Foretold Page 27

  “What did Marty say to upset you?”

  “No, he’s been… surprisingly supportive, actually. I—” Say the words, coward. You lie every day of your life pretending to be normal. This is no different. “It’s not about the attack. I… I damaged a book of his. Something called the Galdr Leechbook, I think?”

  Fenice’s eyebrows disappear somewhere in her nest of frizzed curls. “Marty had a copy? How…”

  She leaps up, rushing to one of the trunks lining the room, and throws it open. She paws through text after text, setting them on the ground, before rushing to another and doing the same. She mutters the entire time, mostly things that sound curse word-adjacent—things like “clucking dingdong.”

  I set down my cup and watch her repeat the same in yet another trunk. “That lousy, thieving… once a crook… I should have known…” Then she crows and holds up a book in triumph. It’s a dull green with gold leaf lettering. She returns, clutching the text to her chest.

  My pulse thumps so hard I feel it throughout my entire body.

  “That’s the same book I damaged! Did you think Mr. Pict stole your copy?” I ask.

  “The thought crossed my mind, yes,” Fenice says, setting the book down on the table. “I don’t know where Marty got a copy, but I’m glad he didn’t swipe mine. There are only a handful left in the world.”

  “He isn’t someone who would steal.”

  “You’d be surprised what people are capable of when they feel they don’t have a choice. Always remember, Cassandra: trust should be earned, not freely given.”

  “Even if he wanted to… your door is…”

  “Oh, that.” Fenice gives a devilish grin. “The best security system is the one that deters folks from even bothering to try.”

  “Is it true there’s a ritual in that book to stop a scried death?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “I didn’t get to look at Pict’s.”

  Fenice flips through the book carefully. “Yes… ah, here it is: ‘Halt the Harvest.’ This book is incredible… a collection of the most powerful, and therefore forbidden, rituals we scryers have ever developed.”

  I reach over. “Can I see—”

  “I’m sorry, Cassandra.” Fenice closes it and hugs it to her chest protectively again. “I can’t afford to let anything happen to it, and you just told me you damaged Marty’s copy.”

  “But if I can—”

  “I have to protect these texts.” She gives me a pained look. “You understand, don’t you?”

  I reluctantly nod, wishing I could wrench the thing from her. I debate telling her about saving Colin, but something tells me she won’t be on board with me doing a forbidden ritual, as nice as she is. I need another way.

  “Heard of the book, aye,” Bacchy says, drinking his ginger cider and looking around the Rotunda. “Exceptionally rare. If you saw it in Linda Fenice’s office, chances are that’s the only copy we’ll ever come close to in our lifetimes. Marko’s your man.”

  “Marko? The pickpocket?” I ask. “He lifted my wallet my first day at Theban.”

  “That Magpie is a master thief. Reformed, though. But back in the day he was a legend. He could steal the hair off your head and sell it back to you as a wig, and you’d be none the wiser. If anyone can help you, it’d be him.”

  We thank Bacchy, and Regan looks past his retreating form with a blinding smile.

  “Yikes,” Griffin mumbles, his eyes sliding away. I turn and see Noah haltingly making his way toward us. Regan pushes away from the table and rushes over to him.

  I stand and wring my hands, trying to avoid staring at the eyepatch covering his left eye. “Noah, I…”

  “You didn’t tell me she’d be here,” Noah says, hate burning in his one eye, startling me.

  “Noah! Cassie is a victim in this, too.” Regan rests a gentle hand on his arm.

  “A victim with two eyes, at least,” Noah spits.

  I hang my head. “I’m so sorry—”

  “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You got all those people killed. You did this.” He points to his eye.

  One, two, three. This compulsion is not me.

  “Noah, please,” Regan says.

  He wrenches his arm away from Regan’s touch. “There’s nothing you can say, Regan. I’m going into the Coil in a couple of days with a limp and one eye. I’m not bringing a murderer in with me, too. You should’ve told me she was going to be here.”

  Four, five, six. I control it. It doesn’t control me.

