Chapter Thirteen

The email arrived less than thirty minutes after we entered our hotel. I was sharing a room with Marcus, and Julian was sharing with Charlotte. Though I barely had time to take off my dripping wool coat before a knock sounded on our door. Sophia had sent Julian another anonymous message. It read, “We know you’ve arrived. Meet us in Old Town Square in ten minutes. Witamy!” The last word meant “welcome” in Polish, not that any of us felt warm and wanted.

Still, we walked into the trap.

“Should we grab pitchforks?” I asked, stomping through a puddle as I adjusted the long johns under my jeans. Thankfully, it had stopped raining, but steel wool clouds still circled overhead, and the air was icy enough to seep through my hat, gloves, and all-weather fur-lined boots. Ah, the joys of spring in Eastern Europe.

“There’s no way they can pull off anything here,” said Charlotte, splashing behind me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Look!” She pointed.

We turned a corner on the ancient pedestrian street and were greeted with the largest town square I had ever seen, crammed with people and so full of vendors and decorations it looked like an Easter egg convention.

“Wow, I guess it really is a holiday,” I said.

Marcus grabbed my gloved hand as we pushed through a crowd trying to enter St. Mary’s Cathedral. A church employee stood in the entrance shouting (in English) that no tourists or photos were allowed today—only worshippers, and it looked like there were plenty. Marcus pointed to the horse and buggies nearby, their white carriages fully enclosed to protect riders from the elements, and their horses decorated with ivory feathers and crimson flowers.

“We should take a ride, no?” He grinned.

“Maybe someday,” I replied, as we strolled past a row of restaurants, some featuring outdoor glass gazebos allowing tourists to enjoy a view even when Easter temperatures were only slightly above what’s expected on New Year’s back home.

A flock of pigeons swooped by as I scanned the celebration that stood like a sunny oasis on a drab day. Nestled alongside an ornate stone building with a row of arches that I immediately recognized from Sophia and Regina’s selfie (they might as well have dropped a pin in Krakow) was a collection of open-air wooden booths selling an array of goods. It reminded me of the Christmas markets we’d occasionally see in the states, only this was larger and featured floral sculptures everywhere. The yellow and pink blooms accented by bright green leaves almost made my freezing nose a bit more bearable.

“Anyone need to buy a doily?” Charlotte asked when we strolled past a collection of cream lace table coverings with floral embroidery.

“I think we should put one on the back of the toilet,” I suggested.

“My grandmother had one of those,” Julian said. “I think it was French lace.”

“Of course it was,” Marcus said mockingly.

“How are we going to find Regina here?” I peered at Julian. “Did their message say anything else?”

“No.” He shook his head, staring at his screen like he could will directions to pop up. A watched phone never rings—any girl could tell him that.

Charlotte patted my shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

“We better. God knows what they have planned for her.” I sighed as I breathed the scent of cooked pork from a vendor selling shaved ham piled on top of country bread. I could practically taste the salt.

“They being the operative word.” Julian grabbed my elbow, yanking me to a halt. “We know Sophia and Regina are here, but we don’t know who’s with them.”

“I know. I’m ready.”

“Really?”

I turned my eyes toward a leaning tower of blue and white pottery. All these handmade goods reminded me of the souvenirs my parents used to bring back from their travels, memories of the crimes they committed. They could be here. Urban could be here. They could have followed Regina, or been a part of the plan with Sophia from the beginning. But would they risk it? All it would take was one honest Polish cop to recognize their faces from TV and they’d be shipped off to glass cells fit for Hannibal Lecter.

“Poland has extradition,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but this could just be the starting point. Keira wasn’t in Tuscany when you got there,” Charlotte noted. “Maybe Urban’s going to send you on another chase through Europe—one that leads to Russia.”

“Why?” I screeched, so loud that heads turned. I lowered my voice. “My parents already saw me in Venice and I said I wouldn’t help them. And your intel says Urban likely ran into them already, so he doesn’t need me to lure out my mom and dad. His resources are better. And don’t give me crap about baby pictures. Urban’s facing a lethal injection. It makes more sense for him, and Department D, to take out Keira and me with sniper bullets than it does to sit down and talk.” I clapped my hands twice. “Two shots and there’s no one to testify at his trial, no kidnapping victim, no messy biological daughter, no eyewitness testimony…”

My friends stared at me with open mouths, and silence fell between us, making the nearby church bells seem louder.

Charlotte cleared her throat. “Urban has proven he won’t hurt you. Or he would have done so in Italy.” She knew as well as I did that the game had changed since then. It was why she wasn’t looking me in the eye. “Besides, it’s Regina who is here for sure, and as angry as she might be, she’d never go along with a plan to kill you.”

“You sure about that?” I huffed, remembering her twisted face in those videos, the bloody nooses.

“Yes, I am. And you know that.” Charlotte grabbed my hands.

I did. No matter what I thought of Regina, she wasn’t a murderer. She just wasn’t. “If they don’t want to hurt me, then what’s their endgame? Why Regina? Why am I here?”

“We don’t know.” Julian shook his blond head, which he had taken time to perfectly restyle since our rainy walk. “But I agree with Charlotte. Randolph Urban, your parents, they’d never kill their own daughter. We wouldn’t be here if we believed that.”

Marcus slapped his bare hands together, shattering the heavy moment. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Who knows when they’re going to contact us? ¿Quieres comer?” He flashed his dimples.

