The Conspiracy of Us (19 page)

“Come look at this,” Jack said. “He starts talking about the mandate here. About how there's no purple-eyed girl, and nobody knows who the One is. He decides someone as important as him shouldn't be forced to depend on the established route to the treasure, and he's going to take a more direct path.” Jack flipped ahead, reading to himself. “There are a few pages about where he's sent troops to search, and then, all of a sudden, it stops cold. Back to battles and strategy. No more mention of the tomb, the mandate,
nothing.
”

I perched next to Jack on the chaise. “Where's the last page he talks about the tomb?”

Jack turned back to it, and I pushed carefully on the binding. “There!” It was nearly hidden, but there were unmistakably the ragged edges of a ripped-out page.

“It's like he found it, decided immediately to hide the fact—maybe because he didn't like what he found—and never spoke of it again,” Jack said, frowning.

“Until he hid this page in the diary he kept on his deathbed,” I said. “Did we look closely at the rest of
that
diary?”

Jack shook his head. “Not yet.”

While he did, I made a list of things we knew about the One on the little notepad on the vanity. “The One is a member of one of the families,” I said out loud, “meant to marry the girl. ‘Walk through fire and does not burn,' it said in the mandate.”

I wrote that down, and wrote
(Means: good in a crisis?)
beside it.
“New Achilles”—from Napoleon's diary. (Invincible? Near invincible besides one flaw? Line of mandate mentions something about the One “becoming invincible.”)

Jack stood and paced, diary open in one hand, flipping pages with the other. “Oh,” he finally said. “I don't know if this is anything
new,
but it's something.”

We both sat on the edge of the bed, and he let the book rest open at a page filled with nearly illegible scribbles and sketches. He pointed to one scrawl, in French. “
Walk through fire unharmed. Not burned. He lives.
” Under it were hastily sketched flames, licking at the words.

He pointed to another scrawl. “
Heir of Achilles.
”

“Heir?”

Jack shrugged. “Like ‘the new Achilles' in that line? But what it means, I don't know. It sounds like another metaphor.”

It did.

“It's like he's trying to figure out who the One is, too. Why would he care if he'd already found the tomb?”

“We have to keep in mind that these are the ramblings of somebody who's about to die,” Jack said. “But it seems undeniable that he did find something.”

I added
Heir of Achilles
to my list. Jack closed the diary and my stomach churned.

“If this is it,” I said, tearing the page off the notepad, “we're not much closer to knowing who the One is than we were before.”

Jack scraped a hand through his hair. “If the Order touches him, I'll kill them myself,” he said quietly, then out loud, he said, “We have to talk to Stellan. We have to go to the ball and find him.”

“To the
ball
?” I
had
considered earlier that my father would be there, but it was starting to feel like tempting fate too much. “What do you think he's going to be able to figure out that we haven't?”

Jack stacked the diaries in a neat pile. “I honestly don't know. But don't we have to try? I promise, no one will even notice you there. It'll be fine.”

A fleeting image darted through my mind of the tiny photo that used to be in my locket. Dark hair, dark brows, like mine. The reason I'd wanted to come back to France in the first place.

“It'd be better to show him—”

We both froze when a knock came on the door.

“Just a second,” I called as Jack bolted for the window.

“I'll get to the service door outside,” he whispered. “Hide the books. I'll see you at the ball. Please.”

“Just go!” He was out the window before I could finish the words.

I glanced frantically around and finally shoved the stack of books under the bed. I opened the door, heart knocking against my ribs.

Luc stood on the other side, garment bag in hand. “Hello,
cherie.
” He bent to kiss both my cheeks. “I got your message and brought your dress for the ball.”

He handed it to me, and I unzipped the top of the bag to find the Prada dress, with a winged, glittering silver mask resting over its hanger. I'd forgotten they'd said the ball was a masquerade. “They saved the dress for me, after all that?”

Luc smiled vaguely, and only then did I notice he was still in the same clothes as last night, hair flattened, eyes dark. I set the garment bag on the bed. “Everything okay?”

He shook his head. “There was another attack last night. Colette LeGrand and Liam Blackstone's limousine was caught in a collision on the way here from the airport.”

I gasped out loud.

“Colette made it.” Luc's voice hitched. “Liam didn't.”

“What?” I sat down hard on the bed. The Order had killed Liam Blackstone? I pictured his easy laugh, him patting Luc on the back as they talked about soccer, and Luc's shy smile. The last movie I'd seen him in, where he'd played a vampire, with comically bad white makeup.

