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  “Heyyyyy! Xavier!” A tall, very tan man with an impressive mustache and slicked-back hair opens the thick glass door at the rear of the cabin. He shakes Xavier’s hand over the boat’s side. “Come aboard, guys!”

  He sounds American. I’m weirdly relieved—maybe because I won’t need a translator. If I survive this, I’m going to learn every new language I can. I’ve never felt dumber.

  “Welcome aboard the Beauty Queen. She’s named after my future wife,” the guy says, arm outstretched to showcase his boat. His teeth are so white, they can’t be real. They match the cotton shorts that reach just above his knee; his legs are just as hairy as his face. “My name is Keller. And no, I’m not related to Helen.” He waits for a beat; Henry and I don’t respond. “Tough crowd, X. Who are these kids again?”

  “Trouble One and Trouble Two,” Xavier says, nodding toward the boat. “Let’s get going.”

  We board by stepping onto the teak deck that stretches from the rear of the boat to the glass wall that Keller emerged from. White leather bench seats are built into the boat’s uncovered exterior deck. We follow Keller inside. I feel like I should wash my hands before touching anything. More white leather, polished wood floors, brass and teak everything.

  Keller points out the cockpit; tinted narrow windows stretch along the sides and front of the boat giving the driver a clear view ahead. He gives us the grand tour—this vessel has three staterooms below, a galley with stainless steel appliances, a sitting area with leather chairs, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a well-appointed bathroom complete with a shower and flushing toilet.

  “There’s so much space,” I say.

  “Looks can be deceiving, right?” he says, winking at me. “It’s why the Beauty Queen has such a big nose.” He holds his hand up and speaks behind it. “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He opens a door to our left. “This stateroom is tight, but perfect for kiddos. Which you are. Two bunks—one person to a mattress, if you please. No teen pregnancies on the Beauty Queen, thank you very much!” I don’t have to look at Henry to know his face is as beet red as mine. “Galley is here, obviously,” he says, opening the well-stocked fridge. “Everything you might want to nosh on. Per X’s instructions, I hit the market first thing.”

  It bugs me how he calls Xavier “X.” I hope it bugs Xavier too.

  Keller shows us where the life jackets are stashed and explains a few basic safety procedures about what we should do if the vessel founders.

  “The Queen moves quick—top speed is about sixty-one miles per hour but we’ll be cruising at about fifty, fifty-two, depending on chop. You can sit here in the main sitting area or in your cabin, but if you want to be on the exterior deck, life jackets are required. That way if you fly into the Mediterranean, you can bob like a cork until I can come about and scoop you up.”

  Sounds . . . terrifying.

  “Our range is about 400 miles, give or take, so we’ll be making a stop at Porto Torres at the northern tip of Sardinia to fuel up. I gotta run onshore for a pickup, but we won’t be there long. Half hour, tops.”

  “How long will it take us to get there?” I ask.

  “To the Bay of Naples? Hmmm, about twelve to fourteen hours, including gas-up. Gonna be a lot of blue. Forecast calls for clear skies but the Mediterranean can be tricky the farther out we get just ’cos of the time of year. Either of you landlubbers get seasick?”

  “Is landlubber a real word?” I ask.

  Keller smiles and points at me. “This one has a pulse!”

  Xavier clears his throat. “Shall we get underway?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  I’m not sure if I’m meant to see it, but Xavier handing Keller a very fat envelope tells me that our sun-kissed captain probably isn’t doing this job for the joy of philanthropy.

  Once Keller is up the stairs and out of earshot, Xavier turns to us. “Stay below deck and away from windows until we’re offshore. I’ll let you know when you can come out. If you need to puke, do so in the bathroom.” He lowers his voice. “As always, packs close. Keller is an old friend, but he’s not La Vérité. Stay down here until I tell you otherwise.” He hurries up the stairs and shuts the main cabin door behind him.

  The boat purrs to life. Through the dark, thin side windows, I see Keller hopping onto the dock as he unties, and then he’s back on the boat.

  “Keller seems nice,” Henry says.

  “As long as he can steer a boat without crashing into Italy, that’s all I care about.”

