Map of Fates (The Conspiracy of Us 2)

Suddenly, a door burst open in the wall. Someone held a flashlight, and I made out the glint of a gun. And a person. Scarface.

I didn’t think. I didn’t consider the gun. I let go of Stellan, wheeled around, and kneed Scarface as hard as I could in the crotch.

Yes, Stellan was right that guys had good reflexes when it came to that, but I had the element of surprise. Scarface fell to one knee, gasping in pain, his gun flying off into the dark.

“That was for killing Fitzpatrick Emerson,” I said. “And for kidnapping my mom. Where is she?”

Scarface panted. “I don’t know where your damn mother is. Not here.”

I was inclined to believe him. I wasn’t sure he could be in that much pain and come up with a good lie at the same time.

“I’ve already called for backup,” he said, nodding at Stellan’s gun. “You kill me, they’ll still be down here before you can get away.”

I looked up at the side of the chateau, where Elodie and Jack might be right now. “Call them off,” I said.

Scarface just laughed.

Stellan jammed the gun into his head. “We’ll take our chances.”

“Wait.” Suddenly, I had another idea. It was risky, in a lot of ways. But so was having either or both of us captured again.

“No,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “He’s going to call them off.”

Scarface raised an eyebrow up at me.

“The Saxons are not the right side to end up on,” I said. I was starting to understand. In the Circle, loyalty goes family first, with the Circle not far behind, but I represented a whole lot more power than the Saxons did.

A frown quirked Scarface’s long, dark scar downward. “I know who you are. You belong to the Saxons.”

“I don’t belong to anybody,” I said. “I’m giving you a choice because I think you’re smart. We could work together.”

Shouts came from the floors above. “Call them off now and let us go,” I said, “and when I’m in power, you’ll be beside me.”

Scarface’s eyes flickered between us. “You’re going to take over by yourself? Without the Saxons?”

“I’m not on the Saxons’ side anymore.”

Scarface considered my answer. And then he got to his knees.

I tensed, but he bowed, hands across his forehead, palms to me, hands crossed, so they shadowed his face in the flashlight beam. I recognized the posture: at the wedding at Notre-Dame, after I’d revealed myself, the people had done the same thing, pledging their loyalty to me.

I gaped down at him, then at Stellan. I let out a jagged breath. “Okay. Call them off.”

Scarface pulled a walkie-talkie out of his belt and barked into it, “No one at the back stairs. Try the east wing.”

It had actually worked. “Okay. Um. Stay with Lydia and pretend you’re still working for her. Try to keep the guards away while we escape. Luc Dauphin—make sure he gets out safely. And don’t let the Saxons do anything to my mother. That’s the most important thing.”

Scarface nodded. I started toward the door, but he didn’t get off his knees.

Stellan stopped me. “You’ll have to accept him officially,” he said quietly. “Otherwise he’s not really yours.”

I glanced at the door, outside, freedom. “What do you mean?”

“It’s usually done at the ceremony when we get our tattoos.” The frown on Stellan’s face told me he wasn’t sure about this idea. “The tattoo is the symbol of who you’re loyal to.”

A sacred Circle ceremony. We didn’t have time. It wasn’t like I could give him a new tattoo, anyway. My hand flew to my necklace, twisting, and then it stopped. The knot symbol, with thirteen loops.

“Where’s your tattoo?” I asked Scarface. Without standing or even looking up, he pulled down the back of his collar. There was a compass tattoo there, which had been inked over an old tattoo. I couldn’t quite tell, but it could have been an olive branch.

It didn’t matter. I unhooked my necklace. “Lighter?” I asked Stellan. He dug it out of his pocket. I flicked it and dangled my necklace in the flame. The orange light glinted off the gold.

“Are you sure you trust him enough to do this?” Stellan said. “It’s a big deal.”

“I don’t care as long as he lets us go,” I breathed in his ear. It wasn’t like we ever had to see Scarface again if something went wrong.

When I thought it would be hot enough, I tried to grasp the necklace between my thumb and finger, and hissed.

“I’ll do it,” Stellan said. I shook my head. He might not burn, but it still hurt him. He took a tissue from his pocket and gripped the necklace.

“Tell me where you want it,” he said.

But that didn’t feel right. “Together,” I said. “Above the compass.” I put my hand over Stellan’s. Together, we pressed the hot necklace into the end of the olive branch. Scarface twitched, and I responded by pressing harder. I wanted it to hurt. For my mom. For Mr. Emerson.

Stellan pulled our hands away, revealing an angry red welt. I hoped it would be enough for us to escape.

Scarface touched his neck, then put his hands to his forehead again.

Despite Scarface’s calling them off, a door opened in the stairwell far above.

“Go,” I said to Stellan. We shoved through the outer door as footsteps pounded down the stairs.

Scarface leaped up. He intercepted the pair of guards. “They’re getting away,” one of them said.

And then Scarface unceremoniously slit both their throats.

A strangled gasp escaped my throat. “I didn’t mean kill everybody!”