The Conspiracy of Us Read online

  I took the top diary and perched on the bed—realizing I still hadn’t slept in it once—and Jack set the rest of them on the coffee table. As I flipped carefully through the gossamer-thin diary pages, I realized something that should have been obvious.

  I jumped up. “Let me see the ripped-out page.”

  Jack took the leather pouch out of his jacket and handed it to me. I unfolded the paper. “Let’s just check if any of the paper matches.”

  Jack’s eyes lit up. We eliminated two of the four books immediately—the size was wrong. The last two were similar, but when I rubbed a corner of each between my fingers, the texture of what looked like the oldest of the diaries matched exactly.

  While Jack leafed through it, I paced the room and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My cocktail dress had smudges all over it and a bloodstain at the hem, the blazer had become wrinkled and dirty, and I swear the dark circles under my eyes got darker as I watched.

  “Come look at this,” Jack said. “He starts talking about the mandate here. About how there’s no purple-eyed girl, and nobody knows who the One is. He decides someone as important as him shouldn’t be forced to depend on the established route to the treasure, and he’s going to take a more direct path.” Jack flipped ahead, reading to himself. “There are a few pages about where he’s sent troops to search, and then, all of a sudden, it stops cold. Back to battles and strategy. No more mention of the tomb, the mandate, nothing.”

  I perched next to Jack on the chaise. “Where’s the last page he talks about the tomb?”

  Jack turned back to it, and I pushed carefully on the binding. “There!” It was nearly hidden, but there were unmistakably the ragged edges of a ripped-out page.

  “It’s like he found it, decided immediately to hide the fact—maybe because he didn’t like what he found—and never spoke of it again,” Jack said, frowning.

  “Until he hid this page in the diary he kept on his deathbed,” I said. “Did we look closely at the rest of that diary?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not yet.”

  While he did, I made a list of things we knew about the One on the little notepad on the vanity. “The One is a member of one of the families,” I said out loud, “meant to marry the girl. ‘Walk through fire and does not burn,’ it said in the mandate.”

  I wrote that down, and wrote (Means: good in a crisis?) beside it. “New Achilles”—from Napoleon’s diary. (Invincible? Near invincible besides one flaw? Line of mandate mentions something about the One “becoming invincible.”)

  Jack stood and paced, diary open in one hand, flipping pages with the other. “Oh,” he finally said. “I don’t know if this is anything new, but it’s something.”

  We both sat on the edge of the bed, and he let the book rest open at a page filled with nearly illegible scribbles and sketches. He pointed to one scrawl, in French. “Walk through fire unharmed. Not burned. He lives.” Under it were hastily sketched flames, licking at the words.

  He pointed to another scrawl. “Heir of Achilles.”

  “Heir?”

  Jack shrugged. “Like ‘the new Achilles’ in that line? But what it means, I don’t know. It sounds like another metaphor.”

  It did.

  “It’s like he’s trying to figure out who the One is, too. Why would he care if he’d already found the tomb?”

  “We have to keep in mind that these are the ramblings of somebody who’s about to die,” Jack said. “But it seems undeniable that he did find something.”

  I added Heir of Achilles to my list. Jack closed the diary and my stomach churned.

  “If this is it,” I said, tearing the page off the notepad, “we’re not much closer to knowing who the One is than we were before.”

  Jack scraped a hand through his hair. “If the Order touches him, I’ll kill them myself,” he said quietly, then out loud, he said, “We have to talk to Stellan. We have to go to the ball and find him.”

  “To the ball?” I had considered earlier that my father would be there, but it was starting to feel like tempting fate too much. “What do you think he’s going to be able to figure out that we haven’t?”

  Jack stacked the diaries in a neat pile. “I honestly don’t know. But don’t we have to try? I promise, no one will even notice you there. It’ll be fine.”

  A fleeting image darted through my mind of the tiny photo that used to be in my locket. Dark hair, dark brows, like mine. The reason I’d wanted to come back to France in the first place.

