“New Zealand?”
“A woman who knows her geography. Brava.” The car pulled up near the Anglican church in the heart of Hackney. “Don’t worry about the fare,” Sophie said as they exited the car. She gestured with her chin toward the corner where Luciano waited. He hadn’t seen them yet. “There’s your boy. Go on. I’ll take care of Mo.” She strode off in the other direction.
Aida replaced her mask and headed toward the corner. It took everything she had not to run to Luciano, but when he saw her, he came swiftly toward her and swept her up in his embrace.
“These masks are a bother,” he said when he set her down again. “I wonder if Sophie’s protection extends to the virus.”
Aida could have kicked herself. “Damn it, I should have asked!” She relayed the details of the conversation in the taxi. Luciano looked around them as she talked.
“There they are,” he said, tilting his head down the street. “The men on the bench there, staring at that apartment building. The one next to that old brick building with the red doors.”
Aida recognized the red doors from Google Maps. They sported a green sign that read Public Mortuary. It didn’t look like it was in use, and for that, she was glad.
“Sophie said they won’t notice us. I guess we have to try.”
“Andiamo.” Luciano held out his arm for Aida to take.
They crossed the small green in front of the church toward the morgue and the flats, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the men on the bench. When they reached the gated courtyard entrance, Aida hesitated. There were no names on the buzzer panel, just numbers. “How are we supposed to—”
Luciano smirked and pressed a random button. When someone answered, he quickly said, “We’re looking for Helen Harrow.”
“That’ll be number six.”
Luciano hit the number six button, and a long moment later, a crackly voice came across. “Hello?”
“Hi, Helen, we’re friends of Hephaestus.”
There was another long pause, and then the door clickedopen. Luciano grinned and held it wide for Aida. As the door closed behind them, she risked a look at the men on the bench. As Sophie said... they didn’t seem to have noticed her and Luciano at all. They were chatting and laughing at something down the street.
Pandora met them at the door, three floors up. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with long wavy auburn hair that softly framed her face, bringing attention to the dark brown eyes above her mask. She wore a simple brown skirt and a cream-colored shirt that seemed decades out of style. “Who are you?”
Aida realized they hadn’t discussed what they should tell Pandora about them. If they gave their real names, would she tell MODA?
“I’m Luciano, and this is Aida,” Luciano said, rendering Aida’s worry moot.
Behind the mask, Aida gave Pandora a weak, unseen smile. “We have something important to talk to you about.” She held up the glowing blue image of the meander.
Pandora gasped. “Please, come in.” She pulled off her mask. “You can remove yours,” she said. “I don’t know why, but because that—” she pointed at the meander “—is familiar. I feel like I should trust you, but only a little.”
She led them into a small but tidy apartment devoid of much decoration. She indicated they should sit on the gray love seat near the window and went to the kitchen, whistling a happy tune. A few minutes later, she returned with a teapot and mugs.
“I don’t know why you’re here or where you got that picture, but something tells me it’s important, so it must be. Please explain.” Her accent was mostly British, but the rhythm of her speech was off—words spaced just a little too carefully, inflections borrowed from places far beyond England’s borders.
Aida looked at Luciano and then back to the woman. “Oh, where to start? Do you know the story of Pandora?”
“Pandora’s box?” she asked, an eyebrow lifting.
“I think it was a jar, but yes,” Luciano said.
Her eyes widened. “Yes, it was a jar! A terra-cotta jar...” Her voice trailed off, her excitement muted, as if she were trying to reconcile this detail with the reality she knew.
“What else do you know of the story?” Aida asked.
Pandora knitted her brow and wrung her hands, trying to remember. “There was a Titan. And punishment. And foolishness.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Luciano affirmed, nodding encouragingly. “There were two Titans, Prometheus and Epimetheus. They oversaw creating life on earth. Epimetheus created the animals and gave each a form of protection, but when he came to man, he was out of protection to give them. Prometheus decided to steal fire from the gods to give to humanity, which greatly angered Zeus, the king of the gods. As punishment, Zeus ordered Prometheus to be chained to a rock, and an eagle would pick out his liver every day, but every day it would grow back.”
“How dreadful,” Pandora exclaimed, her brow furrowing, the weight of the story clearly unsettling her.
