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  And I need her now.

  Alicia, show me the elephants. Show me they’re okay. Please tell Gertrude I am so, so sorry.

  I hold my breath, willing her ethereal shape to appear. Of course, it doesn’t.

  I have to find a cell phone. I need to get a message to Vi and Ash that what Lucian is saying is a lie—and that I need them to keep the elephants safe.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” I ask.

  “We’re going to be leaving a little sooner, ma chère.” Nutesh glides into the room. “Dress, eat, and meet me in the hall in thirty minutes, s’il vous plaît. We have work to do.”

  3

  HENRY’S ARM IS WRAPPED TIGHTLY AROUND MY SHOULDERS, FOR WHICH I’M grateful—it does double duty of calming my nerves and keeping me warm. We follow Nutesh, Thierry—his lead soldier and bodyguard—and Montague into the lush gardens. It’s such a relief to see Montague here with us, learning that he was never just a member of the Cinzio Traveling Players Company but one of Nutesh’s soldiers, put in place to watch over my mother and me. It’s one lie I don’t mind.

  “Shouldn’t Baby be a part of this?” I ask Nutesh.

  “He is helping Hélène in the kitchen and will join us shortly,” he says. But I’m anxious without Baby here, without him hearing whatever is to come.

  We approach a huge greenhouse. The men walk with purpose, Thierry and Montague constantly scanning, their hands never far from the scary firearms on their belts. Thierry holds a card in front of a card reader above the wide wooden-and-steel door handle. The reader light flashes green, and the thick opaque glass door clicks outward. Inside the greenhouse, we follow Nutesh through the rows of lush plants, the warm air heavy with the smell of compost and dirt and flowers, such a contrast to the biting winter outside.

  At the back, we stop before a wall covered in flowering vines. Nutesh pulls up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of the symbol that has been haunting me: the inverted triangle overlying a circle. Holding it in front of a square of climbing flowers, the wall kicks out a door-shaped rectangle. Sure enough, it’s an entrance to another hidden room.

  This place is loaded with secrets.

  “After you, mes enfants,” he says. Henry takes my hand, and we step inside.

  The overhead lights are almost too bright, and the six TV monitors lining the room’s western wall are all tuned in to news channels. We are again assaulted with Lucian’s face on the muted screens, every network offering a different angle based on their camera’s position in the crowd.

  Montague moves to a digital whiteboard at the north end and touches it on, pulling up a map spanning from Iceland to Kazakhstan. Nutesh offers Henry and me seats at the wide black wood-and-glass conference table that takes up the majority of the densely packed war room. At the table head, a long, embroidered red-and-purple cloth with golden-fringed edges is draped over three rectangular mounds.

  Henry and I exchange a nervous glance. Under that cloth is the power to destroy everything we hold dear. All three AVRAKEDAVRA texts: Life, Death, Memory. In one place, at the same time.

  A shiver of low-grade electricity hums through me. I’ve never been so close to so much raw power.

  “You’re a rare beast, you know. The descendant of two AVRAKEDAVRA families.” I nudge Henry; he pulls my wheeled chair closer and whispers against my ear.

  “That means you should be extra nice to me.”

  “Just remember who has the electric hands,” I say, elbowing him. He kisses the side of my head.

  Once the tech is queued, Thierry and Montague sit; Nutesh stands, shoulders back, at the front of the table. “We have much to say, and little time to say it.” He clicks off the TV monitors. Henry straightens slightly in his chair, as if turning off his father takes a weight off his shoulders, and a twinge of guilt bites at me—while I’m glad to be rid of Lucian’s face, Henry’s emotions with regard to his father’s betrayal are something I can’t even begin to understand.

  Nutesh then launches into a different version of the history Lucian—Dagan—gave me in the big top just a few nights ago. Nutesh recounts that Dagan’s family died of a terrible illness, which is where Dagan’s bloodlust for the AVRAKEDAVRA texts comes from, but where Dagan blamed Nutesh and Udish for not coming to his family’s aid, Nutesh explains that it was simply a matter of an insurmountable lack of communication.