“Luc,” I choked. “I am so sorry.”

Luc nodded curtly, but his chin wobbled. I got up and wrapped my arms around him. He hesitated, then hugged me back hard, burying his face in my neck.

After a minute, I felt him take a deep breath, and he pulled away. “I'm headed to the hospital to see Colette. I'll be back to escort you to the ball.”

I looked up sharply. “The ball's still happening, when there was an attack
last night
?”

Luc pursed his lips. “We can't give in to their scare tactics. That's what terrorists want. The show must go on,
cherie,
just with extra security. And though Colette is part of our family, we're hosting the ball, so I will have to be there, too.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I'll see you this evening.”

I nodded and shut the door behind him, then sat back on the bed. I unzipped the garment bag and touched the dress with one finger, transported back to when I thought the glamour of this world was the most extraordinary part about it.

I couldn't believe Liam Blackstone was dead.

I couldn't believe Jack and I were considering giving the people who killed him license to kill someone else.

I couldn't believe that we were at the end of Mr. Emerson's clues and still had no idea what they meant, and that we were running out of time to save his life. Would my going to the ball really do anything?

I rubbed my eyes. On top of everything, my contacts were killing me after wearing them for this long; I just wanted to take them out and sleep. But I couldn't. It wasn't worth the risk of someone seeing my eye color. This one tiny thing sent me over the edge, and frustrated tears built up in the back of my throat.

I swallowed them down. Crying wouldn't help my itching eyes, and it definitely wouldn't help Mr. Emerson. I took a deep breath, put contact drops in each eye, and curled up on the bed next to the Prada dress, where I fell into a restless sleep.

E
ven though Luc was a Dauphin, we'd waited in a security line and gone through a metal detector to get inside. Now our packed elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors slid open.

“
Alors,
time for a ball,” Luc said, but he sounded even less excited about it than I was. His eyes were still haunted, dark smudges standing out against his pale skin.

When I'd woken up, my head a little clearer after a couple hours of sleep, I'd realized Jack was right. The two of us had done all we could, and it wasn't enough. We had to tell Stellan everything, just in case. Mr. Emerson's life depended on it.

Plus, it would distract me from the fact that there was still no sign of my mom.

I adjusted the silver mask over my face, happy for the anonymity.

“Have I told you how breathtaking you look,
cherie
?” Luc spun me out to arm's length, and my dress swished around my feet. “This silk drapes fabulously on you.”

Despite everything, the dress had taken my breath away when I changed into it, just like it had at Prada. I remembered what I'd been thinking then, too. How different I looked. Like maybe the person wearing this dress could find what she was missing.

I reached for my locket and found the pretty silver teardrop necklace the store had sent instead. My locket was broken, tucked into my bag, in my room. I wished I'd put it back on. I didn't feel free anymore without it. I felt naked.

“Thanks,” I said tightly. “It's—”

We stepped out of the elevator and into the ballroom, and the view stole the words from my mouth. Chandeliers and dancing candlelight gave the space a darkly romantic glow, and streamers hung from the ceiling like it was raining gold. Adding to the illusion, the crisscrossing metal beams outside were lit as well, like we were floating hundreds of feet in the air in a luminescent web. I supposed that was almost true. The ball was on the third level of the Eiffel Tower.

“It's a gorgeous dress,” I finished. That much was true. The dress was beautiful. The ball was beautiful. I was in Paris, inside the Eiffel Tower, wearing Prada. I still couldn't believe that.

A group of people stopped Luc, and for the next ten minutes, he chatted and introduced me as the distant cousin I was supposed to be, and it all felt incredibly inappropriate when someone had died last night. There
was
a damper over the festivities—laughs weren't as loud as they could be, and everyone offered Luc their condolences—but they certainly weren't acting like their family and friends were recent casualties of an ongoing war. Maybe the Circle has been through so much that a little spilled blood no longer meant much to them. Or maybe, like Luc said, they just had to keep up appearances.

If I thought about that too much, I'd go crazy. So instead, I searched faces. I quickly found a downside to the anonymity of the masks. Even if I knew exactly what he looked like, there was no way I could find my father. And dark hair and purple eyes by themselves weren't enough to tell anything at all.

I slipped my arm through Luc's again. “Are your parents here?” I hoped at least to see Monsieur Dauphin without a mask on.

