Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Veintisiete

Mamá’s hazel eyes latched on to mine. She kept her face rigidly composed, but I sensed her frustration and anger. Some of it was directed at me. In her way, she had tried to save me, time and time again. But I had refused to be saved by her.

“Hola, Lourdes,” Papá said, dragging me forward. His tone sounded almost conversational. It was only because I knew him that I could hear the subtle stab of anger. “?Espero que estés bien?” Then he let out a queer little laugh. His breath tickled my cheek. “But I’m being rude speaking in Spanish. I trust you have been well?”

“Why don’t you say what you came down here to say, Cayo?” Mamá said. “We can skip the pleasantries; I know you don’t mean any of them.”

“Where have you hidden her?” he asked softly. “If you tell me, we can avoid any more unpleasantness.” He indicated the dead guard. “I will, of course, keep Inez with me to verify that you’re telling me the truth.”

Mamá’s attention flickered back to me. “I know you received the tickets I sent you.”

“Don’t answer her,” Papá said. “Lourdes, recall that I am not patient.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I remember.”

“Where is Cleopatra?”

“She won’t tell you,” Mr. Fincastle snapped. Then he glanced at me, frowning slightly. His eyes drifted over my shoulder as if he was expecting to see someone else.

With a start, I realized who that would be.

“Are you looking for your daughter?” Papá asked. “I happen to know her whereabouts.”

Oh no. I squirmed, but my father tightened his hold.

A muscle jumped in Mr. Fincastle’s cheek. His face paled, and he appeared to brace himself.

“Her corpse can be found on Pharos Island. My daughter—well, presumably my daughter—killed her.”

Mr. Fincastle looked to have been dealt a mortal blow. He staggered and whispered hoarsely, “You lie.”

My mother looked at me for confirmation, her face draining of all color. When I nodded, she seemed to crumble, her knees shaking, shoulders dropping. I thought she would slump to the ground, but somehow, she remained standing.

“Ask Inez,” Papá said. “Tell him what happened, hijita.”

“She was crushed,” I whispered. “Isadora fired at us first.”

A devastated roar ripped out of Mr. Fincastle. He dropped to his knees, bellowing, moaning like an anguished animal.

“On your feet!” Mr. Graves yelled.

“I never should have sent Isadora to you,” Mr. Fincastle screamed at me. In an act of lunacy, he dove for the pile of weapons. His hands were a blur of motion, moving quickly, as he grabbed one of the pistols and fired.

Mr. Graves staggered, then crashed to the floor. The wood splintered under his weight. Papá dragged me backward, cursing loudly in my ear. I dug my elbow into his side, and he howled, releasing me. I landed hard on my hands and knees, eyes watering from the impact. I flipped onto my back, kicking as he tried to reach for me again. Mr. Fincastle fired another shot, and Papá cursed again before ducking behind one of the columns, shooting over his shoulder.

One of his bullets rushed past my shoulder, smacking at a spot near my arm. More shots rang out, Mr. Sterling’s men had joined the fight. Bullets streaked over my head, and I curled myself into a ball as terror filled my mouth, making it hard to breathe.

“Inez, run!” Mamá screamed.

I looked up, surprised by her warning. Mr. Fincastle was racing toward me at full tilt, a knife in one hand, a gun in the other.

“Charles, don’t!” Mamá said, her voice tinged with terror and desperation.

But Mr. Fincastle ignored her, his whole attention fixed on me. He took aim—

His body jerked to a stop. His eyes widened, and he glanced down at the blood staining his shirt. He managed to look over his shoulder, an animalistic howl on his lips before slumping to the floor, his mouth open.

Behind him stood my mother, a smoking pistol in her hand. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she let out a loud sob as she ran toward him. I stood, knees shaking, in shock that she had saved me.

“Mamá,” I whispered, just as she said, “Oh, Charlie .” She dropped to the floor, eyes red rimmed, tears streaming down her dusty face. Her hand shook as she reached for her dead lover.

“Mamá?”

“Don’t,” she said, clenching her eyes and refusing to look at me. “Go! ?Sal de aquí!”

Papá rounded the pillar, pistol in hand. He stood triumphantly before us, a man on the verge of winning everything. The cold line of his mouth could have stabbed me through.

