Chapter Thirty-Eight
September 20X6, Stanford
I blink and the darkness clears. Slowly a wood-paneled room comes into focus. We’re standing in front of a long dining table dotted with flickering votive candles in jewel-toned jars and littered with papers. Various vases and glasses lie amidst bowls of rotting fruit, and a spyglass rests at one end. At the other end, a bagel sits on a plate, half eaten, like someone left in a hurry. Beyond the table, the ocean sparkles through leaded-glass bay windows. Golden light from the setting sun streams in, illuminating four birdcages hanging where a chandelier should be, each housing a different tropical bird.
The sun sets in the west… I widen my stance to steady my balance as the creaking floorboards rock beneath my feet, giving me the impression we’re on a ship.
“Intruder alert,” a yellow parrot with a bright orange beak squawks. “Intruders.”
“He recognizes us.” Garrett peeks at me out of the corner of his eye, a slow smile spreading across his face. He stands to my right with his hands shoved into the pockets of his fancy navy tuxedo pants. Wearing a matching silken blazer over an untucked black ruffled shirt with the first couple buttons opened to expose his defined chest, he’s gorgeous and perfectly rumpled, like he’s just returning from some fabulous all-night party. But best of all, he is Garrett. All that’s missing are his signature three black bars under his eye. There is no trace of Beau and a burst of joy radiates through me.
But no way am I letting him know how happy I am to see him. So I punch him in the arm. “Where have you been?”
“Stanford, same as you.” His jaw twitches, and he raises his eyebrows, his eyes running the length of the silvery, floor-length gown I wear. It has sheer sleeves that balloon out at my wrists and the bodice is corseted with silver boning that sucks in my waist while my hips and shoulders are accentuated with chevroned metal baskets reminiscent of the birdcages. And somehow Dr. Nasif has tricked my brain into feeling the swish of the flowy, translucent skirt around my ankles.
My stomach drops under his scrutiny. “But you haven’t been you. You know what I mean.” I press my lips together, wanting to dare him to deny he uploaded his brain, but I’m unsure how much of our true selves we should reveal. Then I remember Dr. Nasif said she can’t hear us, and the knowledge that she’s telling the truth hits me with striking clarity.
I don’t think, I simply know beyond a shred of a doubt that everything we say is private. In fact, it’s like I’m incapable of doubting myself. I feel like me, but more alert, more awake. Caffeinated. I’m aware of every detail in the space, of Garrett’s energy humming next to me, drawing me to him, and I’m presented with the knowledge that we are connected by our brain chemistry. That buzz I feel is because we are linked. We’re meant to be. That information normally would have the power to floor me, but presented in this world, I acknowledge and accept it.
He reaches out and brushes a strand of my rosy hair out of my eyes, making my heart flutter. I can’t help but wish he’d tilt my chin up to his.
“I actually don’t know what you mean, Ellie.” He smirks. “I’m not a mind reader.”
Thank goodness.
“But if you’re referring to me refusing to crack my Beau cover, even when all I want is for you and me to be together, out in the open—” He slips his free hand around my waist and drags me toward him before lowering his face toward mine, holding me so close our noses almost touch.
My insides turn to mush. And he says he can’t read minds.
“—It’s because the stakes are really high. We’ve got one shot at stopping Madden and the Simulation, and I’m not going to be the one who blows it,” he whispers, his gray-green eyes mesmerizing me. “As much as I want to risk everything for you.”
His breath is warm on my chin, and my synapses misfire, spinning my thoughts in a dizzying whir. Does he feel this, too? The answer comes again as knowledge that I have always known. Any answer I come up with about how he feels about me would only be wishful thinking. Just like he can’t read my mind, I can’t read his.
But I can trust him. I’m positive.
His gravity draws me in, threatening to take me under, but I need answers first. Steeling myself against him, I press my hands on his shoulders to create some distance and narrow my eyes. “How do I know it’s really you talking? After all, you uploaded your brain. You showed Nash the Warhol tape.” My voice cracks, but even as I say it, the truth presents itself. Somehow, he’s fooled me. Fooled everyone.
The corner of his mouth twitches into a crooked smile. “You can’t believe everything you hear. Or see. I promise I’ve been here all along.” He presses his forehead to mine and warmth spreads to my temples. The place where our heads touch hums with a current of energy, like we’re in the fast lane on an information superhighway and we’re each other’s destination. The interconnectivity is intense and I’m pretty sure we could rival the fastest download speeds in the world as we stand, held together by an unseen force that wraps around us, binds us so tight the edges of my vision tinge pink. And for a moment, I’m complete.
Until he straightens, abruptly breaking our connection, and my legs give out.
