Firstborn

  After all, if his testicles are on the chopping block, she’s the one holding the knife.

  Time to leave.

  “I know which family it is,” I say.

  She glances up, startled. “Then you know who the Historian is?”

  “Not exactly,” I say, lamely. “Given that there are a few thousand options alive. Divided roughly by two, since we know she’s a woman. Which doesn’t help.”

  “Serge just texted you,” she says and hands it to me.

  Lost Luka’s phone around Gyor. Does this location mean anything to you?

  I glance at Jester. She turns her laptop screen around. There’s a map up on it.

  “Here,” she says, pointing to the city west of us, barely within the Hungarian border. I frown.

  “He’s going to Bratislava,” she says.

  “Why? Why would he go to Bratislava?”

  “You tell me,” she says, shaking her head. “But Gyor is directly between here and Bratislava.”

  I text Luka:

  We traced you to Gyor. Where are you going?

  I start to send it, stop, and then send it anyway. But if he’s destroyed his phone, he’ll never get it.

  “I need to go,” I say suddenly. “And so do you—in the opposite direction. Where are the others?”

  “I just called. They’re headed back.”

  “Will you be all right until they get here?”

  “You can’t go without at least Rolan!”

  I go to take her hands. “Jester . . .” I pause, tilt my head. “What is your real name?”

  “Chantal,” she says softly. “Chantal Allard. Though I haven’t been called that name in years.”

  “It’s beautiful. Chantal,” I say, gripping her hands. “The Progeny nation is on your shoulders. You need Rolan more than I do. I know you may not trust him, but I do. He’s solid. And he will protect you.”

  I dial Serge’s bodyguard. Ask him how soon he can pick me up at the house down the street.

  “Twenty minutes,” I say to Jester. “I’d offer you a ride, but . . .” I don’t need to say that the bodyguard might be a commoner, but he’s still Serge’s man.

  “No thank you,” she says with a tight smile.

  I grab my coat, leave the Prada jacket behind for Claudia. But I have a parting gift for Jester as well.

  “What’s this?” she says, as I hand her the carefully wrapped item.

  “Serge’s sugar spoon. I thought it might come in handy,” I say, as a wry smile crosses her face.

  “Audra, be careful. This is a dangerous game. The minute you’re no longer of use or the Historian loses her power . . . Serge will come after you.”

  “No. He’ll come after you. Which is why you need to get out of here as soon as you can.”

  She hands me a new phone. “I’ll be in contact on this one and able to track you.”

  I want to ask where she’ll go and know I can’t. For the first time in my life, I’m panicked at the thought of leaving. After watching so many Progeny from the Budapest court go their separate ways last night, I can’t help but wonder when we’ll meet up again.

  “I’ll be in touch. We’ll find him,” she says, and then adds: “I hope you don’t regret telling me what you did.”

  “No. Never.” And I don’t. Because if Jester goes down, we’re all screwed anyway.

  I kiss her on both cheeks and hug her tightly.

  “I love you,” I say. Because that’s what family does.

  41

  * * *

  I slip out just in time; I can sense the others returning even as I leave.

  My phone buzzes immediately with a text from Claudia:

  I can’t believe you left by yourself. Without saying good-bye!

  She texts again:

  Found the jacket. I forgive you.

  At least tell Rolan where to meet you. Don’t go after Luka alone.

  I text back only:

  Take care of my jacket.

  I get someone to let me in the building down the street, hurry past the smell of someone cooking curry. Stop by the babushka lady’s door, where I leave the pile of her things and the equivalent of a couple hundred dollars.

  Out front I slide into the car as it pulls up, barely giving it time to stop.

  Rolan calls. I don’t answer, but text him only:

  Will meet up with you soon as I find Luka. Keep Jester safe. She’s everything now.

  I call Serge on the way to the airport, wondering if he found anything on the other number—the one belonging to the oily voice of the Historian’s mouthpiece.

  “No,” he says. “Unfortunately, not yet. Are you sure it’s still in service?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Let us worry about it.”

  “What about Luka?”

  “The last location we had was just south of Gyor. There are only two logical places to go from there—Vienna or Bratislava.”

  “I thought you had all this world-class spy stuff!” I say. “What about your government surveillance—your satellites?”

  “We tracked him on the highway in a car. We lost him in the city. It can happen—especially when someone is working hard to evade surveillance. I hate to say it, but he learned from the best. Don’t worry. We’ll find him again. Gyor is big city with many electric eyes. Where are you now?”

  “In your car headed to your plane. Some direction would be helpful.”

  “You know Luka better than anyone. Use your best guess. He’s not going anywhere that isn’t a plane ride away, right? If we learn anything, I’ll contact your pilot. And if Luka contacts you, let me know right away.”

  I sigh as I hang up, sink low in the backseat of the car. Watch the city go by.

  “Where should I tell the pilot we are going?” the bodyguard, whom I’ve mentally nicknamed Bruno, says.

  He’s gone to try to end this. End this how? The Scions have deep interests in both cities.

  But Jester said Slovakia.

  “Bratislava.”