“Do you side with your mother, then?” Papá asked.

I tore my gaze from his gun and looked at Mamá, who still refused to meet my eyes. She was cradling Mr. Fincastle’s head in her lap. “If you would have left Egypt, he would still be alive,” she whispered. “None of this would have happened.”

“It was always going to end like this,” I said. “When you both declared war, did you really think there wouldn’t be a cost? Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences?”

“Enough, Inez.” Papá straightened his shoulders, visibly bracing himself. “ Choose .”

I shook my head. I’d been pulled into their bloody fight for long enough, and if I only had one more minute left to live, then I would live it for myself. “I choose me .”

“Just like your mother did,” he spat, then he rounded on Mamá. “You and your daughter are nothing to me,” Papá said quietly, with no trace of Mr. Sterling’s English accent. “I will kill her first, Lourdes, and while I’m the one pulling the trigger, her death is your fault, and no one else’s. I hope your double life was worth it.”

Papá shifted his stance, took aim. He stood not three feet away from me. His bullet would rip my heart in two. Behind him, in the distance, Whit and three of Papá’s men were in a shooting match, ducking behind fallen columns, cursing loudly at each other. I wished I could have told Whit how much I loved him. That I forgave him for everything.

Whit fired another shot with his rifle, and one of the men went flying backward, something small falling from his hand.

“ Shit! ” Whit roared, snapping his head in my direction. “INE—”

BOOM.

My ears rang fully as I woke, disorientated, my cheek pressed to the wooden floor. Smoke billowed, wafting into my nose. I tasted smoke in my mouth. The sound of thunderous crashing echoed in the room.

I blinked, my vision slowly coming into focus. It took me several tries to stand, my limbs sore from my fall. My clothes were in tatters, hanging in long strips and burned off in some sections. Around me, the walls of the library shook in anger. And on my next inhale, the room quieted, the smoke disappeared, the columns were standing upright, lavishly painted in green and gold and fiery red. The arched entrances leading to various rooms were intact, the carvings detailed and beautiful.

I gasped, sure I was dreaming, knocked unconscious from the blast.

A slender hooded figure appeared in one of the doorways carrying a roll of parchment in her left hand. I’d seen her before, many times, and I realized where I stood.

I was in Cleopatra’s memory.

She strode forward, pausing in front of each arched entryway, all painted and tiled in an array of glittering colors. I took a step, and then another, until I was close behind her. She walked farther into the library until she came to a room with another arched entryway. Like the others, writing in Greek was carved into the stone. If my father were with me, he’d translate what the words said. But I could only guess.

Cleopatra looked over her shoulder, her dark eyes passing through me as if I were a ghost. I supposed that I was. I’d been haunting her for months.

Then she pressed her fingers into different parts of the arch: First, a blue tile, veined in gold. The image of a serpent came next, followed by a press of a ruby-red tile. Then she carefully went to the other side and removed a tile that had a painting of Cerberus on it.

She was showing me the passage to the inner sanctum of the library.

Cleopatra slipped something off her finger, and with a start, I recognized it and stared down at my own hand.

It was the golden ring.

Cleopatra placed it in the space where the tile had been, fitting it perfectly on a raised circle. The space between the arch shimmered gold for half a second before returning to its usual ordinary state. Cleopatra slipped inside with me at her heels.

The room had high ceilings but was narrow. I could touch either side with my fingertips. The walls were divided into square-shaped cubbies, each packed with tightly bound rolls of parchment. In this space alone, there might have been thousands. Cleopatra brushed her index finger along the carved inscription on each partition, whispering several names I knew from my studies of great historical figures: Alexander the Great, Cicero, Archimedes, Thucydides, and Aristotle.

I gasped at the rolls, wishing I could pull each one out to read. But of course, I’d never be able to. So I forced myself to follow after Cleopatra, ignoring the nearly overwhelming urge to stand in place, just so I could marvel at this library, the most wondrous I’d ever known or seen.

Cleopatra knelt in front of a cubby, muttering under her breath, “Cleopatra.”

This must have been her ancestor, the alchemist, a renowned Spellcaster. Much like the woman before me. She slipped her roll (the Chrysopoeia—it had to be) inside the cubby. Then she stood, turning to face me inadvertently.

