“And you found nothing else?”
He shook his head, which made a piece of red hair fall into his eyes. “And you?”
I thought about the carving in the kitchen, but since it didn’t bear any numbers, I didn’t think I needed to share it with Remo.
“Should we try 2008?”
Goose bumps sprouted over my skin, awakening every little bruise and cut on my body. “What if we’re wrong?”
“What if we’re right?” He tucked the picture under his arm.
Gnawing the life out of my lip, I followed him back down the stairs. My gut churned and churned, as though trying to tell me something.
In six quick strides, he reached the alarm box whereas I froze on the threshold, gaze sticking to the table closest to me, or rather, to what lay on top. I clamped my hands around the back rungs of a chair and stared so hard at the damn pie its contours blurred. And then suddenly, they sharpened, and I whipped my gaze up. “Remo, wait!”
However much I wanted the beeping to stop, I sensed we needed to think this through a moment longer. I took a seat, and although it was icky, I raked my hand through the filling, looking for a clue.
On the anniversary of theCaligo Dias, it was Neverrian tradition that every ground-dwelling family be gifted aCaligo Crosta,a pie baked in the royal kitchens. Inside every pastry was a solid gold nugget. They all varied in size. For some families, the nugget could keep them afloat for an entire decade; for others, it would allow them to live like nobles for a month. It was Iba who’d established this tradition, inspiring himself from theGalette des Roishe’d sampled in France during one of his Earthly trips with Nima. Together, they’d come up with this compelling gift, a small token of appreciation for their less fortunate subjects.
I’d heard Gregor complain once that my parents were emptying the royal coffers faster than Linus had gone through women. I’d wrinkled my nose at the comparison, but Iba had smiled. For some reason, my father enjoyed riling up thewariff.
“What are you doing?” Remo asked, bringing me back to the inn with its shrilling box.
“Looking for a nugget.”
“Not to burst your little bubble,prinsisa, but I don’t think we can buy our way out of here.”
I didn’t react to his taunt. Simply spread the filling over the table, fingers brushing through the sticky fruit and chunky crust. “I’m hoping there’s a number etched into the nugget.” If there even wasa nugget.
My heart palpitated when my fingers knocked into something solid. I squeezed it between my thumb and index finger only to find it was a morsel of peach pit.
“So? Anything?” he asked.
My eyesight blurred, and then a tear rolled off my cheek and plopped inside the emptied pan. I scrubbed my disappointment away with my knuckles.
Remo must’ve deduced my hunt had been fruitless.
The irony of a fruit-filled hunt being fruitless made me snort out a laugh. Oh, Skies, the demise of my mind was upon me. I tunneled my hand through my hair, streaking it with globs of pie.Whatever.They would just magick themselves out of existence,I thought with another dark laugh.
I laughed a minute longer, and then I stopped. Just stopped. Because it was really not funny.
Nothing about this was funny.
My hair smelled like freaking charmed peaches.
My elbow felt like it had been evicted from its socket.
My face was crosshatched with stinging cuts.
My eardrums were bruised from the beeping.
Not to mention that if we didn’t figure out the correct four-digit code, we’d stay locked in this oversized tin box, drowning in warm pie.
Remo was watching me like I was one of those new animal specimens developed by human zoologists: a unicorn or a pompom. Probably more pompom than unicorn—horned horses made people gasp and coo, whereas poufy blue monkeys made people snicker and point.
“Why are you here?” I whispered to the pie. “Why? Why? Why?”
Great.Now I was talking to inanimate objects. Wait. Were objects that could materialize and dematerialize inanimate?