  “We were all on the move, all facing the same persecutions and risks to our lives. Communication was extremely difficult. Parts of the world hadn’t even been colonized yet, if you can imagine that. Even if Dagan’s couriers had found us, we would not have been able to get to Belshunu and his wife, his sons and daughters-in-law and grandchildren. Even if we had been able to fly, we would not have been strong enough to save them. Our magic was too new, and the pathogen that took them down was too strong. Thousands of people in the Fertile Crescent died of this same epidemic, though you won’t find anything about it in history books. This was still a time when man didn’t understand disease or germs.

  “I have mourned for Dagan’s father, Belshunu. I still mourn him, and his family who perished. He was my dearest friend, alongside Udish. The three of us were boys together. We were three sides of the perfect triangle.

  “With the AVRAKEDAVRA, we set out to do good in this world, and I have done everything in my power to stay alive, to protect the missing two sides of my brotherly triangle. That is why we are surrounded by this compound, by these very strong, very brave people.” Nutesh nods toward Montague and Thierry. “But now we have come to a crossroads. We have, for the first time in over two thousand years, possession of all three texts in one place.” He places a hand on top of the middle covered text. “The time has come to make a decision about what we are to do with the future—with your futures, Henry and Geneviève.”

  That uncomfortable, low-level burn kindles behind my sternum.

  As Nutesh talks, I quietly pull my hand from Henry’s and scoot my chair a few inches away. Just in case.

  “If the decision is made that we are to destroy the books, the only way to do that is to deliver them to where they were created. There, a ritual must be performed that will seal the magic away forever, bringing to an end the AVRAKEDAVRA as we know it.”

  The room is quiet.

  “But it is very important that you understand what destroying these books will mean, for you, for all of us,” Nutesh says.

  “If the books are eliminated, the Etemmu will leave me alone. No more attacks, no more swarms of spiders or stench of death sending me into a spiral that has almost killed me more than once. That is what you promised,” I say.

  “I promised that while you are in my care, I will do everything to keep you free from its harm,” Nutesh says.

  “But that’s not a guarantee it can’t find me again.” My chest is on fire. “Could it still find me?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Tell us the truth!” I’m on my feet. My hands zinging, if anyone gets near me, I can’t be responsible for what happens—mostly because I don’t know what might happen. Where is Baby? He’s the only one who can keep me safe from the Etemmu. What if it finds me here and he’s nowhere to be found?

  Nutesh takes a deep breath. “The books were born in Mesopotamia. For us, Babylon still exists; for the rest of the world, it is a pile of ruins in the middle of Iraq, on the shores of the Euphrates River. The books must therefore be taken back to this once-fertile land. Destroying the magic means we will lose our magical gifts, the long-life component will be severed and we will all proceed to age toward death, and connections we have with those who have gone on before us”—Nutesh looks at Henry—“will cease.”

  “You’re leaving out the most important part,” I say, my voice hard. “Lucian Dagan Dmitri and my half sister, Aveline Darrow, will no longer be chasing us—all of us—to get their hands on a tool that they could use to turn back time, erasing all of us anyway.” I swallow and shake my hands vigorously, turning to face the entire group. “We have
no other choice.”

  “There is always a choice, ma chère,” Nutesh says.

  “To stay here? To be a hostage to my own destiny? I don’t want my mother’s life! I don’t want to be on the run for six hundred years. I want to go home—I want to go back to my elephants and go to college and have a normal life like a normal human. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “And for that, I am truly sorry,” Nutesh says.

  “If we go to Iraq—if we destroy the books—does that mean I lose my connection to my mother?” Henry asks quietly.

  I can’t look at him; I don’t want to see the pain in his eyes as he contemplates standing in the way of what absolutely must be done.

  “Oui.”

  “So, no more memories from her,” Henry continues.

  “That is correct.” Nutesh’s eyes are watery as he looks at his grandson. “But as Geneviève said, it also means a normal life. No more pursuits. Your father’s all-consuming desire for these books will end because they will no longer exist.”

