“What if she’s with one of Keeling’s people?” asks Poppy. “What if Paris took her?”
“That would mean she’s here, in the Flatwood.” Shea tips back in her seat, tucking her legs up under her. “It’s not impossible. He got to Tristan. He convinced him to Turn just so he’d be in position when Paris needed someone on the inside.”
“Tristan Choi Turned because he was sick,” says Asher.
“He was a pawn,” Shea counters. “Paris uses people, we know that. He used Tristan. He took someone who was scared and looking for a way out and he turned that fear into leverage.”
Poppy hums. “What if Paris took Ellie to try and lure Lysander away from Mercy Ridge?”
Asher presses his fists to the table, his shoulders tense. “You’re both taking massive leaps of logic. My sister has never even met Lys.”
“But she’s important to Shea,” says Poppy. “And Paris has been using Shea to manipulate Lysander at every turn. The evidence is right in front of us. It’s not a leap of logic to work with what we know.”
Asher pushes off the table, pacing away to the window, where the screened-in pool sits empty of all but a shallow layer of standing water, furred in algae. Lacing his hands over the top of his cap, he turns to face them. “Fine. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that Ellie is here in the Flatwood. Let’s say she’s with Paris. We still have to find our way into the revel.”
“Unless it’s a trap,” says Poppy.
Asher’s eyes tighten. “We’re not changing the plan, Poppy.”
She doesn’t back down. “Ellie left that note as a warning. And if Paris knows everything about Shea, you have to assume he knows everything about you, too.”
“I’m not a part of it.”
“Except you are, Asher,” says Poppy. “This is bigger than you and your uncomfortable feelings. It’s about Ellie. What if we do something wrong, and it gets her killed? What if he’s playing all three of you? What if, by going to the revel, we’re giving Paris exactly what he wants?”
“Then we give it to him.”
Lys looms in the open door, his hood up and his hands in his pockets. His horns carve out from beneath his hair in violent points. His cheeks are sunken, eyes bruised, and Shea wonders just how long he’s been standing there, listening.
“We go to the revel,” he says, “and we beat him at his own game.”
•••
An hour later, they still haven’t agreed on the best way in.
“We cut around south,” says Asher, jabbing a finger at the map. “Approach from the flank.”
Lys brushes his finger away. “There’s no point in trying to surprise him if he knows we’re coming.”
They’re in the upstairs bathroom, a pillow shoved into the egress window. The sun finds its way in anyway, turning the tiled space a funny blue color. Lys soldiers it in silence, teeth gritted and hoodie zipped, sweating through his things.
“If we go straight in, we have to take the coastal road along the old beachfront resorts,” says Asher. The map is laid out in the bottom of the Jacuzzi tub, and they’re perched on its edge, bumping into one another in the cramped space. “I don’t like that plan, either.”
“What’s wrong with it?” asks Shea.
“Keeling and crew nest in the resorts,” says Lys, without meeting her eyes. “Hotels like that are full of blackout curtains. It’s easy to keep out of the sun. And it won’t be a concern, because they’ll be shut away during the day. No one will notice us driving through.”
Asher makes a face. “In a giant camper?”
“It’s not exactly inconspicuous,” agrees Poppy.
“It’s falling apart,” tacks on Asher. “I say we keep away from the coast. Stick to the Flatwood. It’s served us well the whole drive so far.”
“Brilliant idea,” says Lys dryly, dragging an inked finger along the narrow artery of a road. He stops over a patch of green terrain, finger hovering. “That brings us right past Gridley’s.”
Shea’s knees buckle. One word, and she’s seven years old again, watching her parents stack loose change at the kitchen table. Watching them argue. Watching them break.
“We’re near the sanatorium?”
