Map of Fates (The Conspiracy of Us 2)

My eyes shot open, and it took me a second to remember where I was. Watery early morning light was filtering through the windows, and it was hot and stuffy and a little damp in the room.

Every part of me, on the other hand, felt dried out: my eyelids stuck together with every blink, my contacts had dried to my eyeballs, and my mouth was sticky and parched.

I slipped out of bed, put some drops in my eyes, and popped a mint from my bag. Jack was turned toward the wall. Luc was fast asleep, too, his pajama-clad leg hanging off a top bunk. Below him, Elodie’s hair flopped across her face, and she looked remarkably peaceful. Stellan’s bed was empty.

I opened the bedroom door as quietly as I could, and wandered into the empty living room. Maybe Stellan had gone out to get coffee or something. An atlas someone must have pulled off a shelf last night lay on the couch, open to a map of Greece. I picked it up and headed toward the balcony. When I got there, though, the smell of cigarette smoke was drifting into the room.

Stellan stood with his back to me. He was wearing the same T-shirt and gray jeans he’d had on yesterday.

I paused, but before I could decide whether I wanted to turn around, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Cigarettes are disgusting,” I said, coming to stand beside him, leaning the atlas on the railing.

“I so value your opinion.” He took a slow drag and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth, then stubbed out the cigarette in the small ashtray. The smoke curled away in the first rays of sunlight.

“Sleep well?” he said.

“Fine.” In the courtyard below, vendors were setting up for what looked like a vegetable market. A middle-aged woman in a leather jacket and heavy black eyeliner unloaded box after box of bright red and yellow tomatoes.

Stellan gestured to the atlas. “Map to the bracelet?”

“Map to Delphi, at least.” Off the other end of the wrought-iron balcony, two old men greeted each other from passing boats in the tiny canal.

Stellan took the atlas and flipped through it, to India, then Venice. He laughed. “Have you realized that Napoleon left his own literal map of fates, and we’re following it?”

“‘Their fates mapped together,’” I said. “Do you think he did that on purpose?”

“He certainly seemed to think the rest of it out pretty thoroughly.”

I looked at the Ti amo! graffiti across the piazza.

“Do you actually believe in it?” I said. “Fate. Destiny. Whatever.”

Stellan leaned over the railing, watching the vendors below us. “Do you think all those people believe in fate? Or do you think they’re just living their lives the best they can with whatever’s thrown at them?” An older man tossing a bucket of fish onto ice looked up and waved at us. I waved back.

“I believe certain people are set on a certain path,” Stellan went on. “But I also think we always have a choice. It just depends how much you want to fight. If you’re meant to sell fish at a street market in Italy, you could spend your whole life trying to change that, but selling fish isn’t so bad, is it?”

I blinked into the rising sun. “When you make it sound so appealing . . .”

I heard movement inside, then voices. Time to get the day started. Stellan closed the atlas and gestured inside. “Destiny awaits,” he said.

CHAPTER 12

We managed to get back into the hotel without anyone noticing. I changed into a flowered sundress and met Lydia and Cole and my father in the lobby like we’d planned the night before. My father led us to the hotel’s outdoor cafe overlooking the Grand Canal, where rows of gondolas were tied to posts, their sleek silhouettes bobbing lazily with the breeze. My foot wouldn’t stop tapping under the table.

Lydia settled into the wicker chair next to me and put on her sunglasses as a waiter poured us tiny cups of thick espresso. I stirred two sugar cubes into mine. “We’d better eat quickly if we plan to be in Beijing by tomorrow,” Lydia said, scanning her menu.

“Beijing?” I squinted at my father through the morning sun. “I thought Johannesburg was next. The Konings.” That was who I’d hoped to postpone for a few days. Until after Greece.

“Yes.” My father shifted. Across the table, Cole downed his espresso in one gulp. “There’s been a change of plans.”

I looked at Lydia, but she was staring intently at her menu. “What kind of change of plans?” I said.

My father cleared his throat. “In light of recent events, our time line needs to change. The Wang family in Beijing. The Fredericks in Washington. And that will be all.”

I put my cup back down in its saucer with a clatter. “What about the other families?” He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant.

“We won’t be visiting the others. After meeting these final two, we’ll take a day to consider the options, and then you’ll choose one.”

The coffee turned bitter in my throat. “You said I had two weeks. It’s only been five days.”

My father reached into his briefcase and pulled out a newspaper. He set it on the table in front of me. Murders Around the Globe: Coincidence or Conspiracy? said the headline. “This is getting out of hand. There isn’t time to consider families who aren’t real options.”

I tried to pick up my espresso cup again, but my hands were shaking too hard. “But what about my clues? Finding the tomb? Saving my mom?” I looked around for Jack, but he was posted at the entrance to the restaurant, too far away to hear.

Lydia was still avoiding my gaze. I tried not to be hurt that she hadn’t warned me about this.

My father refolded the newspaper. “I do hope we’ll be able to get your mother back once the mandate is fulfilled. Since your clues haven’t produced anything concrete, this appears to be the only way.”