  “She’s your friend, Noah. She’s my best friend. You don’t know the whole story. Sit down and—”

  Seven, eight, nine. I am strong.

  “I love you, Regan. You know I do. But this… I need to get out of here.” Tears swim in Noah’s eye, and his entire body vibrates with emotion. “I can’t be around this vile—”

  “Nah, man,” Griffin says. “You can’t talk about Cassie like that.” He doesn’t raise his voice, and his tone has that special Griffin joking quality, but there is an iron undercurrent to his words. “We all feel bad about what happened to you, but it wasn’t her fault.”

  Ten. If he’d cracked a chair over me, I don’t think the blow would’ve hurt more. My friend, the one who gave me my first ginger cider and laughed alongside me in class, is gone. It feels like a death. The ache in my core is unadulterated mourning.

  Noah turns and limps off without another word. Regan hurries after him. Their exchange looks heated.

  “Well, the honeymoon is over,” Griffin says, openly staring at the two of them arguing. “This is like the telenovelas my grandma used to watch. All that’s missing is an evil twin.”

  It makes me sad to watch them. Noah adored Regan before the blast. I think he still does. But he’s been replaced by a simmering pot of a boy, a quiet cauldron of rage. And when Regan said he didn't "know the whole story…” well, my best guess would be that she hasn't told Noah she was there when I got that amulet.

  My attention is diverted by the man passing behind them. Marko waltzes gracefully around the hall like a cross between a ballet dancer and a street magician, lifting things off of people and handing them back with his apologies. He bumps into Regan and bows, presenting her with her own pack of gum. I see her eyes go wide, and she whips her head toward me. I nod and leave Griffin, trailing Marko across the hall. It’s hard. He dances with shadows.

  “Marko?”

  “I didn’t touch it. If it missing, it not my fault,” he says, his gaze shielded behind his heavy lashes.

  “I’m not missing anything. I’m hoping you can help me out.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What kind of help?”

  “After you give that guy back his watch, I’ll tell you.”

  He laughs and jogs off. He lifted that watch so fast I almost missed it. “Your eye, it’s very good! You are… empty wallet with cartoons on it. Yes?”

  “You remember that?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Every liberation, I remember. What you need from Marko?”

  Marko rats me out. I’m hauled in front of the Grims—

  I push the thoughts out of my head. I whisper, “I need you to borrow a book from Linda Fenice. It’s in her office.”

  “Sorry, I cannot help you.” He pivots and walks away.

  “Wait! Please!”

  He turns, maybe sensing the desperation oozing out of every one of my pores. “Marko move to this country to put past behind him. Marko is retired.”

  “I just watched you jack like fifteen things!” I say, following him as he begins walking away again.

  “That is impulse. I give everything back.”

  “But we’d be giving this back, too! I need to take a look at something inside the book.”

  “Book inside office, you say. Liberate and return something borrowed from your pocket? Okay. Grims no like, but they no punish Marko. Liberate something from locked office? No. Grims punish. Marko on probation. I no break in.”

  “What if I break in? And you j
ust get me the keys?”

  “Stubborn girl. Marko say no.” He sits at one of the café tables and accepts an espresso from a server.

  “What would it take? There has to be something you want.”

  His broom-bristle lashes fall over his eyes in bliss as he sips his coffee. “Marko want nothing. Good coffee. Bed to put head. Nothing more.” He looks past me, and something flickers in his eyes. I turn and see Nua, our mirror scrying instructor, turning a mirror this way and that at one of the Magpie carts. Marko averts his gaze and takes another sip of his coffee when I turn back to him.

  “You like Ms. Nua.”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying!”

  Marko sets his cup down and circles his dark fingers around the delicate porcelain. “No lie. ‘Like’ is too weak a word. No passion. Listening to rain at night, Marko like. Plums. Good cheese. Thessely Nua…” He says her name like a prayer for salvation. “Marko love.”

  Nua’s nose scrunches up, and her little pointed chin becomes even more pronounced as she laughs with the mirror-selling Magpie. Marko melts into his seat, naked longing in every line of his being.

  “Have you asked her out?”

