MAP OF FATES Cut Scene

Three hours and forty-two minutes later, all three of us were in a car on the way into London from Heathrow. Stellan had flown separately, as usual. The Saxons didn’t know about the Thirteenth thing, and they didn’t know Stellan was part of our little band of treasure-hunters. And it wasn’t like we could be seen with him, either. The Dauphins probably thought Jack and I were eating dim sum in Beijing by now, or hiding out in a slum in India.

Instead, we’d seen half of Europe. 

It turned out there was Napoleon memorabilia everywhere. Just a few days ago, we’d been in Moscow. Stellan had looked so comfortable in Russia. Not that he didn’t look comfortable everywhere, but there, he looked like he belonged. He didn’t look Russian, though, I’d realized seeing him in the country where he grew up. He must take after his mom’s Swedish side. So my Viking assessment wasn’t far off. 

We hadn’t found a thing in Russia. 

Before Russia, it was Spain. That was during the brief time I’d decided I should be enjoying all this traveling to whatever small extent I could, so we checked the Napoleon stuff in Madrid early in the day so we had time to go to Plaza del Sol, and eat tapas. Jack introduced me to churros and chocolate, this crispy, cinnamon donut thing dunked in what must have been a melted candy bar. 

We’d been putting off London. 

There were so many museums here, we hardly knew where to start. As many of them had Napoleon artifacts as anywhere else, but what they really had was Alexander stuff. We weren’t sure whether that meant they were more or less likely to have what we were looking for.

But the real reason we hadn’t done London yet was because we couldn’t not talk about the Saxons when we thought about being here. Right now, we were just using their plane. It would be so much easier if we could use their influence, too. Stay with them. They could have someone tell us exactly what was in each museum’s collection so we wouldn’t have to look ourselves. They might even know where would be the best place for us to concentrate our efforts.

But every time we talked about them, Jack and I got in a fight that neither of us wanted to admit was a fight. 

The car stopped in a pretty, green neighborhood, and we got out in a crowd of school kids and tourists.  I did what had become my standard search of the crowd for anyone looking at us a little too long, or purposefully not looking our way at all. 

All I saw as we made our way to the museum’s entrance were a school group about my age, half-paying attention to their teacher, a mom holding the hands of two little kids in matching white sailor outfits, a pair of middle-aged tourists with zip-off travel pants and an armload of camera equipment. I did a double-take when I heard people speaking English. It wasn’t like I didn’t speak English every day, but it felt like forever since I could understand conversations on the street. I paused for a second, listening to a couple argue about where to eat dinner, marveling about how foreign my native language sounded. 

Jack turned and shot me a questioning look, and I caught up as we headed inside.

I was surprised that the entrance to the museum looked classically Greek, with marble columns and a pitched roof carved in relief, but what I really wasn’t expecting was the inside. 

The ceiling of the museum’s atrium was entirely glass. It arched up and out from a central column flanked by circular staircases, like the ceiling was erupting from the building in a floating web. 

“Wow,” I whispered. 

“It used to be an open courtyard,” Jack said. “And then it housed library stacks and was closed off to the public for a good hundred fifty years until this was built. Two acres of space, covered only by glass and steel.” 

The glass let in the light from outside, so it was like a warm, cloudy day in here, too. I dragged my eyes away from the ceiling and surveyed the atrium. Tourists milled around the modern, white space, taking photos and holding maps. 

Unlike in some of the other museums, that wasn’t going to be us today. Though the British Museum was one of the largest in the world, their collection was so massive they only displayed about one percent of it at a time. The rest was hidden away in an underground storage space. Also unlike most museums in the world, the British Museum was relatively good at cataloguing their collection and even posting much of it online, and that was how we had decided a few days ago we had to see some things that weren’t on display. 

“Ready, professor?” I said to Stellan. 

“Associate professor,” he corrected. Since we weren’t using the Saxons, we had to get into the storage vaults by our own means. Through hacking in to the Oxford database while we’d been waiting for the planes to be ready earlier, we were able to send a very official-sounding email from an archaeology professor who had ties to the museum stating that one of his associate professors and two assistants needed emergency access to the vault. It had worked. And since Stellan looked the oldest of the three of us, he got to be the grown-up. 

