The Conspiracy of Us (The Conspiracy of Us 1)

Still, neither of us had moved so much as a toe. Why was this so hard?

Finally, my fingers rebelled against the silence, tightening on Jack’s chest.

The corners of his lips turned up. “Hi,” he mouthed.

A grin spread across my face. “Hi,” I mouthed back.

Jack’s smile grew and I let mine take over. For the first time, maybe ever, my chest wasn’t empty and aching and cold at all. In fact, it felt so full, it could have burst. This was worth the possibility of getting hurt a million times.

Had I never understood because I never let myself, or because I never had anyone to understand with? It turns out falling for someone doesn’t feel like falling at all.

Jack glanced at the chair still under the doorknob, then settled back and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“How did you sleep?” he whispered.

“Really well.” Despite everything, it was the best I’d slept in a long time. “You?” I wondered if he’d slept at all, or if he’d been as alert all night as I should have been.

He threaded his fingers through mine. “Best I’ve slept in ages,” he murmured. The hint of self-consciousness looked out of place on his face. “I should probably go, though.”

I wanted to protest. I didn’t want him to leave, ever. But I knew he was right.

He pulled back the sheet and sat up, and the sun no longer seemed wrong. Now it was fine, bathing the beautiful, half-clothed boy in my bed in light.

He took his clothes into the bathroom, and I grabbed my phone out of my bag. First I called my mom again—no answer. But I’d thought of something else in that fuzzy place between asleep and awake.

As I dialed the number to retrieve my mom’s phone messages, I hugged the pillow that smelled intoxicatingly like Jack and stared out the window at a clearer morning, like the edges of the world had been sharpened overnight. The sun shone on the top of the pyramid, the music of the traffic below came softly through the window, and I was almost able to forget that Jack and I—that apparently Jack and I were now a we—had made things even more complicated. And infinitely more dangerous. Even so, I couldn’t stop grinning.

I typed in my mom’s code and skipped through message after increasingly panicked message from myself—and then my insides went cold.

Jack came out of the bathroom, buttoning his still-damp shirt. “I’ll be back with the Saxons and our guards within the hour—”

I held up a finger, listening, more confused by the second. Finally, the message ended.

“What is it?” Jack said. He perched on the edge of the bed next to me.

“I thought I’d check my mom’s messages, just in case there was anything from the airlines about a delay or something, but . . . I think this one’s from Mr. Emerson.”

I pressed the button to replay it and put it on speaker:

“It’s me. People have been watching me. They’re here. If I don’t make it, I need you to find what I’ve left.” Mr. Emerson was breathing raggedly, rushing through the words. “The tomb. I’ve been searching for years. Napoleon found it, and hid it again. I have three clues he left, but there are more. I’ve hidden them, and you’ve got to get them before the Circle does. Start at my—the office I sometimes call you from. Follow from there. I’m sorry I’ve never told you.

“It’s the union—Napoleon discovered some disturbing things. And there’s more. I was searching for information about the One, and . . . you won’t believe it, Carol. I can’t say any more, but I believe I’ve found one of them, and brought—I’ve been trying to protect—never mind. Both of them are in great danger. You have to find—”

The message cut off abruptly.

My mouth was hanging open. “What—”

Jack replayed the message again. “Some of it’s what he told us in the note. But he told her a lot more. Your mom. Which means what?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I stared at the phone, still ticking off seconds as the mechanical operator’s voice asked whether I wanted to save or delete the message. I pressed save. “Maybe we can go through the diary again. See if this connects?”

“Definitely.” Jack turned down his collar and stood up. “But first, I want to get you out of here. We can talk about it all when you’re safely with the Saxons.”

I got out of bed and looked down at our feet, his stuffed into shoes, mine bare and cold.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He paused, then ran his fingers down my arm. “And, um. Thanks. Last night. Thanks for letting me get in out of the rain.” He grabbed his jacket and stepped out the window and down the long balcony.

I watched him until he disappeared, then locked the window behind him. I collapsed on the bed, my mind spinning. What could Mr. Emerson possibly think my mom could do with the clues? How was she involved in all this?

There was a tapping at the window, and I jumped out of my skin. Through the panes, I saw Jack standing outside. I leapt off the bed and threw the window open.

“I forgot something,” he said. He reached through the window, took my face in his hands, and kissed me.

I meant to only kiss him back for a second, but then my hands were around his neck, my fingers in his hair, my body pressed into the windowsill between us. He still smelled the tiniest bit like last night’s rain. And then he was climbing over the sill, back into the room, tossing his jacket onto the bed, his lips not leaving mine the whole time.

“Why didn’t you do this last night?” I murmured against his mouth.

He let his fingers slide over my shoulders, down to my hips. He broke away far enough to let his eyes follow their path, tracing lines of fire over my skin. “Avery, if I’d let myself do this last night . . .” His thumbs slipped under the hem of my shirt. “I might have lost what hint of self-control I had left.”

“Oh,” I whispered, and all of my own self-control flew out the window.

I waited for him to tell me that we couldn’t do this here, now, that he had to go—waited for myself to come to my senses and tell him this was dangerous. That we had more important things to do. That we just couldn’t. He didn’t. I didn’t.

We stumbled backward onto the chaise. And then I was on his lap and he was kissing my cheeks, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, always back to my lips.