He tightens his grip on my waist and steadies me, his eyes glittering. “Besides. I owe you a real second date.”
My lips part, my tongue too thick to form words as he drops his hand from my waist.
He steps away, creating much-needed space between us, and I rub my arms, chilled by the sudden separation, though I’m happy to note he runs his fingers through his hair and straightens his shirt, seeming a little rattled himself.
“And speaking of time, we don’t have much of it.” Recomposing his features, he morphs back into his usual exasperating self. “Dr. Nasif will be wondering what’s taking us so long. Did you figure out the first riddle yet?”
The magic intoxicating me evaporates, and I lift my chin, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of further seeing the effect he has on me. “No. Have you?”
For a second he pauses, his soft gaze trained on my face, and I get the impression he wants to sweep me back into his arms—which would be fine with me—but then he stiffens. “What’s the first thing I taught you, Ellie?”
Tilting my head to the side, I think back to our first conversations. “Always have a decoy for a girlfriend?”
He frowns. “No. That was second. The first thing was ‘stay focused on the mission.’ Don’t let anything—or anyone—distract you.”
And no falling for the target. Or your partner. I burn up all the way to the tips of my ears but I manage to bat my eyelashes at him. “Pretty sure you never taught me that.”
“No?” Lowering his brow, he taps his chin. “Well, you’re lucky I’m here, then.”
I close my eyes. “So lucky.” Definitely the same old Garrett.
“This is a timed challenge, partner,” he reminds me, entwining his fingers in mine. “And you know how much I hate to lose.”
“I do.” Meeting his gaze head-on—which sends tingles all the way to my toes—I tug him toward the dining table, my skirt swirling around my ankles. “What exactly is the first riddle, then?” After I wiggle my fingers free of his, I force my focus to the game and pick up a moldy orange.
“We’re going to have to ask them.” He points to the birds.
The four colorful birds stare at us, silently blinking.
“Polly want a cracker?” I joke. The fourth bird, a red parrot with blue and green wings, turns her back on me.
“Nice out.” Garrett bites back a laugh.
I put the orange back in the bowl and place my hands on my hips. “Why don’t you try, then?”
“You’re the one who speaks bird, Ellie. Remember that day in the Lodge when you threw yourself against a window trying to save one?” He nudges my arm with his elbow.
My cheeks flush and I swat him away. “You’re impossible.”
He grins at me before turning to the yellow parrot who announced us as intruders.
“I get that you’re skeptical of us. You should be. We’re strangers. But we’re honored guests of Captain Morrison. We were sent an invitation and told to meet him here.”
Searching for where Garrett is getting his information, I spot an invitation lying among the papers on the table. The inscription, written in silvery scrawl across a midnight-blue square dotted with sparkling stars, reads:
“The Captain has been missing for a month,” the yellow bird squawks. “He went looking for treasure and never returned. I don’t know who invited you.”
I grit my teeth. Of course, they’ll answer to Garrett. Refraining from rolling my eyes, I soften my shoulders and kindly ask, “Does the Captain have a wife?”
The parrot turns his back on me.
“They don’t love you,” Garrett sings under his breath.
I scowl at him.
“Do we first need to find out who invited us?” Garrett asks the orange bird with bright blue wings.
“Good start.” The bird nods.
Pursing my lips, I flicker my gaze to Garrett. He shrugs minutely, barely able to contain his smile.
I return my attention to the orange bird with a shake of my head. “How do we find out?”
The orange bird turns his back on me and Garrett doubles over, laughing. Flattening my expression, I refuse to look at him.
Only a green bird with a red head that is wearing an eyepatch is still facing us.
Still cackling, Garrett walks over to the wood-paneled wall to our right that is painted with a world map mural and studies it.
I join him. “Do you think we need to guess what ocean we’re on?” The oceans on the map are all painted midnight blue and labeled with silver handwriting, while the continents are metallic gold and copper and titled in black. It’s a beautiful work of art, except that every inch of land is dotted with a gaudy travel magnet. They’re all different—from palm trees in Alaska to Minnie Mouse in Switzerland to pretzels in China—and there’s no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement.
Garrett points to different oceans, keeping his gaze on the bird.
The bird remains silent, his one visible eye blinking.
“Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the map.” Garrett runs his hand over the wall, I assume feeling for a seam or secret door.
“I think it does.” I chew my lip, feeling certain the map is the key to getting out of the room, while studying the bird to see if he’s looking at anything that might be a hint. It’s almost staring through us… The answer hits me.
“The eyepatch. He’s blind.” I hurry back to the dining room table. “We have to figure out what can help him see.” The spyglass practically jumps off the table at me.