We’d stopped at TopShop on the way here, and I’d stripped off the jeans and hoodie I’d been wearing to combat the Venice fog in favor of a professional-looking pencil skirt and blouse. The guys both changed into suits Stellan had gotten from the Dauphins’ plane. 

We were meeting a docent named Dr. Smythe at the information desk. I was waiting for an old man when a woman who couldn’t have been over twenty-five, with a short red bob, even redder lips, and a fitted jade dress approached us. “Dr. Barrow, I presume?” she said in a crisp British accent, dropping the name we’d taken from someone without a photo on the Oxford site. “I’m Rebecca Smythe.”

Stellan turned, and I had to bite my lip to not laugh at her expression. Whether it was because of his age or just because of his face I wasn’t sure, but she recovered quickly and shook hands with Jack and me much more warmly than I probably would have if I were in her situation and a group of entitled academics had interrupted her day at the last minute. Then she turned back to Stellan and asked him polite questions about the professor whose email we had hacked. I had to admit, I was impressed with Stellan’s acting skills. Not only did he answer like we weren’t lying through our teeth, but he managed not to hit on Dr. Smythe too blatantly. 

After she’d officially signed us in, she led us away at a professional but obviously hurried clip, her heels clicking on the marble. “Just ahead is our ancient Egyptian collection,” she was saying when I caught up, “and to the right we have a rotating exhibition, and what we’re passing right now is our collection of Greek artifacts, many of which had history with Napoleon himself.”

I peered into a long exhibit hall. A crush of visitors crowded around a glass case containing what it took me a second to realize was the Rosetta Stone. Closer to us was a familiar-looking bust. 

Dr. Smythe saw me looking. “Alexander the Great. Handsome man, wasn’t he?” When she turned away, Stellan grinned back at us, and I rolled my eyes. “Just here is where we’re going,” she continued.

She pushed open a heavy door and we followed her down a set of stairs to a basement level, but not before I looked over my shoulder one more time to make sure we weren’t being followed. 

“Dr. Smythe—“ I started. 

“Rebecca is fine,” she cut me off, her curtain of red hair swishing around her face when she turned to smile. 

I smiled back. “Is most of the collection in storage shown on your website, or is there quite a bit of it uncatalogued?”

“It’s almost all catalogued,” she answered, “but being listed on the website is a different story. I’d say a good two thirds of it is not listed.”

That was just what we wanted to hear. 

“May I ask what exactly it is you need to see?” she asked. 

The three of us glanced at each other. We hadn’t mentioned in the email what we were looking for so we could assess the situation when we got there. As usual, it was easier and quicker to find what we needed when we had help, but it was also riskier. 

“Napoleon,” I said, making a snap decision. I liked her, she seemed smart and would be a lot of help, and she seemed to have no idea we were faking. “We’re doing some research, and we’re seeking Napoleon artifacts that may not be on display in current collections. Specifically, his personal effects. Clothing. Jewelry.” 

Jack bit his lip. I hoped I hadn’t said too much. But Rebecca just nodded. “Alright, then. I know just the place for you to begin.”

She soon had us seated at a table and was the picture of efficiency showing us which catalogs to search for the items we wanted to find, then where to ask for the items to be brought out. 

We found clothing, books, and quite a bit of jewelry—this was definitely the right section of the storage floor. There were even multiple bracelets. 

I turned a wrist cuff over and over in my hands. It was silver with gold accents, and was the closest we’d seen to being a twin of our bracelet. But it wasn’t close enough, and there was nothing on it to indicate it could be what we were searching for despite the non-identical looks. 

My optimism faded. As always, this was a dead end, and I felt more of a sting from it this time than usual after what had happened this morning. 

Defeated, we returned the catalogs and headed back up to the atrium. It was almost five, and the light through the ceiling was more subdued than it had been earlier, but I still squinted after the dark of the basement. 

“Time to go home?” Jack said. Home was the little apartment in Paris we’d been staying at since we escaped the wedding. In a way, it was ridiculous that we had stuck so close to the Dauphins and everything that had happened. But in another way, Paris was the last place they’d look. 

I actually liked our apartment in Montmartre, but I made a face. Since we were so close to Paris now, we’d decided we’d go back by bus—bus tickets were far less likely to require a passport. And it was nice sometimes to know the Saxons didn’t know exactly where we were. But my body tensed up at the thought of spending hours in a bus seat tonight. There was nothing else to do, though—no matter how far we went, we always did day trips, because getting hotel rooms in Europe was a lot of trouble. They were supposed to take the passports of everyone who checked in and report to Interpol exactly who was staying there at all times. That wouldn’t work for us, obviously. But it was getting exhausting. 

