CHAPTER 7

The moment the plane landed in Venice, everyone’s phones were buzzing. My father frowned and started making calls. Lydia was on her phone, too.

Once we were on the tarmac, I took advantage of their distraction to catch up to Jack. He, too, was staring at his screen. “What’s going on?”

His face was a terrible mix of shock and sadness. “It’s Dev Rajesh,” Jack said. “He was found dead early this morning. They think he was poisoned.”

My body went hot, then cold. “Oh no. No no no.” Not only was I failing my mom, I was failing the Circle. “It’s my fault.”

“It isn’t your fault. It isn’t our fault. It’s their fault. They’re terrorists,” Jack said, but he looked just as gutted as I felt.

I wrapped my necklace around my fingers and followed Jack to a waiting car, the knots of security around me noticeably tighter than they were yesterday. With all the Saxons on their phones, Jack and I ended up alone in a car together, and he draped his jacket in such a way that we could pretend to ignore each other and the driver couldn’t see us clinging to each other’s hands.

• • •

There were no cars in Venice. Starting at the edge of the city all transportation was by boat, down the wide, rippling Grand Canal running through the middle of the city or one of the small side canals that led to residential areas. Once we got to our hotel, I took a quick shower, and Lydia was waiting with her entire hair and makeup arsenal when I got out. Tonight, though, I didn’t feel much like getting ready for a party.

“Dev wouldn’t want you to be deterred by this,” Lydia said. She was dragging a brush through my hair, expertly pinning it into an elaborate updo. “He’d want you to get married and stop the Order. All the boys who have been killed—they’d want their sacrifice to make the Circle stronger.”

I raised my eyebrows at her in the mirror. I somehow doubted that anyone’s response to being attacked would be to hope I’d marry someone else. I guess I still had a lot to understand about the Circle. “It’s weird,” I said. “The Circle is so strong in every other way, but . . .” I didn’t know if I should say it. If she’d be offended. “If the only thing they can do about the assassinations is hope that some girl getting married to one of them stops it . . . Doesn’t that seem strange? It’s like the Order makes them weak.”

To my surprise, Lydia’s mouth curled into a smile. “It’s interesting that you see it that way. I disagree. You may not be able to tell yet, but the Circle is headed toward being stronger than we’ve been in a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Order hasn’t always been this powerful.” She pinned two braids together at the back of my head, and I watched to make sure she gathered up the section of hair that had been cut short at the wedding. I hated looking at it. “We’ve haven’t faced obstacles to our rule for centuries. It’s made us complacent. Do you know what first brought the Order into our consciousness again?”

I shook my head.

“My grandfather and my uncle. Just before I—” She glanced down at me. “Just before we were born, they were murdered by the Order. That’s how Father became the head of our family.”

I remembered Jack mentioning Alistair’s brother being killed, but he’d never mentioned that the Order had done it.

“Fighting the Order gives us a reason to come together,” Lydia went on. She crossed to a closet, where clothes that were obviously hers had been arranged. She pulled out a white dress with long sleeves and laid it on the bed.

I hadn’t thought about it that way. “You can’t mean you’re glad the Order is doing this, though.”

“No! But it’s our destiny to defeat the Order, just like it’s your destiny to be part of this fight, with our family.”

Last year in history class we’d learned about Manifest Destiny. It was the belief that it was inevitable—fated—for the United States to expand across North America, no matter who or what got in the way. It was an appealing thing—a powerful thing—knowing you had fate on your side.

And for the Circle, that fate was me. Their fates mapped together become the fate of the Circle—that was what the mandate said about the union between the girl with the purple eyes and the One. Destiny.

I pulled on the white dress while Lydia did touch-ups to her own hair and makeup and got a red dress from the closet. As she changed into it, I noticed a tattoo on her rib cage.

“I thought you didn’t get the tattoos until your seventeenth birthday,” I said.

Lydia ran her fingers over the inked skin. “This isn’t the Saxon symbol.”

She turned and showed me the tattoo—a flower, with only a few petals filled in, like someone had been playing he loves me, he loves me not with the rest. It looked fresh. She pulled her dress on, covering it.

“What does it mean?” I said.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. “I’ll tell you someday.”

