George presses play and then whirls around to watch Gabriel, as if it’s suddenly hit her that she’s listening to a personalized playlist made by Gabriel Fallen himself.
I know how she feels. It hits me at random times, too. I’m too busy rolling my eyes at something ridiculous Gabriel says and then I remember that he sings the stars.
I wish he’d sing them again. I need a little starlight in my life.
Seventy-million hours and five bags of airplane peanuts later, we land in Munich. Gabriel drags our jet-lagged asses out to a beer hall where all the waitresses know his name. We’re escorted to bench seats on a long table and served enormous platters of schnitzel and wurst and warm potato salad, washed down with steins the size of my head. No one asks for ID. Some of the other students from school join us – it’s strange seeing my classmates away from the competitiveness and stuffy atmosphere of Stonehurst. I find myself talking to people I’ve never acknowledged before. Cleo holds court at the other end of the table, but we ignore her.
Munich is new and strange and different, the air alive with tension. Or maybe that’s just my nerves at being somewhere new without eyes on Mackenzie Malloy’s latest movements. Everything is the same but different – there are beautiful parks filled with strange trees and different birds. There’s no ocean roaring in the background, no seagulls landing on the railing of our hotel balcony. Some of the buildings are so old and so beautiful they make my breath catch in my throat. Daddy would have loved Munich.
The school has a selection of activities organized for each day, and we’re able to choose from cultural excursions like visiting Neuschwanstein Castle or adrenaline activities like skydiving and hiking, or a visit to a brewery for a lecture about the history of Bavarian purity laws, followed by a beer tasting. The legal drinking age in Germany is 16, and the students of Stonehurst Prep are determined to take full advantage of it. German beer is delicious so I’m not going to be the one to complain.
Antony is leading a ‘small group’ on an overnight excursion to Rothenburg ob der Tauber (this means Rothenburg on the river Tauber. My German isscheisse, but Eli speaks it fluently because of course he does, and he explained it to me). Noah, Gabriel, George, Eli, and I fill all the available spots. We leave Tiberius and Ms. Drysdale to escort another group on a tour of Sachsenhausen concentration camp (sounds like a hoot of a time), and head out of the city in a minivan Antony rented for the trip.
My cousin grins as he maneuvers the van into the fast lane on the autobahn and puts his foot to the floor. “I love this road. I only wish I didn’t have you lot so I could’ve rented a proper car.”
“You just passed an Audi in this junky van. I think you’re doing fine.”
Antony flashes me a wicked grin as he pours on even more speed. Seeing Antony like this – not as a mobster in charge of an underground fight club, but a young man having a blast in a foreign country – makes my chest hurt. This is what I wanted for him all along, the chance to discover who he is outside of the family’s plans for him. If he can extract himself from Nero, he could have this for real.
Am I making the right decision? Am I digging Antony deeper into a trap he can’t escape?
I can’t know the answer to that, and it’s driving me insane.
I roll down the window and watch the German landscape roll by – picturesque hills and chocolate-box houses along the river. Our first stop is an overgrown ruin of a castle on the hill overlooking the town of Rothenburg. This is where one of George’s internet buddies claims to have seen Mackenzie.
A sign with tourist information has been deliberately defaced, and there’s a new sign beneath it. Eli translates for us, but it’s pretty obvious – PRIVATE PROPERTY, KEEP OUT. The driveway is so overgrown Antony can’t get the minivan up – we park at the bottom and trudge up on foot. Gabriel complains the whole way. Eli leaps up the ragged stone steps three at a time. Show-off.
After twenty steps my face is soaked in sweat and my abdomen feels like it’s on fire. I hate this. I have a job to do, and this stupid injury keeps slowing me down. Noah pulls me onto his shoulders. I hate needing help, but it’s either this or I sit at the bottom, and I’m not doing that, so I nuzzle into his neck and try to enjoy being the damsel in distress for once.
It doesn’t fit.
We emerge onto a flattened terrace surrounded by ruined walls. A circular tower juts from the hill like a fairy chimney. Frigid wind whips my hair against my face, and my feet crunch on fresh snow as I pick my way over the crumbling footbridge.
I batter my fists on the door, but no one answers. We circle the castle, peering through crumbling walls and arrow slits into ruined grandeur and buried history. Reconstruction work had been done on the south tower – adding wooden floors and lockable doors and safety bars over the windows. It looked as though the place was once open to tourists, but has been shut off for some time. Now it’s home to wildlife and rot.
And maybe… someone else.
Noah hoists me up on his shoulders again. I clamber onto the parapet. Gabe must’ve found another way up, because he appears at the far end, outside the intact tower, striking warrior poses and yelling lines fromBraveheartinto the valley below. Ignoring him, I stand on tiptoe to peer into the highest arrow slit on the second floor. Someone has definitely lived inside recently – there’s a sleeping mat in the corner, old furniture scattered around, posters on the walls, and…
“Gabe,” I whisper.
There, on the wall, is an Octavia’s Ruin poster.
Gabriel’s head crowds in beside mine, his smoky pagan scent the only thing keeping me upright.That poster could mean anything. All you’re looking at is the hovel of a homeless person with great taste in music.
I tell myself this, but I know it’s not true.
Gabriel sees the look on my face. He steps forward, his arms wide. I fall into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I ride through a raw panic that seizes my entire body.
“I hate to break it to you, but Iamquite popular.” He grins, but there’s no real mirth in his smile.
He’s afraid. So am I.
“Are you okay now?”
I nod. Gabe takes another look in the narrow slit.
“There are newspaper clippings on the walls, too. A lot of them are from theEmerald Beach Gazette.”