I’d never seen her this close up. Dark eyes gleamed with intelligence. Her skin was dewy with youth, rubbed in essential oils, her hair tucked under her hood, a few tendrils grazing high cheekbones. The curve of her mouth was steeped in determination and grit.

A woman beyond her time.

If only she knew of the legacy she’d leave behind.

Would it make her cry, to be reduced to a seductress of men? A temptress whose victories were diminished and forgotten? Part of me wondered if she would even care. This woman had a city to save, a throne to maintain, a name that had to endure the ravages of time.

She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and swept out of the room, using an exit on the opposite side of the arched entryway.

“Inez!” Whit yelled into my face. “Can you hear me?”

He shook me hard, and I coughed, the memory fading to the edges of my mind. I was back in the destroyed library, back in the fire and curls of smoke thickening the air.

“Yes,” I managed, coughing again.

“We have to go,” he said, snatching my hand. “ Now .”

Behind him, a boulder fell, splintering the wooden floor apart. It crashed into the water below. Dimly, I heard the sounds of several people screaming, running back the way we had come.

Whit tugged and we ran through a narrow doorway. The floor shook beneath my feet as pillars fell like dominos around us. I looked back to find my parents behind us, my mother quickly running, my father hobbling after her, red-faced. His left cheek was splattered with blood, as if he’d been struck by debris.

We navigated the rooms as the walls shook and cracked. At some point, Mamá doubled back into one of them, snatching one of the rolled parchments. She didn’t break her stride as she tucked it inside a shiny cloth. My father actually stopped and began stuffing his pockets with scrolls, whatever he could carry.

“Are you mad?” Whit bellowed over his shoulder. “Leave them! Leave them!”

But my father only slowed down.

My mother seemed to fall under the same spell because she, too, stopped to snatch more scrolls. The pair of them were no longer at war with each other, lost in their desperation to gather the priceless parchments.

“We need her,” I gasped.

Whit shot me a furious glare but let go of my hand and then raced back for Mamá. He picked her up and carried her kicking and screaming to where I stood waiting. Together we rushed through the rooms of the library, Papá limping after us, carting a bundle of scrolls high in his arms.

From the corner of my eye, a narrow arch came into view. It was plain, the carvings long since smoothed away, but some of the tiles remained, though they were chipped and cracked. It was nothing like it had been, but I knew it all the same.

I raced toward it, nimbly climbing over boulders and darting around broken columns and loose papyrus that would serve as kindling for the raging fire.

“For the love of God, Inez!” Whit roared.

I stopped inside the arch, as if transfixed. “It’s inside this room.”

“What is?” my husband snarled. He’d released my mother at some point because he marched up to me empty handed. “Inez, I swear—”

“It’s the Chrysopoeia, Whit,” I interrupted, pressing on the tiles. The blue veined in gold, the serpent, the red tile now faded. I removed the tile with the three-headed dog and pulled the golden ring off my finger. The floor shook underneath my feet. We were running out of time.

“I know where it is,” I said, staring at the spot I needed to place the jewelry in.

Another column crashed behind us, and I startled, coming to my senses.

This wasn’t worth our lives.

Whit must have seen the hesitation on my face because he took the ring and placed it inside the vacated space. It still fit perfectly.

“I need it to make everything right between us,” Whit said over the sound of the library coming apart at the seams. “It’s the only way I can pay you back.”

I looked into his face, streaked with dust, a bruise blooming across his cheek, his bottom lip bloody. “I thought you understood.”

“Inez—”

“The money doesn’t matter to me,” I said. “The only thing that does is you, us, our family. You are the love of my life, and I will not lose you now.”

He shut his eyes, his breath shuddering. When he opened them again, he stared at me intently, his hand coming to brush against the curve of my cheek. “I love you.”

I gave him a watery smile. “You are the most precious thing in here, Whit.”

“Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

I blinked at him in alarm. Perhaps something had struck his head, made him forget—

“I know we’re already married,” he said. “But I’m asking you again, Inez, this time for real. I want to do it properly. I want you to have flowers.”

“Roses?” I whispered.

