oncoming car slant across his face. “Yeah?” We’d changed into clean clothes before we left the city, but we hadn’t had a chance to shower, and we were all grimy. Stellan had pulled part of his hair back with a rubber band from the clinic. If I’d thought he looked stereotypically Euro-hipster normally, this was a whole new level. To my surprise, I didn’t dislike it on him.

“I got a report about it earlier. They found some of Olympias’s writings. She used to say she created Alexander’s blood, that she made him what he was. They still don’t know exactly how she did it, whether scientifically or . . .” He trailed off.

Not that I believed anything about our situation was supernatural, but I could see how people back in Alexander’s day might have believed the rumors that his mother was a witch.

“But however it happened,” he went on, “she said she gave Alexander’s blood incredible regenerative properties. She implied that it was resistant to disease, and that wherever on the body there’s enough blood near the surface, it could be impervious to surface wounds.”

Goose bumps rose on my legs. “Walk through fire.”

“Blood, near the surface of the body.” The wind ruffled the part of his hair that was still down.

“Your heel,” I remembered. His heel was the only part of his body that looked burned in the way a normal burn would look, and he said it had taken much longer to recover. “The Achilles’ heel. There’s so little tissue there. Less blood at the surface, probably?”

“So more opportunity to be injured and not heal. That’s what I thought, too.” He leaned back, fingers to his mouth like he wished he had a cigarette.

“The Great,” I said. He inclined his head. Invincible. Indestructible. To some extent, at least. “Does that mean some kind of ancient genetic engineering? Is that possible?”