I looked at us side by side in the mirror, me, pale and in all white, like a ghost of my fiery sister, with her olive skin and bright lipstick and red dress. She took my arm. “Ready to meet suitor number five?” she said. “This one’s hot.”

• • •

The boat pulled up to the landing outside the Mikados’ hotel, and a man in a pressed suit and top hat held out his hand to help me onto solid ground. The Saxons’ guards surrounded me immediately, Jack sticking closest.

I glanced over my shoulder at the sun setting over the Grand Canal. It had been a gray day, with rain pockmarking the canals on and off throughout the afternoon. Just as we’d left the hotel, though, the sun had broken through, and now the whole city glowed rosy, the building facades stacked like multicolored dominoes.

Reflections of the San Marco Basilica and the surrounding buildings shimmered on the canal’s surface, making watercolor paintings in the misty light, until a vaporetto—a water bus—cut through it, the ripples glowing bright orange in its wake. I wished I could enjoy the view, and the party. I was supposed to go there and smile and have fun. The last time that had happened, I’d been in India, and now Dev was dead. It felt wrong, and on top of everything else, I was starting to get really nervous that we wouldn’t find anything when we tried to follow the La Serenissima clue tonight.

“Is everything all right?” my father asked, and I jumped.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yes. Fine.”

“I know it’s frightening,” he said. “But we’ll keep you safe.”

I nodded again, though my own safety was the least of my worries. I took one more look over my shoulder and followed him inside.

The Mikados were ostensibly in Venice for a fund-raiser—the kind of vague charity rich people used as an excuse for a social event. But I doubt they would have made the trip if they didn’t want to meet me, especially because they were actually the first family of Japan. Most of the Circle families had lower-ranking family members doing the public jobs, but Ryo Mikado was prime minister.

Of course, attendance had swelled once the Mikados announced that I’d be coming. My father said they had to cap the guest list, and enough celebrities had joined up that the event was going to be taped, with parts of it broadcast live. I thought people might back out after the latest assassination, but the news seemed to have the opposite effect. It did make for a massive security detail, though. Jack stood with a small army of guards who spoke quietly into their lapels and watched the velvet-draped windows that looked out on the Grand Canal.

I was seated with my father and Lydia and Cole at the head table, under a faded but intricate ceiling mural of scenes from Greek mythology. Straight across from us and past some smaller tables was a stage, where a jazz trio had been playing since we came in, and where the main attraction—Sunday Six, the most popular boy band in the past few years—would be performing between the appetizer and dinner courses.

And between me and the stage were dozens of Circle members.

In India, the guests’ interest in me had been overt, but here I was the object of subtle glances, whispers, and a steady stream of well-wishers who couldn’t stop staring at my eyes. I understood for the first time what it would be like to be famous and have the whole world think you belonged to them.

I wished I could make them stop. I wasn’t so sure I was going to be a good Circle princess tonight.

Soon, the crowd hushed and Lydia reached around my father’s chair to squeeze my shoulder as the doors opened and the Mikados made their grand entrance.

I pasted on a fake smile. Lydia hadn’t let on whether the Mikados would be an “advantageous match,” but I suppose it didn’t matter—it wasn’t like I had to impress them. They’d want me no matter what. The family made their way to the head table, and Takumi bowed before sitting next to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said quietly.

I don’t know what I’d expected Takumi to be like, but it wasn’t this. He was tall and slim and wore black-rimmed glasses. His hair was undercut and swept rakishly to the side, and while his father wore a traditional tuxedo, he had on slim pants and a long, asymmetrical jacket that belonged on a runway.

Even though he looked more like a high-fashion mannequin than a real person, Takumi was pleasant and polite, and all through the appetizer course we talked about how lovely Venice was and what I’d seen in London. He told me about his favorite restaurant in Tokyo and offered to take me there one day and teach me how to order real Japanese ramen—which he promised me was much different from the crunchy packets you get in the grocery store—out of a vending machine, of all things. He was shocked that I’d never had sushi, and I told him that if he ever came to the US and wanted a good American hamburger, he had to try In-N-Out. We talked about everything but the important stuff, and it helped me forget that the rest of the room was watching, no doubt analyzing my every move.