“In every color, if that’s what you want.” He pulled me close, and I tilted my chin upward, met his deep kiss, and then I smiled against his mouth and whispered, “Yes, yes, yes.”

“This is very touching,” came a voice from behind us. “But I’m afraid I still want that sheet.”

My father and mother stood shoulder to shoulder, both looking as if they’d fought several wars, their clothing as tattered and scorched as mine. Papá’s mustache was barely holding on, hanging crookedly. He had lost his spectacles, his padded belly.

But unfortunately, not his pistol.

He aimed it at me, and Whit instinctively moved, blocking Papá’s view.

I had only seconds to act before my father stole him from me. I curved my fingers around Whit’s leather belt, and I brought my hand to the level of the golden ring, perched where it was on the raised circle platform. With all my might, I yanked on Whit’s belt, pulling him backward until we walked through the arched entryway. I snatched the ring in the same breath, and I felt the magic close around us.

Papá fired his gun, and the bullet streaked toward us. Whit lifted his arms to throw around me, but a loud crackling sound stopped his motion. The magic guarding the way inside had eviscerated the bullet.

I let out a triumphant yell—

Papá swung his pistol to my mother’s temple. “I’ll kill her if you don’t give me the scroll, Inez.”

My mother locked eyes with me. She didn’t plead for her life, as if she knew that she’d be wasting her breath. She couldn’t imagine that I’d want to save her. But she was wrong.

Without her, my uncle and Abdullah would never go free.

“I’ll get it,” I said.

Mother’s lips parted, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.

The floors shook again as I turned, and Whit clenched his hands into tight fists. “We don’t have time for this. There’s only one way out of this room and—”

“Not true. There’s an exit at the other end,” I whispered. “Can you go and see if it’s still passable?”

“I’m not leaving you alone—”

“Whit, please .”

“A quick look and then I’ll be back,” he said waspishly.

He hurried forward as I dropped to my knees. Many of the cubbies were destroyed, but there were several still intact, the names of ancient engineers, philosophers, and Spellcasters carved into the wood. I found the name I was looking for: Cleopatra.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I said under my breath.

The scroll was different than the others. It was thinner, and when I touched it, magic sparked, and the flavor of roses burst on my tongue. It was as if the magic spoke to me, whispering urgently in my ear.

This one .

The hair on my arms stood on end. I hated to hand over something that had been dear to Cleopatra. But my uncle and Abdullah needed me to come through.

“Inez, I’m losing my patience,” Papá called out.

I rose to my feet, clutching the Chrysopoeia tightly in one hand, the golden ring in the other. The walk back to them seemed like it took hours, when it was only a matter of seconds. But no amount of time would be enough to prepare me for the sight of my ruinous parents, Papá with his gun and my mother glowering back at him. Her journal was filled with pages about Tío Ricardo and how she feared for her safety, worried about his criminal associations. She really had been writing about my father the whole time. Worried about her fate in his conniving hands.

To defeat him, she became like him.

And as they stared at each other in hatred, I knew, without a doubt, that I was nothing like them and never would be.

“I give the ring to you,” I said to Papá, “and the Chrysopoeia, and Mamá leaves with me and Whit. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed. Is that it?” Papá’s whole being now focused on the roll of parchment in my left hand.

Carefully, I unrolled it and showed him the sheet. It was exactly as Whit had said it would look like: the Ouroboros surrounded by Greek letters—detailed instructions on how to turn lead into gold.

“At last,” Papá said. His face had lost all color except for the area drenched in blood from where he had been struck. He looked deathly ill, but a feverish excitement gleamed in his eyes.

“You need a doctor,” I said over the noise of rubble crashing against stone. I flicked my gaze upward, gasping at the sight of a fissure growing in size. “The roof over our heads can’t hold on much longer.”

“Toss me the ring!”

I glanced at my mother. Her expression was of utter disbelief. It was that expression that made me give up the ring. It soared through the air, bypassing the magical barrier with ease, as it would since it was used in the creation of the spell.

“You first,” Papá said to my mother.

“Coward,” she said coldly, but she took a step forward, and then another. I watched without breathing, the air trapped at the back of my throat. Mamá walked through with no issue, and as my father followed after her, she surreptitiously reached for a charm hanging off her gold bangle.

