CHAPTER 34

“The blood is melting it.” Lydia set the bracelet on the coffee table. “Or heating it. Or something. It’s a lock. I was right.”

I felt a hand come around mine, and slipped my bloody fingers through Stellan’s. Drops of crimson from our clasped hands fell onto the cafe’s worn hardwood floors. We couldn’t have been sure before, but there it was: the union was us. Our very own map of fates was real. Stellan was part of the thirteenth bloodline, and even if it wasn’t getting married, we, together, meant something.

And apparently, it was far more than symbolic power.

Lydia whirled. “It is him. I knew it. When we first walked in, I was surprised he wasn’t worse off than that tiny little burn—and just since we’ve been sitting here, it’s healed the rest of the way, hasn’t it?”

She was right—as I looked closer, I could see that where the burn had been, there was nothing more than new pink skin, pearlescent like the rest of Stellan’s scars.

“How is that possible?” Cole snapped.

“I knew Avery wouldn’t get so attached to some nobody Keeper just because he’s pretty,” Lydia went on, almost proudly.

Stellan let go of my hand.

“This has to do with the thirteen thing that keeps getting mentioned, doesn’t it?” Lydia said.

On the coffee table, the bracelet was still smoking.

“But if the thirteenth thing is a person . . . ,” Lydia continued. “It means . . . a thirteenth family of the Circle?”

“But there were twelve Diadochi,” Cole said, contempt and suspicion in equal measure evident in his voice.

“And Alexander.” Understanding dawned on Lydia’s face. “That’s the thirteenth family, isn’t it? Everyone thinks he had no heir, but what if he did?”

“But—” Cole sputtered. “But that means—the mandate says—he’s the One?”

“Anyone from that bloodline.” Lydia perched on a floral ottoman, her gun still in her hand. Despite everything, I was impressed she was putting it all together so quickly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“But the bloodline of the One is—they’re supposed to rule over—” Cole pointed the gun at Stellan.

Lydia jumped between them. “That means he’s important. We need him.”

Grimacing, Cole turned back to Luc.

And then there was a popping noise. The gold bracelet snapped into two.

We all gaped at it. Lydia reached for it with her bloody hand, but Elodie said weakly, “No! You don’t want to destroy whatever’s inside.”

Lydia handed the bracelet to Jack. “Open it.”

He took it, but put it behind his back. “We got you this far. Let us help Elodie.”

Lydia sighed. “Fine.”

Stellan leaped up and was laying Elodie on the couch and putting pressure on her wound in seconds.

“Now open it,” Lydia said to Jack. “And, Cole, keep an eye on the maid.”

“Give me the other gun,” Cole said, gesturing to where they’d made Jack lay his on the floor. Lydia handed it to him, and he kept his own trained on Luc, and Jack’s on the rest of us.

“Hurry up,” Lydia said.

Jack met my eyes. What else could we do? He tugged gently, and it came apart.

Jack glanced up at the rest of us, then pulled a folded piece of paper out of the bracelet, and very carefully straightened and unfolded it.

The paper was only a couple inches wide, and three times that length. I could tell it was about to crumble in Jack’s hands. He squinted at the tiny writing.

“Read it,” Lydia said. “Need I remind you that we could just kill you all and take the bracelets now that they’re open? I don’t know why I’m being so nice, but you may as well take advantage of it.”

I knew why. She still hoped that somehow, after everything she’d done, that I’d still want to be one of them. She knew I wouldn’t if she killed my friends. As crazy as Lydia was, she actually cared about her family.

“Read the scroll,” Cole demanded. “I’m tired of the stalling.”

Jack looked around at all of us, then cleared his throat. “It’s in French. At the top it says, Transcription of writings discovered in the tomb of Alexander the Great, in his own city, within the thirteenth at the center of twelve. This is the treasure for which I’d searched half my life. There is more—a remedy—but I fear it will only make matters worse, so that I left buried. I warn you out of duty to the Circle. Were this to fall into enemy hands, it would mean nothing but ruin. It’s signed Napoleon Bonaparte, 1801.”

We glanced at each other, confused. That made it sound like Napoleon was going to tell us what he found in the tomb, not where the tomb actually was.

“Is that all?” Lydia said.

Jack shook his head and read, “Dearest Helena, I hope you are safe and have not discovered this too late to rid the—traitors . . . no, usurpers,” he said. “Rid the usurpers of their power and take back what is rightfully yours.” We all stole confused looks at one another. Usurpers? “Since the moment you were born,” Jack continued, “I knew I’d do anything to protect you the way I couldn’t protect my son, the ruler of the world as far as you can see, or his son after him—your father.”

Lydia drew in a sharp breath. “My son,” she murmured. “And his son after him. The person writing this is—”

“Olympias,” Elodie croaked. Stellan was tying the arms of his tuxedo shirt around her torso. “Alexander the Great’s mother.”

