“Grace?” Ms. Chancellor is at the door. She looks at my friends and then at me. Once upon a time I might have thought I could read her bemused expression, but not now. Now I have no idea what she’s thinking when she says, “Well, isn’t this the party?”
In a flash, I see the future. Spence’s phone is right here, not quite proof, but something. And I could tell them about the tunnel and the Society and the cryptic, nagging doubts that plague my mind. I could tell them about Spence’s search, my mother’s obsession, and maybe I could make somebody understand that this is so much bigger than two boys fighting at a party.
I could do that. And I could also end up back in a psych ward.
Or worse.
Whoever did this killed a US citizen, framed an ambassador’s son, and planted a bomb on a diplomatic vehicle.
There are things that are far, far worse.
“Did I hear that you all are going out to dance in the rain?” Ms. Chancellor says. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her brown eyes, though. I’m almost terrified of what she might mean when she says, “Do be careful. I’d hate to see anyone else get hurt.”
Where were you?”
That we make it all the way to the street before Noah spins on me is something of a miracle. It’s still raining — not a downpour, but the kind of heavy, lingering drizzle that clings to your hair and your clothes until it feels like you’ll never be truly warm or dry again.
But that doesn’t stop the festival. According to legend, when the rains came two hundred years ago, musicians filled the streets and the people danced, so now everyone who has ever played an instrument is outside in the rain, leading the nonstop procession. Tourists and natives alike are dancing in the streets now, carrying umbrellas that they don’t even hold overhead as they spin and spin, following the circle that rims the city, dancing down Embassy Row.
Noah glances in their direction then shakes his head. “Ignore them.”
“Noah, I —”
“Where were you?” he says again, not teasing. And for the first time I really let myself consider today’s events from his perspective. We all went to a place where someone died and then Alexei and I disappeared without a trace. We were gone for hours, and Noah’s right to be angry. They’re all right to be terrified.
“We got stuck,” I say, as if that makes any sense.
“Stuck how?” Noah asks through gritted teeth. “And how did you get back here? We had the only boat.”
“There was a tunnel,” I say. “Or really more like catacombs or caverns or something. Anyway, there are these big ruins in the center of the island. It looks like it was some kind of temple or fortress or something once. I think Spence went in there. That night. I think he got stuck in the same room we got stuck in and then he found the same tunnel we found and took that back to the mainland.”
“I don’t understand,” Megan says. “What kind of tunnel? You mean like the ones that are under the city?”
“Yes,” I say, then reconsider. “No. I mean … I don’t know. It hooks up with the city tunnels, though. That’s how Alexei and I got out.”
“Hooks up where?” Rosie asks, and I can’t help myself. I look at Lila.
“No!” Noah yells. He points between me and his twin sister. “Don’t think I don’t see you two. Whispering and giving each other looks. You’re working together now? You two? In case you have forgotten, you don’t like each other! You barely know each other. And now you’re acting like best friends and I don’t like it. I know something is going on, and I want to know what it is. Now.”
I think about what Noah’s asking me to do — what I want to do. If Ms. Chancellor was right, the Society has existed for a thousand years; I’ve been a member for less than a week, and already I’m about to crumble.
“Grace.” I can hear the worry in Megan’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
When I start to shake, I tell myself it’s because of the rain, so I push my wet hair out of my face. Water runs down my cheeks, and I remind myself that I’m not crying — that crying is a luxury I’ll never have again.
No. It’s a luxury that Spence will never have again. And Mikhail, the Russian driver. And maybe Alexei if we can’t make this stop.
What harm would it do to tell my friends? I wonder. Then another thought cuts through me:
What harm did it do Caroline?
The words chill me like the wind, and only one thought remains: This is happening. I’m going to have to face it one way or another. The only question now is whether or not I’m going to face it alone.
“We need to go inside. Let’s go meet Alexei, and then I’ll tell you.” I look at Lila, but I can’t read her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything.”
It’s not hard to find a tunnel entrance and, from there, to make it to the north end of Embassy Row. As soon as I push open the doors into the basement of Iran it feels, shockingly, like home. This dingy basement with its hot springs–fueled swimming pool and ornately tiled ceiling is as comforting as anyplace else. For the first time since I heard the temple door closing behind us, I let myself relax.
“Where are we?” Lila asks, stepping inside.
She’s taking in the long room with its domed ceiling, the moldy lounge chairs and water-stained walls when Rosie says, “Iran.”
Lila almost knocks her down as she spins. “Where?” she shouts, and I remember.