Wayfarer (Passenger 2)

“Don’t leave me!” Julian called after her, still crouched in the boat. A shot zinged off the stone embankment, forcing Etta’s attention up toward the group of rowboats moving toward them, shining flashlights across the dark ice and water.

“They’ll kill me,” he told her in a rush, struggling to reach the embankment again. “That’s why I never came back—Grandfather didn’t want me for his heir, and he would have killed me—”

She wasn’t surprised by Julian’s admission, but she also didn’t have time for it.

“Come on,” she said, stretching a hand out toward him. Her shoulder was on fire, her ears felt like fireworks had been set off inside them, and her whole body was trembling from the cold; but, digging deeper, she found the last burst of strength she needed to grip his hand and draw the boat forward again. Julian scrambled up onto the embankment, lying as flat as he could across from her—so close that Etta could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“What do we do?” he asked.

“You said you were the brains!” she snapped. “Where’s the passage?”

“The statues—do you see them? The right sphinx, just at the base.”

The air around its enormous stand did seem to be shimmering, but Etta had chalked that up to shock and exhaustion—and had chalked up the faint drumming buzz in the air, as if it were electrified, to her ears coming back around.

“Then we run,” she told him. It was a short distance, maybe five feet. Granted, that would be five feet of opportunity to be shot dead, but she liked those odds. Before Julian could launch his newest protest, and before she could give herself time to think about where in the world the passage might open up, Etta pushed onto her feet and ran as hard as she could. She brought her hands up just in case he was wrong, and she was about to slam headfirst into immoveable stone.

“Stop! This is your last warning—!”

Etta didn’t hear the rest. She dove into the wild heartbeat of the passage and felt the pressure of its touch tear at her skin and tattered dress. The dark chaos made her feel like she was spinning head over feet, until it shoved her out with a final, shuddering gasp.

Inertia carried her forward into a skidding stop. Her feet slid against rough stone, and she swung her gaze back over her shoulder. A small sphinx, identical to the one that had brought her here, gazed out over a glistening white city and an enormous bay that had turned pink with the sunset.

Julian shot out through the passage behind her, snatching her arm and forcing them both back into a run.

They dashed around the statue and made their way down a broad avenue. The moon-bright limestone columns and steps led up to buildings that looked more like temples than homes or places of business. Etta dragged in air that was completely void of gasoline, but brimmed with hints of life—just animal sweat, human waste, and a touch of brine that could only come from being close to the sea. As they kept to the darkness, she caught sight of a distant lighthouse between the next two buildings she passed, its bright, watchful eye sweeping over the harbor below it.

“How much farther?” Etta gasped out.

“We’re following this big avenue down until we find a rather handsome temple called the Caesareum. We’re looking for two enormous red marble obelisks.”

They found them. Her heart felt like it was about to tear out of her chest by the time they reached the passage, and they sped through it into further darkness.

Julian slid to a stop on the stone floor, nearly crashing into a row of prayer candles that had carelessly been left to illuminate what appeared to be a church nave. Etta turned, her eyes sweeping over the altar’s shadowed cross, then back out at the rows of pews that spread like ribs between the confines of the walls. They were alone, finally.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll get you to your passage.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands over her face. The Vatican.

But this wasn’t the Vatican she remembered visiting with Alice. It lacked the heartrending works of art and the sweeping grandeur that conspired to make the visitor feel as insignificant in the face of God as the dust on their shoes. It was almost humble. “What year?”

“Fourteen ninety-something,” he said with a vague gesture as they reached the doors. Pressing an ear against them, he was satisfied by whatever he did or didn’t hear, and dragged the heavy doors open just enough for them to slip into the hall.

The torchlights blazed on the walls alongside them. Etta tried, failed, to calculate the hour. She reached back to rub her neck, but only felt what wasn’t there. Where—?

The chain she had used to carry her mother’s earring had slipped down the front of her dress and caught on the beadwork, but the earring itself was gone.

Etta couldn’t stop the panic that writhed in her as she looked around the floor for it. Why do I care? She’d used the earrings as proof of her mom’s belief in her, to steady her when she was afraid. The mere thought of what it represented should have sickened her.

And yet…it didn’t. Not entirely.

Alice, she reminded herself, she killed Alice—

“What’s the matter?” Julian whispered, doubling back when he realized she wasn’t behind him.

She looked up. “Nothing. Where to now?”

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but thought better of it. They walked in silence, Etta trailing a step behind him as she tried to pull the pieces of herself back together, to forge them into new armor.