“Alexander’s son died young, though,” I thought out loud.

“He was a teenager,” Jack said. “Not necessarily too young to have a child.”

“That’s who she’s writing to,” I breathed. “That child. Helena. Olympias’s great-granddaughter.”

We all got quiet, and Jack kept reading. “After they stole my son’s dynasty, the Diadochi wished to be linked in such a way that they’d be truly blood. Brothers.”

“Stole?” I said.

“And usurpers,” Stellan agreed. “Keep going.”

“But they had underestimated a woman for the last time. The Order of Olympias and I—”

“The Order,” Lydia whispered. “Do you think—”

“Yes,” Colette said shortly. “It has to be.”

Jack started again. “The Order of Olympias and I linked them as they demanded, but they could not know I’d planted the seed of their destruction.”

Goose bumps rose on my arms, and we all looked at one another silently. There was no denying it now. Olympias wasn’t talking about the Diadochi as Alexander’s chosen heirs, as the Circle always believed. She was talking about them as thieves—of power, of her line’s birthright as kings.

Jack held up the scroll. “That’s all on this one.”

Everyone looked at the other bracelet, then at me and Stellan. He had just finished wrapping Elodie up, and now sat in just a white T-shirt. Lydia jumped up from the ottoman, unceremoniously wiped more blood from his arm, then my chest, and swiped it onto the lock on the second bracelet. Minutes later, we pulled out the second scroll, and Jack started reading again.

“All you’ll need to fulfill the Diadochi’s destiny is a female of the line. Be sure she has the violet eyes—that will ensure she has enough of the blood, in the correct configuration.” Jack looked up at me before he continued. “Her blood, together with yours, will create”—his voice wavered—“will create a plague.”

“A plague?” Stellan said. Cole laughed, harsh and ugly. Everyone else just looked stunned.

“Keep reading,” I said.

“Repeat the Bacchic rites performed when they were linked, with the united blood in their cups. Only the barest drop of the virus is necessary, and the kingdom shall be yours, to the ends of the world.”

We were all quiet for a long moment. Finally, Elodie broke the silence. “The curse of Olympias,” she murmured. Her eyes were closed, but it was a huge relief that she was with it enough to understand what was going on. “I’ve heard of it. I never thought . . .”

“Does that mean this was the weapon in the tomb?” said Cole. “I thought it was supposed to be a weapon against the Order.”

Lydia curled her lip at him. “You still care about the Order? According to this, the Order were ineffectual even two thousand years ago. This has to be what the mandate meant the whole time. We thought it meant the Order because it was talking about the greatest enemies. But it’s the Circle who have always been one another’s enemies.”

Next to me, my mom shuddered.

“Were you guys listening?” I said. “Anyone in the Circle could get this virus if they ingested our blood. You wouldn’t even be immune.”

“Nobody lick Avery or Stellan,” Elodie said weakly. I gawked at my bloodied hands, which had suddenly turned into weapons.

Lydia looked at her own hands, too, holding them farther away from her body. “Napoleon said on that scroll that there’s a remedy in the tomb. We can still find it. And if not, we’ll figure it out. Modern medicine has plenty on whatever scientific advances this woman thought she discovered.”

Cole cut her off. “So all we need is to mix their blood and have someone drink it?”

“Not even drink it,” Lydia said. “From the sound of this, it’d take just a drop. We might not even have to infect anyone. Just the fact that we have this . . .” I could see the wheels turning in her head. “I don’t know what we can do with it, but we can do something.”

“Not without our blood, you can’t,” Stellan piped up.

Lydia looked down at her hands again, and at the knife on the ottoman, and I could see in that second what she was thinking.

“We have to wash it off where it’s already mixed,” I said under my breath. “Off of us, and Lydia.”

Jack heard me, and was nodding. We both glanced at Cole, who still had his own gun trained on Luc, and Jack’s on us. If we tried to run . . .

“Get ready,” Jack said.

“For what?” I whispered, but before I could put it together, Jack took a deep breath and vaulted out of his chair.

Cole pointed the gun at him calmly.

“Jack!” I screamed.

Cole pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked hollowly.

Cole frowned and pulled the trigger once more—one more ineffectual click—and then Jack tackled him. Cole’s second gun went off, shooting through a crystal chandelier overhead and into the roof, sending bits of plaster raining down.

“Cole!” Lydia screamed, pointing her own gun in their direction, but obviously afraid to shoot at the writhing mass of arms and legs.

I snatched Lydia’s knife off the ottoman and had it at her side before she could cross the circle of chairs to her brother. “Don’t move.”

She was still for a second, then twisted, trying to knock my knife away. I remembered all my lessons this time. I swung the knife out of her reach and swiped her legs out from under her with one foot. She fell on the ottoman, and I held her down with one knee.

