48

We spent another week recovering at the cave hotel, as the questions at the police station were suddenly more complicated. Mom sucked it up and called Dad, and he helped get Sage a good lawyer through the embassy in Turkey. It looked like potential charges against her for her involvement with the smuggling ring would be dropped, and she’d be sent back to Oregon, not to prison. After all, Sage had convinced the Voyager Balloons security staff to call Inspector Lale. She’d done so in time for the police to chase the Clarksons’ balloon and intercept it when it finally ran out of fuel. She’d cooperated fully with the police investigation. And we’d both worked to bring down the masterminds behind Turkey’s biggest antiquities smuggling ring.

No surprise, I was in the news again, thanks to the video that a balloon passenger had recorded of my scuffle with the Clarksons and my leap out of the basket onto the mesa. The video was shared everywhere. I even got emails from some of my former friends, wanting to know all the details. I didn’t write back right away. It was nice to have the attention again, but I’d have to take a little time to sort out whom I actually wanted in my life. And I realized I’d come full circle, from the Athleta incident to something that people said was “heroic.” I had to admit it felt pretty good, even though I hadn’t set out to be heroic. My uncle had done most of the work before me. I’d just finished the job.

And this time, I was in the news in Turkish! It was kind of funny to see my face on TV and in newspapers alongside headlines I couldn’t read. Mom didn’t let me do interviews, but I was glad that the story got out as a counterweight to the old stuff I’d done. In Cappadocia, and back in Istanbul a week later, people looked at me in the street, recognizing me from the news. With my unmistakable white blotches on my face and arms, I’m sure it wasn’t hard to pick me out of a crowd. I didn’t try to hide myself, either.

We were all relieved that the Clarksons were out of the picture for good. Ron and Judy were being detained in a Turkish prison, pending numerous charges. As far as I know, they’re still there now, and their art gallery in Carmel and a shadowy online art business they ran were completely shut down. Their various homes were raided, too, and more suspicious objects from their international shopping sprees were discovered and returned to their countries of origin.

As for the seahorse urn that had caused all this trouble? It was reunited with the other Karun Treasure objects, in a museum. There it would be seen and marveled at by visitors for years to come. Maybe not as many as would see it at the Met, but still, it would be seen, in broad daylight, and not in the shadowy world of black-market transactions. Already, journalists and scholars from all over the world were descending on Turkey to see it for themselves, and to learn about its spotted history.

Everything looked brighter now, except for the fact that Sage and I wouldn’t see each other for a long time.

“I wish I could hang out in Istanbul with you just for fun,” Sage said, as we sat out on the top of the cave hotel beneath the stars, on our last night there together.

“You don’t have to stay there, you know. Back in Oregon, I mean,” I said. “You’re the real passionate nomad. You can go anywhere.”

“I’m broke,” she reminded me. “I have to go live with my uncle again, like I did when I was finishing high school. I’ll probably have to get some job in a ‘shoppe.’”

“So do that. It’s not so bad. Work, save money, and then travel again,” I said. “It’s what you’re good at. Oregon? That’s just a rest stop. You have places to go.”

She gazed up at the stars. “You’re right,” she said. “Hey, maybe when you’re out of high school, I’ll have money saved up and we can go somewhere again, be traveling companions!”

“I’d like that.” I smiled. “Let’s totally do that. Remember, the beckoning counts.”

She smiled back. “Not the clicking latch behind you.”

The evening Mom and I got back to the Mavi Konak Hotel, after a week of interrogation in Cappadocia, Aunt Jackie greeted us with huge hugs. Her bump—the home of my unborn cousin—was slightly more visible now, and the gray shadows under her eyes were gone. “You look better,” I said.

“You do,” Mom agreed. “Radiant!”

“I’m off bed rest,” she said. “For now. I still have to take it easy, but I can walk around more. My last blood tests came out great. My hormones are in balance. Things look good.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I started cleaning out Berk’s office today. Now that the detectives are gone and have taken what papers and files they want. And you know what? It felt good. I’ve only made a dent, but I think I can keep going. I don’t feel him in there anymore. He’s with me, but not in there. It’s just a room now. And it’ll make a great nursery when it’s painted and furnished. Thanks to Zan.” She grinned at me.

“Thanks to all of us,” I corrected. “I’m glad the reward money will pay for the renovations and let you keep the hotel in business.” Reward money from Interpol had been paid to me for the information leading to Lazar’s arrest. I’d given most of it to Aunt Jackie. But I’d given some to Sage, too, since I couldn’t have done all this without her, and I knew she was worried about money. Finances were something I’d never had to worry about too much, and now I realized how lucky I was.

Mom slung her arm around Aunt Jackie’s shoulders. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “It’s hard letting stuff go. I know. But it does get easier. I could help decorate. . . .”