I looked at my phone. It had been twenty minutes since Sophia had sent her message and it said to meet them in ten. Where were they? How were we supposed to find them?

“Ham? Pierogies? Sausage?” Marcus pulled my arm, trying to distract me.

I wiped my runny nose and followed the thick scents. “Pierogies,” I said. “When in Krakow, right?”

We snaked past a vendor selling intricately painted Easter eggs, then surveyed the stalls of Polish dumplings. Some were fried, some boiled, some traditionally filled with potato, cheese, and meat, and others with a hipster twist of feta and spinach, or broccoli and cheddar, or even raspberry and cream.

Ultimately we went with the smoky aroma that drew us from nearly halfway across the square. A short, round babushka with a floral scarf covering her gray hair was grilling potato pierogies over an open flame. If it tasted anything like it smelled, I might have to bathe myself in pierogies later.

“I’ll take three,” I said as I reached the front of the line.

The grandma’s pink, wrinkled knuckles reached for a paper plate. “You’re American?”

I nodded.

“Here on holiday?” She grabbed three golden dumplings with her tongs. My mouth watered.

“Not exactly.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“Anastasia?” she asked, like it was the most natural question in the world.

Charlotte nearly choked on her tongue. “What did you say?” Charlotte nudged my side, Julian and Marcus leaning closer.

“Your name? It’s Anastasia, right?” The old woman held out a plate of buttery dumplings greasing the paper as I glared at her with narrowed eyes.

“How do you know that?” Though I already knew the answer. Sophia.

“Your friend said you would eventually find the best pierogies in Krakow.” The woman stood taller, though she was still under five feet. There was pride on her face. “She asked me to tell you she and her friend are at Wawel Castle. She’ll be there until five.”

I looked at my phone. We still had two hours. I exhaled a breath that had been tight in my lungs since we boarded the plane. Finally.

“She’s a good tipper,” the woman added, as she pushed the food in my hand.

“So are we,” said Julian and handed her bills. Then he turned my way. “Let’s go.”

…

Being Easter, cabs were scarce and Uber drivers were on holiday. So we walked the long route, passing at least a dozen churches, all hosting mass. I wasn’t sure what the population was of Krakow, but it seemed to be enough to fill an alarming amount of cathedrals around the clock.

The trek was entirely uphill, on cobblestones, making me very glad I was wearing comfortable boots.

“I should’ve worn my cuddle duds,” Charlotte hissed through her scarf as she shivered in the wind.

“I would like to mark this moment as the day I, Anastasia Phoenix, was right and you, Charlotte Connor, were wrong.” I smiled smugly, warm from the long johns underneath my jeans. “I told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she groaned.

“And I told you I would get us to the castle.” Julian extended his leather-gloved hand toward the view emerging at the end of our narrow street. “We have arrived.”

Our cobblestone path dead-ended at a red brick wall that surrounded a soaring castle with weathered copper green domes and spires. Charlotte said it had been built by a king in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, which made Boston seem garishly modern by comparison.

“Where do we go now?” I asked, as I stared at a long ramp that wound farther up the hill to what I assumed would be the castle doors.

“I guess we look for them.” Marcus gripped my hand and led the way.

There weren’t many tourists; it was Easter, after all. Though we did pass one group speaking Spanish, which made Marcus gleam, as we made our way to the castle courtyard. Everything was closed, from the palace to the gift shop, which limited the places Sophia and Regina could hide.

I glanced around the exterior. Grassy ruins of a centuries-old foundation rested on one side, while a mismatched collection of chapels stood on the other. There was a dark, gothic dome beside a gold dome and spire, which was next to a black dome with a gilded cross and a tall, rectangular brick tower. The place looked like a “Choose Your Own Adventure” of architectural styles. I surveyed the small scattering of couples nearby, but none were Sophia or Regina.

“She left a message with a pierogi lady, maybe we should talk to the guards?” I suggested.

But Julian and Charlotte were busy snapping selfies with the architecture, and Marcus was scaling the moss-covered stone wall that encircled the courtyard.

“Hello, anyone?” I asked, exasperated. “Super spies, trying to kill us, remember?”

Marcus stood triumphantly atop the wall, wind gusting through his black hair as he swung his gaze down to me. “Por favor, I know why we’re here, but…can’t we enjoy the view for just a minute?”

The dimples on his face made it impossible not to climb. This was the side of Marcus I saw with his brother, the carefree side, the side I was so jealous he never shared with me. Now here he was. So of course, I joined him.

Marcus wrapped his arms around me from behind as we stood on the wide, medieval wall. He nestled his chin on my shoulder, and I could feel his breath on my neck. “It’s gloomy but beautiful, no?”

It was. I leaned into him. This city had seen a lot—war upon war, invasion upon invasion. Now we were standing on top of it all, the two of us, in Poland. Who knew if we’d ever be back here again.

Heat rose off of him, that familiar buzz, and I shifted my face his way, my eyes on his lips. He slowly inched forward, noses grazing, and I closed my eyes—only before our mouths could touch, a voice sounded behind us.

“You’re not allowed up there,” it snapped.

I knew that voice.

I slowly turned around, guilt rushing through me for letting myself dare to enjoy a moment. I knew who I’d find.

“Glad you’re having such a good time,” Regina hissed.

She was standing next to Sophia Urban, and they looked disgusted.