And then Stellan was beside me, wrenching Lydia’s gun out of her hand.

Across from us, Luc had thrown himself into the fray, and together, he and Jack ripped away Cole’s gun. Jack clocked Cole in the temple with the butt of it, and Cole slumped to the ground.

Lydia shrieked.

Then Jack picked up his own gun from where Cole had dropped it on the couch. He crossed to where he’d been sitting earlier, and retrieved the clip of bullets from under the overstuffed chair and clicked them back into the gun. He must have taken it out before he set down the gun in the first place. But if it hadn’t worked, and Cole had pointed the loaded gun at him instead . . .

I let out a shaky breath, my heart still pounding like a bass drum in my ears.

“Cole! Let me see if he’s okay!” Lydia writhed, trying to break free.

“He’ll be fine.” I shoved her back down and turned to Stellan. “We’ll lock them up, but first we have to get the blood off her and us.”

Stellan threw her over his shoulder. “Colette,” he said as we rushed out of the cafe. “Get Elodie to an ambulance.”

My mom was on our heels. “What can I do?” she said.

“Go with Colette and Elodie,” I said. She hesitated, but the farther I could get her away from danger, the better I’d feel. “Please.”

She finally nodded, kissed me on the head, and ran back. We continued away from the cafe.

Lydia was screaming obscenities. “Is there a fountain?” I yelled over her.

“We’d just be contaminating that water.”

I looked around frantically. “The beach. That’d have to dilute it enough.”

We darted out into the sand, and I kicked off my heels. Within seconds, we were plunging into the freezing water, pushing against the waves crashing on the shore, the salt stinging my cuts and my gold dress waterlogged and heavy and dragging on me in a way that made me flash back to Greece. I pushed down the panic and heaved the knife as far as I could out to sea—hopefully it would sink before it cut some unsuspecting tourist, but even that would be less dangerous than having it covered in our blood. Stellan threw Lydia into the surf, and I grabbed her, blinking salt water out of my eyes and rubbing at the traces of our blood on her hands.

“Just stop it,” she spat. We were about the same size, but she was strong, and it was only the crashing waves that put us on equal footing. “You think you’re so good. You think you’re not like us. You are. You just don’t know it yet.”

A wave crashed higher, water spraying into my face. “Lydia—”

My sister’s hair stuck to her face in dark tendrils. “Wait until you have something you care enough about to fight for it. Then you’ll do whatever you have to. Then you’ll understand.”

She looked at Stellan, washing off his own hands and arms in the waves, his white shirt glowing in the almost-full moon, and then wrenched away from me and threw herself into the sea. Stellan caught her with a sweep of his arm and held her, kicking.

I ducked under, scrubbing at myself. “Am I clean?” I held out my arms to let Stellan look at my neck, my chest, my arms in the moonlight. We both ignored my struggling sister under his arm.

“You’re still bleeding, but I think the mixed blood is gone.”

The waves pushed us back into shore, and Stellan dumped Lydia in the sand. She scrambled to her feet, tripping over her sodden formal gown. “Where’s Cole?” she demanded, and then we all saw Jack and Luc standing over a crumpled form in the sand.

Lydia ran toward them. “Cole!” she screamed. She threw herself into the sand beside her brother, who was still bleeding from his head.

“He’ll be fine, Lydia. Stop screaming,” I said, and grabbed Jack’s arm. “We have to get them out of here. Take them someplace where we can hold them until we figure out what to do.”

Before he could answer, a group of cars screeched to a halt on the street above, and at least a dozen people piled out.

Jack cursed. “Saxon security.”

My mouth went dry. The men were sprinting toward the beach.

“Here!” Lydia screamed. “Hurry!”

Stellan pulled out Cole’s gun and faced the oncoming wave of people.

“No!” I said. “Everybody run. There are too many of them. Luc! Go!”

Jack nodded. Stellan pointed his gun down at the twins.

“No!” I said. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” he growled. “We can’t let them go. They’re going to release a plague.”

Lydia put her hands up. “We won’t,” she sobbed. “We’re not stupid. Put down the gun, and we’ll wait until our security gets here and talk—”

“You don’t believe her, do you?” Stellan didn’t drop his gun.

I didn’t. But . . . “They don’t have our blood. And they’re still—” I cut off. They’re still my family, I finished in my head. It sounded crazy, after everything, but it was true. “Please don’t,” I said out loud.

Jack reached around me and grabbed Stellan’s wrist. “Kill them, and the guards will kill you.”

“Please,” I begged.

Stellan’s jaw clenched, but he finally dropped his arm. And then the three of us, plus Luc, were running. I looked back to see Lydia watching us silently. We held each other’s eyes for a few seconds, and then the dark swallowed her.