“No, but a god could,” Justin says.
“Point. But think about it,” I say, “if you were the Society… Scratch that, you
are
.
So, where would
you
put the doors?”
“We know they’re far apart,” Justin says.
I wind noodles around my fork. “And we know there are two of them. But we also know they wouldn’t risk putting them just anywhere. They’d want them somewhere they consider a stronghold, somewhere they can protect effectively if needed.”
“True,” Justin says. “We could probably narrow it down to cities with a big Society presence.”
“You can narrow it down further than that,” the voice belongs to Oz, who lazily strides in, as if he didn’t slip in the back door without alerting a single one of us.
Bree has a hand on my forearm, so she was even more startled than me. “Sorry,” she says, lifting her fingers. “Jumpy.”
“What do you mean?” Justin asks Oz.
“Well, Bronson has given strict instructions to every single operative on duty tonight that I believe will solve your riddle.”
“How long were you out there listening?” I ask.
Oz meets my eyes. “Long enough.”
I have no idea if that includes me and Justin talking about him or not. Probably not. I hope not.
Tam crosses his arms. “Care to share with the group?”
“Bronson has posted an elite force outside the Jefferson. No one’s to be allowed in but the Tricksters’ Council. No one is to roam inside the building tonight. He will be the only human attending the execution.” He doesn’t look at me, but he hesitates, and I realize it’s because I’m here.
“Except for Dad,” I say.
I can see no weakness in Oz, no anger.
I should have known better than to trust you
.
He nods. “Bronson will escort him alone. Everyone else is barred, assigned to be on duty elsewhere during the solstice festivities, except for those ordered to ensure no one unauthorized is admitted from outside. It has to be somewhere in the building.”
I set down the plate. “The door,” I say, “I know where it is.”
“How?” Justin asks.
“The five people in that meeting. My dad was one of them, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Justin says.
Oz fixes on me. “What is it?”
If this wasn’t so important, I’d be forced to stay quiet and leave this room to escape the weight of his gaze. The fact it isn’t accusing somehow makes me feel
more
accused. But I speak. “Dad used to tell me to lay down on the sun in the Great Hall. He used to tell me it was the center of the universe, that everything revolved around it. That it could lead to
anywhere
if it needed to.”
They are all quiet. I imagine them doing the same thing I am, picturing the Great Hall. The whirl of the zodiac set in marble, the four points of the compass rose marked within the big brass sun, guarded by busts and columns, inscriptions and statues. The still and grand heart of the Jefferson. Not its center, but
a
center. The center of
a
universe, a door that leads the way to a place where all that is mortal – if not immortal – must eventually travel. A door into the dark beyond, where a god can escape death and be reborn.
Justin shrugs. “I hate to say this, but she’s probably right.”
“Then,” Oz says, “all we need now is a plan.”
We discuss nicely and we wield sarcasm, we argue and we agree, and eventually, we do have what Oz requests: a plan, with neatly defined responsibilities. It’s enough that we can pretend we have a chance of success, that any of this will end well.
But I keep hearing the echo of Mom’s “blood and doom”, and wondering where she is. I remember her saying the end of the world would be neater than what we can expect, if this all goes as foreseen. I think of Dad telling me to leave town, as if I’d
do
that.
Bree picks up my plate to take it back to the kitchen, and I get up too. Tam shoots us a look, but doesn’t come with… because of something he sees in my face or in hers.
Stopping at the sink, Bree rinses off the plate.
“So,” I say, “what’s going on?”
Bree doesn’t pretend not to know what I’m asking. “I did want to talk to you about something.”
“I know,” I say. “I know
you
, and I can tell. Let’s do this now. Just in case.”
Bree turns off the water and makes sure I see her shake her head,
no
.
She says, “There is no just in case. This will work. We’re going to get you your dad back.”
“In case,” I say, infusing it with a quiet certainty. “We’re past the denial stage, Bree.”
The five of us don’t have much time before we split apart, each with our parts to carry out.
She starts, “OK. Well. So.”
I can’t help smiling. “Yes?”
She answers in a low rush. “I have a thing for Tam.”