“Stand by the wall,” Papá said, pistol trained on my mother. She did, hands lightly clasped in front of her. “No tricks, Lourdes.”

She was the picture of innocence. I would have believed her performance had I not seen her unclip the charm from her bracelet. My mother was up to something.

Whit came to stand next to me and muttered under his breath, “You were right. There is an exit.”

“Give me the Chrysopoeia, Inez,” Papá said loudly. “Now.”

Mamá dipped her chin an infinitesimal amount. If I would have blinked, I’d have missed it. I stepped forward and gave it to him just as the walls quaked around us. Rolls of parchment fell off the shelves, and my mother used the moment to drop the charm onto the floor.

“What are you—”

Mamá stomped on it and jumped backward as it exploded into flames.

“Bitch!” Papá snarled, the flames growing in size, surrounding him. He shot his gun, and I dropped to the floor, the heat from the fire enveloping me.

“ Inez! ” Whit dragged me to my feet and then hauled me close to his chest as a section of the roof came down. “We have to go!”

“What about my mother?”

I stole a glance over my shoulder, catching sight of them fighting for the sheet. Papá had lost his gun but was tearing at my mother’s hair.

“We have to go,” Whit repeated, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “This is not your fight anymore! It never was.”

My mother kicked and clawed at Papá’s face. Neither of them knew I was there. The fire reached higher and higher, blocking the sight of them. But I could hear their grunts of pain, the curses they hurled at each other.

Whit took my hand, and I let him drag me through the back exit and into a tunnel. We raced the whole way, our shoes slapping against the stone until we reached the canal.

“This should take us out to sea,” Whit said.

“You don’t know for sure?”

He winked at me. “Trust me.”

Whit led me to the edge, and together we jumped into the Nile. The water was warm, and it swallowed me in its long arms, pulling me out and away from the destroyed remnants of the library. I knew I’d never see it again.

No one would.

The current pulled me under, dragging me to its depths, but Whit held on to my hand, helping me to the surface. I came up sputtering. The water swept over and around us, but still he didn’t let go. He managed to pull me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist as the river yanked us along.

“I have you,” he said. “I have you.”

We were dumped into the harbor, near the Roman fortress Cleopatra had shown me earlier. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. Whit drew closer, gently brushing my tangled hair off my face.

“As much as I hated them, they were your parents,” he whispered. “I can understand the wretched position you were in.”

“Gracias, Whit,” I said, my gaze moving past him and over his shoulder. We had come out of a sliver of rock, nondescript and ordinary. But I couldn’t take my eyes away, somehow knowing in my bones that the river would send me one of my parents.

I didn’t know which one had won the fight.

But I hoped, for Tío Ricardo’s and Abdullah’s sakes, it was my mother.

Dios, por favor. Let it be Mamá.

Please, please, please .

Whit tucked his index finger under my chin, and my eyes flickered back to his. They were a pale blue to match the waves gently prodding us to shore. “We should swim to the coast.”

“I can’t swim.”

“It was implied that I’d help you.”

I smiled at his aggrieved tone. “Can we wait five minutes?”

He narrowed his gaze at me. “Why, sweetheart?”

“Because my mother is going to come out of that canal any second.”

His next words were impossibly gentle. “I don’t think either of them made it.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. “But I have to know for sure.”

“Inez…” His voice trailed off before he gave me a nod. “Five minutes. I can’t keep us afloat longer than that.”

His legs were steadily kicking underneath us; I felt them brush against mine every so often. “Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

I arched a brow.

“Fine. I am a little tired.” He twisted his lips. “And hungry.”

I leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “I promise to feed you falafels after this.”

He ducked his head and smiled. A loud splash had us spinning toward the noise.

“ Please ,” I said.

A moment later, Mamá’s head appeared above the water. She caught sight of us and waved her arm wildly. “?Ayuda!”

“I think we better help her.”

“Ugh,” Whit said.

Whit dragged us up the sandbank, and I got onto my hands and knees, coughing up seawater. He dropped Mamá next to me and then settled onto the ground on my other side, breathing heavily.

“If you make a run for it,” he said after a moment, “I will catch you.”

“You haven’t changed, Whit,” Mamá muttered.