  “Crazy girl. No.”

  “Why don’t you talk to her?” I ask.

  “Talk to her? Marko has talked! Many times. Always she forgets. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says. Over and over.” He releases a sigh with a kind of despondent gusto. “Marko can steal anything. Except Thessaly’s heart.”

  “What if…” I offer, desperate for his help. “What if I can find a way to make sure she remembers you? Would you help me get the keys to Fenice’s office, then?”

  Marko peers at me. “Marko no steal, but… if you do this thing you say with Thessaly, Marko show you how to liberate Linda Fenice’s keys yourself.”

  Not what I was looking for, but better than nothing. “You’ll teach me to do what you do?”

  “Get out of here!” He roars out a laugh and slaps the table. “She’s so funny, this girl!” he says to no one and everyone. “Ten years, I train at the Seven Bells under a virtuoso. Another twenty years of practice before I become a master. Larceny is artistry. I cannot teach this in one day.” He stands and throws down a few coins for his coffee. I stand with him.

  “But you said you’ll show me—”

  “The basics, I show you. Maybe it help. Maybe no. But we try.” He smiles at a girl passing by and bows extravagantly. She smiles in response before she notices me and rushes off. “There is a rhythm. Identify mark. Choose right time. Exact right distraction. Then speed and scrying. Ohm yes, the scrying. You didn’t know. Up here, I picture what I want.” He taps his temple and gives a snaggle-toothed grin. “And presto, I make it come to me.” He twirls a purple barrette between his fingers lightning quick.

  “You don’t use the ICARUSS for that? The scrying?” I ask. The passing girl’s hair no longer sports one of her two purple barrettes.

  Marko flips it to me. “Never! Welborne, he act like scryers are helpless before his little silver machine. ‘Oh! Thank you, Welborne! We change things now!’” He laughs. “Bah, Seven Bells students can do that forever. Other scryers, too. Your instincts—that is all you need.”

  Marko’s face lights up as Thessaly Nua approaches, but he slumps when she walks past without an ounce of recognition. He watches her go.

  “You help Marko. Marko help you,” he says.

  I pull a little pad and pen from my bag. “Fine. Tell me everything you know about Thessaly Nua.”

  Nua walks briskly across the Rotunda, books clutched to her chest and her brown skirt flowing behind her.

  “Do you think this will work?” I ask.

  “If Griffin does his part, it should… I hope,” Regan says. She clears her throat, her voice more hesitant than I’ve ever heard it. “Do you want to talk about Noah—”

  “No,” I say firmly. At that moment, Griffin bumps into Nua, sending her books flying. He helps her gather them up, apologizing loudly, and hands them over. She looks befuddled when she notices the sheet of paper Griffin deposited on top of her books. She looks for Griffin, but he’s already raced past us with a thumbs up.

  Regan and I trail Nua as she unfolds the paper addressed to her and hesitantly follows the instructions written there. She reaches Scryer Services and presses the button by the door. The slot in the door opens and a sheet of paper is slipped through the slot before she can say a word.

  Ms. Nua reads the paper and walks on, down the hall. I quietly slip a meat pie through the Scryer Services door slot and whisper my thanks. The slot slides shut.

  We keep our distance, watching as Nua juggles her books and bends to pick up another folded note. There is now a note every few feet. She reads each scrap of paper before shoving them into her sweater pocket.

  Regan sighs quietly. “This is so romantic.”

  I shush her. We’re not so far now, the gray stone walls and weathered tapestries about to give way to the mirrored hall of the Momentorium. Nua picks up the last note and the small blue flower resting on top of it. She enters the Momentorium and gasps. Even I, who helped set it all up, am momentarily overcome.

  The red carpet that runs the length of the Momentorium is now a lush blanket of blue flowers. Candles rest on each of the display cases, their light bouncing off the hundreds of mirrors hanging on the walls and ceilings, casting the room in a brilliant and warm glow. At the other end of the Momentorium stands Marko, his dark hair clubbed back and his fingers nervously tugging at his borrowed suit.

  “What is all of this?” Nua breathes.