  “You truly believe that?” Henry asks. “You don’t think he’ll come after us—that he won’t kill us as revenge for destroying the books?” Henry leans forward, elbows on the table, his eyes far away as he stares blankly at the map on the digital screen.

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Henry. One would hope Dagan would see reason. But his actions over a vast expanse of time would point otherwise,” Nutesh says. “Of course, you will have my full protection.” When he nods at Montague and Thierry, I’m assuming he means the protection of hired muscle; once the books are destroyed, the magic will be gone.

  My arms shake, desperate for release. “If we go to Babylon, does this mean you will die?” Henry asks his grandfather.

  “This is not about me, or Hélène, or even Dagan. This is about the two of you.” Nutesh nods at Henry, and then me. “You must do what you think is best as you are the rightful heirs to the AVRAKEDAVRA. We have lived long, beautiful lives. And we will support you in your decision, whatever it may be.”

  “Henry, please . . . I can’t live this life. Neither can you. You saw your father on the news. He will stop at nothing. Are we just supposed to run for the next god-knows-how-many centuries? Like Delia? Like everyone else who’s gotten in his way?” I take a breath and lower my voice. “Please. We can never go home again if we don’t end this.”

  He laughs under his breath, but it’s sad. “Seems I have no home to go back to anyway.”

  Nutesh flattens his hands on the tabletop. “You will always have a home here, in Croix-Mare. Always.”

  Henry sniffs and looks down. Then he clears his throat and his blue-green eyes shine brighter than I’ve seen them in days.

  “Well, then . . . when do we leave?”

  Nutesh folds his hands reverently before him, his eyes first on Henry, and then on me before he answers. “Tonight.”

  4

  NUTESH PROVIDES ANSWERS NO ONE ELSE HAS BEEN ABLE TO GIVE US. THE AVRAKEDAVRA’s Original Creators—Belshunu, Dagan’s father and Henry’s paternal grandfather; Udish, my own fifth-great-grandfather; and Nutesh himself, father to Alicia, Henry’s mother—made a pact that would keep the three books apart, “never to be brought together by a solitary man, or woman.” Specially chosen Guardians have been tasked with keeping the AVRAKEDAVRA separate and secret, protecting the information that would enable the Undoing—the destruction of the books—once and for all, should the need arise.

  It appears that need has arisen.

  “These Guardians have been afforded certain privileges and protections in exchange for their loyalty and service. With the right words and medicinals, the AVRAKEDAVRA can extend the life of a person deemed worthy of such a gift—and such a burden,” Nutesh says.

  “This magic—this is what you used for Baby?” I ask.

  “Yes. And my Hélène,” he says. “It is how we are able to maintain the continuity of protecting our sacred way of life. However, immortality is not something even I am capable of granting, so from time to time, a Guardian dies and must be replaced.” Nutesh pauses for a moment to remove the cloth covering the three magical texts. It’s as if an invisible force is trying to pull me toward the front of the table.

  “To accomplish the Undoing, you must find the Guardians who hold the pieces required to complete the ritual.” Nutesh then moves to the first book—the Life text. My text, the one Delia hid for me to find. The one she never told me a thing about before she died. Before Lucian murdered her that night in the big top.

  As Nutesh touches it, it’s as if his hands are on my upper arms, squeezing. It’s warm, not painful, but when he flips the book open, my nerves sing painfully. I’m short of breath.

  “This feeling will lessen with time,” he says. Good to know.

  He repeats the action with the Memory and Death texts. Henry shivers in his chair, but he seems to manage better than I am. Where I can heal broken bodies with a single touch—and now leave third-degree electrical burns, it seems—Henry’s unique gift is all about memory. It’s why his mother Alicia Delacroix, even in death, can plant memories in her son’s head while he sleeps. It’s why Henry can touch someone and dig through their thoughts and how he’s able to transmit memories, like those shared by his mother.

  It’s also why when we kiss, I have to be careful to not let him too far into my mind, for fear he will see something I’d rather keep hidden.