  Henry sits on the couch’s edge, his bisected eyebrow lifting in question. “We need a plan,” he whispers.

  “I have to use the bathroom first. Meet me in the stateroom in five minutes.” I take my pack with me, even though the bathroom is barely big enough for the both of us. But . . . I want to try to get a cell signal before we get too far away from land. Double-checking the door is locked, I dig through, unwrapping Baby’s cell phone from the socks at the bottom. I power on, holding my breath that the signal won’t somehow be discovered, but after a whole minute of staring at the narrow wood and brass door, I’m clear—no one pounds on it.

  A flood of text messages—all from Violet, their tone progressively more panicked—and the last few texts ask about Xavier.

  Hey, Vi. I can’t answer all your ?s right now.

  Henry & I are safe. Can’t wait to see you

  again. Tell me something from home.

  Gen? OMG! Are you OK? Lucian said you

  were kidnapped into a cult?! Is that man

  hurting you? We are FREAKING OUT!!!

  Not kidnapped. Totally ridiculous.

  But maybe they brainwashed you so you

  don’t know what you’re saying?

  My brain is still plenty dirty. LOL

  LOL . . . That sounds like my Gen. Are you

  really in Europe? I gotta tell Ash you’re OK.

  Vi, let’s just keep this convo between you and

  me. Like our tea parties!

  But everyone’s so worried. When are you

  coming home? Who’s that guy on the news?

  He’s related to me. It’s fine, I swear.

  K. Something from home: Houdini squeezed out of their open pen & figured out how to open the kitchen door. He got into the fridge & made a huge mess. Ate so much fruit, he’s still pooping.

  I laugh into my sleeve. Houdini is the smartest baby elephant ever.

  Also Mara Dunn came back from Quebec to help search. My blood runs cold and I drop the phone onto my backpack like it’s a snake, staring at it for a minute before the screen lights up again.

  Geni?

  GTG, Vi. I love you.

  Power off.

  Vi still knows Aveline as Mara Dunn. And she’s back in Eaglefern, with my family, my animals?

  I’m going to be sick.

  Bent in half over the compact vanity, I splash cold water on my face, letting the tap run over the heat stampeding through my hands.

  Aveline is with my family.

  Aveline is near the elephants.

  Which means she’s not in Europe with Lucian.

  Is this part of their plan? If they know I’m worried about what’s going on at home, then I won’t be focused on the mission ahead?

  This is impossible.

  “Gen?” Henry says from outside the thin door.

  I rewrap the cell phone and bury it in my backpack. Do I tell him that I have it? Do I risk him taking it or worse, telling Xavier? He wouldn’t do that, would he? He might, if he thinks I’m endangering our mission. Which I am. That cell phone has to ping off somewhere. Someone will trace it.

  I should flush it. Throw it overboard. I plunge my hand into the backpack again—

  But it’s my only connection to the outside world that isn’t controlled by Xavier.

  This whole situation is controlled by Xavier. And even if he has Nutesh’s trust from working together for nearly five centuries, Xavier has not yet earned mine. Since we
’ve been with him, a man has died, and another nearly did.

  I zip my bag closed, take a deep breath, and open the bathroom door to Henry’s worried face. “I thought maybe you got sucked into the toilet,” he says.

  “If only.” I nod toward the stateroom door. “We need to talk.”

  Our shared cabin is small, but cozy, our beds bunked. I lock the door and then move the plump white bed pillows on the lower bunk and replace them with my pack.

  “The look on your face is making me slightly more nervous than usual,” Henry says, sitting on the bed. I’m careful not to touch him, but I lean closer so he can hear me. I don’t have one of Xavier’s sound-masking devices, and I have no clue if this boat is bugged.

  “I think staying with Xavier is dangerous,” I say, “especially now that his picture is on the news. People were looking for us with Baby, but now, somehow they’ve figured out that he’s not with us so they’ll be looking for Xavier. His refusal to change the way he looks—”

  “His eyes would give him away anyway,” Henry says.

  “Exactly.”

  “I knew the moment we met him back at the safe house that he was Aveline’s father.”