I shifted around until I faced the rise and fall of the sea, and sat heavily on the damp sand. The waves crashed against the shore and the water reached my toes. Whit leaned forward slightly, looking past me to narrow his eyes at my mother. His wet eyelashes were pointed darts.

She glanced at him warily, her eyes flickering over his shoulder. Moonlight not only illuminated the shadowy outline of Alexandria, but also her calculating expression. I reached out to grab a hold of her arm.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, gesturing to the cut across her brow. “We ought to return to the hotel. Call for a doctor.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

Whit pulled a small container from within his jacket and then reached into his holster for his gun. With quick efficient movements, he loaded his weapon. “Your daughter would like to spend more time with you. Are you really going to deny her?” he asked mildly.

My mother’s eyes dropped to the revolver in his hand. “It won’t work. That powder is useless by now.”

Whit lifted his arm and pulled the trigger. The shot thundered harmlessly into the night sky. “Thank goodness for watertight containers.”

The corners of my mother’s lips turned downward. “You’re certainly prepared.”

“Endearing, isn’t it?” I said.

“Is it?” she muttered, gathering her legs underneath her.

My mother was already planning her escape. She was already looking ahead at how to leave me, scheming and plotting for a move that would see her reunited with her treasures. “Where is Cleopatra?” I asked suddenly. “Where have you hidden the artifacts?”

My mother let out a choked cry as she stood. Her knees wobbled, but she somehow remained on her feet, wiping her eyes, and dripping water. “Is that all you care about?”

I slanted a look up at her, anger licking at my edges. “Abdullah and your brother are in prison.” I stood also, my exhaustion swept away by my mounting frustration. “They are charged with a crime you committed.”

“I’m afraid you will have to come with us,” Whit said in that same light tone. He pointed the gun at her.

“You wouldn’t shoot me, Whit,” she said softly. “Not after I saved her life.”

“Why don’t you ask your daughter what I’d do?” he asked. “She knows me better than anyone.”

“He won’t aim to kill,” I said promptly. “But he’ll shoot you somewhere that will make escape near impossible without assistance. Perhaps in the leg so you can’t run far.”

Whit grinned, but his eyes were cold. If he were looking at me that way, I would have shivered. “See?”

Mamá twisted her mouth. “Perhaps a visit with a doctor would be wise.”

Whit stuck close to her, watching her carefully as we made our way to the edge of the city. We walked a few blocks until he directed us down a street where a carriage and driver waited. I turned to look at him in amazement.

“How—”

“I followed Mr. Sterling’s men to the entrance of the underground canals in this carriage. I paid the driver to wait—all night if necessary.”

We climbed into our transport, Whit and I sitting side by side and facing my mother. He rested the gun on his left knee, palm curved around the handle. Keeping his eyes on her, he reached for my hand with his free one and interlaced our fingers.

I glanced at him. “I really thought you’d be irritated with me.”

“Oh,” he said, anger sparking in his blue eyes. “I’m bloody furious, darling.” But then he lifted our clasped hands and pressed a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. “I’m also glad you’re alive. I lost years of my life watching you leave with Mr. Sterling”—he shook his head—“with Cayo.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Years of my life,” he repeated. “Gone.” Then he bent and kissed me, hard and quick. “Don’t ever pull that shit with me again, Olivera,” he whispered against my mouth. He’d said something similar to me months ago when we first met.

I gave him a small smile. Perhaps in another few months he’d finally realize that was just how I operated.

Mamá stared at the pair of us holding hands, her lips flattened. Before Egypt, her expression alone would have made me despair. Hearing her actual disapproval would have cost me several nights’ sleep. But now I stared back at her steadily. I wouldn’t feel bad for not meeting her impossible standards when she couldn’t live up to them, either. Subconsciously, she must have known that. My father had demanded perfection from her, and she had crafted the perfect wife. She had created a cage all on her own, and my father was ruthless enough to use the key.

The carriage pulled up to the hotel. I went to open the door, but Whit’s voice stopped me.

“Wait a moment, Inez.” He handed me the gun, and I made a little noise of surprise at the back of my throat. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re leaving? Right now?” I asked.

Mamá narrowed her eyes at Whit. “He’s planned something.”