  Marko takes a step. “These flowers,” he says, his voice is soft but carrying. “They are not like the rose, big and bold. They are maybe not something you would look at two times if you pass them by. They are humble and small, but they carry an important message. They are Forget-Me-Nots.” He takes another step toward Nua, his hands outstretched. “Just as I can forget you not.”

  “Oh.” Ms. Nua doesn’t even notice Regan taking her bag and books and setting them on one of the display cases. Regan gives Nua a little push that sets her walking.

  “You do not remember Marko, but I remember you, Thessaly. Everything you ever say, Marko remember.”

  “Is that what these notes are?” Nua pulls out a few scraps of paper from her pocket.

  “Yes. With each step that brought you here, I wanted you to see what Marko remembers. I remember your favorite color is the purple found in the sky when the sun rises. You say this during All Hands meeting four years ago. I remember you have three sisters and three brothers and you, you are in the middle. You say you feel forgotten in your big family when you were little girl. You say this seven years ago when young boy go missing in the Coil. I remember you say you like jazz. You say this ten years ago during Orientation party for initiates. I remember you say your cat Clementine, she was sick last year.”

  “Clem died,” Nua says, taking another step toward Marko, transfixed.

  “I am sorry for your loss. Marko remembers you do not like mayonnaise.”

  “It’s so gross.” Nua whispers the words.

  “Marko remembers many things. Many conversations. Little details. They stay here.” He points to his head. “Because Thessaly Nua… she stays here.” He taps his chest.

  I grin, hearing him recite the line I gave him.

  Marko is now standing directly in front of Ms. Nua, almost in the center of the room. He kneels to scoop up a handful of little blue blossoms. “About you, I remember everything. Before today, you do not remember Marko. But maybe now, in this place of remembered things, you forget me not?”

  Nua fans herself. “I think I’ll remember this all my days.”

  “Marko kiss you now?” Marko asks, looking uncertain.

  “Oh, please do.”

  Marko sweeps Nua into a passionate embrace and then spins her around, her skirt billowing out around them and kicking up a flurry of flowers. When he sets her on her feet, she looks dazed and cli
ngs to him, dizzy from the kiss or the spin or both. He gives us a joyful look and nods when he catches my eye.

  I’ll be getting my lesson in thieving, I guess. But first, they deserve some privacy.

  “You made fun of my romance novels,” Regan says as we wait at the café.

  “I didn’t!” I insist.

  Regan sips her tea and beams. “You did. In your mind. I could totally read it in your eyes. I am really good at picking up on vibes, I’m telling you. But if it wasn’t for me, those two wouldn’t be together. That whole thing with Marko was exactly what the Duke of Longburn did to win Edwina Devlin in The Duke Must Live. Well… I mean, the characters in the book didn’t talk about dead cats or mayo, and they ended up making love right on all those flowers, so it wasn’t identical. But close—”

  Regan trails off as Marko approaches, whistling. He grabs for Regan’s hand and my own and kisses them both before sitting down, looking like he inherited the sun.

  “After your plan with flowers and notes in Momentorium, Marko walk Thessaly to her class. We have dinner tonight, she say. She say she can never forget Marko after today. You are genius. More happiness cannot fit in my body. I explode.”

  “I’m really happy for you, Marko,” I say. I mean it, too. But his happiness makes me all the more desperate to save Colin. The clock within me has been roaring. “Can you show me what we talked about? How to… liberate things? I need to get those keys.”

  Marko grins. “These keys, you mean?” He flashes a hefty janitor-worthy set of keys.

  “But, what… how?” I ask, completely confused as he takes my hands and presses the keys to my palm. “You said you couldn’t.”

  “I pass Linda Fenice on the way here. I seize opportunity. You say you will return the keys? And the book? Good. Maybe the Grims no find out. Or if they find out, maybe they go easy on Marko. You make Marko happiest man today. Marko make you happy, too. My gift to you.”

  “Marko, you’re my hero!” I leap to my feet and press a quick hug on him before rushing off, pulling Regan along.

  Chapter 28