“It's too dangerous for my mother to come.” Luc looked around the party distractedly. “The rest of us can take a risk, but a pregnant woman carrying the girl from the mandate? This party is technically for her, but she's staying home. And I don't believe Father's here yet.”

I twisted a lock of hair around my finger. Maybe everyone would take off their masks at some point and I could think about my father then. Right now, I needed to find Jack, and the two of us needed to locate Stellan.

“Can I find you later?” I said to Luc.

He nodded. “Are you looking for Jack? You've been hanging out with him a lot.”

I stiffened. If Luc had noticed, other people had definitely noticed. I muttered something about talking to the Saxons.

“Fine,” Luc said with an exaggerated sigh, stroking the ends of my curls, then taking my face in his hands. “Leave me
all
alone.” He kissed me on both cheeks with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Just be sure to save me a dance.”

I promised, and left him talking to some diplomats as I made my way through the mingling crowds. Around the central dance floor, dozens of small tables flickered with candlelight, and at the end of the room opposite the entrance, a small orchestra played a lively waltz, the sound of violins and cellos mingling with the perfume of hundreds of pink peonies.

I was making my way past the dance floor toward a less-crowded corner where I might have a better vantage point when I saw Stellan. He stood alone against a wall of windows, talking on his phone, nearly blending into the dark.

I could have approached him then, but I wanted to find Jack first and go over our plan. I'd keep an eye on where Stellan went from here, and we could find him in a few minutes. I turned to go, but then I heard him. I stopped. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said Stellan was speaking almost
sweetly.

Curious, I inched closer—and only then did I notice Madame Dauphin approaching his quiet corner from the opposite direction, her hand on her full belly.

Stellan hung up the phone and snapped to attention, which looked vaguely comical, considering the gold mask perched on his forehead.

Unfortunately, I was right in his line of vision now. I pressed my back to the wall of windows, partially hidden by a jutting pillar.

“Madame,” Stellan said. He wore a slim black tuxedo that made his shoulders look especially sharp. “I thought you weren't coming tonight.”

“Hugo and the security staff decided I wasn't coming,” Madame Dauphin said. “You know that
I
prefer to do things my own way.” She wore a draping black dress, and with her severe blond hair and red lips, she looked both frightening and beautiful, like the evil queen in a Disney movie.

“So?” she said impatiently. “What have you found? I was expecting a report on her earlier in the day.”

Her
?

Stellan darted a glance toward the center of the room, like he wished he was anywhere else. It was odd to see him look uncomfortable. “I've found nothing of concern,” he said.

Madame Dauphin stepped closer, and Stellan stepped back. “You and I both know there's
something
going on. The Order only attacks people who matter. And then you let her run off, after I told you specifically to keep an eye on her. Lucky for you, she came back today with that Saxon Keeper.”

Stellan flinched, and so did I. I'd been right. Not only was Stellan watching me,
Madame Dauphin
was, too. And she'd noticed Jack and me. I pressed farther back into the shadows.

“I told you I'd report any findings immediately,” Stellan said.

“I hope so. You know what it means if you keep anything from me.”

Stellan bowed his head. “Yes, Madame. I am quite aware.”

“In fact,” Madame Dauphin said, looking around and lowering her voice even more, so I had to strain to hear her, “I wonder if we shouldn't capture the girl, to be sure. We can hold her until we're able to investigate more thoroughly.”

I went cold all over.

Stellan looked behind him, almost at me, and I held my breath. “She belongs to another family. I don't think that would be looked upon kindly.”

Madame Dauphin waved a slim hand. “The Saxons have hardly acknowledged her existence. I want you to take her and hold her, just for now. Make sure there's nothing inappropriate going on.”

Stellan opened his mouth, but Madame Dauphin cut him off.

“Senator. Hello.” Madame Dauphin's voice rose an octave. “So glad you could celebrate with us.”

A man in a suit took Madame Dauphin's arm, and the two of them walked away. Stellan watched them go before disappearing into the crowd.

I waited until I couldn't see him anymore, then crept out of my hiding place. I needed to find Jack before Stellan could find me, we had to be careful what we told him, then I had to get out of here.

I stuck to the shadows around the edge of the dance floor. Not having any peripheral vision was starting to drive me crazy, but now I had even less interest in taking my mask off. Madame Dauphin could have spies everywhere. So I looked for Jack as well as I could from my limited perspective.

The CEO of one of the biggest software companies in the world ate a canapé and frowned at the crowd. A Victoria's Secret model tossed her long blond hair and leaned on the shoulder of a short, round man in a turban. A tiny white-haired woman smiled up at a basketball player even I recognized, and I didn't watch basketball at all. When the woman turned to set down her champagne glass, I did a double take. It was the queen of England.