“You should have told me. For how long?”
She considers. “Long. But I understand the friend code. It doesn’t matter.” She lowers her voice even more. “It’s just suddenly he’s paying attention to me. But you should know, I’m not going to act on it.”
“Don’t be stupid. You should if you want.” She gives me a disbelieving look and it’s my turn to shake my head. “I don’t own him, Bree. The two of us are friends.
Just
friends.”
The perfect arches of her eyebrows lift. “But didn’t you kiss the other night?”
I’ve almost forgotten about that kiss. I figure Tam has too. “Did he tell you about that?”
“No,” she says, hesitant. “I saw it. The sages showed me.”
Now that
is
a surprise. “Really?” She nods. “I wonder why they would show you
that
. Anyway, it was just the two of us confirming there’s nothing more. Too bad they didn’t show you the conversation afterward.”
“You’re sure?” she asks. “Absolutely?”
“You should be with whoever you want. You deserve that. Tam’s a good person, and I couldn’t have been what he needs. You could be anything to anyone. You know that, right?”
Bree swallows. “Don’t you dare get yourself killed tonight,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “That’s all that matters to me. The rest of this will work itself out. Besides, Justin’s kind of cute too.”
I accept the hug, but when I push back, I say, “I want it clear, you owe me nothing. You have already done more than anyone ever has for me. Ever. You should be with whoever you want.” I try to imagine her with Justin and can’t quite do it. But her and Tam, I can see them together like it’s already a fact.
She nods, green eyes shining with tears I don’t want her to shed. So I steer us back into the living room together, only to discover one of our number is missing. “Where’s Oz?” I ask.
“Went out back to get some air,” Justin says, without looking up from the page he’s working on.
Bree picks up a pencil and bends beside him to sketch in a shape on his diagram of the Great Hall.
Sitting down beside Tam, I lean into his ear. “I have four words for you: don’t screw this up.” When he feigns confusion, I tilt my head toward Bree and Justin. “No wait, four more: don’t wait too long.”
Tam nods. “Got it.”
He rises under the guise of checking out the drawing, neatly inserting himself between Justin and Bree. Once the three of them are consumed with a conversation about the tight timing we’ll be up against, I go in search of Oz.
While events like, say, the impending apocalyptic not-apocalypse might free me from the requirement to have this conversation, I need to acknowledge that the music has been playing this whole long day. The music has been waiting for me to face it. What I did to Oz can’t be out there unresolved. I might not be deserving of his forgiveness, or who knows? I might. I don’t expect it, but I do need to apologize. Selfish or not, I can’t take Oz’s help now without an attempt to fix the static between us.
I expect to find him watching as Anzu wheels around above the house. But he’s
not
looking up into the darkening sky. Because Anzu has seen fit to roost in the backyard – fenced, luckily, to prevent panicked neighbors. They stare at each other, into each other, like two equals coming to an agreement.
Which is, of course, silly. Anzu is on assignment and he’s a god. Oz is a boy and on a mission. Sure, there are commonalities, but not as many as it might appear. A boy and a god are as far apart as any two creatures are, when one has magic and the other has borrowed magic and only sometimes.
Because I can, and it’s easier than my actual task, I walk across the lawn and past Oz, stopping at Anzu’s side. He continues to stare at Oz with liquid gold eyes, as if I’m not even there.
“Let me see it,” I say, and nudge Anzu’s wing, where it covers the gash on his side. He grumbles, low in his throat, but it’s half-hearted compared to the earlier protests. I am far more alarmed by the sound of Oz’s sword singing through the air.
“Don’t,” I say.
He balances gleaming metal in front of him like some warrior who stepped out of the past. Before I can stop myself, I add, “Though, it is a good look.”
I hear his sniff, but I’m too busy bending to check Anzu’s wound. He’s lifted his wing to show me the spot after all. There’s hardly a trace of it left. He’s healing.
“Good,” I say.
He lowers his wing.
When I turn, Oz’s sword is on the grass beside him. He sits, leaning on his hands with his legs sprawled out in front of him.
“What if he was going to eat me?” I ask.
