“Toss me the ring!”
I glanced at my mother. Her expression was of utter disbelief. It was that expression that made me give up the ring. It soared through the air, bypassing the magical barrier with ease, as it would since it was used in the creation of the spell.
“You first,” Papá said to my mother.
“Coward,” she said coldly, but she took a step forward, and then another. I watched without breathing, the air trapped at the back of my throat. Mamá walked through with no issue, and as my father followedafter her, she surreptitiously reached for a charm hanging off her gold bangle.
“Stand by the wall,” Papá said, pistol trained on my mother. She did, hands lightly clasped in front of her. “No tricks, Lourdes.”
She was the picture of innocence. I would have believed her performance had I not seen her unclip the charm from her bracelet. My mother was up to something.
Whit came to stand next to me and muttered under his breath, “You were right. There is an exit.”
“Give me the Chrysopoeia, Inez,” Papá said loudly. “Now.”
Mamá dipped her chin an infinitesimal amount. If I would have blinked, I’d have missed it. I stepped forward and gave it to him just as the walls quaked around us. Rolls of parchment fell off the shelves, and my mother used the moment to drop the charm onto the floor.
“What are you—”
Mamá stomped on it and jumped backward as it exploded into flames.
“Bitch!” Papá snarled, the flames growing in size, surrounding him. He shot his gun, and I dropped to the floor, the heat from the fire enveloping me.
“Inez!” Whit dragged me to my feet and then hauled me close to his chest as a section of the roof came down. “We have to go!”
“What about my mother?”
I stole a glance over my shoulder, catching sight of them fighting for the sheet. Papá had lost his gun but was tearing at my mother’s hair.
“We have to go,” Whit repeated, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “This is not your fight anymore! It never was.”
My mother kicked and clawed at Papá’s face. Neither of them knew I was there. The fire reached higher and higher, blocking the sight of them. But I could hear their grunts of pain, the curses they hurled at each other.
Whit took my hand, and I let him drag me through the back exit and into a tunnel. We raced the whole way, our shoes slapping against the stone until we reached the canal.
“This should take us out to sea,” Whit said.
“You don’t know for sure?”
He winked at me. “Trust me.”
Whit led me to the edge, and together we jumped into the Nile. The water was warm, and it swallowed me in its long arms, pulling me out and away from the destroyed remnants of the library. I knew I’d never see it again.
No one would.
The current pulled me under, dragging me to its depths, but Whit held on to my hand, helping me to the surface. I came up sputtering. The water swept over and around us, but still he didn’t let go. He managed to pull me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist as the river yanked us along.
“I have you,” he said. “I have you.”
We were dumped into the harbor, near the Roman fortress Cleopatra had shown me earlier. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. Whit drew closer, gently brushing my tangled hair off my face.
“As much as I hated them, they were your parents,” he whispered. “I can understand the wretched position you were in.”
“Gracias, Whit,” I said, my gaze moving past him and over his shoulder. We had come out of a sliver of rock, nondescript and ordinary. But I couldn’t take my eyes away, somehow knowing in my bones that the river would send me one of my parents.
I didn’t know which one had won the fight.
But I hoped, for Tío Ricardo’s and Abdullah’s sakes, it was my mother.
