Map of Fates (The Conspiracy of Us 2)

Lydia was wearing a classic khaki trench over a blue summer dress, her dark hair in a bun. Her eyes were like mine, minus the color. A little too big, a little too wide set under dark brows. Where I was so pale I was almost translucent, she had olive skin, and when she got close, I saw that without her towering heels we’d be just the same height.

Lydia stopped in front of us. “Hi,” she said, twirling a long pendant necklace around her fingers.

“Lydia.” I realized I was twisting my own necklace, and forced myself to stop. Was I supposed to hug her? Shake her hand? I did neither. “Hi. Thanks for picking me up. Is everything okay? I thought we were going to your house.” I was rambling, one doomsday scenario after another running through my mind. She had security waiting to toss me in a cell. They had a wedding ceremony already set up at a nearby church, and I wouldn’t have time to run.

But she shook her head. “Father’s meeting at Parliament ran over. He was going to come get you, but now I’m meant to show you around until he’s finished and then we’ll meet at home.” Her eyes got wide. “Are you okay with the helicopter? I wasn’t sure since you might not be used to them, but Father said it would be fastest, and—”

“It’s fine,” I said, the tension draining out of me. A helicopter was the least of my worries.

Lydia was shifting back and forth on her heels. Could she possibly be acting so weird because she was nervous, too?

As if in answer to my unasked question, she looked up. “When we first met, I didn’t even realize you were my sister,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here now.”

My heart exploded into a thousand relieved, ecstatic pieces. I had to force myself not to throw my arms around her. This feeling—happiness?—was foreign after the past few weeks.

“Me too,” I said. “I’m really happy to be here.” Lydia grinned, and the tension finally broke. I had a sister. I had a family. And they’d have to help me. That was what family did, right?

Lydia giggled at Jack, who had retreated a few feet and was looking off into the distance. “Oh, quit it,” she said, and crossed to plant a kiss on his cheek. Just like I remembered from the ball, Jack didn’t seem anywhere near as comfortable with her as Stellan did with his charge, Luc Dauphin.

“Lydia.” Jack bowed his head formally.

“Father’s not here. You don’t have to be so bloody proper,” she said, and I relaxed even more. Lydia certainly didn’t seem to harbor any ill will toward Jack. “I want to hear all about the adventures you two have been having.”

She took my arm and pulled Jack after us to an elevator that let us out in a dark wood lobby off a bustling street. Jack kept up conversation with her, feeding her our lines about how we hadn’t come to them earlier because I was scared, and about what he’d done to keep me safe.

“Were you in Paris this whole time?” Lydia said, and I watched a red double-decker bus drive by on the wrong side of the road, followed by a whole row of black cabs that looked like bowler hats.

“Yes,” I answered, tearing myself away from London’s charms. “Like I told your father—our—Alistair—” What was I supposed to call him? “Like I told him on the phone, the Order has my mom, and I’ve been trying to help her. Paris seemed like the best place to do it, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore.”

Lydia nodded. “You said the Order wants you to find the tomb? And swap it for your mum?”

Jack met my eyes quickly. We’d talked about this. We were going to tell the Saxons almost everything. “That’s their demand,” Jack said. “Of course, we hope to stop them directly.”

A frown flashed across Lydia’s face, but was gone just as quickly. “Of course,” she said.

I touched the bracelet on my arm, currently hidden under a cardigan.

We walked in silence for a few minutes. I couldn’t help but gawk at the city. The stone turrets and gleaming skyscrapers. Bright red phone booths and crisp new street signs. The clean and modern contrasting with the charming, comfortably worn-in look of the rest of the city, like the buildings just wanted to sit down with you and have a cup of tea.

The people, though, were like people in any big city: crowded, rushed, pushing. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen so many different kinds of people in one place, either. You always heard London was a melting pot, but I hadn’t quite realized. We passed a group of Asian businessmen in expensive suits, sitting on a bench next to a few kids whose accents sounded Eastern European maybe, and who were younger than me, but whose mullets and acid-wash jeans were from a time before I was born. And running between them, a whole swarm of preschool kids, one little Indian girl screeching to a pale redhead in the cutest tiny British accent that she wanted to have the next go with the jump rope.

I’d forgotten what it was like to understand conversations on the street. I paused for a second, listening to a couple argue about where to eat dinner, marveling at how foreign my native language sounded.

Out of everywhere I’d ever lived, this was where I technically belonged. My family lived here. London would have been my home if things had been different. My sister looked perfectly at ease on these wide, clean streets. I think I’d been expecting to feel some kind of connection to the city.

But there was nothing more than the usual feel of a new place. When you moved as much as my mom and I did, everywhere was home and nowhere was. You got as used to washing your hair at the Days Inn off the highway as you did to learning the quirks of a new kitchen. It was the same with people, I guess. Would I really feel like the Saxons were who I belonged to more than anyone else?

As if on cue, Lydia answered a phone call and told the person on the other end we’d be there shortly. “Father’s ready,” she said. “Let’s take you home.”

CHAPTER 3

“Home” was a gated estate on the outskirts of London, with a wide walkway leading from the front drive up to the house. We had touched down on a rooftop landing pad, and were now looking over grounds that stretched away into a sparkling pool, a stable complex, and what appeared to be a racetrack with a single car circling it. Keeping the estate from looking too formal were beds of wildflowers that swayed in the late-afternoon breeze.