Stellan saw me cringe. “I told the Dauphins I was following up on something in London and that I might not get back to France by tonight. They have a staff apartment here.”

“How nice for you,” Jack muttered. 

“Obviously what I mean is that you can stay there, too,” Stellan said patiently. “There are plenty of beds.”

“And plenty of cameras,” I said as we rounded the column in the center of the atrium. “That’d be really smart to let the Dauphins see us, with you, and know exactly what’s going on. Great idea.”

We passed the school group I’d seen earlier, listening to a docent talk about the Chinese art temporary exhibition. 

“There are cameras at the door, but that’s it,” Stellan said. “So you’ll put on a hat and sunglasses until we get inside. If they care enough to be watching right now, which they likely don’t, they’ll just think—well, let’s say our extracurricular activities aren’t as closely monitored as some things. I’ve brought girls back there before.”

Of course he had. We got to the information desk. Rebecca was there, on the phone. She held up one finger to get us to wait.

“So you can sneak me in,” I continued. “But—“ I shot a look at Jack.

Stellan followed my gaze and gave a wry smile. “So they’ll think it’s going to be a particularly wild night. No one cares. I was just trying to be nice, but by all means, spend the night on a bus that smells like tuna sandwiches if you’d rather.”

Before Jack could reply, Rebecca hung up the phone. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she said. 

“We did,” I said. “Thanks for your help.” 

“Brilliant,” she said. “I was just on the phone with a woman who must be a colleague of yours. She’s seeking the exact same Napoleon memorabilia you were, and even asked whether you’d left yet. I told her she’d just missed you, but that the collection is free for her to peruse now.” 

I clutched the edge of the counter. 

“Oh? What was her name?” Stellan said calmly. 

Rebecca looked down to check her notepad—then an explosion rocked the Museum. 

I crouched and threw my hands over my head as a rush of hot air and debris blew over us. The sound of the explosion faded out, and the room held its breath for a long beat of complete silence. 

I sat up, slowly. Another beat. The whole museum frozen in place, like we’d been turned to stone. Beat. Blood running down the face of the little girl I’d seen outside and onto her white dress. Beat. An old man slumped against a wall, glasses askew, holding his head. Beat. A security guard, openmouthed, staring at the smoke from the back of the museum where the blast had come from. 

And then there was a horrible brittle cracking sound. 

“No—” I choked, realizing what was happening, what was breaking, shattering, and more, and more, and the smashing of glass, and screams, and glass hitting a hard marble floor and the memory a car crash when I was thirteen, when we’d been broadsided by a truck that didn’t stop at a stop sign. The scream of metal, the busting glass, the lurch of the impact that still made me sick to my stomach if I thought too hard about it. 

This was worse. 

I never would have known fracturing had a sound, but it did, a nauseating, screaming sound, and dust and debris flying into the exhibit hall, and the room erupting in chaos, fleeing, mayhem.

We all leaped into action at once. “Run!” I screamed. “Go go go!” The cracking had started from the back, but it was moving quickly. In a second, the whole ceiling might fall on us. 

Jack and I scrambled toward the safety of the entrance, and Stellan grabbed a frozen Rebecca off the floor behind the info desk and dragged her with us. 

We barely made it. 

We were just a few feet out of the atrium when a final, deafening ripping noise sounded and the whole ceiling came down, in a sheet more than a flurry, smashing on the marble and shattering into a deadly glass ice storm. Slivers crashed into the backs of my arms; into my right cheek when I turned to watch, horrified. Screams, including mine. Shoving. Trampling. Crushing. Someone stepped on the back of my shoe and I almost fell, but I grabbed Jack’s shoulder and righted myself. 

We burst out into the gray afternoon. 

The rest of the crowd kept running, down the steps and out into the street in front of the museum, looking back over shoulders like no one could quite believe what was happening. Stellan took a sharp right and deposited Rebecca on a low wall. She had a gash across the side of her neck and looked to be in shock, but looked otherwise unharmed. I grabbed a tissue out of my bag and slapped it on her wound, taking her hand. “Here,” I said, looking her in the eye, forcing her to snap out of it. “Listen to me. Get out of here. There could be another bomb.” 