  “Right? So if we noticed it, other people might. He’s a target. Which means we are too.”

  “As if we weren’t already,” Henry says, adjusting his bent leg on the mattress. “Your idea in the car—how do you propose I get my hands on him, and what happens after?”

  “It would be great if we could do it while he sleeps—”

  “Guessing he doesn’t sleep so heavily to not notice my hands on him, digging through his thoughts.”

  “You heard him snore last night,” I say. Henry smiles. “We need an opportunity. Maybe if I pick a fight with him or rile him up somehow. You move in to separate us.”

  “You could just throw some extra electricity into a shove and put him on his knees. I could help him up.”

  “By his bare hands . . .”

  “It’s plausible. Flimsy, but plausible,” he says.

  “The point is, we need to see where we’re going next. Naples is a big city. And then once we have that information, we need to ditch him. If he’s with us, we will get caught,” I say.

  “But how will the Guardians know to trust us without Xavier?”

  “I haven’t worked out that part yet. I’m still trying to figure out an escape,” I say. “Unless . . . didn’t the boat guy say we have to stop in Sardinia to refuel?” I ask.

  Henry’s eyes widen. “Genevieve, we don’t know how to get from Sardinia to the Bay of Naples.”

  “That’s what GPS is for.”

  He laughs under his breath. “You crazy circus kids and your unquenchable thirst for adventure.”

  “It’s genetic.” A small smile escapes.

  “All right, so say we can maneuver our way to Naples without Xavier on board. Then what? How do we find the next Guardian?”

  I pause as a plan blooms in my head. “We don’t. We’re going to let the Guardian find us.”

  22

  HENRY AND I AGREE TO AN IDEA THAT WILL REQUIRE ACTION SOONER THAN later. If we want to ditch Xavier before Naples, I need to create an opportunity for Henry to get his hands on Xavier’s skin and hope it’s enough time to find the necessary information.

  Our boat’s captain wasn’t lying when he said the kitchen was stocked. Henry offers me a juicy slice from the huge orange he’s peeled. Our stateroom smells amazing.

  “Man, we do not get oranges like this at home,” I say. Henry smiles and offers me another slice. I notice a slight shake in his hand.

  “Don’t be nervous,” I say. “We’ll work it out. Trust me.”

  He nods. “I do. I trust you.” He leans in and kisses my cheek.

  “You heard the captain, sir,” I tease. “No teenage pregnancy on the Beauty Queen.”

  When the burn begins in my left forearm, I assume it’s because I’m overexcited from trying to reassure Henry while mulling over the steps we need to take to achieve our objective. But to have it start in the soft skin above my wrist is new. I rub at my arm, but the burning quickly intensifies into a painful, stinging itch, that feeling after a scrape when you pour water onto the open skin.

  “Help me get my jacket off,” I say, dropping the fruit onto the plate. “Please!” Henry obliges, just as the pain worsens to a string of relentless beestings, burning and aching all at once.

  “What’s going on? Genevieve?”

  I can’t answer him because I don’t know what the hell is happening, and it hurts too much.

  “Shirt too! Shirt off!” Henry struggles with my tight-fitting sleeves as I fold in half, cradling the painful arm against my stomach.

  “Jesus, you’re bleeding!”

  Nausea buffets through me and my head aches suddenly, burning behind my eyes as if I were preparing to heal someone. Thing is, I can’t heal myself, so this uncontrolled energy is going to end up somewhere unintentional.

  Before I can get the sleeve pulled all the way up, the pain hits nine out of ten, and I’m on the floor.

  “Help me!” I scream.

  “Gen, what do I do? What’s happening?”

  Xavier will kill me for making such a racket. Henry grabs my wrist and fights to hold my arm still; I scream again as he peels the last of my shirt off.

  Banging on the door. Henry lets go of me long enough to unlock it.

  “What the hell is going on in here? Can you not—” Xavier stops speaking midsentence, his eyes fixed on my forearm. I’m trying so hard not to lose consciousness, but this pain is something else.

  “Please—help me. What is going on . . . ?”

  An intercom speaker crackles to life on the wall. “Everything okay down there?” Keller says.