  I receive a text from Jester that they’ve left the house, are safe. That much I can be glad for. Though it also makes me feel more alone, because I have no idea where they’re headed.

  Nor will I ask.

  At the airstrip, I board the plane, glance into the cockpit to find the same pilot and copilot as before, apparently on standby this entire time.

  I’m anxious as we take off, wishing I had run a lap around the hangar before boarding. I unbuckle my seat belt the minute we’re in the air and pace the aisle.

  I drink three cups of espresso during the twenty-minute flight. Realize, as we descend into Slovakia, that I have no clue where to go from here. That, for all I know, Luka has doubled back into Hungary.

  My phone chimes as we land.

  Jester: Serge’s on the move. My money’s on Bratislava.

  And a text from a number I do not recognize:

  Call me.

  I hesitate over this latest as we taxi into the hangar.

  A moment later, I dial it back.

  42

  * * *

  The other end rings three times before it’s picked up.

  “Hello?”

  Luka.

  “Oh, thank God,” I exhale. “Where are you? Why did you leave like that?” I say, fear oxidizing to anger in my voice.

  “Audra, I’m sorry.”

  “Just tell me where you are.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?” I say, impatient.

  “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “Yes.” All three lines of it. “Thank you,” I say more gently. “Please. Whatever you’re doing, don’t do it alone.”

  “I have to.” His words drift from the phone as though he’s looking around him. I panic, afraid he’ll end the call.

  “No. It’ll get you killed! Listen. I know you’ve gone north. We lost your phone somewhere in Gyor . . .”

  “ ‘We’? Who’s ‘we’?” he says with audible
alarm.

  “Jester . . . Serge.” Mostly Serge, though I don’t say so.

  “No. Not Serge. You have to stop communicating with him. You need to leave Budapest with Jester and the others.”

  I glance at Bruno the bodyguard, who is waiting for me to deplane.

  Get out.

  I cup my hand around the phone. “The others are already gone. I’m by myself, looking for you!”

  “Where are you?”

  “Bratislava,” I say as Bruno lets down the stairs and ducks through the exit.

  Silence.

  “Luka?”

  “You have to leave Bratislava.”

  “Luka, you’re scaring me. You have to tell me what’s going on!”

  “We promised no more secrets . . .”

  “That’s right,” I say. But my stomach twists.

  There’s a choking sound on the other end of the line. “There’s something I haven’t told you . . .”

  “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.”

  I can practically hear him rubbing his face, his forehead.

  “When you . . . When we were in Slovenia and went over that bridge—”

  “We fell in the river. You saved me.”

  “You were drowning. I tried to keep you breathing for as long as I could. And then the car filled up with water.” His voice breaks. “I kept talking to you. I told you I loved you. I held your head up . . .”

  “I remember,” I say, though a dark dread has begun to fill me.

  “I couldn’t get the car open. The windows wouldn’t work. I couldn’t get the door open! Not until it filled up and the pressure equalized. I held your head up until there was nothing left to breathe.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  “And then you were choking, jerking in the water. You were dying.”

  I stare at the table in front of me. Burl wood. It has always looked uncannily like weird, smoky souls with ghoulish eyes to me. Ghosts, drifting up from the netherworld.

  “I didn’t know if I’d get you out in time. If I could get myself out . . . the car was full. I kept kicking the door, out of air. My lungs were bursting, I thought I was gone.” He pauses. “And at the last minute, the door opened. I remember thinking it was some kind of miracle. It opened. I grabbed you by your shirt and pulled you out. Swam for what felt like forever.”

  “I know,” I say faintly. But I don’t. Because I wasn’t there. Not anymore.

  “When we got to the bank . . . you were blue. Your skin was so cold! I tried to revive you.”

  “You did, Luka.”

  “No. You were gone. I tried everything. You wouldn’t come back. And I couldn’t deal with the idea of living without you!”

  I close my eyes.

  “I had to have some part of you. I’d never done it before, didn’t know if it would even work . . . I put my hands on your head . . . Audra. I took your memory.”

  A tear skids from the corner of my eye, down my cheek.

  “I’m glad,” I whisper.

  “But I didn’t just take it. I lived it. Right there, on the bank. For however long it was—maybe just minutes. Maybe seconds. I lived you. I was you. Fishing with your dad. I saw your parents,” he says with a broken laugh. “Your school. Piano lessons. Swimming. High school . . . your first kiss. I have to admit, that was kind of weird.”

  I give a soft, broken laugh.

  “Your friends were so mean to you. I hated them. I felt bad for them. It was so senseless. And I understand, finally, why you have that shell around you. You deserved to be prom princess.”

  I stare without seeing. I’ve never told him about that.

  “I know why you chose that name now, when you erased your memory. Emily Porter. She was the best friend you ever had . . .” He swallows audibly.

  “Your parents. You told me last year how they died, but I never knew what it felt like. Until that moment. How easy it is to get angry, even if it’s not at them. But what I wanted to say was that the night I met you . . . I didn’t know how much I really bothered you.”

  “You bothered me plenty.”