I realized that I hadn’t even looked at my watch since Takumi sat down, and his parents hadn’t done anything weird, either, which was a nice change. The past few families we’d met had been so terrible that imagining a future with them had made me feel sick. The thought of Dev had been okay, but now . . . did this mean, if it came down to it, that Takumi was my best option?

Him or Stellan, I guess. There was always Stellan. The more I thought about being married to somebody, the more I was forced to think about being married to him. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about a creepy family or a surprise first wife with him. And I knew him way better than any of the Circle guys, so I’d know what I was getting into. On the other hand . . . I knew him. So I knew what I’d be getting into.

I was glad when the static of the microphone hissed from the speakers onstage.

I may have been getting used to the Circle, but there were still moments when I was struck by how strange it was. My friend Lara back in Lakehaven—or anyone else I knew—would have had a heart attack if they got to be in the same room as Eli, Alexsi, and Noah. Sunday Six usually played to sold-out stadiums of screaming girls, and they were about to perform on a tiny stage ten feet away from me. If someone I knew hadn’t been killed earlier today, this whole evening would actually be pretty fun.

Lydia told me that all three band members were Circle. Noah Day was a Saxon cousin, Alexsi Popov was related to the Vasilyevs, and Eli Abraham, the lead singer, was a Melech. With three families’ worth of Circle support, it was no wonder they were so popular.

The TV cameras that had been idly roaming the crowd focused on the stage, and the lights went down. The three boys strolled out to polite applause. Alexsi tuned his guitar and Noah tapped his drumstick experimentally on a cymbal, but Eli swung the microphone stand between his hands and peered out into the crowd. He had chin-length, wavy black hair, held back today with a wide headband. None of them had purple eyes, but they all had the swagger that came with being part of the Circle. And with being rock stars, I guess.

Eli’s eyes landed on our table, then found me. His lips curled into something that couldn’t quite be called a smile, and then he went back to adjusting the mic. I wasn’t a Sunday Six superfan, so I could be wrong, but Eli was different than I would have imagined. He seemed more distant than he was on TV. Maybe an event like this wasn’t as exciting as playing to screaming thirteen-year-olds. “One, two, three, four!” he counted off, and they broke into one of their first hits, “After Midnight.”

Despite the somber mood hanging over the party, the wine and the music had loosened people up. Around the room, a few heads bopped to the music, and next to me, Lydia was mouthing the words to the chorus. Even Takumi was tapping his foot.

When the song finished, Eli wiped his face with the hem of his plaid shirt, then leaned close to the mic. “This next one,” he said with another of those weird, sad smiles, “is for a very special young lady. Hi, Avery West. You’re going to change the world, you know.”

I sat up straight, startled. The Circle didn’t usually say things like that in public. The cameras panned to me, and I tried not to look like a deer in the headlights. For just a second, I pictured Lara watching at home and wondered if she’d even recognize me. If she did, she would be so confused. Then the band started playing again, and the camera swung away.

Lydia poked my arm behind my father’s back and raised a suggestive eyebrow in Eli’s direction. “Yeah right,” I mouthed. Not being in the direct line made him ineligible for the mandate, and he was also Eli Abraham. But then again, he was the one who kept smiling at and talking to me. My eyes made people like Eli Abraham interested in me. This was all so, so strange.

I had to admit Sunday Six were actually good live, even though Eli seemed distracted. I still wasn’t feeling cheerful enough to dance in my seat like Lydia, but I did teach Takumi the words to some of the choruses.

To finish the set, they played my favorite song of theirs. As it built to the end, Eli jumped off the stage, mic in hand. He crooned to a few tables before making his way back to ours.

“In the name of loooooove!” As he hit the highest note, punctuated with a bang on the bass drum, the crowd burst into applause. With another of those sad smiles right at me, he bowed to our table. Whistles and cheers sounded across the room.

Eli took a few seconds to stand. When he did, I flashed him a grin, a genuine one this time, but he didn’t smile back. In fact, his expression was oddly tortured.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and set the microphone on the table next to him.

I sat forward, confused, and felt the rest of the room do the same.

And then Eli Abraham pulled a gun out of the waistband of his skinny jeans. He raised it at our table. And he shot Takumi Mikado in the chest.