“Yes, empress.”
“You said this was a travel journal. Where are we going?”
He shrugged and rotated his shoulder under the sling. “Well, I figured we’d stay a few weeks in Paris with Jean-Bernard. Sleep. Eat. Wean you off the morphine.”
Huck chuckled.
“For the love of Pete,” I mumbled.
“And while we’re doing that,” Father said, “I can figure out how I’m going to replace a crashed mail plane.”
Huck held up a finger. “Did I steal a plane? Yes. But did I crash it? No. I landed it. That was a bloody beautiful piece of piloting I did there with that hunk of junk. And think of this—I probably did those people a favor, I did. The postal worker who normally flies that plane might’ve died.”
“You’re a hero,” Father said, one dark brow raised. “That’s what you’re saying.”
Huck shrugged his shoulders high. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Never mind the fact that you stole the plane to begin with.”
“We-e-ell,” Huck drawled. “You know what they say. Petty thieves steal small things. I stole aplane.” He waggled his brows and then added, “For the record, it was her idea.”
“Heathens, both of you,” Father said affectionately.
I tapped my father’s shoulder with the spine of the black journal. “What about afterward?”
His eyes scrunched as he looked down at me. “After what?”
“After Paris,” I said. “What happens after Paris?”
He puffed on his pipe and looked at the railway attendants loading luggage into the baggage car. “Been thinking on that... I’ve heard some rumors about the Summer Isles, off the coast of Scotland. One of them has a strange little village that’s been occupied since the Middle Ages, and some interesting pagan legends about a burial site.”
“Sounds remarkably like a treasure hunt,” I said.
“Sounds remarkably like another grave dig,” Huck said. “Like Tokat.”
“Pshaw,” Father said, hiding a smile. “That was just a small miscalculation.”
“And this would be...?”
“Just a research trip.”
“Oh,” Huck said. “Is that all?”
“Who knows. We’ll have to see how we feel after Paris.”
We.Huck and I shared a hopeful glance.
Spicy smoke floated past my father’s head as he squinted down at Huck over pink cheeks. “It’s just that I don’t feel like going back to New York yet. I think we should stay in Europe a little while longer.”
“All three of us,” I insisted, wanting to make sure.
Father nodded once. Quickly. And then, as if we were merely discussing what to eat for breakfast, he added, “Christmas in Paris is nice. Elena always liked it there, and God knows Jean-Bernard has plenty of room. What do you both think? Play it by ear?”
My heart thudded wildly. I stole a look at Huck, and his eyes were glossy.
“Sounds like a workable plan to me,” I said. “What do you think, Huck?”
He nodded vigorously, and a warm joy spread through my chest.
