The picture inside must have gone up in flames when we heated the necklace, because now, it was nothing but ash. I only had time to draw in a surprised breath before the wind rushing by whipped the delicate pieces of my old life into the air as easily as it had the cigarette smoke.
I blinked at the empty locket for a second, then closed it slowly.
“What was in it?” Stellan said after a second.
“A picture of my mom.” I wiped the last of the ash from the design and clenched the locket in my fist, against my heart.
Stellan stood quietly for a second, then stubbed out his cigarette and sat down on the top step, folding his long legs into the small space. He patted the step next to him.
I stayed a distance back. “Open train door, sheer cliff face, no thanks.”
He curled his lip. “Really? After everything else you’ve been through, you’re scared of this?”
I had to admit, the breeze did kind of feel nice. I tried to ignore the plunge into the ravine and sat down next to him carefully, though I made sure to keep the hand that wasn’t clutching my necklace on the doorjamb.
“See?” Stellan said. “Perfectly safe.”
I snorted. No, it wasn’t.
Stellan rested his elbows on his knees, and we gazed out at the rocky crags of the cliff, which soon turned to fields again, then the outskirts of a city. If the train was on time, we’d be in Cannes soon. I stood up, brushing off my jeans.
Stellan stood, too, and followed me back to our compartment.
I slid open the door. Jack was, remarkably, still asleep. I put a finger to my lips.
“We don’t need to be quiet. He’s had plenty of sleep,” Stellan said. He flopped on his stomach across Jack’s side of the bed. “This is how I used to wake him up when we were younger. He’ll appreciate it.” He pulled up the ankle of Jack’s pants and yanked on his leg hairs. Jack sat straight up.
His alarm faded to annoyance when he saw Stellan. “Are you twelve years old?”
Stellan rolled off the bed, looking surprisingly chipper for someone in the aftermath of a concussion.
The speakers overhead crackled to life. There was an announcement in French, then in English. We were about to arrive in Cannes.
“I’ll wake Elodie,” Stellan said.
Jack ran both hands through his hair. He watched Stellan leave, then found me, perched at the end of the bed. “Good morning,” he said.
The greeting sounded awkward. Less like good morning and more like other things. Sorry I fell asleep and left you playing nurse. Wondering what I thought about the conversation we’d had last night, about leaving together. Maybe a little something he’d never say out loud about the three of us sleeping in the same bed.
Or maybe the awkwardness was just me.
“Good morning.” I grabbed the remote from where we must have kicked it in the night and was about to turn off a morning news program and talk to him when I realized my own face was on TV again.
It was the video of me and Takumi Mikado, but this one turned quickly to a still of me, and then a frowning reporter. I turned it up. “What are they saying?”
Jack listened for a second, then glanced at me, alarmed. “They’re saying the girl some people were calling a hero is wanted for questioning in the attack.”
A dark pit formed in my stomach. “Alistair is trying to turn the Circle against me so it makes sense if I disappear. So it looks like they got rid of me instead of me running away.” You’re the hero in our narrative, he’d said. He could make me the villain just as easily.
But I still had to be out in public to find the twin bracelet. Alistair must not have considered that. “They’re going to make me the most wanted person in the world. We’re not going to be able to do anything.”
The door slid open, and I tensed, already paranoid. How many people on this train had seen this news broadcast? How many people in Cannes?
But Elodie and Stellan slipped inside and slid the door shut behind them. “Turn on—oh. You’ve already seen.”
“We’ve already seen.”
“Well”—Elodie held out a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses—“we’re going to be in Cannes in about ten minutes. Let’s try not to get you arrested.”
CHAPTER 24
Colette had a car waiting for us at the train station. We kept as low a profile as we could until we were inside—besides anyone who might recognize me, there was still the question of how the Saxons had tracked us to the Arc de Triomphe. Elodie had done a thorough check of our electronics and found no bugs or tracking devices, but even she admitted that the Circle had technology she might not know about.
Cannes was no sleepy seaside town. We got caught in traffic on a street with palm trees running down the center, bordering the ocean. There was hardly an inch of bare sand showing between the bright umbrellas and beach towels, and an overly bronzed, heavyset man wearing only a Speedo lumbered in front of us through the stopped traffic.
“So this is the French Riviera,” I said.
Elodie pointed to a white hotel with navy turrets that dominated the skyline along the beachfront. “The Dauphins usually stay at the Carlton, but we’ll be at Colette’s private villa. She’s still a little camera-shy.”
That was far better for us. I’m sure there were dozens of Circle members here. For that matter, the Saxons themselves might be attending the festival. If they were, we’d really have to get to the bracelet before they noticed. They knew what it looked like.
On the right ahead, I saw the source of the traffic jam. A swarming crowd of people pushed out into the road, and as we got closer, I saw a banner that must be two stories high itself, proclaiming this to be the site of the Festival de Cannes. A flash of red leading up the stairs in front of it was surrounded by photographers in sun hats sitting cross-legged on the ground, cameras in their laps.