Oh, of course. I relaxed my shoulders and leaned against the cushion. Whit opened the door, climbed out, and then looked at me over his shoulder and winked. He turned his attention to my mother and in a hard voice said, “If you harm her in any way, I promise you will not like the consequences.”

Mamá stiffened.

Whit closed the door, ran around the carriage, and disappeared into the hotel. Mamá peered out the window. She was like a cornered hare, skittish and nervous, eyes flicking left to right, looking for her chance to run. Then she looked at the gun in my hand and scoffed.

“Let’s not pretend that you would actually pull the trigger, tesoro,” she said, settling back against the seat, imitating my posture. “You are not a violent person.”

“Nor am I a stupid one,” I said quietly. “You wouldn’t hurt me now after you’ve saved my life.”

Her eyes clouded over. “Charlie.”

“How did you two meet?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Cayo hired him to help with operations. It began there.”

“Did you know Papá was sick?”

She nodded. “It’s why he wanted Cleopatra so badly. He believed her body would cure him.”

“You will tell me where you’ve hidden her,” I said. “ And the cache.”

She remained stubbornly silent.

“You’d let your brother die in prison?” I asked flatly. “Abdullah?”

Mamá lifted her chin, her face stony. “Maspero and his associates don’t have enough proof to keep them there. You’ve caused nothing but stress, grief, and heartache since coming to Egypt. I think you can deal with the consequences of your actions.”

“How dare you,” I seethed.

“I dared to save your life,” she shouted. “I killed Charlie. Do you have any idea what that cost me?”

“You marked Elvira for death,” I yelled back. “Do you have any idea what that cost me ?”

We stared at one another, breathing heavy, mirrors of each other. Same hazel eyes. Same band of freckles across the bridge of our noses. We shared a love for adventure, making plans, taking risks. We had both hurt people by the things we had done.

“I need you to be my mother,” I whispered. “I need you to make it right.”

She stared at me warily. “What does that look like? You’d see me in prison for the rest of my life?”

“I don’t trust you to walk away from all of this,” I said quietly. “Tradesman’s Gate, stealing artifacts. I don’t think you can give up the wealth it brings, no matter how much it twists your soul into someone I don’t recognize.” I inhaled deeply. “For everyone’s sake, for my peace of mind, for Elvira—you belong in prison. And I need you to return Cleopatra and her cache to the antiquities department.”

Her brows rose. “The one run by foreign agents? That one? Surely you can’t be this naive. Do you honestly think it would help? Everything will be distributed to benefit the people with money, influence, and power. If you don’t already know, those people aren’t necessarily Egyptians.”

Her words were a slap to the face. “So because the system is corrupt, your best choice is to play along? Why bother changing it?”

She shrugged.

I tried a different tactic. “There’s a chance for future generations to enjoy and learn from Cleopatra’s cache,” I said. “But with you , there is no chance of that happening.”

Mamá raised her arms to fix her hair, tucking strands back into her braid. She pulled one of her pins out and repositioned it into a different section. There was something practiced about her movement.

“That’s enough,” I said sharply, hand gripping the gun so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“In a minute,” she murmured, another hairpin between her teeth. She pulled it out, her brows pulled into a severe frown. “I think this one is broken.”

Her deliberate nonchalant tone put me on edge. My instincts screamed that she was up to some—

She bent the hairpin, flinging it into my lap. Smoke billowed, engulfing me in a thick plume. I clenched my stinging eyes. I tried to cry out but immediately began coughing. My hands reached for her blindly, but the door opened and she climbed out. I stumbled after her, still coughing, tears streaming down my face. There was a sudden yell and the sound of someone throwing a glass. It shattered when it met the ground.

“I warned you,” Whit snarled.

He pulled me into his arms, and I wiped my eyes against his shirt. When the smoke finally disappeared, I lifted my head, expecting to see my mother, but I was met with another familiar face.

“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Olivera,” Monsieur Maspero exclaimed. “This is rather interesting, n’est-ce pas?”

I stared at him dumbly. “What are you doing here, sir?”

“I brought him.” Farida, my cousin Amaranta, and even Tía Lorena were huddled by two men—whom I’d never seen before—carrying pistols. Both were pointed at my mother, who was busily mopping up her shirt, scowling at my husband.

