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

We froze. She turned back to the screen.

“Take the vaccine!” I shouted. “Drink the vial! Now! Everybody—Keepers, too. You’re going to die if you don’t.”

Arjun Rajesh took his, then handed a second one to his Keeper. So did the Mikados and the Vasilyevs, and surprisingly, the Emirs. A few more families held their vials nervously, watching those who had taken the vaccine for any sign of imminent death.

“Take it!” I yelled again. I looked to Stellan, desperate. His shirt fell open at the collar, and I saw our tattoo, dark and strong and sure on his chest.

Our tattoo. The thirteenth family’s.

I touched Stellan’s chest and took a breath. “I order you to take the vaccine.”

“Yes,” Stellan murmured, but only a few people heard me above the commotion. Stellan squeezed my hand and nodded to Lydia.

I let go of him and turned to my sister. Stellan’s voice boomed across the room behind me, “We are the thirteenth family of the Circle of Twelve. We’re your leaders. And we order you to take the vaccine we’ve given you. We order you by blood.”

Without looking to see whether they were responding, I inched toward Lydia.

She was huddled against the balcony railing, gulping back sobs, wiping the phone’s screen on her shirt. Behind her, the worshippers in the square had heard the gunshots and seen the activity, and the square had gone quiet. A sea of faces turned up to us, tens of thousands—hundreds of thousands—of people expecting their pope to give his blessing, but instead getting this.

“Don’t, Lydia. You don’t have to infect the Circle.”

She looked up at me, shaking and wild eyed, and pointed the gun at me again. “I do. I have to. I promised. It’s the only way. He was right.”

“What?” I held my hands up. “Who was right?”

“He said we’d never have to worry about our family being hurt again.” She dragged her sleeve across her tearstained face. “He helped me before, but then he was gone. I had to do it alone. Until yesterday. He said this would be the only way to make sure everything I set in motion could happen. That if all the family heads were gone, things would be easier. And he was right. They’re turning on us. I should have done it earlier.”

“Who are you talking about?” I was right—someone had been behind Lydia’s schemes all along, and it wasn’t Alistair. I had a sudden disturbing thought. Had something sent her a lot further over the edge than I’d realized? Was this all in her head?

“I didn’t want Oliver to die, Avery.” I startled at the sudden change in topic, but she went on, “How could I possibly want that? He was my brother. But he did die. I was part of it, and I didn’t even realize it. It wasn’t Cole’s fault, either. It was—it was all this. It’s taken everything from us. And he said—”

I fell to the ground beside my sister. Beside our dead father. “Who are you talking about?” I said again.

“I don’t know!” she shrieked. “I never met him. He was Oliver’s friend. He said he’d help make sure it never happened again. That our family was safe. That the Circle would be better off in the long run. He was the only one who would help me.”

“It’s okay—” I tried to make my voice soothing, and inched closer to her, but she pulled the gun again. I put my hands back up. “All of your family is gone, Lydia. Whoever was telling you to do this was wrong. Stop before more people die. It’s over.”

She shook her head again, frantically, glancing at the phone’s screen. “He said no one would understand. He said I was the only one strong enough to do it. It would have worked if it hadn’t been for you.”

I surreptitiously tried to reach for the phone, but she held it out of my reach, her thumb over the screen.

“If you release the virus in here, you’ll die, too,” I said softly, changing tactics. “You think you have a cure, but you don’t. Don’t do it.”

Lydia looked down at Alistair again—at our father, who looked so much like both of us—and burst into tears. She lowered her hand and I took the phone out of it.

I rubbed my face. “Now tell your side to put the guns down, and we’ll talk like civilized—”

The doors opened. It seemed like everyone with guns couldn’t decide whether to point them at the door or at each other. Someone walked in. A priest.

The priest was holding an ornate metal ball on a chain, the kind they swung during Mass to spread incense. Smoke came from inside the ball, wafting up toward the ceiling.

The priest pushed back his hood, and my heart stuttered.

It was Fitz.

No. He couldn’t be here. He was going to try to do something heroic to save us, but I couldn’t watch him get killed. Again.

“Jack!” I screamed.

He was already pushing past people to the door. “Get out of here,” he yelled to Fitz. “It’s not safe—”

Fitz held up a hand and looked around the room. Everyone was paralyzed. Those who knew him had thought he was dead. Those who didn’t had no idea who this “priest” was. Smoke still poured from the holes in the contraption.

The vaccine. It had to be. Nisha hadn’t thought they could aerosolize it and get the concentration high enough to work, but they must have.

Fitz’s gaze finally landed on me, and he made a beeline for the balcony.

“I’m okay,” I called.

“You’re stronger than that,” he said.

I jumped up.

But Fitz looked past me. “You’re stronger than that, Lydia,” he said.

Now I froze. “What?”

“What?” Lydia echoed, and behind Fitz, I saw the same sentiment on Jack’s face, and Elodie’s.