The Ends of the World (The Conspiracy of Us 3)

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Miguel Reyes approaching. “Time to play thirteenth family,” I murmured.

There was a master of ceremonies for tomorrow who had been gathering information from everyone’s records and putting it together into this initiation ritual, but we couldn’t talk to him. We couldn’t ask anyone directly, in fact. It would look too suspicious. There were a couple of families we could count as allies, but most still looked at us with a mix of awe and skepticism that we—this small outsider girl with strands of pink in her hair and her “husband,” who had been a Keeper for the Dauphin family for years—had suddenly become the Circle’s saviors. The fact that we were suddenly pumping them for information wouldn’t make them less wary. Luc had told us that some of the families were more thorough about passing down history than his, and might know specifics about the initiation, so we had a plan.

Stellan kissed my cheek with an exaggerated wink, like we didn’t have a care in the world besides wearing fancy clothes and dancing and flirting, but when we broke from the dance, he didn’t let go of my hand, and with the others watching I couldn’t make him.

We finished our chat with the Reyes family—we hadn’t expected them to know anything about the ceremony, and they didn’t seem to—and then Stellan placed my hand in the crook of his elbow and guided me off the dance floor toward where George and Marie Frederick, from the American Circle family, stood by an expansive spread of hummus and kebabs and salads.

I went over in my head what we’d discussed about the Fredericks. To make sure none of the families caught on to what we were doing here, we were using ourselves as bait, becoming whatever version of us we thought they’d most respond to.

“Hello, Mr. Frederick,” I said. “Mrs. Frederick.” We asked about the weather back in Washington, DC, where they lived, and Stellan made some small talk about how at least Jerusalem is a dry heat. When we had them smiling, I said casually, “I can’t believe the ceremony is tomorrow. I haven’t even had time to prepare. I mean, I’ve hardly been able to think about anything but—”

I cut off and cast my eyes to the floor.

“Oh, sweetie pie.” Mrs. Frederick had a soft southern accent that sounded strange to my ears after so long away from the United States. She took my free hand in both of hers. “My darling girl. I am so sorry.”

The Fredericks had some vague attachment to me because I was American, and they had also been in that room in Paris just after my mom died. With them, our strategy was to play the victim card. It felt a little gross to exploit our tragedies—by this time, the whole Circle knew that not only had my mom been killed, but that Stellan’s family had died when he was young—but part of being in the Circle was learning to use every advantage you had.

“Do you think—” I sniffled a little and lowered my voice. “Could you tell me a little about the ceremony? What kinds of things happen? I’m just so nervous.”

The Fredericks, we’d heard, were especially interested in Circle ritual, and through the generations had incorporated some aspects of various ceremonies into their own country’s traditions.

They glanced at each other. “You know, honey, it’s hard to say exactly what’ll go on,” Mrs. Frederick said. “I’d be willing to bet there’ll be pledges, so you’ll have to be ready to give yourself up to the Circle, you know, like we all have.”

I stifled a shudder. “Anything else?”

“You kids don’t have to worry yourselves about it. All you’ve got to do is show up. We’ll all help you out,” she said warmly, patting Stellan on the back. We pushed just a little more, but when we could tell we weren’t getting anything more, we thanked her and left.

“That strategy may have backfired,” Stellan muttered.

I nodded. They didn’t want to upset the sad orphan children with too much technical talk. “Zara Koning and Sakura Mikado are over there,” I said. “Give me a few minutes alone with them, then come over.”

He nodded and headed toward the bar. I needed a few minutes away from him anyway. I hoped being alone would ease the tightness in my chest. I wasn’t used to being that close to someone for hours at a time lately, and he’d been right while we were dancing—as numb as I usually felt now, being here around so many memories was opening a few cracks.

Zara Koning, from the South African Circle family, was about my age, and Sakura Mikado, from Japan, was a few years older. I didn’t know either of them well, but I knew they were both too savvy for any of our tactics, so I planned to be blunt.

After we exchanged pleasantries, I dropped my cool exterior. “I need your help,” I said. “Is there anything you can tell me about the ceremony? The rituals are a part of life for you, but for me, they’re still a little weird. No offense. I’d just rather not be blindsided.”

They looked at each other, and Zara’s expression softened. “They’re not making you do the marriage ceremony, right?”

Sakura muttered something under her breath about disgusting patriarchal traditions.

“We’ve already done it, so I don’t think they’re making us repeat it,” I said. Not as long as our romantic display tonight worked. I wasn’t sure what was the worst part of the marriage ceremony: the fact that we would then actually be married, or the part that said the marriage had to be immediately consummated in front of people to be valid. I pushed the conversation back on track. “For the initiation, is there some creepy ritual object you pass around, or . . .”

Zara frowned. “I know at some ceremonies there’s a chalice you drink out of—that’s not that odd, though. Catholics do it every week.”

I laughed a little with her, but my heart quickened. A chalice. That could be the object we were looking for. “Would it be the same chalice that’s been around since the very first initiation ritual?” I said. “That’d be fascinating.”