  “I guess I knew a little when you flipped me off. But I didn’t know that you were actually attracted to me. You were,” he says with wonder. “You wanted me to call you. And I did, because I was crazy about you.”

  “Yeah?” I say, breathless.

  “I felt it, Audra. I lived it all!”

  “I’m glad!”

  “I felt you fall in love with me. How I made you feel. How mad you were when I didn’t call you right away. How you wanted to be together . . . But more than that, what it feels like to be you. Progeny. At court with so many other Progeny around. God.

  “I heard what Ivan said to you the night he gave you your mother’s things. I . . . read your mom’s notes to you. Her letters. With your eyes. Felt how defiant and determined you were. To end this all. To live. And then how scared you were when you found out you were pregnant. What it felt like to feel Eva move inside you. A whole new life beginning. So incredible. Amazing.”

  “Luka,” I whisper. “Tell me this in person. So I can see your face.”

  “I know how painful, how hard it was to bring her into this world,” he says as though not having heard me. “And I lived through letting her go all over again.

  “And then the weirdest thing. It’s like I watched it all flash by when you went in for the procedure . . . lived it all for a second time. And woke up without any of it. Scared. Alone with Clare. I was such a goof when I met you in Maine.”

  I sputter a laugh, tears sliding down my cheeks.

  “I know how much you didn’t trust me. And still, somehow, you learned to love me again. And I know, too, why you left me in Bratislava. I finally get it. Felt a love—your love—so deep and intense it almost hurt.”

  “Then you know what I feel like right now.”

  “You were trying to save me. And when you went to the underground in Budapest to bargain for me . . . you marched in without a costume or a mask. Because you knew none of that mattered when you went to see Nikola. And the Historian was there.”

  My heart is thudding. Loud—too loudly—in my ears.

  “And then the Historian came in and you heard her voice. When she told me to say hello through the phone, her voice was disguised. But I heard it through you.”

  For a second, all I can hear is the sound of his breathing.

  “She had me, and you were screaming. You were horrified. And I was horrified with you. Because I know that voice!”

  Chills spread across my back and down my arms.

  “No you don’t,” I whisper.

  “I do.” His breath is ragged, and he’s shifting, moving around, and something clicks on.

  “Luka, what are you doing?”

  “Is this her?” he demands. “Is this the voice you heard?”

  Something starts to play. A machine of some kind. A recording.

  “ ‘Happy birthday, Luka! Have you been practicing your English? I have, too. I practiced just for you so I can visit you in the States when you transfer university. I miss you, my dear. Nineteen. I can’t believe it, my little boy, so grown up. Happy birthday, my love. I’ll see you soon.’ ”

  No . . . no, no.

  A cold sweat has broken out across my back. I squeeze shut my eyes. But the family tree is floating before me, rotating in the darkness behind my lids.

  Family name Me’sza’ros. The original member of Luka’s Scionic family. Intermarried with merchants of increasing wealth through the centuries, including Austrian banker Franz Novak—then Nowak—four generations ago.

  I can hear him on the phone, sobbing on the other end. I lift it to my cheek.

  “That’s her, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” he says.

  I’m too sick to answer. Unable to lie. Unwilling to voice the truth he already knows. The Historian is Eva Novak.

  His mother.

  “All this time, I wondered why the Scions didn’t kill me when they had me. You aske
d me what they did. They tried everything they could to remind me of my duty. I begged them to kill me, but they wouldn’t—and now I know why! Because everyone else has failed or betrayed her, and I’m the only way to you.”

  “Luka, where are you?” I say, looking around me at the interior of the plane, seeing none of it, trying to picture where he might have gone. Why Slovakia? If indeed he’s still in Slovakia at all.

  “I’m going to find her.”

  “Luka, no!”

  “I have to. I have to end this. Which is why you have to stay away. Because she’ll kill you. And then she’ll have everything she ever wanted.”

  “Don’t—”

  “I love you.”

  The call clicks off.

  43

  * * *

  “Luka? Luka!”

  But the line is dead.

  I redial, again and again, but I already know he won’t answer.

  He’s gone to find his mother.

  All this while, I’ve been trying to find her. To deliver her to Serge in exchange for Eva’s whereabouts . . . Eva, who’s named after her!

  I could tell Serge. Tell him and let him go to the trouble of finding her and do what he wants and wash my hands of it. I will have found him the Historian. He will owe me Eva.

  Except Luka’s there, too. And I don’t trust Serge to hold his life as sacred as I do. In fact, I don’t trust him at all if he knows Luka’s the Historian’s son.

  I still have leverage over him in the form of everything Jester’s prepared to leak. But at this point I don’t know what he cares for more: staying out of prison or killing the Historian.

  One offers far more immediate gratification.

  I dial Jester, already dreading the words I’m about to say.

  “Audra.”

  “Please tell me you can trace a call to Luka from this phone.”

  “Did you hear from him?”

  “I did. He called. I called him back on this phone. Jester—” My voice breaks, and I know I’m about to lose it.

  “Audra, what’s going on? What’s happening? Be careful what you say and where you are when you say it.”