Still no Jack.

The plume of an elaborate peacock mask skimmed my shoulder. I jumped, and the woman wearing it laughed drunkenly.

I let out a breath through pursed lips. Calm down. Think. If Jack was here, he'd be looking for me, too. I found an empty space by a pillar and, when I was sure no one was looking at me, pushed my mask onto my forehead. There were Keepers and security posted around the room, all in matching black tuxedos, but despite the black masks, I could tell none of them was him.

My eyes flitted all the way around the room—and then, no more than thirty feet away, I saw him. He was standing against a pillar next to the musicians, feet apart, hands in his pockets, searching just like I was.

My gaze lingered on the cut of the tuxedo jacket hugging his shoulders and tapering to his waist. How was it possible that he got better looking every time I saw him, and that, as much as I tried not to, I
still
noticed? And still couldn't stop remembering the feel of his hands cupping my face, me running my fingers through his hair.

The only thing that feels right is as wrong as it can get,
he'd said.

It drove me crazy that I wasn't angry. That half of me wanted to slip my hand into his and face everything together, as a
we
again. But the other half wanted to forget anything could ever possibly happen between us. The wanting—and not having—hurt too much, and that was exactly why I'd always tried to avoid it.

I made my way toward Jack, the music getting louder as I came up beside him.

He whipped around, and his eyes, behind his mask, went from high alert to relief—and what I could swear was something more as he took in my dress.

It stabbed into my gut. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” His voice was nearly drowned out by the swell of the violins.

I waited for the music to sink back to a normal volume and glanced back at the dance floor. Jack had chosen this spot well—nobody seemed to be watching us at the moment. “Madame Dauphin wants Stellan to hide me away and interrogate me.”

“What?” Jack pushed his mask to the top of his head and led me to a small bar table in a dark corner.

I took my own mask off, carefully detangling the strap from my hair. “I don't know exactly
what
she suspects, but she knows something's going on.”

Jack tapped his mask against the table and frowned. “Well, now that you've told me, they won't be able to get away with it, but I'd rather they not even try. Do you want me to talk to Stellan about Fitz by myself? I'll get one of our security staff to watch out for you until I get back.”

The orchestra struck up a waltz. I tucked a curl behind my ear, looking behind me again. “No,” I said. “I want to hear what he says. I think we talk to him, you stay with me so he can't do anything, and then I get out of here.”

“You don't want to try to find your father?” The candles in the center of the table cast flickering shadows on Jack's face.

I frowned. I didn't realize he knew that was my plan. Besides, that was looking like a dead end, too, unless everyone took their masks off. “I don't think it's going to happen tonight.”

Jack took a breath. “Avery, I should tell you—”

“Jack Bishop,” a girl's voice said teasingly. Jack whipped around.

A girl about my age sashayed toward us in a red dress with a cascade of ruffles that ended in a mermaid hem. She pushed sideswept dark bangs off a feathered red mask. Jack locked his hands behind his back.

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, in a pretty, proper British accent.

Jack glanced back at me. “Lydia,” he said. “I was . . . Lydia, this is Avery West. Avery, meet Lydia Saxon.”

My fingers tightened on the mask in my hand. Lydia Saxon. Alistair Saxon's daughter, I assumed.

“Avery West? As in, the cousin we've heard about but not yet seen? Where have you been hiding her?” She gave Jack a playful shove and turned to me. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” There was something disconcerting about this girl. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I could swear she was looking at me funny, too.

“Jack,” Lydia said. She looked me up and down so quickly, I would have missed it if I hadn't been watching her. “My father wants to speak with you. I'm sure he and Cole will want to meet Avery, too.”

“Thanks, Lydia.” Jack gave her a tight smile. Unlike Stellan and Elodie with Luc, Jack seemed to actually treat Lydia as his employer. “We'll be just one second.”

Lydia waved her fingers and headed back onto the dance floor. When she was far enough away that I shouldn't have been watching her anymore, she shot one last glance over her shoulder and frowned.

“Let's find Stellan quickly, then,” Jack said. He was all efficiency, but I could sense the tension in his face. “It sounds like the Saxons are looking for me. Cole is Lydia's twin brother. They're Alistair Saxon's children.”

Jack seemed to only ramble like this when he was nervous. I watched Lydia go. “You didn't tell her anything about me, did you?”