  “It’d be better to show him—”

  We both froze when a knock came on the door.

  “Just a second,” I called as Jack bolted for the window.

  “I’ll get to the service door outside,” he whispered. “Hide the books. I’ll see you at the ball. Please.”

  “Just go!” He was out the window before I could finish the words.

  I glanced frantically around and finally shoved the stack of books under the bed. I opened the door, heart knocking against my ribs.

  Luc stood on the other side, garment bag in hand. “Hello, cherie.” He bent to kiss both my cheeks. “I got your message and brought your dress for the ball.”

  He handed it to me, and I unzipped the top of the bag to find the Prada dress, with a winged, glittering silver mask resting over its hanger. I’d forgotten they’d said the ball was a masquerade. “They saved the dress for me, after all that?”

  Luc smiled vaguely, and only then did I notice he was still in the same clothes as last night, hair flattened, eyes dark. I set the garment bag on the bed. “Everything okay?”

  He shook his head. “There was another attack last night. Colette LeGrand and Liam Blackstone’s limousine was caught in a collision on the way here from the airport.”

  I gasped out loud.

  “Colette made it.” Luc’s voice hitched. “Liam didn’t.”

  “What?” I sat down hard on the bed. The Order had killed Liam Blackstone? I pictured his easy laugh, him patting Luc on the back as they talked about soccer, and Luc’s shy smile. The last movie I’d seen him in, where he’d played a vampire, with comically bad white makeup.

  “Luc,” I choked. “I am so sorry.”

  Luc nodded curtly, but his chin wobbled. I got up and wrapped my arms around him. He hesitated, then hugged me back hard, burying his face in my neck.

  After a minute, I felt him take a deep breath, and he pulled away. “I’m headed to the hospital to see Colette. I’ll be back to escort you to the ball.”

  I looked up sharply. “The ball’s still happening, when there was an attack last night?”

  Luc pursed his lips. “We can’t give in to their scare tactics. That’s what terrorists want. The show must go on, cherie, just with extra security. And though Colette is part of our family, we’re hosting the ball, so I will have to be there, too.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  I nodded and shut the door behind him, then sat back on the bed. I unzipped the garment bag and touched the dress with one finger, transported back to when I thought the glamour of this world was the most extraordinary part about it.

  I couldn’t believe Liam Blackstone was dead.

  I couldn’t believe Jack and I were considering giving the people who killed him license to kill someone else.

  I couldn’t believe that we were at the end of Mr. Emerson’s clues and still had no idea what they meant, and that we were running out of time to save his life. Would my going to the ball really do anything?

  I rubbed my eyes. On top of everything, my contacts were killing me after wearing them for this long; I just wanted to take them out and sleep. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t worth the risk of someone seeing my eye color. This one tiny thing sent me over the edge, and frustrated tears built up in the back of my throat.

  I swallowed them down. Crying wouldn’
t help my itching eyes, and it definitely wouldn’t help Mr. Emerson. I took a deep breath, put contact drops in each eye, and curled up on the bed next to the Prada dress, where I fell into a restless sleep.

  CHAPTER 30

  Even though Luc was a Dauphin, we’d waited in a security line and gone through a metal detector to get inside. Now our packed elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors slid open.

  “Alors, time for a ball,” Luc said, but he sounded even less excited about it than I was. His eyes were still haunted, dark smudges standing out against his pale skin.

  When I’d woken up, my head a little clearer after a couple hours of sleep, I’d realized Jack was right. The two of us had done all we could, and it wasn’t enough. We had to tell Stellan everything, just in case. Mr. Emerson’s life depended on it.

  Plus, it would distract me from the fact that there was still no sign of my mom.

  I adjusted the silver mask over my face, happy for the anonymity.

  “Have I told you how breathtaking you look, cherie?” Luc spun me out to arm’s length, and my dress swished around my feet. “This silk drapes fabulously on you.”