Her glassy eyes came slowly into focus, and she took the tissue, nodding. I glanced around at all the other injured people. I didn’t even want to think about inside. But we couldn’t help all of them, and we had to get out of here. If this was the Order—and I didn’t know who else it would be—they had called to see if we were there, and the bomb had exploded seconds later. That bomb had been meant for us. We couldn’t wait around for them to try again.

 With one last glance back at the confusion, and at Rebecca getting up from the wall and beginning to herd people out the front gate, we slipped out in a group of confused Japanese tourists and down a side street through swarms of terrified people until we blended in to the Oxford Street shopping crowds. 

Sirens of emergency vehicles were converging on the area from all around. When we got far enough away, we ducked into a Pret a Manger and squeezed into the most hidden table we could find. I dabbed at the blood on my cheek and arms with a napkin. Jack had a shallow slice across his forehead and Stellan had a couple smears of blood across his face, but looked to have escaped unhurt. 

Now that we were safe, in a quiet place, what had just happened finally caught up to me in a tidal wave, and I realized it was a good thing I was sitting down, because my knees were shaking too badly to hold me. “Why would they do that? We’ve been cooperating with them. As far as they know, we’re going to find the tomb and trade for my mom’s life. Why would they try to kill us?” 

We all looked at each other, baffled, horrified. 

“What if it wasn’t meant to hurt us?” Stellan said, loosening his tie. He kept his voice down, but no one was paying attention to us. Most of the patrons were glancing at the front windows, trying to figure out what was going on outside. Some of the staff had gone to the sidewalk and were peering down the street in the direction of the museum. “What if it was just normal terrorism, like the rest of the attacks? Maybe they didn’t know we were going to be there—it could have been a coincidence. We didn’t even know we’d be in London until a few hours ago. How would they have been able to plant a bomb so quickly if they had to wait to see where we were headed?” 

“But it was right after Rebecca got off the phone with someone and said we were there.” I peered over my shoulder again at the fading daylight. “What can we do, though? Either way, whatever it ends up meaning, somebody’s really stepping up their game. And that means…”

“We have to find the tomb. As soon as we can. Which is what we’re already doing.” Jack steepled his fingers under his chin. “I’m assuming we’re headed back to Paris as soon as possible?”

I nodded. After what had just happened, this was not the time to stall for comfort’s sake. 

“I’m going to wash this off and we should go,” he said, pointing to his forehead, and disappeared into the restroom. 

Stellan stood too and perched on the edge of the table. His tie hung haphazardly around his neck, and there was dust and light debris on the shoulders of his jacket. He glanced at the bathroom door and opened his mouth, and I was suddenly sure I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “This whole doing it all ourselves thing. It’s good and noble and smart in theory, but what if we don’t find that bracelet? If it keeps escalating like this…”

“I know.” 

Stellan paused until the silence was heavy, then glanced the way Jack had gone and said, “Is it because of him?” 

“What?” I said, even though I knew exactly what he was talking about. It was the thought at the back of all our minds every second since Stellan had held a lighter to his skin in the Dauphins’ basement and his skin hadn’t even singed. 

“I mean, kuklachka, are you not doing the easiest thing and fulfilling the mandate, therefore throwing away all this possible power, this way to get the Circle behind us, to stop the Order, get help finding the tomb, maybe help your mother—all because of someone you met about a second ago?” 

I stood up. “Of course not. You know exactly why. We’ve been over this a hundred times. Because me being used as human collateral for the Circle’s schemes isn’t okay. Them quite possibly killing you if they find out isn’t okay. The fact that, if it doesn’t happen to get the Circle behind us, it’s likely the union will do absolutely nothing, because how is me in a white dress and you—“ I waved a hand. “How would that possibly do a thing in terms of finding something archaeologists have been searching for for centuries? That’s why.”

It had nothing to do with Jack. That would be ridiculous. 

“Last I checked, you didn’t want anyone knowing about the thirteenth thing either,” I continued. 

“If it’s just me by myself? Absolutely not. It would be suicide. If it’s both of us…” He shrugged. “There are still no guarantees, but it’s far more likely to work.”

The bathroom door opened. Stellan gave me a loaded look and pushed off the table. “Talk tomorrow,” he said, and we got in two cabs, him to the airport and me and Jack to the bus station for a long ride back to Paris.