  Xavier stands and depresses the red reply button. “Diana saw a spider. Everything’s under control.”

  “Big beasties in the Mediterranean, baby. Just throw it overboard. Don’t smear bug guts on my carpet!”

  “Breathe, Gen,” Henry whispers. “Hold still. Let us have a look.”

  “It hurts, goddammit! What is happening to me?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Xavier hisses, kneeling beside me, taking hold of my arm. I’m overcome with pain shivers. “What in the hell is this . . . ?”

  “God, it hurts . . . it hurts so much.”

  “Henry, get something for the blood. Who has so much fucking white on a boat?” he grumbles. “And a cold cloth for her forehead. Her eyes keep rolling back, and the last thing we need is her passing out.” Xavier’s still got a firm hold on my wrist, careful to avoid my charged hands, but I can’t keep my eyelids open. The boat has picked up speed in the last hour, and the constant bounce and whoosh worsens my queasiness.

  “Genevieve . . . Genevieve, wake up,” Xavier says, patting my cheek harder than he needs to.

  “I’m still awake, dumb-ass,” I slur. The original pain slowly dials back, but I’m winded, like I’ve been running. Xavier slides a towel under my arm.

  “Wring the washcloth out over the wound,” he says to Henry. “Genevieve, this is going to sting.”

  When the water hits whatever is going on, I howl.

  I crack my eyes open and watch Xavier’s face go rigid. He lifts my arm gently, pointing to where he wants Henry to squeeze more water. I suck in through my teeth.

  “Can you stop with the water already?”

  “I need to clean it off. So I can read it,” Xavier says. “What?”

  Henry’s eyes lock with mine, and I struggle to sit upright. He maneuvers around Xavier and helps me.

  On the soft pale skin of my left arm, Aveline Darrow has inscribed a message just for me:

  Say hello to Daddy for me.

  23

  XAVIER OPENS THE NARROW CLOSET AND SCROUNGES THROUGH THE SHELVES until he finds a dark blanket. He strips the bunk to the waterproof mattress and then spreads out the coarse wool knit to protect Keller’s precious boat.

  “Get her up on the
bed. We have to stop this bleeding,” Xavier says. I hear him, and I see them both, but barely.

  “She did this to Baby,” I say, my voice a whisper. “Xavier, it can kill me. Please, tell me you know how to fix this. She’s your daughter too. Tell me you know how to stop her.”

  Xavier’s jaw pulsates, a look I’m getting too used to when he’s dealing with me.

  Henry presses the back of his fingers against my forehead. “She’s burning up.”

  “Backpack. Antibiotics.”

  Xavier spins and kneels with my pack in front of him, pulling stuff out until he gets to the medical kit Nutesh and Thierry put together. Panic flashes like a popped light bulb in my head—Baby’s phone!

  But he pulls out the medical kit and rolled sterile bandages without finding it.

  When I brave a look at my arm, blood oozes like lava from the words she’s cut into my flesh.

  “And I thought I had daddy issues,” I say. Henry smiles, but he looks terrified.

  “Glad to see your sense of humor hasn’t been carved out,” Xavier says. I think there might even be a hint of a smirk on his dark face, but I don’t want to get too excited.

  Xavier grabs one of the extra towels and throws it over my chest. I guess seeing his newfound daughter in nothing but her bra is uncomfortable for him. I grew up with a circus. There’s no such thing as modesty. He then pulls the injectables with my name written on the packaging and stabs my outer biceps once, then twice.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry. I’m giving you the injections now,” he deadpans.

  “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.” I close my eyes. “How many more years are we going to be on this boat?”

  “At least until you’re old enough to move out and get a job,” Xavier jokes.

  “Did Keller give you something other than tobacco to smoke, ’cos all of a sudden you sprouted a personality.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s temporary.” The warmth from the injected medicines washes through me.

  Xavier quietly gives Henry instructions for when he returns above deck: more cool rags, keep pressure on the wounds, watch the fever. “She should be pretty loopy for a bit, but calling Nutesh via sat phone out here is risky.” He lowers his voice. “Keller is a good enough guy, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”