  Despite everything, the dress had taken my breath away when I changed into it, just like it had at Prada. I remembered what I’d been thinking then, too. How different I looked. Like maybe the person wearing this dress could find what she was missing.

  I reached for my locket and found the pretty silver teardrop necklace the store had sent instead. My locket was broken, tucked into my bag, in my room. I wished I’d put it back on. I didn’t feel free anymore without it. I felt naked.

  “Thanks,” I said tightly. “It’s—”

  We stepped out of the elevator and into the ballroom, and the view stole the words from my mouth. Chandeliers and dancing candlelight gave the space a darkly romantic glow, and streamers hung from the ceiling like it was raining gold. Adding to the illusion, the crisscrossing metal beams outside were lit as well, like we were floating hundreds of feet in the air in a luminescent web. I supposed that was almost true. The ball was on the third level of the Eiffel Tower.

  “It’s a gorgeous dress,” I finished. That much was true. The dress was beautiful. The ball was beautiful. I was in Paris, inside the Eiffel Tower, wearing Prada. I still couldn’t believe that.

  A group of people stopped Luc, and for the next ten minutes, he chatted and introduced me as the distant cousin I was supposed to be, and it all felt incredibly inappropriate when someone had died last night. There was a damper over the festivities—laughs weren’t as loud as they could be, and everyone offered Luc their condolences—but they certainly weren’t acting like their family and friends were recent casualties of an ongoing war. Maybe the Circle has been through so much that a little spilled blood no longer meant much to them. Or maybe, like Luc said, they just had to keep up appearances.

  If I thought about that too much, I’d go crazy. So instead, I searched faces. I quickly found a downside to the anonymity of the masks. Even if I knew exactly what he looked like, there was no way I could find my father. And dark hair and purple eyes by themselves weren’t enough to tell anything at all.

  I slipped my arm through Luc’s again. “Are your parents here?” I hoped at least to see Monsieur Dauphin without a mask on.

  “It’s too dangerous for my mother to come.” Luc looked around the party distractedly. “The rest of us can take a risk, but a pregnant woman carrying the girl from the mandate? This party is technically for her, but she’s staying home. And I don’t believe Father’s here yet.”

  I twisted a lock of hair around my finger. Maybe everyone would take off their masks at some point and I could think about my father then. Right now, I needed to find Jack, and the two of us needed to locate Stellan.

  “Can I find you later?” I said to Luc.

  He nodded. “Are you looking for Jack? You’ve been hanging out with him a lot.”

  I stiffened. If Luc had noticed, other people had definitely noticed. I muttered something about talking to the Saxons.

  “Fine,” Luc said with an exaggerated sigh, stroking the ends of my curls, then taking my face in his hands. “Leave me all alone.” He kissed me on both cheeks with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just be sure to save me a dance.”

  I promised, and left him talking to some diplomats as I made my way through the mingling crowds. Around the central dance floor, dozens of small tables flickered with candlelight, and at the end of the room opposite the entrance, a small orchestra played a lively waltz, the sound of violins and cellos mingling with the perfume of hundreds of pink peonies.

  I was making my way past the dance floor toward a less-crowded corner where I might have a better vantage point when I saw Stellan. He stood alone against a wall of windows, talking on his phone, nearly blending into the dark.

  I could have approached him then, but I wanted to find Jack first and go over our plan. I’d keep an eye on where Stellan went from here, and we could find him in a few minutes. I turned to go, but then I heard him. I stopped. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said Stellan was speaking almost sweetly.

  Curious, I inched closer—and only then did I notice Madame Dauphin approaching his quiet corner from the opposite direction, her hand on her full belly.

  Stellan hung up the phone and snapped to attention, which looked vaguely comical, considering the gold mask perched on his forehead.

  Unfortunately, I was right in his line of vision now. I pressed my back to the wall of windows, partially hidden by a jutting pillar.

  “Madame,” Stellan said. He wore a slim black tuxedo that made his shoulders look especially sharp. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight.”