“I threw lemonade at her,” Whit said by way of explanation.

“Lemonade?” I repeated.

“I thought it would irritate her the most,” Whit said. “Though you ought to be thankful I wasn’t carrying a scalding cup of tea , Lourdes.”

“Why did you have lemonade? Why is my family here? And Farida? And Monsieur Maspero? I’m so confused.” I rubbed my forehead. “I feel as if I’ve missed something critical.”

“Whit wrote me a telegram,” Farida said, “telling me to inform Monsieur Maspero that if he wanted to know the true culprit behind Cleopatra’s missing cache, then he’d better come to Alexandria. So of course, I set off to the department office, and by then, I had developed all of the photos from the auction we attended.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a thick envelope. “We got here as fast as we could.”

“So I have come,” Monsieur Maspero said. He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t realize that I would be escorting all these very”—he scrunched his brow—“ charmant women.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. No one living would ever describe Amaranta as charming.

“I had to bring the photographs,” Farida said defensively.

“And I,” Amaranta said coolly, “would not dream of missing seeing Lourdes arrested.”

Tía Lorena coldly stared at her brother’s wife. “Neither would I.”

Whit and I exchanged a look. His seemed to ask, Are you going to tell her about Cayo? To which I mutely replied, Not today.

He nodded in agreement. He smiled at me, slow and tender, as conversation erupted loudly, my aunt yelling at my mother, Amaranta and Farida talking animatedly to Monsieur Maspero, who looked at them dazedly. He had probably never been addressed by two women so forcibly and sternly.

One voice rose above the din.

“This is ridiculous!” Mamá exclaimed. “You have no proof.”

Farida pulled out the photographs from within the envelope and flipped through them before triumphantly holding one up for everyone to see. We all crowded around her to get a better look—save for the two men who still had their weapons trained on my mother.

It was a photo taken on Philae of Mamá sitting alone at a makeshift desk, completely oblivious to someone standing behind her practicing taking pictures with a portable camera. In the picture, Mamá was holding a square-shaped card.

An invitation to Tradesman’s Gate.

Addressed personally to her.

WHIT

Maspero’s men dragged Lourdes to the carriage. Inez stared determinedly in the opposite direction, her jawline tight, but her bottom lip quivered, betraying her grief. Lourdes looked at her daughter, as if willing to impart one last blow, but I moved to block the sight of my wife from her gaze. I wanted my face to be the last one she saw before being hauled away.

I held out my hand to help her climb inside.

“So gallant,” she said mockingly.

But she clasped my palm, and as she took a step forward, she muttered, “Reach into my front jacket pocket.”

I blinked and did as she asked. My fingers found parchment, rolled tightly and held together by a satin ribbon. I pulled it out and immediately transferred it to my own pocket.

“Is this—” I breathed, my heart pounding wildly. “Why give it to me?”

“Let’s call it Inez’s dowry,” she said. “Look after her.” Lourdes climbed into the carriage and settled onto the plush seat, her guards climbing in after her and settling on the opposite bench. She glared at them before dropping her gaze to her lap.

Monsieur Maspero slammed the door, calling up to the driver, “I will follow in another carriage.” Then he turned to face me, his brows rising slightly. “What did she say to you?”

The roll of parchment burned in my pocket. “Inanities.”

He nodded, called out a farewell to the group, and climbed into another waiting carriage. The drivers flicked their reins, horses neighed, and they were off. I stared after them, a roaring noise reverbating in my ears. And then I felt a cool hand brush against mine. I glanced down, blinking, into my wife’s upturned face.

“Is it over?” she asked in a watery voice.

“It will be,” I promised her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. I kissed her hair as she settled against me.

She tilted her head and met my eyes. Hers were red rimmed, eyelids swollen. “Can we have cats?”

“ Cats? Plural?” I asked, aghast.

“Who doesn’t like cats?”

“I happen to love dogs,” I said. Then I shook my head. I didn’t know why I was arguing with her. I’d give her the bloody moon if she asked. “Inez, we can have as many of them as you’d like.”

She lowered her head but not before I caught the soft smile on her lips.

“What do you want to do now, sweetheart?”

She considered the question. “Whatever we want.”