“Please do,” said Aunt Jackie. “I’d love your opinion on the paint samples. And you can remodel the Harem Suite, if you like. That will be set aside for you and Zan any time you come visit.”

Mustafa came up and greeted us warmly, kissing us on both cheeks. “I am glad you are back safe and sound,” he said to me. “You gave us all a big fright.”

All. I looked around. “Is Nazif working today?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Not today,” said Mustafa. “He is beginning an art class.” He shrugged, with a helpless gesture. “Cartooning.”

“Really? That’s awesome!” I exclaimed, even though something inside me sank. I wanted to see him so badly. Not only see him, but touch him, kiss him. Was it possible? Wasn’t that about where we’d left off in our story, before I’d been poisoned and kidnapped?

“It’s an animation workshop, Mustafa,” Aunt Jackie corrected. “Computer animation.”

“Yes.” Mustafa smiled wryly. “Computer animation,” he repeated, almost dutifully.

“Mustafa doesn’t like to admit it, but he had a change of heart after seeing Nazif’s show at the party,” Aunt Jackie said, winking at me. “The downside, of course, is we’re missing a bellboy two days a week. But this hotel has made it through a lot of changes. We’ll soldier on without him. By the way,” she added when the front-desk phone rang and Mustafa went to answer it, “he was asking about you.”

“Mustafa?”

“Nazif, silly. Every single day. Demanding updates and wondering how you were holding up.”

I nodded, emotions swelling inside me. We’d emailed each other a few times while I was in Cappadocia, but with only one terminal in the cave hotel, and all the time I had to spend talking to police and lawyers, our exchanges had been brief.

“I’ll let him know you’re back,” she said with a knowing smile.

Orhan, whom Aunt Jackie had hired as a full-time cook, came out of the kitchen with heaping plates of food. After dinner with Mom, Aunt Jackie, and Orhan, I went to my room and unpacked. In my suitcase, my hand brushed the fancy journal my dad had given me.

Suddenly, for some reason, it called out to me. I grabbed the other gift from Dad, the astronaut pen, and ran up to the rooftop.

The roof was full of construction equipment and lumber. The temporary fence from the party was down, and the new, sturdier fence would be put up soon. But even though the roof was full of fence supplies, it still felt like an oasis of peace to me. I settled myself on the white couch, between the geranium pots, and watched the sun set over the Sea of Marmara, turning the water gold. Then I turned to face the Blue Mosque, whose minarets lit up the indigo sky. I switched on a string of paper lanterns hanging over the trellis, left over from the party, and opened the journal to page one. All those empty pages! I could easily fill them with the story of everything that had happened to me. I could record my adventures, like Freya Stark had. And like my dad had asked me to do. I could tell my side of the story, in my own way. When I was ready, that’s what I would do.

But we had two weeks left in Istanbul. There was a lot more to explore here, and maybe there were some happier stories to fill up some of these pages.

And after Istanbul? I had more mountains to climb: Hard conversations with my dad. Getting to know Victoria Windham. Finding new friends, maybe at Burlington Boulders, maybe at school. I could try to put the past behind me and start a new chapter. I’d been so mad at my ex-friends for being fakes, but maybe I’d been a little fake myself, always covering myself up and never revealing who I really was.

The past few months I’d spent so much time building monuments to my own disappointment. But I didn’t have to do that anymore. My parents’ story was not my own. I could make different choices. I could get busy leading my own life instead of just reacting to theirs. Civilizations end, but new ones rise up in their place. Now I had a foundation to build upon. I trusted my own strength.

I set the tip of my pen on the cream paper of the journal’s first page and started writing down my thoughts. Soon they became a manifesto. In the dwindling light, I pressed down hard on the pen, etching all my promises to myself, carving them into the paper. My own mottos, for my own new era. I filled four pages without once looking up, not even when my hand began to ache.

Until a light winked on, over on Nazif’s rooftop.

I set down my pen and turned my head.

Nazif’s white screen was strung up in the grape arbor again, light shining behind it. Suddenly the glorious bird shadow soared across the screen. Then it circled back and cocked its head, almost quizzically. It seemed to be looking at me.

The boy shadow puppet came out to join it. It ran from side to side as if looking for something, while the bird tried to get the boy’s attention. The bird poked the boy with its beak, and gestured toward me with its unfurling wing, as if letting the boy know that I was there watching.

The boy shadow jumped for joy. He spun around, beckoning with his arm. Come.

I stood up, and the puppets vanished. My heart sank. I didn’t want the show to end. It didn’t feel like the end of the story.

Then Nazif stepped out from behind the screen.

I smiled and waved.

He grinned and waved back. Then he put the puppets down and beckoned to me, with his own hand. “Zan! Come over!” he called out.

I ran and took a flying leap across the short distance between our roofs.