  “Hugo and the security staff decided I wasn’t coming,” Madame Dauphin said. “You know that I prefer to do things my own way.” She wore a draping black dress, and with her severe blond hair and red lips, she looked both frightening and beautiful, like the evil queen in a Disney movie.

  “So?” she said impatiently. “What have you found? I was expecting a report on her earlier in the day.”

  Her?

  Stellan darted a glance toward the center of the room, like he wished he was anywhere else. It was odd to see him look uncomfortable. “I’ve found nothing of concern,” he said.

  Madame Dauphin stepped closer, and Stellan stepped back. “You and I both know there’s something going on. The Order only attacks people who matter. And then you let her run off, after I told you specifically to keep an eye on her. Lucky for you, she came back today with that Saxon Keeper.”

  Stellan flinched, and so did I. I’d been right. Not only was Stellan watching me, Madame Dauphin was, too. And she’d noticed Jack and me. I pressed farther back into the shadows.

  “I told you I’d report any findings immediately,” Stellan said.

  “I hope so. You know what it means if you keep anything from me.”

  Stellan bowed his head. “Yes, Madame. I am quite aware.”

  “In fact,” Madame Dauphin said, looking around and lowering her voice even more, so I had to strain to hear her, “I wonder if we shouldn’t capture the girl, to be sure. We can hold her until we’re able to investigate more thoroughly.”

  I went cold all over.

  Stellan looked behind him, almost at me, and I held my breath. “She belongs to another family. I don’t think that would be looked upon kindly.”

  Madame Dauphin waved a slim hand. “The Saxons have hardly acknowledged her existence. I want you to take her and hold her, just for now. Make sure there’s nothing inappropriate going on.”

  Stellan opened his mouth, but Madame Dauphin cut him off.

  “Senator. Hello.” Madame Dauphin’s voice rose an octave. “So glad you could celebrate with us.”

  A man in a suit took Madame Dauphin’s arm, and the two of them walked away. Stellan watched them go before d
isappearing into the crowd.

  I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore, then crept out of my hiding place. I needed to find Jack before Stellan could find me, we had to be careful what we told him, then I had to get out of here.

  I stuck to the shadows around the edge of the dance floor. Not having any peripheral vision was starting to drive me crazy, but now I had even less interest in taking my mask off. Madame Dauphin could have spies everywhere. So I looked for Jack as well as I could from my limited perspective.

  The CEO of one of the biggest software companies in the world ate a canapé and frowned at the crowd. A Victoria’s Secret model tossed her long blond hair and leaned on the shoulder of a short, round man in a turban. A tiny white-haired woman smiled up at a basketball player even I recognized, and I didn’t watch basketball at all. When the woman turned to set down her champagne glass, I did a double take. It was the queen of England.

  Still no Jack.

  The plume of an elaborate peacock mask skimmed my shoulder. I jumped, and the woman wearing it laughed drunkenly.

  I let out a breath through pursed lips. Calm down. Think. If Jack was here, he’d be looking for me, too. I found an empty space by a pillar and, when I was sure no one was looking at me, pushed my mask onto my forehead. There were Keepers and security posted around the room, all in matching black tuxedos, but despite the black masks, I could tell none of them was him.

  My eyes flitted all the way around the room—and then, no more than thirty feet away, I saw him. He was standing against a pillar next to the musicians, feet apart, hands in his pockets, searching just like I was.

  My gaze lingered on the cut of the tuxedo jacket hugging his shoulders and tapering to his waist. How was it possible that he got better looking every time I saw him, and that, as much as I tried not to, I still noticed? And still couldn’t stop remembering the feel of his hands cupping my face, me running my fingers through his hair.

  The only thing that feels right is as wrong as it can get, he’d said.

  It drove me crazy that I wasn’t angry. That half of me wanted to slip my hand into his and face everything together, as a we again. But the other half wanted to forget anything could ever possibly happen between us. The wanting—and not having—hurt too much, and that was exactly why I’d always tried to avoid it.