I raise it to my eye, turning the cylinder to sharpen the blurry ocean until a black splotch on the window comes into focus.
“Coordinates,” I say as the numbers take shape. “Write this down. Latitude: 29.700001, Longitude: minus 98.116669.”
“I don’t need to write it,” Garrett says, already tracing the coordinates on the map.
I set the spyglass back on the dining table and rejoin him.
“They point to New Braunfels, Texas.” He presses his thumb on the handwritten city. “I’m guessing that means we’re on the Gulf of Mexico right now.”
We wait, expecting something to happen, but nothing does.
“Try the magnets.” I point to the random collection stuck to Texas.
“But which one?” He bites his lip. “There’s everything from geishas to cats to boats to the Eiffel Tower—dozens of magnets and no theme.”
Behind me the birdcages creak and I turn to find the yellow, orange, and red birds are again facing us. Only the green bird has turned his back.
“Maybe we need to ask one of them? Is there a parrot magnet?” I hunt around Europe for a bird magnet.
“There’s an orange one.” Garrett finds it in the Indian Ocean and shows it to the birds. The yellow and red parrots turn their backs to us.
“Orange it is,” Garrett says. He places the magnet on New Braunfels. Nothing happens.
“Show him other magnets,” I say, holding up a ship magnet.
“You only get three chances,” the parrot announces. “That’s one.”
Garrett clamps his hand over the magnet in my hand and lowers it to my side, holding my fist in place. “We have to be strategic. Didn’t I teach you that during my initiation heist?”
“No, you were too busy—”
His brows lift and I know exactly where his mind went.
Heat rushes to my cheeks and I clamp my mouth shut. “Never mind. We don’t have time for this. Which one do you think it is?”
We study the wall. Flamingo? No. Homer Simpson? Random. Treasure chest. That’s it. The answer comes with sparkling clarity and zero doubt. “Found it,” I say. Without consulting Garrett, I show the magnet to the parrot.
The parrot jumps from his perch and clings to the side of his cage. After unlocking the door with his beak, he climbs out of the cage and up to the roof. Once he’s settled, he nods his head like he’s beckoning me forward. I glance at Garrett.
He shrugs. “I’d do what he says if I were you.”
I approach the parrot and climb up on the table, slowly rising to his level so I don’t scare him. Once I reach my full height, he lowers his head. Understanding he wants me to pet him, I scratch his head with the magnet. He ruffles his feathers, shimmying a happy little dance and puffing up to double his previous size. “Find the treasure, save the captain,” he squawks.
“Find the cheerleader, save the world.” I smile, quoting a long-forgotten TV show called Heroes. “Thank you.”
After hopping off the table, I head for the map and place the treasure chest magnet on New Braunfels. As soon as I do, the paneled wall that holds the map slides open, revealing a set of spiral stairs winding up into darkness. Tipping my head back, I beam my glee up at Garrett.
He presses his lips together. “Nice work, Ellie. I knew those birds wouldn’t be able to resist you.” Placing his hand on my lower back, he nudges me forward. “After you.”
“Oh yeah, send me first, feed me to the lions. ‘The stupid guys tell me to use the stairs.’” I glare at him, quoting The Goonies. But refusing to falter in front of him, I pick up my skirts and brush past him.
“Always say die.” He laughs.
The metal stairs are steep and narrow and we’re only able to fit single file. We climb with me leading the way, raising my skirt so that I don’t trip, highly aware my rear end is level with Garrett’s face.
Blinded by the dark, I feel my way upward. The stairs become more cramped and narrower as I go, until my head cracks against the ceiling.
“Ouch.” Pain shoots across my scalp and I grasp the top of my head, stumbling backward against Garrett. My backside lands square on his chest, almost sending us both tumbling down the stairs, but he reaches up and grabs me around the waist, steadying us before we make a crash landing.
“Are you okay?” He rises to share a step with me and his breath tickles my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“Yes.” I pat my head, the ache already dulling. “No blood. I’ll be fine.”
Keeping one arm around me, he holds me close—which I register is not necessary—as he reaches over my shoulder and runs his fingers over the ceiling. “It’s a trapdoor. And it’s locked.”
“And we don’t have the key,” I reply, highly aware of his body pressed against my back, of the heat we’re generating. It’s all I can do to keep from melting against him.
He fiddles with the latch. “It feels like an old trunk lock. It should be easy to pick.”
My hand goes to my thigh, feeling for my tool garter, but comes up empty. “I don’t have any tools.” I run my fingers through my rosy hair, searching for a hairpin. But my hair is unencumbered, falling in loose waves. “Do you?”
He checks his jacket and pant pockets. “I’ve got nothing. I guess it’s back to the Captain’s room. The key is probably there.”