“I was going to watch,” he tosses back.
“Nice.” I roll my eyes, and approach him. Slow, wary. I sink down sideways, my legs crossed, between Anzu and Oz. I want to be able to see both of them.
“What is this?” he asks. “Why would you need me to like you when you have a smitten monster?”
“I don’t want a monster.” I wish I could reel it back in. Too much truth.
“He might be more useful, given what we have in front of us.”
“This isn’t about that. I wanted you to know…” I stop. I don’t know how to explain.
“Give me your best excuse. I’m waiting.”
I glance at him. The way his head tilts back, so he can study the first few stars – or planets, I’m never sure – is maddening. He’s barely listening. So I do it again. I go for too much truth. Anything else seems like a waste, at this point.
“Oz, in the past few days, I’ve found out everything I believe about who I am is a lie. Or most of it, anyway.” I grab a handful of grass in one hand and it anchors me, because otherwise I feel like I’m hovering above my own body, that I’ve climbed out of my skin. I shouldn’t say anything else, but I keep talking. “I still don’t know what the truth is. I don’t know who I really am, who I was meant to be, or who I’m going to be now. I never had anyone I could count on. Except, it turns out, Bree. But even then, I expected her to run on me. I expect everyone to, because, well, if the people who are
required
to care about you aren’t able to show up, then why on earth would anyone else? So, I did what I’ve always done. I pulled my secrets in close and I got through these days as best I could. I know I used you, but I hated that. I want you to
know
how much I hated it.”
Oz is silent. He’s silent for so long I give up on any response. I put my other hand down, to press myself up to my feet. Anzu doesn’t make a peep. When I look over to make sure he’s still there, I find he isn’t.
Oz’s hand lifts, his finger pointing up at the sky. “He left, as soon as you started talking.” He still doesn’t look at me. “I hated it more,” he says.
He gives me a grin I don’t quite know him well enough to interpret, eyes a dark shine in the night as he turns toward me. My breath catches in my throat and I am certain
something
is about to happen.
“Guys,” Bree calls, “better get back in here.”
Neither of us moves right away. Oz does first, and I breathe out, soft to conceal my disappointment. He picks up his sword, sheathes it, and extends his hand. I let him help me to my feet. As I’m doing it, I understand I’ve never accepted help from anyone as willingly as I do him. Dreaded conversation over or not, he still frightens me.
“The person you can always count on,” Oz says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The sound of the revels is loud enough that the muted mix of singing and laughing and fireworks reaches us before we’re anywhere close to the Jefferson, the Capitol, and the Mall beyond. If we had to close our eyes, we could navigate there based on the low roar of people unaware of the danger they’re in. I envy their ability to indulge in a night when magic feels close, but safe.
We each have our marching orders, and they mean that we’ll only be a group – or, at least, we’re only
guaranteed
to be – for a few more minutes. But we don’t chatter nervously. We are all lost in our own mental preparations.
I am dressed identically to Oz and Justin, like I’m a Society girl, a good little soldier. My hair is gathered in a low ponytail. I even have my stripes on, though I’ve assured Oz I don’t plan to use them. At least, not on him. I’d rather be wearing the T-shirt Dad left me. That feels more like armor, and I
need
armor for this. It’s a battle. To pretend otherwise is a lie.
Tam and Bree also sport navy, but regular clothes instead of uniforms. No one will be fooled into thinking they are Society, except possibly from a distance. No one needs to. The only thing I feel good about, traveling through the warm summer evening toward the hardest night of my life, toward near-certain defeat, toward my father’s death (
if
I don’t manage to do the impossible), is that Tam and Bree’s roles should keep them out of harm’s way during the worst of this. The only
person
I’m willing to risk this time, really, is myself. Oz and Justin will be closer to the action, but what can happen tonight and what can’t is clear in my head. I know what I can bear to let go of, and what must be protected.
Oh, how I wish I knew where my mother is.
We aren’t able to access more relics before the ritual, which means we have a severe limit on resources for stopping it. There’s a guard posted at Bronson’s house, and another at the hall the secret passage connects to. We have to rely on ourselves and what we have on us.