  I can only imagine what new gifts will pop up now that he’s properly sealed.

  I’m trying to focus on Nutesh’s history lesson, but the presence of the open Life text is almost too much to bear. Finally, one at a time, Nutesh closes the books and re-covers them with the cloth.

  “Thank you,” I say on an exhale. Henry leans back in his chair heavily enough to almost unbalance himself.

  “It will get better, with practice,” Nutesh says. “The Guardians I spoke of—you will meet with one specifically, and he in turn will lead you to the three who possess the items you need for the Undoing.”

  “What items?” I ask.

  “Did you ever wonder where your mother’s fondness for keys came from?” Nutesh asks. I flatten my hand against my sternum. The vérité key still hangs from its chain, warm against my skin.

  “The only way to complete the Undoing is to go to the temple where the AVRAKEDAVRA was born.”

  “In Iraq,” I say, “in the middle of a warzone.” The line from my mother’s story echoes in my head: Take the treasure . . . Follow the river to where the bones of kings lie.

  Nutesh crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes, though, officially, the war is over.”

  I lock eyes with Henry, wishing his face would register that he feels as outraged as I do that we have to be the ones to fix this. Instead, he looks scared.

  “You are sending us on a mission that could cost us our lives,” I say. “You have to let me get a message to my family back in the US. My aunt and uncle—my circus siblings, Violet and Ash—is there any way we can tell them where I am? That I’m safe so they don’t worry? Can I at least tell them goodbye?”

  Thierry shakes his head softly, and I notice that he’s wearing an earpiece, a clear plastic coil extending down the side of his head and disappearing under his collar. “I’m sorry, Geneviève. We will let you know when it’s safe for us to make contact.”

  Nutesh nods and continues. “To access the temple’s magic, we must possess the key to open its ‘lock.’ To create one key, you must find its three components: one for Life, one for Memory, and one for Death—one piece for each book. These components are unique in that, once together, they form the symbol you have both come to know. That is the key to reawaken the sacred temple so we can do our work.” The inverted triangle overlying the circle flashes on the screen behind him. “The Guardians protecting these components are members of an extended network of trusted AVRAKEDAVRA followers. A singular Guardian is the only person who knows of the other Guardians’ whereabouts at any given time.”

  �
��Won’t Dagan be looking for these Guardians? He has to know about the key thing—he has this symbol as a tiepin, for Pete’s sake,” I say.

  “We have worked very hard to keep this secret protected,” Nutesh says, sighing, “but with his expanded network, it won’t take him long to figure it out.”

  My head pounds with anxiety at the thought of Lucian and Aveline always on our heels.

  “The Guardian’s identity, like all of us who’ve lived protracted lives, is difficult to pin down. It’s like chasing ghosts. Regardless, the mission objective is to find the Guardians and secure the pieces before Dagan does.” Nutesh pauses, looking at me, and then Henry. In that moment, the sadness in his eyes speaks volumes about the ghosts in his life. “In the most general terms, based on our intelligence reports, you will be visiting Spain, Italy, and Turkey before we rendezvous in Iraq.”

  “Any more specific than that?” I ask.

  Nutesh shakes his head. “That will come later.”

  “So Henry and Baby and I hop on a plane, fly to wherever the Guardian is, get what we need, and get to Babylon,” I say.

  “It would be beautiful if it were so simple,” Nutesh says. “Covert arrangements must be made to ensure the Guardian’s safety, as well as your own. In fact, the rendezvous point may change while you are en route; that will be for your handler to manage.”

  I laugh involuntarily. “You’re kidding, right? Not even you know? Who is this mystery handler?”

  Nutesh uncaps his metal water bottle and takes a drink. When he answers, his eyes are on the bottle, not on me. “His name is Xavier Darrow,” he finally says.

  Darrow. Like Aveline Darrow?

  I’m about to ask, but Nutesh beats me to the punch. “Yes, Darrow is his name. Aveline Darrow’s father. And yours as well.”